?$&4i • • ■ .jits LECTURES ON PAINTING, DELIVERED AT THE ROYAL ACADEMY OF ARTS: WITH A LETTER ON THE PROPOSAL FOR A PUBLIC MEMORIAL OF THE NAVAL GLORY OF GREAT BRITAIN. BY THE LATE JOHN OPIE, Esq. PROFESSOR IN PAINTING TO THE ROYAL ACADEMY. TO WHICH ARE PREFIXED, A MEMOIR BY MRS. OPIE, AND OTHER ACCOUNTS OF MR. OPIE'S TALENTS AND CHARACTER. LONDON: PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES AND ORME, PATERNOSTER-ROW. 1809. Richard Taylor and Co., Printers, Shoe Lane, Fleet Street. SUBSCRIBERS. His Royal Highness the Duke of Gloucester. Her Royal Highness the Duchess of Gloucester. Lord Anson Sir John St. Aubyn, Bart., M.P., 20 Copies Mr. Acland Robert Alderson, Esq., Norwich John Alderson, M.D. Hull Edward Alderson, Esq. Major Anderson, Newcastle Mr. Samuel J. Arnold Nicholas Ashton, Esq. SirT. C. Bunbury, Bart., M.P. Sir Francis Baring, Bart., M.P. 3 Copies > Baring, Esq., M.P. 3 Copies Lady Bedingfield Sir William Beechey, R.A. Henry Beechey, Esq. Sir Francis Bourgeois, RA. R. H. 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I have referred to the Vllth Number of The Artist so fre- quently in the following pages, that I thought it necessary to print it at the end of them; nor was I sorry to have an excuse for in- troducing it into the present work, as I wished that so honourable and so unquestionable a testimony to Mr. Opie's worth, borne by contemporaries of known talents and integrity, should meet the public eye at the same moment with my more partial and conse- quently less forcible evidence. AMELIA OPIE. TO PRINCE HO A RE, ESQ. Dear Sih, TlIE task which the desire of my friends and my own sense of duty have at length prevailed on me to undertake, is painful and difficult of execution, however soothing the consciousness of having fulfilled it may in time prove to my feelings. When you first urged me to do, what perhaps I alone am able to do, namely, to give a full and accurate character of a man neither correctly known, nor justly appretiated but by myself, and those who saw him in his most do- mestic hours, I shrunk with terror from your proposal ; — for I knew, not only that I must be considered as a partial, and therefore a blind narrator, but that my wish to be just and correct, would expose me to the risk of appearing frivolous and minute, while my desire of expressing such feelings only as my readers could " go along with" would lead me on the other hand to incur the danger of being cold and insipid. B ( 2 ) But all selfish considerations were soon annihilated by my wish to fulfil the dearest, and the last duty in my power to the husband whom I have lost; and throwing myself on the candour of the few, and the indulgence of the many, I shall proceed to give you my observations on the character of Mr. Opic during an union with him of nine years. If I have ever valued the little power of writing which it has been my amusement to cultivate, it is now that it enables me to pay a public tribute to him who first en- couraged me to give my writings to the world, and if I have ever rejoiced that I obeyed his wishes on that sub- ject, it is now that having already appeared as an author, I can offer myself to the notice of the public on this sacred and delicate occasion, with more propriety than if this were my first literary effort. I have been advised to write a biographical account of Mr. Opie, but that is impossible, as there are circumstances in his life on which it would be improper and indelicate for me to expatiate, and biographical accounts must be com- plete, in order to be valuable j — besides, a more able pen than mine will, probably, perform the office which I have de- clined, and in the mean while your own elegant memoir is sufficient for the present, while the interesting tributes to Mr. Opie's memory and worth from the pen of Mrs. Inchbald, ( 3 ) Mr. Northcote, Mr.Shee and Mr. Boaden, leave me little to do but to fill up their powerful and faithful outlines. It has been observed that distinguished men generally resemble their works, and this observation appears to me strikingly true if applied to Mr. Opie. He greatly re- sembled his paintings; and, while the trivial defects both of him and them were obvious to the many, the unusual excellencies of both could be completely known and justly valued only by the few. Any observer however contemptible might in some of his pictures discover a neglect of proper costume in his draperies, a too strict adherence to the models from which he painted, and an inattention to the minuter parts of art, but it required the eye of a connoisseur, and the kindred feeling of an artist to distinguish and appretiate properly the simplicity of his designs, the justness of his represen- tations, and the force of his light and shadow. — In like manner any one might observe in the artist himself a negligence in dress, a disregard of the common rules of common manners, and a carelessness to please those whom he considered as trifling and uninteresting, but it required a mind • of powers nearly equal to his own, or gifted with a nice perception of uncommon endowments in others, to value, and to call forth his acuteness of observation and his depth of thinking ; to follow him through the wide range of his perceptions, and to profit B % ( 4 ) by that just and philosophical mode of seeing and de- scribing, on which his claims to mental superiority were so strongly built. Those only whom he sufficiently respected to enter into argument with, or who were themselves fond of argument, are aware of the full extent of the powers of his mind : — with others, even when he loved them as friends, and va- lued them as companions, he indulged, for the most part, in conversation, Avhich, though never trifling, was often unimportant, and which at least served the useful purpose of unbending a mind, only too frequently for the good of the frame which contained it, stretched to the very utmost limit. You have said of him that in argument he had the power of eliciting light from his opponent, and Mr. Northcote has exhibited his talent for conversing in an- other point of view by observing that " it is difficult to say whether his conversation gave more amusement or in- struction." — Certain indeed it is, that his power to amuse was equal to his power to instruct; — but, as flame shines brightest in certain airs, he shone the most in certain so- cieties. The fire of his mind required certain applications to elicit its brilliancy, and those were love, esteem, and respect for the companions with whom he was conversing, and a perfect confidence that they desired and valued his society. I was induced to mention this circumstance from ( 5 ) being fully aware that many persons, with whom Mr. Opie lived in apparent intimacy, had no suspicion of his pos- sessing conversational talents of the highest order. But in general the few only possess a key to open in another the stores of mental excellence, especially when the en- trance is also guarded by the proud consciousness of su- periority, suspicious of being undervalued. You, my dear Sir, were one of those who possessed a key, to unlock the mind of Mr. Opie, and to you were all its treasures known. You, therefore, are well aware that he excelled in aptness of quotation, that there was a peculiar playfulness of fancy in his descriptions ; that he possessed the art of representing strongly the ridi- culous in men and things, which he instantly and sensibly felt*, and therefore the pictures drawn by his tongue * Since the above observations were written, I have received the following remarks from Mr. John Taylor, to whose pen I am indebted for the epitaph in the preceding pages, and I insert them here because as they were written by a gentleman who possesses great powers of discrimination and had a long and intimate acquaintance with Mr. Opie's character, they serve to corro- borate very strongly the truth of what I myself have advanced. — A. O. " No man was more willing to acknowledge contemporary merit, or more ready to render it just praise : — on more than one occasion when I had not an opportunity of attending Barry's Lecture at the" Royal Academy, I desired him to give me an account of it for a particular purpose, and the following morning, I received a literal report, in which he gave a clear, forcible, and spirited detail of the discourse, and paid due homage to the merit of the pro- ( 6 .) lived as powerfully to the view as those from bis pencil ; — while his talent for repartee, for strong humour, and formi- dable though not malignant sarcasm, gave an ever varying attraction to his conversation ; an attraction which no one I believe was ever more sensible of than yourself, as you were one of the friends whom he never failed to welcome with an artless warmth of manner which always found its way to the heart, because it bore indisputable marks of having come from it. But as I am fully sensible that my testimony in favour of Mr. Opie's conversational superiority can add no fessor. — He had a strong sense of humour, and discovered it where it was not obvious to common minds :— I recollect that he noticed with high admiration the attitude in which Bottom is placed in Sir Joshua's picture of Puck, con- sidering it as an admirable stroke of humour to give Bottom a contemplative and philosophic aspect with an ass's head. — Multitudes have doubtless seen the picture without observing that striking proof of the genuine humour of the great artist. Indeed it is possible that many intelligent critics maj have overlooked the figure, as it is so small in comparison with the main object, or may have considered it as merely an indication of the dramatic scene, lie strongly felt the energies of the mind, and I have heard him read passages in Milton, and Dryden's Fables, in such a manner as to show how thoroughly he entered into the spirit and genius of their respective authors. He had a friendly and generous heart. His taste for music, as well as for literature and the arts, and the acquisitions which he had made, prove that if he had been born under happier auspices he might have become conspicuous in what- ever he had attempted." ( 7 ) weight to that given by you and Mr. Northcote, and that both you and he may be supposed biassed by the par- tiality of friendship, I beg leave to offer, in corroboration of its truth, authority of a very high description, and which has hitherto not met the public eye, — that of Mr. Home Tooke, whom even those who dislike his politics must admire as a man not only of sagacity the most acute, but of attainments the most extraordinary, and that of Sir James Mackintosh, on whose talents it is needless for me to expatiate. Mr. Tooke, while Mr. Opie was painting him, had not only the opportunity, but the power of ' sounding him, from his lowest note to the top of his compass/ — And he said, a short time afterwards, to one of his most distinguished friends, " Mr. Opie crowds more wisdom into a few words than almost any man I ever knew ; — he speaks as it were in axioms, and what he observes is wor- thy to be remembered." Sir James Mackintosh, in a letter recently received from him, laments the loss of an acquaintance to whose society he looked forward as one of the pleasures which awaited him at his return to England, and adds the following ob- servation : — " Had Mr. Opie turned his powers of mind to the study of philosophy, he would have been one of the first philosophers of the age. — I was never more struck than ( 8 ) with his original manner of thinking and expressing him- self in conversation, and had he written on the subject, he would, perhaps, have thrown more light on the philosophy of his art than any man living/' Nor was Mr. Opie's intellectual superiority unappre- tiated by the eminent amongst my own sex. Mrs. Inchbald has given to the world her opinion of my husband in her own interesting and energetic manner; — and Mrs. Siddons must pardon me, if I relate the fol- lowing circumstance : — " Where is Mr. Opie ?" said Mrs. Siddons, one evening at a party in B k-street. — " He is gone," was the answer. " I am sorry for it," she replied, " for I meant to have sought him out, as when I am with him, I am always sure to hear him say something which I cannot forget, or at least which ought never to be for- gotten." I have been led to dwell on Mr. Opie's great talents for conversation, and to bring forward respectable evidence to prove it, in order to draw this inference ; that to him who could in society, " speak in axioms" and express original ideas in an impressive and forcible manner, it could not be a very difficult task to conquer the only ob- stacle to his success as an author, namely, want of the habit of writing, and to become on the subject most dear and familiar to him, a powerful and eloquent writer. ( 9 ) That he was such, the following work, I trust, will sufficiently testify ; and I should not have thought it ne- cessary to draw the inference mentioned above, had it not been often asserted, and by many believed, that, however the ideas contained in the lectures might be conceived by Mr. Opie, it was not by his pen that those ideas were cloathed in adequate language. But the slight texture of muslin could as easily assume the consistency of velvet, as the person supposed to have assisted Mr. Opie in the composition of his Lectures, have given language to the conceptions of his mind. He who alone conceived them was alone capable of giving them adequate expression ; nor could so weak and ill-founded a suspicion have ever entered into the head of any one, but for the false ideas which, as you well know, are entertained of painting and of painters in general. There are many who set literature so much above the arts, that they would think Mr. Opie showed more ability in being able to write on painting, than in executing the finest of his pictures. Such persons see a simple effect produced, and are wholly unconscious what compound powers are requisite to produce it. — They would gaze on a portrait painted by the first masters, they would see the character, the ex- pression, and the sort of historical effect which the picture exhibited ; but they would turn away and still consider the C ( io ) artist as a mere painter, and not at all suspect that he could think, or argue, or write. Here let me declare in the most solemn and unequivocal manner, that to my cer- tain knowledge, Mr. Opie never received from any human being the slightest assistance whatever in the composition of his lectures ; I believe I read to myself some parts of them as they were given at the Royal Institution before they were delivered, and afterwards I had the honour of reading them to the bishop of Durham, who said when I had concluded : " you were known before as a great painter, Mr. Opie, you will now be known as a great writer also but the four finished lectures on which he em- ployed all the powers of his mind, and which he delivered as professor of painting at the Royal Academy, I never even saw, but he read each of them to me when finished, and two of them I believe to Mr. Landseer, the engraver, and Mr. Phillips, the academician. Assistance from any one Mr. Opie would have despised, even if he had needed it ; as none but the most contemptible of human beings can endure to strut forth in borrowed plumes, and claim a reputation which they have not conscientiously deserved. Such meanness was unworthy a man like Mr. Opie, and the lectures themselves are perhaps a fatal proof not only of his eagerness to obtain reputation, as a lecturer, but also of the laborious industry by which he endeavoured to satisfy that eagerness. ( 11 ) To the toils of the artist during the da}', (and he never was idle for a moment,) succeeded those of the writer every evening ; and from the month of September 1806", to February 1807, he allowed his mind no rest, and scarcely indulged himself in the relaxation of a walk, or the society of his friends. To the completion therefore of the lectures in question his life perhaps fell an untimely sacrifice ; and in the bitterness of regret, I wish they had never been even thought of. But they were written, were delivered, and highly were they admired. They serve to form another wreath for his brow. Let it then be suffered to bloom there, nor let the hand of ignorance, inadver- tence, envy, or malignity, attempt to pluck it thence ! Mr. Northcote, in his character of Mr. Opie, has men- tioned his filial piety, and I can confirm what he has as- serted by the testimony of my own experience : indeed all who knew him, would readily admit, that the strength of his affections equalled that of his intellect. I have heard Mr. Opie say that, when he first came to London, he was considered as a sort of painting Chatterton. But it was not in talent only that he resembled the unfortunate Chatterton. He resembled him also in attachment to his family. Chatterton, if we may judge by his letters, never looked forward to any worldly good without telling his mother C 2! ( 12 ) and sister that he hoped to share it with them ; and no sooner was Mr. Opie settled in London, with a prospect of increasing employment, than some of his first earnings were transmitted by him to his mother; and his sister whom he tenderly loved, and who well deserved his affec- tion, was invited to the metropolis, to enjoy the popu- larity, and partake of the prosperity of her brother. Here, unhappily for Chatterton, the resemblance between them ceases, for he possessed not the industry, the patience, the prudence and the self-denial of Mr. Opie. The mo- ther and sister whom Chatterton held so dear were left by his wretched and selfish suicide in the same state of poverty which they had ever known ; while those of my husband were enabled by his well-deserved success to know the comforts of a respectable competence. Mr. Opie's father died, I believe, at a very early period of his son's life ; but he lived to witness the dawnings of his genius, and to feel his affections, as well as his pride gratified by seeing that genius first exhibited in a likeness of himself. — Perhaps the following anecdote may not be unacceptable to my readers ; but I cannot expect them to experience from it the same interest which it produced in me, espe- cially as I cannot narrate it in the simple yet impressive and dramatic manner in which my poor sister used to tell it, while, in order to beguile her grief for her brother's 2 ( 13 ) loss, she dwelt with never satisfied pride and delight on his talents, and his worth. One Sunday afternoon, while his mother was at church, Mr. Opie, then a boy of ten or eleven years old, fixed his materials for painting in a little kitchen, directly op- posite the parlour, where his father sat reading the bible. He went on drawing till he had finished every thing but the head, and when he came to that, he frequently ran into the parlour to look up in his fathers face. He repeated this extraordinary interruption so often, that the old man became quite angry, and threatened to correct him severely if he did the like again. This was exactly what the young artist wanted. He wished to paint his fathers eyes when lighted up, and sparkling with indigna- tion, and having obtained his end, he quietly resumed his task. He had completed his picture before his mother's return from church, and on her entering the house he set it before her. She knew it instantly, but, ever true to her principles, she was very angry with him for having painted on a Sunday, thereby profaning the Sabbath-day. The child however was so elated by his success, that he disregarded her remonstrance, and hanging fondly round her neck, he was alive only to the pleasure she had given him by owning the strength of the resemblance. At this mpment his father entered the room, and recognizing ( M ) his own portrait immediately, highly approved his son's amusement during the afternoon, (parental pride conquer- ing habitual piety awhile,) and exhibited the picture with ever new satisfaction to all who came to the house, while the story of his anger at interruptions so happily excused and accounted for, added interest to his narrative, and gratified still more the pride of the artist. Mr. Opie used to speak of his mother with the most touching enthusiasm. He described her as the most perfect of human beings ; — as the most mild, most just, and most disinterested of women ; — and I believe that scarcely any one who knew her would have thought this description an exaggerated one. He loved to relate little instances of the sacred love of justice which led her regardless of the partialities of a parent to decide even against her own children, when as criminals they appeared before her, and were in the slightest degree culpable ; — and these stories always ended in recollections of her tender care of him during his feeble childhood, of the gloves and great coat warmed at the winter's fire against he went to school ; and while he related them with a glistening eye, and a feeling of grateful affection, I never found the story, though often told, a tedious one, and used to feel the tie that bound me to him strengthened by the narration. This parent so ten- derly beloved, was spared the misery of surviving her son, 3 - ( 15 ) and breathed her last in perfect possession of her faculties