The life and writings of Henry Fuseli Volume I Part 8

If, as may reasonably be supposed, the first twister of a sonnet were a being of a versatile head and frozen heart, the beauties thronged into this little labyrinth, it's glowing words, and thoughts that burn, whether we consider the original, or it's more than equal translation, equally challenge our admiration and sympathy.

We must yet be allowed to make a few observations on what our author, perhaps with greater ingenuity than impartiality, p.r.o.nounces on the comparative excellence of the ancients and moderns in the use of the prosopopia.

P.266.--'If the moderns excel the ancients in any department of poetry, it is in that now under consideration. It must not indeed be supposed, that the ancients were insensible of the effects produced by this powerful charm, which, more peculiarly than any other, may be said

_To give to airy nothing, A local habitation and a name._

But it may safely be a.s.serted, that they have availed themselves of this creative faculty much more sparingly, and with much less success, than their modern compet.i.tors. The attribution of sense to inert objects, is indeed common to both; but that still bolder exertion, which embodies abstract existence, and renders it susceptible of ocular representation, is almost exclusively the boast of the moderns.[34]

'If, however, we advert to the few authors who preceded Lorenzo de'

Medici, we shall not trace in their writings many striking instances of those embodied pictures of ideal existence, which are so conspicuous in the works of Ariosto, Spenser, Milton, and subsequent writers of the higher cla.s.s, who are either natives of Italy, or have formed their taste upon the poets of that nation.'

To enforce his premises, the author produces a variety of tableaux from the writings of his hero, and not without appearance of success, to show his superiority in this species of composition.

To invalidate the claim of the moderns, with their fragments of personification, it might, perhaps, be sufficient to call to the reader's mind that immense ma.s.s of prosopopia, on which the ancients established the ostensible fabric of their religion. What were the divinities that filled their temples, but images of things, personifications of the powers of nature? and were not these the auxiliaries of their poets? Discriminated by characteristics so appropriate and so decisive, that no observation of succeeding ages has been able to add any thing essential, or to subtract any thing as superfluous from their insignia. At this moment, the poet and the artist subsist on their sterling properties; and the greatest of the moderns could do no more than recompose from the birth of Minerva, the charms of Pandora, and the horrors of Scylla, the origin, the beauty, and the deformities of his Sin; and if, by the superhuman flight of his fancy, he s.n.a.t.c.hed the attributes and shape of Death from a region yet unexplored by former wings, the being itself had not been unknown to the ancients; it carried off Alceste, and offered battle in it's gloom to Hercules. But will it be denied, that by personifying the _act_ by which his heroes were to fall, and the _punishment_ attendant on that act, Milton has, as far as in him lay, destroyed the _credibility_ of his poem? Homer found the _abstractions_, which he mingled with the real actors of his poem, already personified; and to demand a belief in the existence of Minerva or Jupiter, subjected his reader to no greater exertion, than to believe in the existence of Achilles or Ulysses. Had credibility not been the great principle of Homer, had he introduced _Wisdom_ seizing _Achilles_ by the hair, and _Beauty_ ravishing _Paris_ from the combat, the Iliad, in what concerns the plan, would be little more than the rival of the Pilgrim's Progress.

But if Homer _refused admittance to new-personified beings_ as actors of his poem, has he contented himself entirely with monosyllabic animation of the inanimate, with roaring sh.o.r.es, remorseless stones, or maddening lances? The enormous image of _Discord_ in the fourth, the picturesque prosopopia of _Prayers_ and _Guilt_ in the ninth, and the luxuriant episode of _Guilt_ again in the nineteenth book of the "Ilias," not only prove the contrary, but establish him beyond all compet.i.tion, Milton perhaps excepted, as the first master of that poetic figure. The _Liberty_ of Petrarch, and the _Jealousy_ and _Hope_ of Lorenzo de'

Medici, may with equal propriety adopt the names of _Health_, _Suspicion_, and _Curiosity_; but the _Litae_ of Homer are images discriminated from all others, and will rank as models of true prosopopia without the a.s.sistance of Hesiod, aeschylus, or the love-embodying romance of Apuleius.

The Appendix to the first volume consists of forty-two pieces, and contains the political and literary doc.u.ments of the history. Of these the papers relative to the conspiracy of the Pazzi, especially the commentarium of Poliziano, the brief of excommunication of Sixtus IV, the reply of the Florentine Synod, and the deposition of Giambattista de Montesicco before his execution, are the most interesting.

One great prerogative of the author is, no doubt, that happy distribution of matter, by which the grave and the more amusing parts of the subject alternately relieve each other. Having left his reader "con la bocca dolce," at the conclusion of the first volume, Mr. R. at the beginning of the second, exhibits the rival of Petrarch, if not as the founder, at least as the first who gave action and energy to that conciliating system of politics, since denominated the balance of power, the darling maxim of modern statesmen.