and in all the cheering hopes of the pious, in May 1805, at the advanced age of ninety-two. Mr. Northcote has also mentioned Mr. Opie's readi- ness to forgive injuries, and I could bring many in- stances to confirm this observation. Such indeed was his extreme placability, that it was sometimes with difficulty he could prevent himself from showing he had forgiven an offense, even before the offender could exhibit tokens of contrition ; and his anger had always subsided long ere that self-respect which every one ought to preserve al- lowed him to prove by his conduct that it had done so. A kind word, and an affectionate shake by the hand, had always such power to banish from his mind the remem- brance of a wrong committed against him, that I have seen him by such means so totally deprived even of sa- lutary caution, as to be willing to confide again, where he knew his confidence had been unworthily betrayed. Such a power of forgiving and forgetting injuries as this, is, I fear, a rare virtue, though forcibly enjoined by our Saviour's precepts and example : but Mr. Opie's entire freedom from vanity of any kind is a still rarer quality. He was so slow to commend, and panegyric on the works of con- temporary artists was so sparingly given by him, that it was natural for some persons to suppose him actuated by the feelings of professional jealousy ; but it is more generous, ( 16 ) and I am fully convinced more just, to think tliis sluggishness to praise was merely the result of such a high idea of excel- lence in his art, as made him not easily satisfied with efforts to obtain it; and surely he who was never led by vanity or conceit, to be contented with his own works, could not be expected to show great indulgence to the works of others. During the nine years that I was his wife, I never saw him satisfied with any one of his productions, and often, very often have I seen him enter my sitting-room, and throwing himself in an agony of despondence on the sofa, exclaim, " I am the most stupid of created beings, and I never, never shall be a painter as long as I live." But while he was thus painfully alive to his own defi- ciencies, and to those of others, he was equally sensible of the excellencies of his rivals; and it was from him, and his nice and candid discrimination of their respective merits, that I learnt to appretiate the value of an exhibition, lie used to study at Somerset House, when the pictures were hung up, with more persevering attention and thirst for improvement than was ever exhibited perhaps by the lowest student in the schools ; and, on his return, I never heard him expatiate on his own excellencies, but sorrow- fully dwell on his own defects, while he often expressed to me his envy of certain powers in art which other painters were masters of, and which he feared he should ( 17 ) never be able to obtain. Sometimes, lie used to relate to me the flattering observations made to him on his own pictures; but as it was to me only, and in the most sim- ple and careless manner possible, I felt convinced that he did so more to gratify me, than himself. To prove how completely he was above that littleness of mind which leads some men to be jealous even of being supposed under an obligation to those they hold most dear, I shall venture to relate the following circumstance, at the risk of exposing myself to the imputation of vanity, while endeavouring to prove how much that weakness was unknown to Mr. Opie. When Mr. Opie became again a husband, he found it necessary, in order to procure indul- gences for a wife whom he loved, to make himself po- pular as a portrait painter, and in that productive and difficult branch of the art, female portraiture. He there- fore turned his attention to those points, which he had before been long in the habit of neglecting ; and he la- boured earnestly to correct certain faults in his portraits, which he had been sometimes too negligent to amend. Hence, his pictures' in general soon acquired a degree of grace and softness, to which they had of late years been strangers. In consequence of this, an academician, highly respectable as a man and admirable as an artist, came up to him at the second Exhibition after we married, and compli- mented him on one of his female portraits, saying : " We D ( 18 ) never saw any thing like this in you before, Opie, — this must be owing to your wife." On his return, he repeated this conversation to me ; and added in the kindest manner, that if his brother artists would but allow that he did im- prove, he was very willing that they should attribute the improvement to his wife. Once, and once only, did I see his firm and manly mind at all overset by public applause ; and that was on the night when he first lectured at the Academy. His countenance, when I met him on his return, told me of his success before I heard it from his companions, sir F. Bourgeois and sir W. Beechey, who accompanied him home, and who seemed to enjoy the triumph which they described. The next morn- t ing he told me that he had passed a very restless* night : "for, indeed," said he, " I was so elated, that I could not sleep." It was this freedom from vanity that led him to love and to seek the society of the literary and the learned. As he was no egotist, had no petty wish to be the first man in company, and sought society not in order to shine in it, but to be instructed and amused, he feared not to encounter " the proud man's contumely," if that proud man were really capable of affording him amuse- ment and instruction. He had not received a classical education himself, and he was therefore desirous of pro- fiting by the remarks of those who possessed that ad- vantage ; he knew he had not read much, he was therefore 3 ( 19 ) honourably ambitious to associate with men who had read more : but such were the powers of his memory, that he remembered all he had read ; and Milton, Shakespeare, Bryden, Pope, Gray, Cowper, Hudibras, Burke, and Dr. Johnson, he might, to use a familiar expression, be said to know by heart. He knew that he had no pretensions to what is called learning, — though he perfectly understood the French language, and was not wholly ignorant either of Italian or of Latin ; — but his self-love never shrank from association with learned men. The epithet of pedant, ap- plied to a scholar, had no power to frighten him from the so- ciety of scholars; for he always sought to see men and things as they were, not as they were said to be : besides, his obser- vation had told him that, true as the shadow to the form, some lessening epithet always attaches itself to the highly gifted of both sexes, whether justly or unjustly, and that the possessors of talents are always called eccentric, con- ceited, or satirical, while the possessors of learning are prejudged to be arrogant, pedantic, and overbearing. But, where such an imputation was well founded, it was of no importance to Mr. Opie ; he was conscious that he aimed at no competition with the learned ; while with a manly simplicity, which neither feared contempt nor courted applause, he has often, even in such company, made observations, originating in the native treasures of his own mind, which learning could not teach, and which D2 ( 20 ) learning alone could not enable its possessor to appretiate. But, while he sought and valued the society of a Dr. Parr, he shrunk with mingled taste and pride from that of the half-learned, — men whom he denominated word-catchers, — men, more eager and more able to detect a fault in gram- mar, than to admire the original thoughts which such de- fective language expressed. He felt that amongst persons of that description lie could neither be understood nor valued, and therefore he was at once too proud and too humble to endeavour to please them : while he must also have been conscious that, where he was likely to be judged with candour, and genius was valued before learning, he made all prejudice against his want of birth, of a classical education, and of the graces of manner, vanish before the powers of his intellect and the impressive force of his observations. But there was also another class of men with whom he was unwilling to converse. It has been observed of some one, that he was such an enemy to pre- judice, that he might be said to be prejudiced against prejudice : and Mr. Opie was so certain that to some de- scriptions of clever men he could never be an object of interest, from his want of external polish and classical attainments', that I have often undergone the mortification of observing him remain silent, while flippancy was lo- quacious ; and of seeing the tinsel of well-fashioned, but superficial fluency, obtain that notice which was more ( 21 ) justly due to the sterling, though in the opinion of some, perhaps, the rugged ore of his conversation. But certain it is, that the republic of letters and of arts has an aristo- cratic bias ; and many of its members are of such sybarite habits, such fastidious delicacy, and have such a decided preference for the rich, the polished, and the high-born members of its body, that a man of plain, simple, and unobtrusive manners, depending only on his character and his genius for respect, is not likely to be much the object of their notice. I do not know whether the following anecdote be a proof of the presence of pride in Mr. Opie, or of the absence of vanity, — but I shall relate it without further comment:— We were one evening in a company consisting chiefly of men who possessed rare mental endowments, and consi- derable reputation, but who were led by high animal spirits and a consciousness of power to animadvert on their absent acquaintance, whether intellectual or other- wise, with an unsparing and ingenious severity which I have rarely seen equalled, and even the learned, the witty, and the agreeable were set up like so many nine pins only to be bowled down again immediately. As we kept early hours, I knew that we should probably be the first to go away;— and I sat in dread of the arrival of twelve o'clock. At length it came, and I received the usual sign from Mr. Opie ; but to go, and leave ourselves at the mercy of those who remained, was a trial that I shrank from ; and in a ( 22 ) whisper I communicated my fears to my husband, and my wish to remain longer in consequence of them. Ait angry look, and a desire expressed aloud that I should get ready to go, was all the answer that I received; and \ obeyed him. — When we were in the street, he said : " I never in my life acted from a motive so unworthy as that of fear; and this was a fear so contemptible, that I should have scorned to have acted upon it; — and lam really ashamed of you." No wonder — I was ashamed of myself. That a feeling so unworthy as a fear of this nature had no power to influence Mr. Opie, I can bring another in- stance to prove. Some years ago, a gentleman called on Mr. Opie, from motives of friendship, to inform him that a person, whose name I shall not mention, the editor of some magazine now no more remembered, was going to 'publish in his next number a very severe abusive memoir of him, and hinted that it might be adviseable for Mr. Opie to take measures to prevent the publication, showing him at the same time a number already published, which con- tained a similar memoir of an eminent and highly re- spected actor, — and was an alarming proof, as the gentle- man thought, of the writer's powers. Mr. Opie perused the memoir; and, returning it to his friend, coolly observed, that if that was all the person could do, he was very wel- come to say any thing of him that he chose ; but that he never had condescended, nor ever would condescend under any circumstances whatever, to put a stop, by bribe or ( 23 ) menace, to any thing of the kind. — For the exact words which he used on this occasion, 1 will not answer ; but I am sure that such was the sentiment which he expressed ; and I shall here take the liberty of observing, that while he scorned, by bribe or menace, to avert printed calumny against him, he also scorned to obtain, by bribe of any kind, a printed eulogium. For his fame, latterly at least, he was indebted to himself alone : — by no puffs, no para- graphs, did he endeavour to obtain public notice ; and I have heard him with virtuous pride declare, that, whether his reputation were great or small, it was self-derived, and he was indebted for it to no exertions but those of his own industry and talents. Mr. Opie was as free from prejudice on every point, as he was from vanity ; — I mean that henever espoused an opinion without well weighing both sides of the question, and was not led by his personal preferences or hatreds to prejudge any man, any measures, or any works. For in- stance : — When Mr. Burke's splendid work on the French Revolution was published, he read it with delight, and imbibed most of the political opinions of its author: but as soon as he heard that a powerful writer had appeared on the other side of the question, he was eager to read what might be said in opposition to Mr. Burke, — truth being his only object on all occasions. I think no stronger instance than this can be given of the love of fair inquiry ( 24 ) which was a leading feature in Mr. Opie's mind ; because, when that celebrated book appeared, it became a sort of religion, and those who professed its doctrines thought there was no political salvation for those who did not. And Mr. Opie had caught the enthusiasm, had imbibed the convictions which that eloquent work inspired ; — still he would not condemn the author of the Rights of Man unread, but felt the propriety and the justice of judging with his own eyes and understanding before he passed a definitive sentence. Strange is it, to the eye of reason, that conduct like this, apparently so natural and so easy, should make part of a man's panegyric, as if it were an act of uncommon virtue ; yet those who have at all ac- customed themselves to study the habits and motives of mankind in general, will own that the above-mentioned conduct was of the rarest kind', and that there are so many who are too indolent, or too prejudiced, to read, or to in- quire on certain subjects and concerning certain people, that they attribute to writers and to sects, both in politics and religion, opinions and designs which it never entered into their heads to conceive of; and, taught by prejudice and aversion, believe that on some points ignorance is graceful, and inveteracy becoming. Different was the opinion, and different the practice, of Mr. Opie. He seemed to consider a prejudice and an enemy as the same thing, and to think it as desirable to get rid of the one as 8 ( 25 ) to subdue the other. — But though all Mr. Opie's opinions might not be just opinions, whatever they were, they were the result of toil and investigation. He might, like others, occasionally mistake weeds for flowers; and bring them home, and carefully preserve them as such : but the weeds were gathered by his own hands, and he had at least by his labour deserved that they should be valuable acquisitions. On no subject did Mr. Opie evince more generosity, and liberality of mind, than in his opinions respecting women of talents, especially those who had dared to cultivate the powers which their Maker had bestowed on them, and to become candidates for the pleasures, the pangs, the re- wards, and the penalties of authorship. This class of wo- men never had a more zealous defender than my husband against the attacks of those less liberal than himself. He did not lay it down as a positive axiom, — that a female writer must fail in every duty that is most graceful and becoming in woman, and be an offensive companion, a negligent wife, and an inattentive mother. — Idleness, in both sexes, was the fault that he was most violent against ; and there was no employment, consistent with delicacy and modesty, that he wished a woman to be debarred from, after she had fulfilled the regular and necessary duties of her sex and her situation : nor, if authorship ^3 id not lead a woman to disregard and undervalue the E ( 26 ) accomplishments and manners of her own sex, or to be forward and obtrusive in company, did he think it just and candid to affix to such a woman the degrading epithets of unfeminine, or masculine. When our marriage took place, he knew that my most favourite amusement was writing; and he always en- couraged, instead of checking, my ambition to become an acknowledged author. Our only quarrel on the subject was, not that I wrote so much, but that I did not write more and better : and to the last hour of my existence I shall deplore those habits of indolence which made me neglect to write, while it was in my power to profit by his criticisms and advice ; and when, by employing myself more regularly in that manner, I should have been sure to receive the proudest and dearest reward of woman, — the approbation of a husband at once the object of her re- spect and of her love. But had Mr. Opie been inclined to that mean and jealous egotism which leads some men to dislike even good sense in our sex, an aversion originating probably in their being self-judged, and desirous of shrinking from a competition in which they know that they could not be victorious, still, it was impossible for him to find a rival amongst women ; — for, if ever there was an under- standing which deserved in all respects the proud and just ( 27 ) distinction of a masculine understanding, it was that of Mr. Opie. In many men, though of high talents and excelling genius, there are to be seen womanish weaknesses, as they are called, and littlenesses, the result of vanity and egotism, that debase and obscure the manliness of their intellect. But the intellect of Mr. Opie had such a mas- culine vigour about it, that it never yielded for a mo- ment to the pressure of a weakness ; but kept on with such a firm, untired, undeviating step towards the goal of excellence, that it was impossible for the delicate feet of woman to overtake it in its career. Of Mr. Opie's industry and incessant application I shall now beg leave to speak. — In one respect he had, perhaps, an advantage over most of his competitors. " Many artists," as Mr. Northcote ju- diciously observes, " may be said to paint to live ; — but he lived to paint." To many, painting may be a pleasure, and is a profession ; but in him it was a passion, and he was never happy long unless he was employed in the gratifi- cation of it. Whenever he came to Norwich while I was on a visit to my father, I had no chance of detaining him there unless he found business awaiting him. But no society, and no situation, however honourable and however pleasant, could long keep him from his painting-room. In the autumn of 1806 we were staying at Southill, the seat of E 2 ( 28 ) Mr. Whitbread; and never did I see him so happy, when absent from London, as he was there ; for he felt towards his host and hostess every sentiment of respect and admiration which it is pleasant to feel, and honourable to inspire. But though he was the object of the kindest and most flattering attention, he sighed to return to London and his pursuits: — and when we had been at Southill only eight days, he said to me, on my expressing my unwillingness to go away, " Though I shall be even anxious to come hither again, recollect that I have been idle eight days." But his art was not only his passion, it was also his pride; and whatever had a tendency to exalt painting and its professors in the eyes of the world, was a source of gratification to him. He used often to expatiate on the great classical attainments of Mr. Fuseli, whose wit he admired, and whose conversation he delighted in : but I have often thought that one cause of the pleasure which he derived from mentioning that gentleman's attainments was, his conviction that the learning of Mr. Fuseli was an honour to his profession, and tended to exalt it in the opinion of society. I saw the same sort of exultation in him, when Mr. Hoppner and Mr. Shee became candidates for literary reputation: — he loved to see the tie between poetry and painting drawn closer and closer (a tie which he felt to exist, though it was not generally allowed) ; and 3 ( 29 ) I well remember that, while he read the well-told tales of the one, and the excellent poem of the other, he seemed to feel a pride in them as the works of painters, and to rejoice that their authors united, in their own persons, the sister and corresponding arts. But to return to Mr. Opie's industry. — It was not only from inclination, but from principle,, that he was industrious : he thought it vicious for any one to be satisfied in art with aught less than excellence, and knew that excellence is not to be obtained by con- vulsive starts of application, but by continued and daily perseverance*; not by the alternately rapid and faint step of the hare, but by the slow yet sure and incessant pace of the tortoise. He required not the incitement of a * As a striking indication of that perseverance which so particularly cha- racterized Mr. Opie in his maturer years, I shall relate the following anec- dote : — When he was about eight years old, a sum in arithmetic was set him by his eldest brother, a friend, and a neighbour. They made a bet that he would not be able to do it. Indeed, the sum was so difficult an one, that he had la- boured at it some days without being able to accomplish the task ; and at last, after keeping his sister up till past twelve o'clock at night, she persuaded him to give up the point, and not puzzle himself any more about it. Accord- ingly, vexed and dejected, he went to bed; and, as his sister thought,, to sleep : but two hours after, he knocked at her door, requesting she would get up and give him a lighted candle ; calling out, u Sister, sister, I Gan do it!" She im- mediately rose and gave him the candle ; and before she had dressed herself ( 30 ) yearly and public competition for fame to make him studious and laborious. He would have toiled as much had there been no Exhibition, — and not only dining the few months or weeks preceding it did he prepare for that interesting and anxious period, but the whole foregoing year was his term of preparation. It was his opinion, that no one should either paint or write with a view merely to present bread or present re- putation, nor be contented to shine, like a beauty or a fashion, the idol only of the passing hour; — he felt it right for painters and authors to experience the honourable ambition and stimulating desire to live tl In song of distant days :" his time, therefore, his labour, and his study, were the coin with which he proudly tried to purchase im- mortality : nor did he ever waste the precious hours and gone down stairs, he had done the sum, and jumped about the room with joy at his success. His mother, I find, would not allow him to sit up so late as he wished, fearing (as she often said) his brains would be turned with so much learning ; therefore she would not supply him with candles. The con- sequence was, that he purchased candles with his own pocket-money, and used to get up to write and read after his parents were in bed. In summer he. always rose as soon as dawn appeared. Nay, such was his fondness for writing, that, when a very little boy indeed, he used to spend in writing-paper the penny his uncle gave him on a market-day. ( 31 ) of day-lig % ht in any pursuits or engagements which had not some connection with his art or his professional interests. No wonder, then, that every successive year saw him improved in some branch of his profession : — no wonder that one of our first painters should have said of him, " Others get forward by steps, but that man by strides.", He was always in his painting-room by half past eight in winter, and by eight o'clock in summer; and there "he generally remained, closely engaged in painting, till half past four in winter, and till five in summer. Nor did he ever allow himself to be idle even when he had no pictures bespoken : and as he never let his execution rust for want of practice, he, in that case, either sketched out designs for historical or fancy pictures, or endeavoured, by work- ing on an unfinished picture of me, to improve himself by incessant practice in that difficult branch of his art, female portraiture. Neither did he suffer his exertions to be para- lysed by neglect the most unexpected, and disappointment the most undeserved*. Though he had had a picture in the Exhibition of 1801, which was universally admired, and * Mr. Hoare Las alluded to this period (in page 13 of The Artist) in the following words : " The effects produced by hours of despondence, on a mind so strongly gifted, who can measure ? His intellectual strength, how- erer, prevailed," &c. ( 32 ) purchased as soon as it was beheld, he saw himself at the end of that year, and the beginning of the next, almost wholly without employment; and even my sanguine tem- per yielding to the trial, I began to fear that, small as our expenditure was, it must become still smaller. Not that I allowed myself to own that I desponded ; on the contrary, I was forced to talk to him of hopes, and to bid him look forward to brighter prospects, as his temper, naturally desponding, required all the support possible. But gloomy and painful indeed were those three alarm- ing months ; and I consider them as the severest trial that I experienced during my married life. However, as I before observed, even despondence did not make him indolent; he continued to paint regularly as usual, and no doubt by that means increased his ability to do justice to the torrent of business which soon after set in towards him, and never ceased to flow till the day of his death. It is probable that many young artists, men whose ha- bits and whose style are yet to form, will eagerly seek out opportunities to study the pictures of Mr. Opie,-and endeavour to make his excellencies their own ; but let them not overlook the legacy, the more valuable legacy which he .has bequeathed to students, and even to pro- ficients in art, in the powerful example of his life. Such, ( S3 ) it appears, was his application, that it would have ensured ability and renown, even had his powers been of a less superior kind ; and such were his ceconomy and self-denial, that they would have secured independence even where the means of obtaining it were slender and uncertain. For the gratifications of vanity, and for the pomps of life, Mr. Opie had no inclination ; therefore he could not be said to have merit in not trying to indulge in them. But though his tastes were simple, and he loved what may be denominated the cheap pleasures of existence, reading, conversation, an evening walk, either for the sake of exer- cise or for the study of picturesque effect, — still, there were pleasures of a more expensive sort, for which he earnestly longed, but in which his well-principled oeconomy for- bade him to indulge; — I mean the purchase of pictures and of books. But till he had acquired a certain sum, al- ways the object of his industry, — a sum that would, he trusted, make him independent of the world, — he was re- solved to deny himself every indulgence that was not ab- solutely necessary ; for he shrunk with horror from the idea of incurring debts or pecuniary obligation : and as he never squandered any thing on unnecessary wants, he was always able to discharge every debt as it was incurred, whether of the day or of the week, and to meet the exi- gencies of the moment, not only for himself, but sometimes jP ( 34 ) for others less provident, less self-denying, and less for- tunate than he was. He was temperate in most of his habits. Dinner parties, if they consisted of persons whose society he valued, he was always willing to join. Still, his habits and his taste were so domestic in their nature, that he, on the whole, preferred passing his evenings at home, to joining any so- ciety abroad ; and he employed his hours from tea- to bed- time either in reading books of instruction or amusement, in studying prints from the best ancient and modern masters, or in sketching designs for pictures of various descriptions. Not unfrequently did he allow himself the relaxation of reading a novel, even if it were not of the first class; for he was above the petty yet common affecta- tion of considering that sort of reading as beneath any per- sons but fools and women. And if his fondness for works of that kind was a weakness, it was one which he had in common with Mr. Fox and Mr. Porson. But it was with great difficulty I could prevail on him to accompany me either to public places, or into private parties of a mixed and numerous kind ; yet when at the theatre he was in- terested and amused, and still more so at the opera, as he delighted in Italian music and Italian singing; and such was the quickness of his ear, and so excellent was his musical memory, that in common he accurately remem- ( 35 ) bered a tune that pleased him, on only once hearing it. — « He played the flute pleasingly: and though he had not the smallest pretension to voice, he sung comic songs to me occasionally; and repeated comic verses with such hu- morous and apt expression, that I have often told him, I was convinced, had a troop of comedians visited his native place before he conceived his decided predilection for painting, that he would have been an actor instead of a painter; and probably would in time have been, in some kinds of comedy, at the head of his profession. He had also no inconsiderable power of mimicry : but as in the rainbow all the colours of the prism are assembled at once, though the brightest and deepest only are distinctly visible; so, where there is one distinguished and superior talent, the person, thus gifted unites and possesses usually all the rest, though in an inferior degree. But to go back to his oeconomy and self-denial. — They were often such as to make me rashly imagine them to be wholly unnecessary : still, I respected so highly his motives for the privations to which he sub- jected both me and himself, that for the most part I submitted to them cheerfully, looking forward with a hope (which was not disappointed) that the time would come when our circumstances would allow us to have more of the comforts and elegancies of life, and to receive F 2 ( S6 ) . our friends in a manner more suited to the esteem which we entertained for them. The time did come; — but, unfor- tunately, it came too late. Mr. Opie was conscious that he had nearly realized the sum so long desired. I was al- lowed to make the long-projected alterations and improve- ments in my own apartments, and he had resolved to in- dulge himself, as he called it, in the luxury of keeping a horse. You may remember, my dear Sir, that when he had given over lecturing for the season, and you were re- questing him to write a paper for The Artist against a given time, he replied that he was tired of writing, that he would be a gentleman during the spring months, keep a horse, and ride out every evening. The next time you saw him, he was on a sick couch, and the object of affectionate so- licitude to all who surrounded him ! He lived not to enjoy the independence which he had so virtuously toiled to ob- tain; but was cut off in the prime of every possession and expectation, and in that year both of his married life and mine, which I can with truth aver was the most pro- sperous and the most happy ! It may not be uninteresting to my readers to know what were the last pictures on which Mr. Opie's genius was employed. I shall therefore mention some of the most interesting amongst them; and which proved incontestably, ( 37 ) if proofs were at all wanting, that he was capable of ex- celling in every branch of his art: One of them was a very graceful portrait of Mrs. Coxe, wife of Mr. R. Albion Coxe ; — another was Mrs. R. Heathcote in the character of Miranda, and exhibited a faithful copy of the beauty which it professed to represent ; — a third was a head taken from the Miranda, but differing from it both in fea- tures and in drapery ; — and the fourth was the portrait of the Duke of Gloucester, " one of the happiest instances of his labours in perfect harmony of tone/' as you have asserted in The Artist from very high authority, namely, that of Mr. West; and while the face was allowed to be an exact representation of that of His Royal Highness, pre- judice itself alone could have denied that the air and car- riage of the figure resembled the graceful and dignified original. But the picture (a kitcat, I believe,) taken from the Miranda was literally the last which Mr. Opie finished; — and it is perhaps the most spirited as well as the most beautiful female head that he ever painted. This picture was originally bespoken by Mr. Lyster Parker, who is, you know, a liberal patron of artists of the present day ; but he gave it up to his relation Sir John Leycester, on his expressing his admiration of it, and his wish to possess it : and as it was the last picture which he lived to complete, I ( 38 ) should regret that it was the property of any one but myself, did I not know that Mr. Opie rejoiced in its destination ; and were I not assured of its being placed in that rarest of situations, a gallery consisting chiefly of modern art y doing honour to the genius who painted and to the ama- teur who admired it. Mrs. Inchbald has said, and with her usual truth of ob- servation, that Mr. Opie's "habitual ruggedness of address was stigmatized by the courtly observer with the appel- lation of ill-breeding." Nor can any one wonder that it was so ; for courtly are only too often superficial ob- servers ; and because the manner was rugged, they Avere very likely to suppose that the matter was so too. But surely, on the words uttered, and not on the manner of ut- terance, depends the truth of the question whether the speaker be ill-bred, or otherwise : for I have often heard persons with the gentlest voice, and softest address possible, make rude and cruel observations, which wounded sensi- bility to the soul. But, except when Mr. Opie felt, as Mr. Northcote observes, an honest indignation against what he conceived to be error, especially in those whom he loved and respected, he was never guilty of attacks on the feelings and self-love of others, — that worst and most obnoxious part of ill-breeding. ( 39 ) When he first came to London, — to use Dr k Wolcot's expression, " The Cornish boy, in tin-mines bred, Whose genius like his native diamonds shone," — it was reported that he used to speak unpleasant truths, which the humour that they were delivered with could scarcely render palatable. But I have reason to think that these his recorded sayings were invented, and related by a friend who wished to make him an object of public attention, and fancied that, the more of a savage he was represented to be, the greater wonder he would appear as a painter; — for, when I have repeated to him the speeches he was said to have made, he has solemnly assured me that he never uttered them ; and that he was convinced they were invented for him, to answer the purpose above mentioned. Mr. Opie had, I maintain it, too much good taste to speak truth unnecessarily and offensively : and when he could not avoid in society giving an opinion contrary to the wishes of the person requiring it, he always regretted the necessity. In proof of this, let me observe that I have often heard him admire and envy Sir Joshua Reynolds's happy manner of evading a direct answer, when applied to to give an opinion of the drawings or paintings of young ladies, or tyros in art. Sir Joshua he used to say, had ( 40 ) a method of laughing a he! he! he! so equivocally (oncd, that the parties interested in understanding it favourably might do so without any great strength of self-flat tery. Now it must be granted, that a man who scrupled not to say all that he thought, however offensive and disagreeable, would not have envied the laugh of Sir Joshua. Another proof of this is, that Mr. Opie never would believe, or allow, that Dr. Johnson, whom he had twice the happiness of painting, ever uttered the harsh things attributed to him ; or, if the testimony was so strong that he was forced to admit it, he used to maintain it, that the provocation must have been just and irresistible ; for he idolized Dr. Johnson in every point of view : and therefore the reason why he could not bear to attribute to him this offensive habit of speaking, must have been his considering it as a terrible defect. Sometimes the love of repartee, and no one had greater talents for it, might lead him to say a severe provided it was a witty thing, and sometimes a sarcastic one, if it had any pretensions to humour ; as in the following instances : — When he was one of the hangers at the Academy, in the year 1799, his companion in that office endeavoured, but in vain, to make him admire the pictures of a certain young artist. At last, wearied out with the fruitless task, he exclaimed, " Why now, Opie, look at that hand ! You never painted such a hand as that in your life/' "No/' replied Mr. Opie archly; " but you have— ( 41 ) many such/' The good-humoured artist to whom he spoke (a gentleman high in his profession) enjoyed the joke, though at his own expense : and I beg leave to add, that the painter who was the subject of it has now deserv- edly a considerable reputation. The other instance is as follows : — As we were coming from your apartments one evening, and were passing St. Giles's church, in company with a gentleman of avowedly sceptical opinions, Mr. Opie said, " I was married at that church," (alluding to his first marriage, dissolved by act of parliament.) "And I" replied our companion, " was christened there." " Indeed ! " an- swered Mr. Opie : " It seems they do not do their work well at that church then, for it does not hold." But to return to my subject. — Though Mr. Opie had never learnt those habitual re- straints which are the result of early good breeding, and are naturally imposed on us by the accidental circumstance of our being born in a certain situation of life*, he had a well-principled contempt and aversion, in which I most * From the circumstance of his humble birth, however disadvantageous it might have been to him in some respects, Mr. Opie derived one of his claims to respect and esteem, by exhibiting on all occasions the true and virtuous pride of never shrinking from the mention and acknowledgement of his former situa- tion, and never aiming to make his parentage and connections appear higher than they really were. Even 7 never knew till I read it in The Artist, that bis motber was descended from an ancient family. So far was he from wishing (o derive his consequence from aught extrinsic aught less dignified than his own conscious ability. A. O. G ( 42 ) cordially sympathize, for those who are by some denomi- nated natural characters, persons who value themselves on speaking their minds; and who, despising the graceful bond- age which politeness, or in other words benevolence, imposes on us, animadvert in cold blood on our personal or other defects, or on the defects of our nearest relations and dearest friends. Mr. Opie considered those violent attacks on the feelings and self-love of others, which persons often make because their honesty, forsooth, forbids them to be silent, as offensive habks, and thought that they should be guarded against with the strictest watchfulness. For, whatever such persons may think, it is temper, not honesty, that guides them on such occasions; and to them it might be useful to study the precept contained in the following lines : — u Large bounties to bestow we wish in vain ; But all can shun the guilt of giving pain*." Had Mr. Opie been constantly in the habit of coarsely speaking his mind, what a scene of discord might his painting-room occasionally have become ! — for, if a por- trait-painter should pique himself on being a natural character, terrible sometimes might be the consequences of a sitting ; as, of all employments, portrait-painting is, * Poem on Sensibility, by Mrs. II. More. r ( 43 ) perhaps, the most painful and trying to a man of pride and sensibility, and the most irritating to an irritable man : To hear beauties and merits in a portrait often stig- matized as deformities and blemishes ; — to have high lights taken for white spots, and dark effective shadows for the dirty appearance of a snuff-taker; — to witness discontent in the standers-by because the painting does not exhibit the sweet smile of the sitter, though it is certain that a smile on canvass looks like the grin of idiocy; while a laughing eye, if the artist attempts to copy it, as unavoidably assumes the disgusting resem- blance of progressive intoxication. Sitters themselves Mr. Opie rarely found troublesome, except when they were not punctual, or when they exhibited impatience to be gone, and the restlessness consequent on that feeling:— but not so, sometimes, were their companions and friends. Persons of worship, as Mr. Opie used to call them, that is, persons of great consequence, either from talent, rank, or widely spreading connections, are sometimes attended by others, whose aim is to endeavour to please the great man or woman by flattery, wholly at the expense of the poor artist ; and to minister sweet food to the palate of the patron, regardless though it be wormwood to that of the painter. Hence arise an eulogy on the beauties and perfections of the person painted, and regrets that they are so inadequately rendered by the person paintiDg; G2 ( 44 ) while frivolous objection succeeds to frivolous objection, and impossibilities are expected and required as if they were possibilities. I have known, indeed, several honour- able exceptions to this general rule ; but I have only too frequently witnessed its truth, and my temper and pa- tience have often been on the point of deserting me, even when Mr. Opie's had not, apparently, undergone the slightest alteration; — a strong proof that he possessed some of that self-command which is one of the requisites of good breeding. But it is certain that the picture suffered on such occasions. I have before observed that he could not converse according to his best manner, unless con- vinced that he should be listened to with pleasure and candour; nor could he paint according to his best manner, unless he felt a perfect conviction that the person whom he painted, and the person's friends, had an entire reliance on his talents and execution. If he saw that they sat re- luctantly; if he suspected that they or their connections preferred another artist, and feared that he was not able to succeed to their wishes, his hand was, as it were, paralysed ; he became as impatient to dismiss them, as they were to be dismissed ; and the picture thus finished, proved usually an unsatisfactory one to the artist and his em- ployers. Well do I remember the pleasure Mr. Opie ex- pressed on reading a proverb in one act, taken from the French of Carmonlel, and published by Mr. Holcroft, with ( 45 ) . other entertaining things, in his Theatrical Recorder. — Mr. Opie came clown to read it to me, declaring that it described so exactly the martyrdom which portrait-painters undergo, he could scarcely believe that he did not write it himself. Of all persons of worship, he Avas the most eager to paint Mr. Fox, whose character he loved, and whose talents he venerated : but it was with fear and anxiety that he began a task so arduous and so interesting ; because he knew that to the result of his labours many an eager and expecting eye would be turned, and because he felt a grateful desire to execute his task so as to satisfy his generous employer. Nor did he find his task easier than he expected it would be; for, with almost the single exception of Mr. Coke himself, (for whom he painted the picture,) he was not much encouraged to proceed on his work by the praises of Mr. Fox's companions and friends, though their remarks were always made with gentleness and urbanity ; — while the impatience of the sitter to have the task of sitting over, added no little to the anxiety of the painter. Mr. Fox saw and felt for the uneasiness that Mr. Opie experienced, and with his usual kindness and good sense he said to him one day, — " Mr. Opie, don't mind what those people say, for after all you must know better than they do/' The picture under all these disadvantages was. • ( 46 ) however, finished ; and pleased, at least, the many : and what was of most consequence, it satisfied Mr.Coke ; — but it never entirely satisfied the ambition of the painter ; though, as I find in the 7th number of The Artist, it was, " for perfect harmony of tone," admired by the best judges. However, when exhibited, the portrait was an object of interest and approbation ; and Mr. Fox, who sat opposite to Mr. Opie at the Academy dinner, and overheard the general tribute paid to the strength of the resemblance, said to him across the table, — " There, Mr. Opie, you see I was right; everybody thinks it could not be better: now if I had minded you, and consented to sit again, you most probably would have spoiled the picture." I shall now come to the closing scenes of a life so dear and so valuable; but I cannot dwell on them minutely, nor can I be expected to do so. Great as my misery must have been at such a moment under any circumstances, it was, if possible, aggravated by my being deprived of the consolation and benefit of my fathers presence and ad- vice at that most trying period of my life, for he was at- tending the sick-bed of his, apparently, dying mother. Yet she recovered, at the age of eighty-five, to the perfect enjoyment of life and happiness ; while Mr. Opie was cut off in the very prime of his days ! But let me dwell on the brighter side of the picture. Let me be thankful for the blessing I experienced in the presence of that sister ( 47 ) so dear to my husband, who, by sharing with me the painful yet precious tasks of affection, enabled me to- keep from his bed all hired nurses, all attendants but our deeply-interested selves, — that was indeed a consolation : but it was not my only one; for I received in those awful moments such kindnesses and such obligations as can never be repaid by me, except the indelible sentiments of gratitude which they excited in me may hope to be con- sidered as adequate payment. Such was the general in- terest which Mr. Opie's illness occasioned, and such the anxiety experienced at his danger, that strangers seemed to consider themselves as acquaintances, and thronged our door with inquiries; while acquaintances behaved like friends ; and from friends we experienced the attentive tenderness of the nearest relations. Much did I need, and greatly did I value, their support; as only one of my relations (Dr. Woodhouse) was with me during my trial, and (together with Mr. Thomson, R. A. who in early life was Mr. Opie's pupil, and always his companion and his friend,) shared with affectionate solicitude our exertions and our anxieties. I need not tell you that if any human powers, whether of skill, or affection, or attention, could have saved him, he would have been saved ; for you were one of those kind friends who remained near us till every hope was over: and to your well-timed, though unsolicited, inter*- ( 48 ) ference I owe, under circumstances as difficult and de- licate as they were agonizing and overwhelming, the sup- port and sanction of Sir John St. Aubyn's presence and advice, that early and just appreciator of the merits of Mr. Opie, who, through the whole of his professional career, united the kindness of a friend to the services of a patron ; and who, by manners the most engaging and attentions the most flattering, secured from the grateful and deeply-feeling heart of my husband, the fullest return both of affection and respect. But I should be wanting in every good and honourable feeling, if I were to omit paying this public tribute of gatitude to Mr. Carlysle and Dr. Ashe, who, refusing all pecuniary remuneration, attended for nearly a month, twice or three times, nay sometimes four times a-day, with the most indefatigable attention and gratifying soli- citude ; — or to Mr. Cline, who attended as consulting sur- geon ; or to Dr. Pitcairne, Dr. Baillie, and Dr. Vaughan, who, without any other reward than the pleasing con- sciousness of doing all in their power to preserve the life of a man who was an ornament to his country, gave me, by their daily presence and advice during the last days of the illness, the soothing conviction that we had left no human means untried to ward off the inevitable blow. It is also highly gratifying to me to reflect that, while Mr. Opie's consciousness remained unimpaired, J had it ( 49 ) in my power to gratify his feelings by informing him of the general interest which his indisposition excited, from the prince to the menial. He had likewise the satisfaction of knowing that his brother-artists were eager to offer him their best services on the occasion. Mr. Northcote, whom circumstances had made for some time a stranger at our house, hastened thither, as well as Mr. Owen, to promise their assistance, as members of the council at that time, in obtaining leave for Mr. Opie to finish his pictures at So- merset House, should his recovery take place before the opening of the Exhibition ; well knowing that on this sub- ject his mind was excessively anxious, and being kindly eager to do all in their power to make it easy. Mr. North- cote was admitted to his bedside: and Mr. Opie, after hav- ing spoken to him on the subject of his pictures, entered into so luminous and discriminating a criticism on some papers lately printed on Art, that, eager to catch at the slightest glimmering of hope, I listened with delighted attention to all he said ; led away by the weak and ill- founded, though comforting idea, that, as Mr.Opie's mental powers remained so vigorous and unimpaired, the chance of his recovering his physical strength was by no means at an end. But in a very few hours more, I saw that fine mind completely overthrown, and learned to feel in all its acuteness the bitterness of disappointed hope. H ( 50 ) But to Mr. Thomson's offers of assistance at this period (whose attention, indeed, was throughout as useful and well-timed as it was kind and disinterested,) I owe the greatest satisfaction that it was in my power to experience at such a moment, and the most soothing consciousness which I have now to look back upon, when I revert to the painful scenes of the illness ; namely, the certainty that my husband's last perceptions in this world were of a pleasurable nature. Circumstances had kept Mr. Thomson also from our house during the few preceding months; but when he heard of the illness, and that it was likely to be a pro- longed one, he offered to finish (as soon as he had completed his own) such of Mr. Opie's pictures as he was most desirous should appear in the Exhibition. "When I communicated Mr. Thomson's offer to my hus- band, he desired me, with an expression of joy which I shall never forget, to call him to his bedside ; and he eagerly requested him to finish the robes and background of the Duke of Gloucester's portrait, and also that of Mrs. R. Heathcote in the character of Miranda; — but the latter was not sufficiently advanced to be completed in time; and it was the Duke's picture only that Mr. Thomson undertook to work upon. On Saturday morning (the day on which the pictures were to be delivered at Somerset House) . ( 51 ) Mr. Thomson brought the portrait of the Duke to the foot of the bed ; and though the delirium attending Mr. Opie's complaint was then begun, " the ruling passion strong in death" conquered it awhile, and he made his remarks on what his friend had done for him, as clearly and as justl y as if he had been in perfect health. — " 1 think," said he, " there is not colour enough in the background." Mr. Thomson owned the justice of the remark, and having added more colour brought it again into the room.— Mr. Opie then looked at it with the greatest satisfaction, and said with a smile, " It will do now. — Take it away — it will do now. — Indeed, if you can't do it, nobody can." And the delirium seemed to take its turn from this cir- cumstance, — this happy circumstance, of his knowing that the portrait concerning which he was most anxious would appear at the Exhibition : for he was painting, in idea, on it till the last closing hour of his life ; and his countenance gave me the consolation of knowing that his feelings were comfortable ones, and that he was conscious neither of our misery, nor of his own situation. The general and individual regret which the death of Mr. Opie occasioned, and the honours paid to his memory, so flattering to him, so soothing to me, and so honourable to those who paid them, proved, undeniably, how truly society feels the value, and how deeply it laments, " the loss of a man of genius." H2 ( 02 ); You have said that Mr. Opie was ambitious, — honourably so I mean ; and the following anecdote proves the truth of the assertion : — When Sir Joshua died, and it was known that he was to be buried in St. Paul's, Mr. Opie tri- umphantly and prophetically as it were exclaimed to his sister, — "Aye, girl ! and I too shall be buried in St. Paul's!" He was so: and as we always hold sacred the wishes of the dead, whom we have fondly loved while living, I bless God that I was able to bury him there ! — Nor shall I ever cease to remember with gratitude and satisfaction the long and honourable procession which attended him thither ! So general seemed the wish to do his memory honour by such an attendance, that, of those who were invited to attend, scarcely any sent a refusal, and two only who had ac- cepted the invitation staid away without giving an ade- quate reason for their absence. Well may Mr. Boaden say, that a public tribute like this " must strike the moral eye with the purest pleasure as the triumph of genius ! as a lesson which of itself teaches industry, and honour, af- fection, and gratitude*." Here I shall conclude my long and melancholy task, a * It is worthy of remark that, with the exception of Sir J. St. Aubyn, Mr. Whitbread, and my highly esteemed friend Mr.W. Smith, the pall-bearers were gentlemen neither long nor intimately known to Mr. Opie; and were therefore led to attend by no motives of personal regard, but simply by their wish to do honour to departed genius. ( 53 ) task which has awakened in me emotions the most pain- ful; as dwelling on the merits of him who has been taken from me, could not fail to deepen every regret for his loss. But I shall never lament that I did undertake, and did execute the task, however I may be censured for having undertaken it at all, or for having executed it so un- worthily. — Whatever were the faults of Mr.Opie, admitting that I was aware of them, it was not for me to bring them forward to public view; and the real worth of his character in domestic life, I only can be supposed to know with accuracy and precision : and I most solemnly aver, that I have not said in his praise a single word that I do not be- lieve to be strictly true ; — but it was my business to copy the art of the portrait-painter, who endeavours to give a general rather than a detailed likeness of a face, and, while he throws its trivial defects into shadow, brings for- ward its perfections in the strongest point of view. There is one satisfaction that I shall derive from having written this little work, which no censures, no criticisms, no critics can deprive me of; and that is, the well-founded hope that by means of these tributary pages my name will descend with Mr.Opie's to posterity : — for as the gums of the East give perpetuity amongst Eastern nations to the bodies of the dead, so the merit of Mr. Opie's work will ( 54 ) ensure immortality to mine; and this public testimony to his virtues, borne by her who knew him, and who loved him best, will live, I trust., as a memorial of my gratitude to him, for nine years of nearly uninterrupted happiness. Believe me, dear Sir, with grateful respect and esteem, your obedient servant, AMELIA OPIE. THE SEVENTH NUMBER OF THE ARTIST. Saturday, April 25, 1807. TO THE MEMORY OF John opie, The VIIth Number of THE ARTIST AMIDST THE UNITED SORROW, AFFECTION, AND RESPECT, OF THOSE WHO WERE HI3 ASSOCIATES IN THE PRESENT UNDERTAKING; THE FRIENDS OF HIS PRIVATE LIFE, ADMIRERS OF HIS PROFESSIONAL EMINENCE. IS INSCRIBED, AND I ( 53 ) ** Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise., (That last infirmity of noble mind) To scorn delights, and live laborious days ; But the fair guerdon when we hope to find, And think to burst out into sudden blaze, Comes the blind Fury with abhorred shears, And slits the thin spun life." — Few men have attained to eminence by a more irregular course of study, by stronger native endowments, or by more determined industry, than the great painter whose name at this moment inspires public regret. The child of humble life, born in a remote and secluded part of the island, with little or inferior education, such as humble and busy parents could bestow, he was destined to trans- plant to the bosom of the metropolis the hardy products of a sound an*d rigorous intellect, and to add strength and lustre to civil cultivation. ( 59 ) John Opie was born in May, 1761, in the parish of St. Agnes, about seven miles from the town of Truro. His father and grandfather were reputable master-carpenters in that neighbourhood. His mother was descended from the ancient and respectable family of Tonkin, of Trevaw- nance in Cornwall, and, amongst his ancestors in that line, is mentioned the author of a valuable history of Cornwall, which was left .nearly finished, and is at present in the possession of Lord De Dunstanville. He was very early remarkable for the strength of his understanding, and for the rapidity with which he ac- quired all the learning that a village school could afford him. When ten years old, he was not only able to solve many difficult problems of Euclid, but was thought ca- pable of instructing others : and such was his increasing confidence in his own superior powers, that he had scarcely reached his twelfth year, when he set up an evening school in St. Agnes, and taught arithmetic and writing, for the latter of which he was excellently qualified, as he wrote many various hands with admirable ease and accuracy; and he reckoned among his pupils some who were nearly twice his own age. His father was very solicitous to bring him up in his own business, and to this end bound him apprentice to himself; biit the soaring mind of the boy could not submit itself to drudge in the employment of a common man. I 2 ( 60 ) The love of drawing and painting seems to have given a very early bias to his inclinations; and the manner in which it disclosed itself cannot be considered as unin- teresting. Emulation appears to have first lighted up the ready flame. About the tenth year of his age, seeing one of his companions, whose name was Mark Oates (now a captain in the marine service), engaged in drawing a butterfly, he looked eagerly, in silence, at the performance : on being asked what he was thinking of, he replied, " he was think- ing that he could draw a butterfly, if he was to try, as well as Mark Oates/' He accordingly made the experi- ment, and triumphed ; and he returned home to his fa- ther's house in high spirits, on account of the victory he had obtained. From this moment the bent of his talents was deter- mined. It happened soon afterwards, that his father being employed in the repairs of a gentleman's house in Truro, young Opie attended him : in the parlour hung a picture of a Farm-yard, probably of humble execution, but of sufficient merit to attract his notice ; and he took every opportunity of stealing from his father's side to contem- plate the beauties of this performance, which, in his eye, were of the highest class. His father, catching him in one of these secret visits, corrected him ; but this had little effect; he was soon again at the door of the parlour, ( 61 ) ■where being seen by the mistress of the house, he was, by her interference, permitted to view the picture without in- terruption. On his return home in the evening, his first care was to procure canvass and colours, and he imme- diately began to paint a resemblance of the Fajnn-yard, The next day he returned to the house, and again in the evening resumed his task at home. In this manner, in the course of a few days, by the force of memory only, he transmitted to his own canvass a very tolerable copy of the picture. Nearly by the same methods, he copied a picture of several figures hunting, which he saw in the window of a house-painter. In his copy, however, he had, in com- pliance with the costume of his neighbourhood, placed a huntress upon a pad instead of a side-saddle, and being laughed at for this mistake, he some time afterwards de- stroyed his copy. The love of painting had thus so thoroughly established its dominion over his whole mind, that nothing could now divert him from engaging in it as a profession : his father, however, still treated his attempts with great severity, and used his utmost endeavours to check a pursuit, which he considered as likely to prove injurious to his son's future prosperity ; but the aspiring views of the young artist met with a zealous supporter in another part of his family : his father s brother, a man of strong understanding, and more- ( 62 ) over an excellent arithmetician, continued to view his progress with pleasure, and encouraged him in his desire of learning, by jocularly complimenting him with the name of the little Sir Isaac, in consideration of the know- ledge he displayed in mathematics. He therefore followed his new studies with ardour, and had already attained a competent skill in portrait-paint- ing, and had hung his father s house with the pictures of his family, and of his youthful companions, when he be- came accidentally known to Dr. Wolcot, then residing at Truro (and since so celebrated under the title of Peter Pindar), who having himself some skill in painting, a sound judgment, and a few tolerable pictures, was well fitted to afford instruction, and various advantages, to the young scholar. Thus assisted and recommended, his fame found its way through the country, and so rapid was his progress, that he now commenced professed portrait-painter, and went to many of the neighbouring towns, with letters of intro- duction to all the considerable families resident in them. One of these expeditions was to Padstow, whither he set forward, dressed, as usual, in a boy's plain short jacket, and carrying with him all proper apparatus for portrait- painting. Here, amongst others, he painted the whole household of the ancient and respectable family of Pri- deaux ; even to the dogs and cats of the family. He re- ( 63 ) mained so long absent from home, that some uneasiness began to arise on his account, but it was dissipated by his returning dressed in a handsome coat, with very long skirts., laced ruffles, and silk stockings. On seeing his mother, he ran. to her, and, taking out of his pocket twenty guineas, which he had earned by his pencil, he desired her to keep them ; adding* that, in future, he should maintain himself. The first efforts of his pencil, though void of 'that grace which can only be derived from an intimate knowledge of the art, were true to nature, and in a style far superior to any thing in general produced by country artists. He painted at that time with smaller pencils, and finished more highly than he afterwards did when his hand had attained a broader and more masterly execution : but several of his early portraits would not have disgraced even the high name he has since attained. Towards the end of the year 1777? when he was sixteen years of age, he brought to Penryn a head he had painted of himself for the late Lord Bateman, who was then at that place with his regiment (the Hereford Militia), and who was an early patron of Mr. Opie, employing him to paint pictures of old men, beggars, &c. in subjects of which kind he was principally engaged, and which he treated with surprising force, and truth of representation- At length, still under the auspices of Dr. Wolcot, he * came to London, where his reception, and his continued. ( 64 ) progress, are the fit objects of the biographer. It is the purpose of this paper to delineate solely his character, as a man, a scholar, and an Artist. Mr. Opie's ruling passion was ambition, — but ambition tending to the use and delight of mankind. It impelled him to eminence in his art, and it displayed itself in a resolution always decided, sometimes impetuous, to ob- tain every distinction which his path in life laid open to him. Accustomed in childhood to prove himself superior to his companions, the desire of competition became un- extinguishable. Wherever eminence appeared, he felt and eagerly shewed himself its rival. He was forward to claim the honours, which he was still more diligent to de- serve. He regarded every honourable acquisition as a victory, and expressed with openness the delight he ex- perienced in success. On the professorship of painting in the Royal Academy becoming vacant by Mr. Barry's dismissal, he offered himself a candidate; and being told that he had a competitor, whose learning and talents pre- eminently entitled him to that office, he replied, that he abstained from farther interference, but that the person who had been proposed was the only one in whose favour he would willingly resign his pretensions : consistently with this declaration, on Mr. Fuseli's appointment to the office of keeper, he renewed his claim, and was elected. Examples of a mind more open to the reception of ( 65 ) knowledge, more undaunted by difficulty, more unwearied in attainment, are rarely to be found. Conducted to London, by the hand of one who discerned his yet un- veiled merit, he approached the centre of an exalted country with the liveliest hopes : he met its flatteries with trembling; and he viewed its unfeeling caprice with the sensitive emotions of genius, but with the unconquerable force of sense and judgment. An intellect, naturally philosophic, soon discovered to him that he was not born to depend on the frivolous conceit of crowds, but to com- mand the respect of the great and wise. He bent his powers to the formation of his own mind ; he applied himself to reading; he sought the society of the learned; ardent in his researches, boldly investigating truth, per- tinacious (though not overbearing) in argument, while he elicited light from his opponent, and steady to principles which he found could not be shaken by controversy: in this manner, while an unremitting perseverance, superior to the neolect of the multitude, maintained the cunnins: of his hand, he became a scholar and a painter. The Life of Reynolds, published in Dr. Wolcot's edition of Pilkington's Dictionaiw, was the first specimen of his literary ability. In this he displayed a profound know- ledge of the subject, a quick and powerful perception of distinctive character, and a mastery of language little to K ( m ) \ be expected from a youth) who was supposed to hate been destitute of learning. He next published a letter in a daily paper [The True Briton] (since re-published in "An Inquiry into the requisite Cultivation of the Arts of Design in England,") in which he proposed a distinct plan for the formation of a National Gallery, tending at once to exalt the arts of his country, and immortalize its glories.. To this he annexed his name, in consistence with the openness of character which at all times distinguished- his actions. His lectures at the Royal Institution followed : — These were a spirited attempt to display the depths of his pro- fessional knowledge, amidst a circle assembled for enter- tainment and fashionable delight. His lectures impressed respect on his audience: they were full of instructive ma- terials ; they taught the principles of painting, and pre- sented an accumulation of maxims founded on history and observation. But to whatever praise they might vin- dicate a claim, they never satisfied their author; and he declined the continuance of them. His election to the professorship of painting at the Royal Academy happen- ing nearly at this time, he resolved to perfect what he had perceived defective; and he read at Somerset House four lectures, which, avoiding any collision with the bril- liant sbecimens of erudition and imagination which had' ( 67 ) immediately preceded him in that place, appeared to have been unequalled in their kind. In his former lectures at the Royal Institution, he was abrupt, crowded, and frequently unmethodical; rather rushing forward himself, than leading his auditors, to the subject. In the latter lectures, he was more regular, pro- gressive, distinct, instructive; and delivered a mixture of humorous and impassioned sentiment in a strain of clear, natural, and flowing eloquence. Here he found his genius roused, and his whole faculties adequately excited ; and he shone more as professor at the Academy, than as lec- turer at the Institution, because he was more formed by nature and application to address the studious and philo- sophic, than the light and gay. He possessed no super- ficial graces, either in his conversation or professional practice. Every thing in him was manly, resolute, ener- getic ; yielding little to fashion, nothing to caprice ; less addressed even to fancy than to judgment; in no measure adapted to catch a careless glance, but fitted to awaken thought, and gratify reflection. It has been said by some who most probably never ex- changed a word with Mr. Opie, that his mind was without cultivation. That this was not the case is plain from what has been related. It may not be amiss to notice, that Mr. Opie read French well, and understood some- K 2 ( 68 ) thing of Latin and music ; all attained by his own unceas- ing application. It would be an omission of public duty not to add, that to whatever degree of respect Mr. Opie's talents finally raised him, he may yet be brought forward as another instance in which we have cause to re ore t the want of established public direction of his art. After the first flow of curiosity on his arrival in London had subsided, and when he could no longer be " the wonder of the day," " the boy drawn out from a tin-mine in Cornwall/' his real qualities ceased to attract attention, and, what was worse, employment. His respectable and amiable patron, Sir John St. Aubyn, stood his friend at that interesting moment; and among many, who might well have been proud to share the honour, he stood alone. But " the progress of morals," says Lord Kaims, "is slow; the pro- gress of taste still slower." The effects produced by hours of despondence on a mind so strongly gifted, who can measure? His intellectual strength however prevailed ; the force of his endowments gradually, though slowly, raised him once more to ad- miration and to fame ; the conscious sense of acknow- ledged merit re-animated his efforts; he exerted himself with perseverance, and rose to renown ; — he appeared to feel that he had just reached again the level of his self- ( 69 ) opinion, when death extinguished his talents and his am- bition. P. HOARE. Mr. Opie expired on Thursday April 9, 1807. He had been attended by Dr. Ash, Dr. Vaughan, and Mr. Carlisle, with the addition, during the latter stage of his illness, of Dr. Pitcairn and Dr. Baillie. The symptoms of his dis- order were extraordinary. On dissection, the lower por- tion of the spinal marrow, and its investing membrane, were found slightly inflamed, and the brain surcharged with blood; with other accordant appearances, consti- tuting a case of most rare occurrence in the records of medicine* On Monday, the 20th instant, his remains were interred in St. Paul's Cathedral, near to those of Sir Joshua Rey- nolds. Mr. Opie is next to be spoken of as a painter, in which rank he stood deservedly eminent. The general merits of his works, the masterly boldness of effect, the simplicity of composition and artless attitudes, the strength of cha- racter, the expression of individual nature, are too well ( 70 ) known to be here dwelt on. Amongst his best historical pictures, may be reckoned the Murder of James I. King of Scotland, The Presentation in the Temple, Jephthah's 'Vow, The Death of Rizzio, Arthur taken Prisoner, and Arthur with Hubert. It would be endless to enumerate all that might be praised : his Juliet in the Garden, Escape of Gil Bias, Musidora, and some others, remaining in his gallery, are amongst the most valuable. His latter portraits rank with the highest; those of men are distinguished by force and character; those of women by an unaffected air, and simplicity of colouring. The following observations on Mr. Opie's merits in painting, are from high professional authority in his art (Mr. West, President of the Royal Academy). Mr. Opie's conception of his subject was original, and his arrangement of it ideal : his execution depended, in great measure, on the character of the model which he placed before him for imitation in finishing the parts. He painted what, he saw, in the most masterly manner, and he varied little from it. He rather bent his subject to the figure, than the figure to his subject. That may be said of Opie, which can only be truly said of the highest geniuses, that he saw nature in one point more distinctly and forcibly than any painter that ever lived. The truth of colour, as conveyed to the eye through ( ?1 ) the atmosphere, by which the distance of every object is ascer- tained, was never better expressed than by him. He di- stinctly represented local colour in all its various tones and- proportions, whether in light or in shadow, with a perfect uniformity of imitation. Other painters frequently make two separate colours of objects, in light, and in shade : Opie never.. With him no colour, whether white, black, primary, or compound, ever,, in any situation, lost its re- spective hue- For the expression of truth, which he was thus powerful in giving, it was requisite that he should see, or have seen,, the object itself in the peculiar situation. The impression, never left him, and he transmitted the image with fidelity to the canvass.. lie resigned himself unwillingly to fancy: yet examples are not wanting, both in historical subjects, and in portraits, in which he added to the subject before him with felicity. His Arthur supplicating Hubert (among many others) had an expression which certainly he did not find in his model. In the portrait of an artist, exhibited last year at Somerset House, he gave to the representation an ideal elegance, which rendered the head truly poetical, without in any manner detracting from the likeness. His pictures possessed, in. an eminent degree, what painters call breadth. They were deficient in some of the more refined distinctions which mark the highly polished, ( n ) works of RafFaelle, Titian, or Reynolds ; but they displayed so invariable an- appearance of truth, as seemed sufficient to make a full apology, if it had been wanted, for the absence of all the rest. On his canvass, in general, no heterogeneous tones ap- peared : all was played in one key. This principle was observed with the extremest nicety in single figures, though not always equally in the whole. The figure and the back ground were each separately just, but they did not always harmonize. One of the happiest instances of his labours, in the perfect harmony of tone, is the picture of Belisarius, at present in the British Gallery, and soon to add value to that of the Marquis of Stafford. His portrait of Mr. Fox, in the Exhibition of 1805, and that of the Duke of Glou- cester, which will be seen in the ensuing one, are examples of similar excellence. In his drawing, the same principle prevailed as in his. colouring. Every thing was homogeneous ; every thing was marked with precision, and in its place. He gave vivacity and force of expression to every subject of his pencil. ( 73 ) JOHN OPIE, Esq. R.A. PROFESSOR OF PAINTING TO THE ROYAL ACADEMY. A man, whose intellectual powers, and indefatigable industry in their cultivation, rendered him at once an honour to the county from which he originated, and an example of imitation to mankind ! Born in a rank of life, in which the road to eminence is rendered infinitely difficult, unassisted by partial patron- age, scorning with virtuous pride all slavery of dependence, he trusted alone for his reward to the force of his natural powers, and to well directed and unremitting study ; and he demonstrated by his works, how highly he was endowed by nature with strength of judgment and originality of conception. His thoughts were always new and striking, as they were the genuine offspring of his own mind ; and it was difficult to say if his conversation gave more amuse- ment or instruction. The toil or difficulties of his profession were by him con- sidered as matter of honourable and delightful contest ; and it mio-ht be said of him, that he did not so much paint to live, as live to paint* As a son, he was an example of duty to an aged parent. He was studious, yet not severe ; he was eminent, yet not L ( 74 ) vain : his disposition so tranquil and forgiving, that it was the reverse of every tincture of sour or vindictive; and what to some might have appeared as roughness of man- ner, was only the effect of an honest indignation towards that which he conceived to be error. How greatly have we cause to lament that so much talent, united to so much industry, perseverance, and knowledge, should have been prematurely snatched from the world, which it would have delighted with its powers, -v and benefited by its example ! J. NORTHCOTE. A TRIBUTE TO THE MEMORY OF OPIE. How oft of late, o'er worth departed shed, The tears of Britain have embalm'd the dead ! Bewail'd the hero's fall — the sage's fate, While public virtue sorrow 'd thro' the state J Yet still unsated with the noblest prey, Ungorg'd, tho' meaner multitudes decay, 'Gainst wit and genius Death directs his dart, And strikes thro' Opie's side to Painting's heart. Fall'n from the zenith of his proud career, Full in his fame, and sparkling in his sphere ! While o'er his art he shed his brightest rays, And warm'd the world of letters into praise. ( 75 ) No feeble follower of a style or school ; No slave of system in the chains of rule : By his own strength his merits he amass'd And liv'd, no. dull dependent on the past : His genius kindling from within was fir'd, And first in nature's rudest wild aspir'd. Warm at her shrine his early vows he paid, Secur'd her smile, and sought no other aid : Enraptur'd still her charms alone explor'd, And to the last with lovers' faith ador'd. For when ambition bade his steps advance, To scenes where Painting spreads her vast expanse : When all the charts of taste before him lay, That show'd how former keels had cut their way, With fearless prow he put to sea, and steer'd His steady course, where her pure light appear'd- His vigorous pencil, in pursuit of art, Disdain'd to dwell on each minuter part, Impressive force — impartial truth he sought, And travell'd in no beaten track of thought. Unlike the servile herd, whom we behold Casting their drossy ore in fashion's mould ; His metal by no common die is known, The coin is sterling, and the stamp his own. Opie, farewell ! — accept this feeble verse, This flow'r of friendship cast upon thy hearse ! Though Fate severe, in life's unfaded prime, Hath shook thee rudely from the tree of time, Thy laurel thro' the lapse of years shall bloom. And weeping Art attend thee to the tomb ; X2 ( 76 ) While Taste, no longer tardy to bestow The garland due to graphic skill belosv, Shall point to Time thy labours, as he flies, And brighten all their beauties in his eyes, ' < Exalt the Painter, now the man 's no more, A\v\ bid thy country honour and deplore! M. A. Shef. When merely a rich man, or a nobleman, departs this life, his treasures and his titles are transferred to another, and the world loses nothing. But when an artist dies ! when that hand is for ever motionless, which was uni- formly employed in the production of works of eminent art; when that mind is for ever fled, whose deepest thoughts were all devoted to a noble science, the world sustains a loss of one of its most rare possessions — a man of genius ! Such is the deprivation which every admirer of the talents of the late Mr. Opie must feel upon his decease. But, in deploring the death of this studious artist, there is a consolation, of no small importance, in recurring to the simplicity of his life. The total absence of artificial maimers was the most remarkable characteristic^ and at the same time the adornment and the deformity, of Mr. Opie. ( 77 ) His habitual ruggedness of address was stigmatized by the courtly observer with the appellation of ill-breeding ; whilst a plainer and wiser description of persons found, in this contempt of affectation, such a security from design, either upon their hearts or their understandings, that they willingly yielded him both : and they made this sacrifice, with a kind of joyful astonishment, to observe, that where the Graces never appeared — the Virtues acted for them. E. Inchbjld. \ ( 78 ) TO TEE EDITOR. My Dear Sir, Tuesday, April 21, 1807. You are pleased to desire that I will close the paper which you have, with so much feeling and propriety, de- voted to our late friend. Well do I know how little even a life passed in the contemplation of art, enables him who is not a professor, to speak with propriety upon the sub- ject, or for the most part to rise beyond a half-learned technical jargon, the delusion indeed of ignorance, but the scoff of the artist. Yet to one point, even of his professional merits, I am competent to speak, and my appeal for confirmation of what I say, shall be to the illustrious body of which he was a member. I mean the path which he chose to tread, when ascending to the summit of reputation. There was nothing indirect, specious, or false about him, and I am sure he would have died without fame, had it been unat- tainable without cabal. His virtues never tricked them- selves out to catch favour, and to form party: it became a sort of test; — he who was not born for truth and manli- ness, could not love Opie. But this was only* carrying into the Academy the same ( 79 ) qualities which endeared him to his private friends. In Opie } r ou were sure to find a mind which deferred only to superior force. He was no retailer of notions originating in folly, and propagated without examination as undenia- ble truths. Upon whatever subject he conversed, you saw that he took nothing upon trust, and you were sure to find the hardy feature of his character stamped upon his sentiments. This was the principle in him, that developed itself in those admirable lectures, which we all heard with so much delight. In some instances, he had to combat with prejudice, to censure power and affluence — but he disdained all shuffling and compromise, when the glory of his art and his country called upon him for the plain truth. He met the enemy in the gate : he was not satisfied with the discharge of an unowned shaft from the loop-hole of a distant tower. I know that to some this frank, open conduct appeared uncalled-for ; nay, I have even heard it termed ooarse : but the coarse man is he who says a rude thing in bad language, and not he who with a noble simplicity comes immediately to the point, and, when he has obtained con- viction, in the plainest words delivers his judgment. If I were to attempt to characterize him in one word (I should most certainly use that word to the honour of our species) it would be, that he was a genuine Englishman-— affec- tation he despised, and flattery he abhorred. ( 80 ) Such was the man whom we have lost — lost too at that period, when he was beginning to reap the rewards of la- bour, and enjoy the fame of great talents. And here I should close this very imperfect sketch of an admirable character, did I not feel myself called upon to notice, in terms of sincere admiration, the just tribute to his remains, which we yesterday witnessed in St. Paul's Cathedral. When it is remembered that this proceeded from pious respect, and that there were assembled superior talents in every elegant art, and friendship collected from every de- partment of cultivated life*, it must strike the moral eye with the purest pleasure, as the triumph of genius ! as a lesson, which of itself teaches industry and honour, af- fection and gratitude. J. BOADEN. * The Pall-bearers were, Lord De Dunstanville, Sir J. St. Aubyn, Sir J. F. Leicester, Hon. Mr. Elphinstone, Mr. Whitbrcad, and Mr. W. Smith. The President- and Members of the Royal Academy followed, with other numerous Friends. ( *S0 ) EPITAPH ON JOHN OPIE, Esq., R. A. What though nor rank nor affluence grac'd the birth Of him who now rejoins our parent Earth, Nature for higher ends his course design'd, And gave the rich nobility of Mind : Hence while he liv'd the Wealthy and the Great Might view with envy his superior fate ; Nor as his Equals can they e'er appear Till Death has levelled them like Opie here; And still, while they in dark oblivion lie, The name his Genius raised shall Death defy. *£ ( 81 ) NOTE. The Four Lectures on Painting, now presented to the Public, in their complete form, as they were delivered at the Royal Academy, constitute the larger part of that system of Professional Instruction, which their enlightened Author appears to have had in his view. In his first Lecture he will be found to have divided the subject of his Art into six branches; four of which he calls the Practical or Physical Elements of Painting; and the other two, the Intellectual. The former are: Design, or Dr awing \ Colouring ; Chiaro Scuro ; Composition : The latter, Invention ; Expression. The present Lectures treat: the 1st, of Design; the 2d, of Inven- tion; the 3d, of Chiaro Scuro; the 4th, of Colouring. As Mr. Opie's manuscripts were intrusted to my care immediately after his decease, I think it requisite to declare that the Lectures are faithfully printed from them P. HO ARK. May 1, I8O9. LECTURE I. READ AT THE ROYAL ACADEMY, February 16, 1807. LECTURE I. READ AT THE ROYAL ACADEMY, February 16, 1807. Gentlemen, If the difficulties of your professor's task have always been at least equal to the honour of his situation, they must surely at present be allowed to preponderate considerably, by his having to come after one to whom all sources of knowledge were open, who to a mass of well digested materials, possessed by none but himself, joined an ima- gination capable of illustrating and enlivening the driest subject, and placing it in the most various and striking points of view, and the force of whose eloquence must have made an indelible impression on all who ever had the pleasure of hearing it. Such indeed is the magnitude of the undertaking, that, though I have practised long and studied much, I should b 2 shrink from it in despair, did I not hope to find you pre- pared almost to anticipate every advice, eager to catch every hint, and ready to second my endeavours with earnest and unceasing diligence. Aided by such a disposition on your part, I have no doubt that even my feeble powers may do much ; but you must always remember that the responsibility for your progress does not lie wholly with me. If you are wanting to yourselves, rule may be multiplied upon rule, and precept upon precept in vain, and all the talents of all the professors that ever lived, far from ren- dering you any essential service, would only tend to cover you with deeper and more irrecoverable disgrace. What I have to offer, will in general be found to cor- respond with the opinions of those who have written on the subject before : sometimes, however, I have ventured to leave the beaten track ; but I can honestly say, that it has never happened through negligence, caprice, or vanity. — Truth, not novelty, has invariably been my object ; and, in order more effectually to arrive at this point, I now give notice that if any gentleman, student or otherwise, will have the goodness to set down any doubts or objections he may have as to the clearness or soundness of any point I insist on, and communicate them to me, I will next year, if not before, endeavour to satisfy him by a farther ex- planation, or by retracting my opinion if I find it un- tenable. The writers on painting seem in general not less solici- tous than those on most other arts, of tracing it back to the remotest periods of antiquity ; some ascribing it to divine, others to human origin, some giving it an ante- diluvian birth, whilst others are content to take it up on this side the deluge, and warm themselves in settling the pretensions of the Chaldeans, Egyptians, Persians, Indians and other early nations, to the honour of having been it's first parents and protectors. Having; neither leisure nor inclination to enter into disputes which promise to be as endless, as unproductive of any thing beneficial either in regard to the theory or practice of the art, I shall confine myself to such observa- tions on it's origin, as rise naturally from considering it's principles, without reference to historical evidence of any kind whatever. The rudiments of painting appear to me so congenial to the mind of man, that they may almost be said to be born with it. The art is a language that must exist,in some greater or less degree, whenever the human intellect approaches a certain, and that by no means an elevated, standard. Instead therefore of asking where it was, I should be more inclined to ask where it was not invented, as the more dif- ficult question to solve : for on the slightest consideration it cannot but be obvious, that men in the earliest, and every period, must (from natural causes) have been im- pressed with an idea of the elements of art. The shadows 6 of plants, animals and other objects, on a plain, the prints of feet in the dust or sand, and the accidental resemblance of lines and patches of colour to faces and human figures, must have given rise to the conception, and pointed out the possibility of imitating the appearances of bodies by lines and colours. — Thus nations in which society appears to be scarcely beyond it's infancy, possess the first rudi- ments of design before they are acquainted with those of many other arts more useful and almost necessary to their existence; their naked bodies are covered with punctures of various forms, into which indelible colours of various kinds are infused, — whether for ornament or use, to delight their friends, or terrify their enemies, is not easy to de- termine. After this first step, the next demand for the art would undoubtedly be to communicate and transmit ideas, to pre- serve the memory of warlike exploits and remarkable events, and to serve the purposes of piety or superstition ; it being a much more obvious and natural expedient to form some picturesque representation of a person or action, than to attempt to give an account of them by means of abstract signs and arbitrary characters ; and hence probably are derived the picture-writing of the Mexicans, and the more artful hieroglyphics of the Egyptians. But though the arts of design are among the first that make their appearance after those absolutely necessary to preserve life, they are perhaps always the very last that reach perfection : with an almost inextinguishable prin- ciple of vitality, they yet require the fervid warmth of the acme of civilization to expand them to their full size, and give them to bear fruits of the highest flavour. The progress of the arts in every country is the exact and exclusive measure of the progress of refinement : they are reciprocally the cause and effect of each other ; and hence we accordingly find that the most enlightened, the most envied, and the most interesting periods in the history of mankind are precisely those in which the arts have been most esteemed, most cultivated, and have reached their highest points of elevation. To this the bright aeras of Alexander the Great, and Leo the Tenth, owe their strongest, their most amiable, and their most legitimate claims to our respect, admiration, and gratitude; this is their highest and their only undivided honour ; and, if not the column itself, it is certainly (to borrow a metaphor from a cele- brated orator) the Corinthian capital of their fame. The principles of painting comprehend those of all the other arts of design, and indeed of every thing in which the imagination or the passions are immediately addressed through the organs of sight. In this art, (the simplest in it's means and the most powerful in it's effect,) by the mere application of lines and colours, a flat surface is made to recede or project at the will of the artist, he fills it with the most agreeable appearances of nature, and sets before our eyes the images we hold most dear. The empire of the 8 art extends over all space and time : it brings into view the heroes, sages, and beauties of the earliest periods, the inhabitants of the most distant regions, and fixes and per- petuates the forms of those of the present day ; it presents to us the heroic deeds, the remarkable events, and the in- teresting examples of piety, patriotism, and humanity of all ages ; and, according to the nature of the action de- picted, it fills us with innocent pleasure, excites our ab- horrence of crimes, moves us to pity, or inspires us with elevated sentiments. Nor are it's powers limited by actual or bodily existence ; the world of imagination is all it's own. It ascends the brightest heaven of invention, and selects and combines at pleasure whatever may suit it's purpose. — All that poets yet have feigned, or fear conceived, of uncreate or un- embodied being, is subject to it's grasp ; and most truly may it be said to " give to airy nothing A local habitation and a name." Painting, we are told, consisted, in it's infancy, of mere outlines, and probably for a long time very little exceeded what we now see scrawled in a nursery by children who have never been taught to draw : the next step of the art was to the monogram, or the addition of some parts within the contour; from thence it advanced to the monochrom, or paintings of one colour; and to this quickly succeeded the polgckrom, or the application of various colours, per- formed by covering the different parts of the picture with different hues, much in the same way as we now colour maps; and beyond this the art has never advanced among nations of the East, even to the present time. But in Greece, happy country! all causes were com- bined in favour of the progress of the art, as if nature was determined to show for once what the human powers, aided by every circumstance, were capable of accomplish- ing. Painting w r as there received with enthusiasm, li- berally encouraged, and pursued by a succession of the mightiest geniuses the world ever saw, who with incredible rapidity completed it's elements, by the addition of light and shade to colour, and of action to form, and of expres- sion to action, and composition to expression, and grace to composition: every delicacy of execution and mecha- nical skill crowned the whole, and the art, in their hands, became adequate to the representation of all that is grand, beautiful, terrific, or pathetic in nature : nor did they stop here; like our immortal bard, Each change of many-colour'd life they drew, Exhausted worlds and then imagin'd new ; Existence saw them spurn her bounded reign, And panting Time toil'd after them in vain. In short, they not only surpassed all that went before, but have equally baffled every attempt at successful ri- 10 valry since. From them all that exists of true beauty, grace, and dignified character, in the works of the mo- derns, not only in painting and sculpture, but in every thing that relates to design, is borrowed. All that is well proportioned, grand, and striking in our architecture, all that is agreeable in the forms of our utensils and furniture, and all that is tasteful and elegant in the dress of our fe- males, is derived immediately from them; and but for them even beauty in nature itself would perhaps at this time have been undiscovered, or so far misunderstood, that we might have preferred the artificially crippled form and sickly corpulence of a Chinese, or the rank and vulgar re- dundance of a Flemish or Dutch female. Nature, as it presents itself to the eye, consists of form, colour, and light and shadow: exactly answerable to these, the principal branches of painting consist likewise of drawing, colouring, and chiaro scuro ; and as the eye can take in, at once, but a certain portion of nature, the art has another branch to regulate the quantity and disposi- tion of the parts of this portion, called composition. These four constitute the practical or physical elements of paint- ing ; and their immediate purpose is to produce illusion, deception, or the true bodily effect of things on the organs of sight. And as by the phenomena of form, colour, and light and shade, nature makes us acquainted with all her superior and more interesting qualities, so the cor- It responding brandies of painting, through the medium of invention and expression, (the soul of the art,) are made the vehicles of our conceptions of sublimity, beauty, grace, mind, passion, and character. Invention and expression, being purely intellectual branches, justly bear in consequence a more elevated rank and degree of estimation ; but it must never be forgotten that they cannot exist alone ; perfection in them presup- poses perfection in the humbler and more mechanic parts, which are the instruments, the language of the art : without these a man is no painter; and however extra- ordinary, abundant, brilliant or refined his ideas, they must die with him ; at least he can never manifest them to the world by painting. To know an art thoroughly, we must know it's object, which, in regard to painting, is not quite so easy as it appears at first: for though all agree that it's purpose is to imitate nature, yet the vast superiority possessed by many works of art over others equally challenging to be considered as true and faithful representations of nature, 6hows that some limitation and explanation of this very extensive and complicated term is necessary to our form- ing a correct idea of it's meaning in respect to art; with- out which it will be vain to hold it up as a standard or measure of the various merits of the different works in painting. c 2 12 The gross vulgarity and meanness of the works of the Dutch ; the pert frivolity and bombast of the French ; the Gothic, dry and tasteless barbarism of the old German, as well as the philosophic grandeur of the Roman school, may all be equally defended on the ground of their being strong and faithful representations of nature of some sort or other. In real objects also, the base and the refined, the dross and the metal, the diamond in it's rough pebble state, as well as when polished, set, and presented in it's brightest blaze, the goitre of the Alps, as well as the most perfect beauty, are all equally nature : — but who ever thought them equally proper subjects for the pencil ? In taking a general view and comparing the productions of art, they will be found easily divisible into three di- stinct classes, formed upon three distinct principles or modes of seeing nature, and indicative of three distinct ages, or stages of refinement, in the progress of painting. First, those of which the authors, agreeing with Dryden that " God never made his works for man to mend," and understanding nature as strictly meaning the visible ap- pearances of things, (any alteration of which would at least be unnecessary and impertinent, if not profane,) have, in consequence, confined themselves to the giving, as far as in them lay, an exact copy or transcript of their originals, as they happened to present themselves, without choice or selection of any kind as to the manner of their being, 13 Secondly, those in which the artists, departing a little from this bigotry in taste, have ventured to reject what they considered as mean and uninteresting in nature, and en- deavoured to choose the most perfect models, and render them in the best point of view. " The third class would consist of the works of those who, advanced another step in theory, have looked upon nature as meaning the general principles of things rather than the things themselves, who have made the imitation of real objects give way to the imitation of an idea of them in their utmost perfection, and by whom we find them represented not as they ac- tually are, but as they ought to be. This last stage of refinement, to which no modern has yet completely arrived, has been called the ideal, the beautiful, or the sublime style of art. It founds it's pre- tensions to superiority on the very superior powers re- quired to excel in it, and on the infinitely greater effect, both as to pleasure and improvement, which it is calcu- lated to produce on the mind of the spectator; and hence the pure, simple, energetic and consistent principle on which it rests, is indubitably to be considered as the true and real interpretation of the term nature, always to be kept in view, not only by all who would excel in painting, but by all who wish to attain the highest style in any of the imitative arts. Many painters and critics, from observing the difficulty 14 of settling tlic proper meaning of the term Nature, have thought fit to substitute beauty in it's stead, as the im- mediate object of the great style of art. But beauty being a word to the full as indefinite, if not as complex, as the word nature, we shall not be surprised to find that many painters of no mean abilities have been led into very fatal mistakes from erroneous and inadequate conceptions of it's meaning : we shall not be surprised at the namby pamby style of many of the works of Albano ; we can hence account for the maimer and affectation of Guido, who, understanding the term in too confined a sense, thought he was of course to paint, on every occasion, the handsomest woman possible ; and taking accordingly, in his opinion, the most beautiful antique statue for his model, he constantly repeated in his works the same face, without variation of expression or character, whatever was the subject, situation, or action represented ; whether a Venus or a milkmaid, the Assumption of the Virgin, the Death of Cleopatra, or Judith cutting off the head of Holofernes. This principle has also evidently been the great stumbling-block of the whole French school, to which it owes the larger share of it's absurdity and insi- pidity, it'a consumptive languor, and it's coquettish affec- tation. I will not undertake the perilous task of defining the word beauty ; but I have no hesitation in asserting that when beauty is said to be the proper end of art, it must not be understood as confining the choice to one set of objects, or as breaking down the boundaries and destroy- ing the natural classes, orders, and divisions of things (which cannot be too carefully kept entire and distinct); but as meaning the perfection of each subject in it's kind, in regard to form, colour, and all it's other associated and consistent attributes. In this qualified and, I will venture to say, proper acceptation of the word in regard to art, it may be applied to nearly all things most excellent in their different ways. Thus we have various modes of beauty in the statues of the Venus, the Juno, the Niobe, the An- tinous, and the Apollo; — and thus we may speak, without exciting a confusion of ideas, of a beautiful peasant, as well as of a beautiful princess, of a beautiful child, or a beautiful old man ; of a beautiful cottage, a beautiful church, a beautiful palace, or even of a beautiful ruin. The discovery or conception of this great and perfect idea of things, of nature in it's purest and most essential form, unimpaired by disease, unmutilated by accident, and unsophisticated by local habits and temporary fashions, and the exemplification of it in practice, by getting above individual imitation, rising from the species to the genus, and uniting, in every subject, all the perfection of which it is capable in it's kind, is the highest and ultimate exer- tion of human genius. — Hitherto shalt thou go, and no 16 further — every step in every direction from this pole of truth is alike retrograde — for, to generalize beyond the boundaries of character, to compose figures of no specific age, sex, or destination, with no predominant quality or particular end to be answered in their construction, is to violate propriety, destroy interest, and lose the very es- sence of beauty in contemptible nothingness and insipidity. Conceptions of beauty or perfection take place involun- tarily in the mind, through the medium of that wonderful and powerful principle, the association of ideas: but they will be very far from distinct or correct, unless we also employ much study of the laws of nature, investigate closely her methods of attaining her purposes, observe accurately her rules of proportion, and how they are varied in every department of character, develop the connexion of mind with matter,, trace their reciprocal effects on each other, and learn, in all cases, to distinguish the harmonious, consistent, and energetic, from the absurd, superfluous, and inefficient combinations of parts and principles. As the most fashionable and approved metaphysicians of the present day seem inclined to deny the existence of general ideas, I shall not contend for the propriety of applying that term to ideas formed on the principles I have been mentioning; but under whatever denomination they may be classed, it cannot be denied that they are the true and genuine object of the highest style of painting. Poetry, though unlimited in it's field of description, and omnipotent as the vehicle of relation and sentiment, is capable of giving but faint sketches of form, colour, and whatsoever else is more immediately addressed to the sight; and the Drama, however impassioned and interest- ing, can only exhibit form and motion as they actually exist : but the utmost conceivable perfection of form, of majesty of character, and of graceful and energetic action, have no physical existence; they are born, bred, and re- side in the human imagination only, never to be drawn from thence but by the hand of the consummate artist, working on the sublimest principles of his art. Here it may be necessary to notice that the term ideal, like those of nature and beauty, has probably been the source of very great and grievous errors. Instances have occurred of some, who have even been so absurd as to think co- louring, chiaro scuro, and all that contributes to illusion in painting, as beneath their attention ; who, because they have heard that nature might be improved upon in some particulars, have fondly imagined that their compositions approached the heroic and poetical in proportion as they receded from nature and became muddy, tame, and mo- notonous in the effect ; forgetting that the ideal has refer- ence to the forms, character, choice and congruity only of things, and not at all to the rendering the appearance of D 18 them Avith truth, vivacity, and energy to the eye; in which art is so far from being capable of excelling nature, that, with her best efforts, she must ever remain at an immea- surable distance behind. How colouring and effect may and ought to be ma- naged, to enliven form and invigorate sentiment and ex- pression, I can readily comprehend and, I hope, demon- strate; but wherein these different classes of excellence are incompatible with each other I could never conceive: nor will the barren coldness of David, the brick-dust of the learned Poussin, nor even the dryness of Raffaelle him- self, ever lead me to believe that the flesh of heroes is less like flesh than that of other men; or that the surest way to strike the imagination, and interest the feelings, is to fa- tigue, perplex, and disgust, the organ through which the impression is made on the mind. Let it therefore be always understood that the end of painting, in it's highest style, is twofold: first, the giving effect, illusion, or the true appearance of objects to the eye; and, secondly, the combination of this with the ideal, or the conception of them in their utmost perfection, and under such an arrangement as is calculated to make the greatest possible impression on the spectator. With such purposes in view, consisting of such a multi- plicity of parts, and requiring such an uncommon assem- blage of powers, mechanical and mental, of hand, of eye, 19 of knowledge, of judgment, of imagination, and of in- defatigable perseverance in study and practice, to enable a man to perform any one part with tolerable success, it can be no wonder that the art has not as yet, in modem times at least, reached the desired perfection; nor ought we to be surprised to find even the most celebrated masters materially defective in some one or more of it's branches, — those who possessed invention, having been frequently deficient in execution ; those who studied colouring, having often neglected drawing; and those who attended to form and character, having been too apt to disregard composition, and the proper management of light and shadow. The whole together, indeed, seems al- most too great for the grasp of human powers, unless ex- cited, expanded and invigorated, by such enthusiastic and continued encouragement as that which exclusively marks the bright sera of Graecian taste. Impressed as I am at the present moment with a full conviction of the difficulties attendant on the practice of painting, I cannot but feel it also my duty to caution every one who hears me, against entering into it from im- proper motives, and with inadequate views of the subject; as they will, thereby, only run a risk of entailing misery and disgrace on themselves and their connexions during the rest of their lives. Should any student therefore happen d 2 20 to be present, who has taken up the art on the supposi- tion of finding it an easy and amusing employment — any one who has been sent into the Academy by his friends, on the idea that he may cheaply acquire an ho- nourable and profitable profession — any one who has mis- taken a petty kind of imitative, monkey talent for genius* — any one who hopes by it to get rid of what he thinks a more vulgar or disagreeable situation, to escape confine- ment at the counter or the desk — any one urged merely by vanity or interest, — or, in short, impelled by any consi- deration but a real and unconquerable passion for excel- lence; — let him drop it at once, and avoid these walls and every thing connected with them as he would the pesti- lence ; for if he have not this unquenchable liking, in ad- dition to all the requisites above enumerated, he may pine in indigence, or sculk through life as a hackney likeness- taker, a copier, a drawing-master or pattern-drawer to young ladies, or he may turn picture-cleaner, and help Time to destroy excellencies which he cannot rival- — but he must never hope to be, in the proper sense of the word, a painter. Strait is the gate and narrow is the way that leads to* excellence, and few there be that find it. True as this undoubtedly is in all cases, in no instance will it be found so applicable as the present ; for in no profession will the 21 student have so many difficulties to encounter — in no pro- fession so many sacrifices to make — in no profession will he have to labour so hard, and study so intensely — and in no profession is the reward of his talents so precarious and uncertain, — as is lamentably proved by every day's expe- rience, and by every page of history. Let me not be told that, by such assertions, I am raising obstacles and throwing obstructions in the paths of men of genius, for to such obstacles act as a stimulus ; what quenches others gives them fire; and I am confident a knowledge of the truth will in the end equally benefit the art and the artist. Should any one be discouraged by it, I will say to him, I have rendered you an essential service ; you will soon find some other situation better suited to your talents* But to those who can, undismayed, look all the difficulties in the face; w T ho have made up their minds to conquer; who are ready to sacrifice their time, their ease, their pleasure, their profit, and devote themselves, soul and body, to the art, — in short, who cannot be restrained from the pursuit of it ; to those I will say, You alone are worthy, you alone are likely to succeed : You give the strongest proofs that can be obtained, of possessing all the necessary requisites, and there is every probability that you will do honour to your art, your country, and yourselves ; for nothing is denied to persevering and well-directed industry. 22 I wish we could see— I wish we could ever hope to see — the time when all external obstacles to the progress of art Mere removed ; but as to the internal difficulties, however they may fret us, I am afraid we must, and ought to, con- sider them as our very best friends. They put me in mind of an anecdote of two highwaymen, which, as it is short, I shall take the liberty of introducing : — " Two highwaymen (says a certain author) passing once by a gibbet, one of them, with an ill-boding sigh, exclaimed, ' What a fine profession ours would be, if there were no gibbets !' 1 O, you blockhead/ says the other, * how much you are mis- taken ! — Gibbets are the making of us ; for, if there had been no gibbets, every one would be a highwayman/ " Just so it is in art : difficulties serve to keep out unqualified and unworthy competitors ; if there were no difficulties, every- one would be a painter. Of the several branches or divisions of the art, separately considered, design or drawing is undoubtedly the most important; for on drawing, not only form, but action, ex- pression, character, beauty, grace, and greatness, chiefly depend. Colour represents nothing, and lights and sha- dows have no meaning, till they are circumscribed by form. Drawing is therefore evidently the foundation and first element of the art, without which all the others, ideal or practical, are not merely useless, but non-entities. 23 Hence it is clear that drawing must have existed before any other branch of painting, and that drawing must still have precedence in the order of acquirement; and hence we can be at no loss to account for the enthusiasm with which it has been spoken of, nor for the zeal with which the study of it has been enforced by all teachers of the art. " He," says Sir Joshua Reynolds, " that is capable of delineating fine forms, even if he can do nothing more, is a great artist." And Annibale Carracci was wont to say to his scholars, " First make a good outline, and then (whatever you do in the middle) it must be a good picture." Many more expressions to the same effect, and of equal authority, might be quoted, but we have yet another proof infinitely superior to the opinion of any individual, however exalted, of the supreme necessity and comprehensive uti- lity of drawing ; for, in all the various schools and aca- demies that have been instituted, in every place and country in which painting has obtained a local habitation, what has been invariably their object ? Has it not been design alone ? How little, if any, has been the attention bestowed on other branches of the art ? If you ask them, * What is the first requisite in a painter ?' will they not say, Drawing? 4 What the second?' — Drawing — 4 What the third Vmm Drawing, They tell you indeed to acquire colour- 24 ing, chiaro scuro, and composition, if you can ; but they insist on your becoming draughtsmen. After this, to doubt the importance of drawing, would be as absurd and ar- rogant as to doubt whether the institution of academies have in any degree contributed to the advancement of painting. Were I to give an opinion on the prevailing practice of academies, I should say, not that too much attention has been bestowed on drawing, but that certainly too little has been paid to other branches of the art. A man who has obtained a considerable proficiency in one part, will not like to become a child in another; he will rather pretend to despise and neglect, than be thought incapable, or take the pains necessary, to conquer it ; and therefore it is, that, though the student must necessarily commence with draw- ing, he should also very soon begin to attempt chiaro scuro, colouring, and composition, and thus carry on the whole together, if he wishes to become a complete artist. Good drawing, in the most confined acceptation of the term, demands at least two qualities, correctness and spirit; that is, the forms and quantities should be just, and rendered with precision and facility, which, simple as it may appear, not only requires an accurate eye and a skilful hand, — the result of incessant practice, — but these must also be accompanied by a clear understanding of 25 the construction and mechanism of the subject attempted, for (as invariable experience proves) he that is unac- quainted with the shapes and structure of the bones and joints which support and govern the animal frame, and knows not how the muscles (the moving powers) are arranged, fixed, and connected, and their modes of action, can make little or nothing of the continually varying ap- pearance of them through their integuments, and the most successful endeavour at representing them would necessarily include as many blunders, as the translation of a book of science by a person who understood the language only, and was totally ignorant of the subject of it. We cannot, as I have heard a great man express himself on another occasion, see at sight. A tolerably correct un- derstanding of the construction and leading principles of an object, is requisite even to the seeing it properly ; and the weight of the obligation on a painter to study anatomy will appear to increase in a tenfold ratio, when we likewise take into the consideration, how seldom it happens that nothing more is required of him than to represent his objects standing still, or lying in a motionless or languid position before him ; for, if, in such cases, the eye alone be insufficient to enable him to render them correctly, how much more so must it prove, in regard to figures enlivened by senti- ment, or agitated by contending passions, and thrown into sadden, animated^ and momentary action, in which- a E 26 living model (if capable of being placed at all) can hold but for an instant, and must quickly sink into quiescent torpidity! Here it is certain, that, if the artist possess not a thorough knowledge of the figure, if he understand not correctly the arrangement and play of all it's different parts, their various and mutual dependencies on each other, and the appearances they must naturally assume in every given position, — if, at the same time, he be not equally familiar with the rules of proportion, ponderation, and the just division and balance of motion, in every joint and limb, he will find it impossible to " catch the Cynthia of the minute his labour will be vain ; his living model, far from proving an useful pattern, will rather tend to lead him astray, and his (under such circumstances) pre- sumptuous attempt at drawing must inevitably be deficient in precision, correctness, energy and grace. The uses of anatomical knowledge being so obvious, I shall only remark, in addition, that, as it has generally been too much neglected, so it has sometimes also been pursued too far. There are those who have suffered it to usurp the first place, and considered it as the end, instead of the means. Let the student be on his guard against this mistake ; for, though by inflating the muscles, ploughing up the interstices between them in every direction, push- ing the bones through the skin, or flaying his figures com- pletely, he may possibly show himself an able anatomist, 57 he will infallibly prove himself a bad painter. Let him re- member that the bones and muscles are always covered by their integuments, and that they are more or less visi- ble, square or round, soft or firm, divided or united into masses, according to the age, sex, occupation, situation, circumstances, and character of the subject, the expression of which with force, precision and fidelity, is always to be regarded as the principal end of drawing. The study of anatomy, as I have before hinted, must necessarily be accompanied by that of proportion and symmetry ; for what will the most intimate knowledge of the different parts of the human body, and their several functions, avail us, if we are, at the same time, ignorant of their relative lengths, sizes, and thickness in regard to each other and to' the whole together, on which, and on the regulation of the precise degrees of meagreness, mus- cularity, softness, firmness, elasticity, rigidity, refinement or vulgarity, whieh must equally pervade every part of each figure, all unity, force and discrimination of cha- racter immediately depends. General notions of proportion may undoubtedly be ac- quired with the greatest certainty and facility by a care- ful and persevering study of the antique, but they can be matured and completed only by referring to Nature, the fountain-head or mine, from whence all those surprising, e 2 23 and since that time incomprehensible, treasures of ex- cellence must have been derived. In nature, the elements and leading features of the ani- mal ceconomy are few ; and the astonishing variety by which it is distinguished, appears to consist chiefly in the forms, quantities, and relative proportions of the parts. Every class of animals, and every individual of every class, is variously endowed with appropriate degrees of bulk, strength, and elasticity of body, and of energy, sagacity and comprehension of mind, according to it's destination ; and every combination of these, or other, qualities, is in- separably connected with a particular set of proportions and configuration of parts, at once descriptive of the qualities united, and conducive to the end proposed by their union. Thus the combined qualities, and the com- bined proportions, are always reciprocally the exponents of each other. Hence, by viewing the form only of an animal, we are enabled to predict its qualities, whether it be strong or subtle, active or slothful, courageous or timid ; and hence it also follows, that the true expression of character in painting depends on the proper conforma- tion and adjustment of the parts to the whole and to each other, according to the unalterable and universally esta- blished laws of Nature. Of these laws, or latent principles, of form, now so • 29 little understood, the ancients, by long study and laborious experiment, made themselves completely masters. They saw what particular proportions marked the physical powers; they understood what denoted the moral ; they observed how the situation and shape of the head varied with the increase or decrease of intellectual vigour and comprehension, and, by skilfully applying their know- ledge to practice, by judiciously exaggerating (in some cases) the peculiar distinctions of man, compared with the inferior classes of animals, by suiting the proportions to the qualities intended to be expressed, and by avoiding the mixture of any thing incongruous or unnecessary, they produced those concentrated, dephlegmated and highly rectified personifications of strength, activity, beauty, ma- jesty, wisdom, and enthusiasm, which astonish and enchant us, under the names of the Hercules Farnese, the Venus, the fighting Gladiator, the Jupiter, and the Apollo. The works of the ancients can never be studied too much, but they may easily be studied improperly: the prime object, which ought always to be kept in view, as the only means by which we can ever hope to rival them, is the re-discovery, in it's fullest extent, of the principle on which they were formed, which none of the moderns have yet comprehended, nor probably attempted, scarcely su- specting it's existence : the best of them have, in general, contented themselves with selecting some favourite figure, 30 and using it on all occasions indiscriminately as a rule of proportion, absurdly forgetting that, if it was exactly proper in any one instance, it must necessarily be more or less improper in all others. Thus, in escaping the mean- ness and vulgarity of common nature, they confounded all distinction of character, and became incurable man- nerists, insipid or extravagant, according to their choice of a model. Nor is this the only evil to be dreaded and guarded against in the imitation of the antique statues: for though, as Rubens justly observes, we can never consider them too attentively, or study them too closely; though, in order to attain perfection in painting, it is necessary to understand them, nay, to be so thoroughly possessed of this know- ledge, that it may diffuse itself every where, (for in this degenerate age we can produce nothing like them,) yet it is no less certain that ignorant painters and beginners, who make no distinction betwixt the figure and the stone, the form and the material of which it is composed, often learn from them somewhat that is stiff, crude, lineg, and harsh in respect to anatomy ; by which, while they take themselves to be good proficients, they do but disgrace Nature instead of ennobling her, losing all her warmth and feeling, and giving us marble tinged with various colours in the place of flesh. — In sculpture, it must be remembered that, without any fault in the work or the 31 workman, many outlines and shadows appear hard, dense, and opaque, which in nature are softened and harmonised by the colour and transparency of the flesh, skin, and cartilages, and that the lights also are extremely different from the natural, the hardness and polish of the material giving them a lustre and sharpness, which dazzles the eye, and raises the surface beyond the proper pitch. The truth of these observations is too obvious to need a comment, but the Avhole force of them can hardly be felt by those, who have not lately had an opportunity of viewing the works of the French school, in which, at pre- sent, the mischievous effects of an inordinate rage for copying the antique, are too notorious for any thing but the blindest prejudice to overlook or tolerate. It seems, indeed, to be the fate of this school to be ever in extremes. Formerly they were tawdry coxcombs ; now they affect to be the plainest quakers in art: — formerly they absurdly endeavoured to invest sculpture in all the rich ornaments of painting; now they are for shearing painting of her own appropriate beams, and reducing her to the hard' and dry monotony of sculpture : — formerly their figures were obscured by splendid colours, buried under huge masses of gorgeous drapery flying in all directions, and lost amid columns, arcades, and all kinds of pompous and misplaced magnificence; now they glue their dra- peries to the figure, paste the hair to the head in all the 32 lumpish opacity of coloured plaster ; nail their figures to a hard unbroken ground, and, avoiding every thing like effect and picturesque composition, often place them in a tedious row from end to end of the picture, as nearly like an antique bas-relief as possible. In short, it seems to be the principal aim of a French artist to rival Medusa's head, and turn every thing into stone ; and so far it must be confessed, to their credit, that, however they may have failed to equal the beauties of the antique, they have certainly copied, nay even improved on, it's defects with uncommon success. When I say the defects of the antique, I mean in re T gard to painting only, for in sculpture I consider them as beauties. The ancients understood exactly what each art could, and what it could not, perform, and wisely con- fined themselves, in the latter art, to the display of ele- gance and precision of form, just discrimination of cha- racter, and forcible expression of passion; but, in painting, I have no doubt that these were combined with many other excellencies : — for to suppose, as the French evi- dently do, that they followed precisely the same practice, that they did not attempt to give more lightness, fulness, richness and freedom to their hair and draperies ; that they forbore to avail themselves of the powers of colour, and the artifices of contrast, to give depth, distance, and effect to their compositions, which however impracticable, 33 and therefore absurd, in sculpture, are completely with- in the province, and form some of the most essential and appropriate beauties, of the sister art, — to suppose this, is to suppose them devoid of taste, and totally ig- norant of the nature, extent, and powers of the art of painting. " There is" says Dry den, " no short cut or royal road to the sciences." This remark will equally apply to drawing, which must be acquired by assiduous study and practice, and cannot be bought for money, nor taught by precept merety. I have pointed out some of the leading requisites and difficulties, and shown, in part, the way to eminence; but on your own energies you must at last rely for the attainment of it. I shall therefore finish my observations on this head, by repeating what cannot be too often re- peated, too strongly impressed on your minds, nor too firmly fixed in your memory, that drawing is the only sure and stable foundation of the art, the only step by which you can ascend into the highest seats in the temple of Fame. By other excellencies you may, for a while, charm the senses, but drawing is almost the only weapon, by which you can reach the understanding and touch the heart; it is the only instrument, by which you can de- monstrate elegance and beauty, develop character, and unlock the hidden recesses of passion. All other acquire- ments derive from it irresistible force and beauty; but 34 unsupported and unassisted by correct, masterly, and scientific drawing, they can, at best, reach but a second rate and temporary celebrity : when the tide of taste rises, and the winds of criticism bluster and beat upon it, the showy but ill-founded edifice must quickly be swept away, or swallowed up and forgotten for ever. These remarks are the more necessary, as it must be confessed that the strength of the English painters never lay so much as it ought in design; and now, perhaps, more than ever, they seem devoted to the charms of colour and effect, and captivated by the mere penmanship of the art, the empty legerdemain of pencil. But if the English artist runs counter, in this instance, to the established character, of his country, and prefers the superficial to the solid attainments in art, has he not many excuses ? may it not, in a great measure, be attri- buted to the general frivolity and meanness of the sub- jects he is called upon to treat? to the inordinate rage for portrait painting (a more respectable kind of carica- ture), by which he is condemned for ever to study and copy the wretched defects, and conform to the still more wretched prejudices, of every tasteless and ignorant indi- vidual, however in form, features and mind utterly hostile to all ideas of character, expression, and sentiment ? And may it not, in part, be attributed to the necessity he is under, of painting always with reference to the Exhibition? t 35 In a crowd, he that talks loudest, not he that talks best, is surest of commanding attention; and in an Exhibition, he that does not attract the eye, does nothing. But how- ever plausible these excuses, it becomes the true painter to consider, that they will avail nothing before the tri- bunal of the world and posterity. Keeping the true end of art in view, he must rise superior to the prejudices, disregard the applause, and contemn the censure, of cor- rupt and incompetent judges ; far from aiming at being fashionable, it must be his object to reform, and not to flatter, — to teach, and not to please, — if he aspires, like Zeuxis, to paint for eternity. In taking a retrospective view of the progress of the art in modern times, it will be seen, that the two first schools, both in rank and time, made design, and it's de- pendent excellencies, their chief objects of study ; which was no more than might have been expected, as design (I have already shown) must necessarily be attended to, in some degree, antecedently to any other branch of the art. But the artists of these schools had another, and a much more powerful, motive to urge them to the almost exclusive cultivation of this principal root and stem of p 2 i 36 painting: they had the exquisite remains of ancient sculp- ture to contemplate : these began from a very early period to attract general admiration : from these the first germs of correct taste were scattered among the people of Italy ; by these their artists had their eyes first opened, and their minds first impregnated with ideas of true beauty; by these they first acquired elevated and just conceptions of nature, and were taught to look beyond the imitation of individual models for perfection of form, for graceful action, and for purity and grandeur of character. But though both these schools made design a primary object, they differed essentially in regard to style, and in the manner of it's application. Severity, energy and loftiness bordering on extravagance, characterize the prin- cipal works of the Florentines. Their style of design approaches the gigantic ; it abounds with abrupt transi- tions and violent contrasts, and affects an expression of strength and fierceness, by which grace is but too often excluded, and propriety violated. Taught by the ancients to soar above common nature, they often mistook what was only uncommon and far-fetched, for the great and the extraordinary, and failed to interest, from too ardent a desire to surprise. To their credit, however, it must be remembered, that modern painting owes them infinite obligation ; they first 37 burst the trammels of diyness, meagreness, hardness, and servile imitation; first introduced the free, bold, and flow- ing outline; gave the first examples of dignified character, energetic action, and concentrated expression ; invented chiaro scuro and grouping; and often imparted to their works a majesty unrivalled by any subsequent productions of art. On the whole, satisfied with commanding admira- tion, the Tuscan artists may be said to have considered the task of pleasing as beneath their notice. The school of Florence, independent of it's merits, has an indisputable title to the veneration of all lovers of the' arts, as the first in Italy which cultivated them. Painting, which had languished and become nearly extinct with the Roman Empire, was revived by Giovanni Cimabue, born of a noble family at Florence, about the year 1240. His works, as may easily be imagined, were in a very ordinary, not to say wretched, style ; but, if they had not excited the admiration, and received the applause, of his countrymen, Florence in all probability would never have been honoured with such a painter as Michael An- gelo Buonaroti. It would be as tedious as useless to recount the stam- mering and babbling of the art in it's infant state. I shall therefore pass on to about 150 years after the death of Cimabue, when the dawning of an enlarged and liberal style of design began to appear at Florence ; when 33 Massaccio, whose works are still in existence, produced figures which Raphael, in the zenith of his reputation, did not disdain to transplant into some of his most cele- brated compositions; when the intricacies and difficulties of fore-shortening began in some measure to be under- stood and subdued; when colouring and composition were attempted by Andrea Verocchio, Andrea Mantegna, and Luca Signorelli of Cortona ; and when, in short, all cir- cumstances seemed to concur to usher in, with becoming splendour, Leonardo da Vinci, one of the first luminaries of modern art, and one of the most extraordinary of men. If it be true that " one science only will one genius fit," what shall we say to the man, who, master of all mental and all bodily perfections, equally excelled in painting, poetry, sculpture, architecture, chemistry, anatomy, ma- thematics, and philosophy ; who renders credible all that has been related of the admirable Creichton, who at- tempted every thing and succeeded in every attempt ; who, sailing round the world of art and science, touched at every port and brought home something of value from each ? This was the glory of Leonardo, and this was also his weakness; for, equally in love with grandeur and littleness, beauty and deformity, character and caricature, he be- stowed his attention on them all by turns, and soared or dived, as the caprice of the moment directed. His 39 genius, however, gave the death blow to flatness and insipi- dity, by the invention of that deep tone of colour, strength of shadow, and bold relievo, which, afterwards carried to perfection, enchants us in the dreams of Correggio, and electrifies us in the mysterious visions of Rembrandt. Less profoundly learned in design, less lofty and com- prehensive in conception than his great rival and con- temporary M. Angelo, his celebrated cartoon of the horse- men contending for a standard is, nevertheless, one of the noblest inventions in the whole circle of modern art; it evinces a singular boldness and fertility of imagination, by the display of every attitude of the human body on horseback, in the various actions of striking, pulling, thrusting, warding, and evading a blow, combined with a felicity and energy, at once picturesque, interesting and surprising : the whole is animated, every part is in motion, and we witness, by turns, the collected coolness of true courage* the devouring malevolence of rage, the contend- ing emotions of hope and fear, the exultation of assured victory, and the despairing gasp of inevitable death. The horses, conceived with the fire of a true poet, and executed with the science of an anatomist, rear and plunge into the battle with a fury equal to that of their riders : in short, this composition was altogether unexampled at the time, and unrivalled for ages after, till it suggested to Rubens the first hint for those magnificent groups of horses and 40 figures, in his battles of the Amazons, and of Constantine and Maxentius; and for those astonishing masses of men and animals in commotion, his huntings of the lion, the tiger, the crocodile and the hippopotamus. There is no possibility of calculating what such a man as Leonardo da Vinci may have lost by his versatility and want of perseverance. With such comprehension, and such invention, he might, doubtless, instead of fur- nishing hints, and pointing out the promised land to others, have taken possession of it himself, and carried the principles of chiaro scuro and grouping to perfection. As it is, his works are comparatively of little value, the greater part of them (the celebrated Last Supper at Milan included) having been left in an imperfect state. Of numerous volumes, written by him on arts and science, one only, a treatise on painting, is at present in cir- culation ; and by this alone, were there no other proofs, might the extraordinary extent of his capacity, and the eagerness of his research, be justly estimated; for though confused and unconnected, in some parts obscure and in others trifling, it is nevertheless one of the best elementary works on the art, extant. Whatever escaped the sagacity, or lay beyond the powers, of L. da Vinci was accomplished by his mighty competitor M. Angelo Buonaroti, the glory of the Floren- tine school ; who elevated design to a pitch of excellence, -AlLMTEBLT IDlTTRlEIio History, T^aniscape, Portrait . Barn at Niiremberg- 1471. Died. 1528. 41 from which it has ever since been declining. The genius of this great man operated an entire change of principle in modern art : to the little and meagre he gave grandeur and amplitude ; to the confused and uninteresting he gave simplicity and effect; and on the feeble and unmean- ing he stamped energy and character. Raffaelle, his greatest contemporary and rival, thanked God for having been born in an age which boasted of such a man ; and Reynolds, the greatest painter and critic of our times, prides himself on the capability of feeling his excellence, and declares, that the slightest of his perfections ought to confer glory and distinction enough to satisfy an am- bitious man. Michael Angelo, as we are informed by Ascanio Con- divi, having observed the great deficiency of Albert Durer's rules for drawing, resolved to write a complete treatise on the anatomy and proportions of the human figure, and to compose a theory founded on the knowledge and ex- perience acquired by his long practice, for the benefit of all future artists. That this resolution was never carried into effect, must ever be regretted, as an incalculable and irreparable loss to the arts ; for certainly never man before or since (at least in modern times) was so perfectly qualified for the task. Anatomy, it is true, has, in a medical and physio- logical point of view, been subsequently much advanced, 42 but the writers on the subject have, in general, been little able or solicitous to speak of the human figure in regard to proportion, beauty, character, action and attitude, branches of the science the most interesting to an artist, the most difficult to investigate, and which, we may na- turally conclude, would have occupied the larger share of a work composed by a professed painter^ Destitute of the assistance of this intended treatise, the knowledge of his principles can now be gleaned only by the accurate observation and diligent comparison of his works with those of others ; for, in this particular, the accounts of his life, though copious enough in some re- spects, can help us but little. One circumstance however we learn from them, which I would wish to press forcibly on the attention of all my hearers, that he was indefati- gable in his practice, and in the study both of nature and the works of the ancients, and that this was continued through his whole life, even to extreme old age : the poorest of men, as he observed of himself, did not labour from necessity more than he did from choice : indeed, from all that is related of him, he appears not to have had the smallest conception that his art was to be ac- quired by any other means than incessant and unwearied di- ligence, though, as Sir Joshua Reynolds justly remarks, he, of all men that ever lived, might have advanced the strong- est pretensions to the efficacy of genius and inspiration. I 43 Let no one therefore overlook this salutary lesson, let no one henceforward presume to grudge his pains, or think the art of cheap and easy acquirement ! I cannot quite agree with our revered and excellent painter, that nothing but labour is necessary to attain perfection, but of this I am quite certain, that, without labour, all other requisites will be vain and fruitless. The principal work of Michael Angelo, in our art, con- sists of a series of pictures painted on the cieling, and part of the walls, of the Pope's chapel, commonly called the Capella Sistina. The subjects, (taken from the sacred records,) beginning with the Creation, and ending with the Last Judgement, seem to have been chosen for the purpose of exhibiting the history of man, as he stands in relation to the Creator, and of shewing his origin, progress, and the final dispensations, of Providence respecting him. Of the magnificence of this plan, as you have lately heard it explained with unparalleled ingenuity and inimitable elo- quence, in a way, in short, that sets the commentator on a level with his author*, I shall say nothing, but shall confine my observations to the peculiar style, which di- stinguishes the works in general, and this in particular, of Michael Angelo. * Mr. Opie here refers again to bis immediate predecessor in the professor- ship of painting. E. c 2 I 44 In the first place it is obvious, that he avoids, on all occasions, a multiplicity of objects, and a multiplicity of parts. He knew, as a great critic has judiciously remarked, that, in poetry and painting, many little things" do not make a great one ; and he has, therefore, rejected all un- necessary subdivisions and unessential particularities : hence the bold swell and flow of his line, uninterrupted by useless breaks and petty inflections ; hence the unen- cumbered breadth of his surfaces, on which the eye rests unfatigued and unperplexed by impertinent differences and trivial distinctions ; and hence the fewness and largeness of the parts, both in respect to his figures and his com- positions, at once so simple and so impressive. The same method obtains with him in the intellectual as in the practical parts of the art. In his manner of con- ceiving his subject, and telling his story, he equally avoids all petty and common-place details of circumstances, in- genious artifices, unimportant shades of character, and merely curious varieties of expression, which arrest and distract the attention of the spectator, and weaken the force of the general effect: essence, not individuality — sentiment, not incident — man, not men, are his objects ; and, like the Satan and Death of Milton, he meditates no second stroke, but hastens by one sure blow to effect his purpose. As his profound knowledge of the human figure taught him what to reject, so it likewise taught and enabled him 45 to mark the essential forms with unexampled force and precision: possessed himself, he instantly possesses the spectator, with the complete idea of his object. As in the drawing of his figures there is more knowledge and precision, so in their actions and attitudes there is more vigour and unity, than is seen in those of any other mo- dern painter. By this is meant, that the situation and turn of every limb is more correspondent with the whole, is more perfectly informed with the same mind, and more exactly bears it's part in the general feeling; and hence it is, that, though Raffaelle often exceeds him in the variety of his characters, the particular expressions of passion, and what may be called the dramatic effect of his pictures, yet, in giving the appearance of thought, capacity and dignity, he is altogether unrivalled and unapproached. This perfect unity or concurrence of every feature, joint and limb, in the same feeling, united to the breadth and boldness of his style of drawing, is what constitutes the intellectual energy of his figures, and gives them that air of inspiration, and of belonging to a higher species of beings, which Sir J. Reynolds notices with such admiration. Rapt and absorbed themselves, they instantly communicate the same sensations to the beholder, who, awe-struck, whilst he gazes on them, dares not think them on a level and of the same rank with himself. Such is his figure of the Creator, borne aloft on clouds, 46 dividing light from darkness ; such when, descending.au attendant spirits, he imparts the electric spark of vitality and immortality to the newly-formed Adam, or with a word calls forth the adoring Eve from the side of her sleeping mate; such are the majestic forms of the pro- phets Isaiah, Ezekiel, Jeremiah, Zechariah, and Joel ; and such, though wild and haggard, the female form of the Cumsean Sibyl, and many others, if not all, of that sublime and inimitable circle : all of them, more or less, in louder or lower tones, proclaim, "The imagination that conceived, and the hand that formed us, were divine." These are some of the principal features of the style of Michael Angelo ; a style, in which knowledge, energy, and simplicity, bear equal parts; which unravels perplexity, gives the appearance of ease to difficulty, and imparts dignity and sentiment to every object it embraces. Though the sublime, in painting and poetry, so overpowers and takes such absolute possession of the whole mind, that, whilst the work is before us, no room is left for the ungracious and ungrateful task of criticism, yet, in cooler moments, it cannot, it must not be denied, that Michael Angelo had derelictions and deficiencies too .great to be overlooked, and too dangerous to be excused; that he was sometimes capricious and extravagant in his inventions, and generally too ostentatious of his anatomical knowledge; that he wanted the vigorous tone of colour, and force of chUiro 47 scuro, necessary to complete the effect of his design ; and that, from aiming always to be great, he often violated propriety, neglected the proper discrimination of character, and not seldom pushed it into monotony and bombast. I know it has been pleaded in mitigation, that great painters, like great poets,.