'The situation of Italy,' says our author, p. 4, 'at this period, afforded an ample field for the exercise of political talents. The number of independent states of which it was composed, the inequality of their strength, the ambitious views of some, and the ever-active fears of others, kept the whole country in continual agitation and alarm. The vicinity of these states to each other, and the narrow bounds of their respective dominions, required a prompt.i.tude of decision, in cases of disagreement, unexampled in any subsequent period of modern history. Where the event of open war seemed doubtful, private treachery was without scruple resorted to; and where that failed of success, an appeal was again made to arms. The Pontifical See had itself set the example of a mode of conduct that burst asunder all the bonds of society, and operated as a convincing proof that nothing was thought unlawful which appeared to be expedient. To counterpoise all the jarring interests of these different governments, to restrain the powerful, to succour the weak, and to unite the whole in one firm body, so as to enable them on the one hand successfully to oppose the formidable power of the Turks, and on the other, to repel the incursions of the French and the Germans, both of whom were objects of terror to the less warlike inhabitants of Italy, were the important ends which Lorenzo proposed to accomplish. The effectual defence of the Florentine dominions against the encroachments of their more powerful neighbours, though perhaps his chief inducement for engaging in so extensive a project, appeared, in the execution of it, rather as a necessary part of his system than as the princ.i.p.al object which he had in view. In these transactions, we may trace the first decisive instance of that political arrangement, which was more fully developed and more widely extended in the succeeding century, and which has since been denominated the balance of power.

Casual alliances, arising from consanguinity, from personal attachment, from vicinity, or from interest, had indeed frequently subsisted among the Italian States; but these were only partial and temporary engagements, and rather tended to divide the country into two or more powerful parties, than to counterpoise the interests of individual governments, so as to produce in the result the general tranquillity.'[35]

Before, however, Lorenzo could proceed to the execution of his beneficent system, he had to thank his stars for a second escape from a new conspiracy formed against his life, at the instigation of his old and inveterate enemies, the Riarii, by Battista Frescobaldi. This attempt, conducted with less prudence, had none of the atrocious consequences of the first, but ended in the immediate destruction of Frescobaldi and his Tuscan accomplices.

Cursorily however, as it is related by our author, it appears to have made a deep impression on the mind of his hero, since he adopted, in consequence of it, a measure of safety which even the homicide Cesar had scorned, that of appearing in public guarded by a select band of armed friends.

The author now proceeds at length, and with equal perspicuity, impartiality, and diligence, to detail the progress of Lorenzo's measures to secure and establish the independence of Florence, and to compose the jarring interests of Italy. Popes, kings, petty princes, republics, appear in succession, poised, supported, checked, advised, reconciled, to cement his generous plan.

Eloquence, military skill, caution, liberality, intrepidity, stamp him by turns the soul of his own, and the arbiter of the surrounding states, till at length the whole is composed and well poised,--Italy enjoys security and peace. Such is the general outline; a more minute detail, as it would exceed our limits, could in a meagre summary serve only to weary the reader: the materials vary, the contending parties are not equally important, the heroes sometimes relax; conquests give way to a leader's indisposition, and battles are fought which remind us of Virgil's winged squadrons;

"Hi motus animorum, atque haec certamina tanta, Pulveris exigui jactu compressa quiesc.u.n.t."

Chap. VII. From politics, negotiations, and war, we follow our author to his academic shades, to the improvements in cla.s.sic learning made under the fostering patronage of Lorenzo; to the importation of Greek literature by Emanuel Chrysoloras, Joannes Argyropylus, Demetrius Chalcondyles; to the introduction of printing, the progress of the Laurentian library, and the establishment of a Greek academy at Florence. We are made acquainted with Politiano; his merits as a civilian, critic, translator, controvertist, and poet: Giovanni Pico, Prince of Mirandola, next excites our wonder; and after him, Linacer Landino, and the two Verini might claim our attention, were they not eclipsed by the female efforts of Alessandra Scala, and Ca.s.sandra Fidelis.

'It might have been expected,' says our author, p. 55, after having premised some observations on the seemingly unattainable excellence of Dante, Petrarca, and Boccaccio, 'that the successful efforts of these authors to improve their native tongue, would have been more effectual than the weak, though laudable, attempts made by them to revive the study of the ancient languages; but it must be remembered, that they were all of them men of genius, and genius a.s.similates not with the character of the age. Homer and Shakspeare have no imitators, and are no models. The example of such talents is perhaps, upon the whole, unfavourable to the general progress of improvement; and the superlative abilities of a few, have more than once damped the ardour of a nation. But if the great Italian authors were inimitable in the productions of their native language, in their Latin writings they appeared in a subordinate character. Of the labours of the ancients, enough had been discovered to mark the decided difference between their merits and those of their modern imitators; and the applauses bestowed upon the latter, were only in proportion to the degree in which they approached the models of ancient eloquence. This compet.i.tion was, therefore, eagerly entered into; nor had the success of the first revivers of these studies deprived their followers of the hope of surpa.s.sing them. Even the early part of the fifteenth century produced scholars as much superior to Petrarca, and his coadjutors, as they were to the monkish compilers, and scholastic disputants, who immediately preceded them; and the labours of Leonardo Aretino, Gianozzo Manetti, Guarino Veronese, and Poggio Bracciolini, prepared the way for the still more correct and cla.s.sical productions of Politiano, Sannazaro, Pontano, and Augurelli. The declining state of Italian literature, so far then from being inconsistent with, was rather a consequence of the proficiency made in other pursuits, which, whilst they were distinguished by a greater degree of celebrity, demanded a more continued attention, and an almost absolute devotion both of talents and of time.'

It would be injustice to suppose that, by this well turned and energetic pa.s.sage, our author could mean to depreciate the benign influence of original genius, or to insinuate aught against the necessity of it's periodical appearance: his aim is to a.s.sign their proper place to the literati of the epoch he describes, to trace the probable motives of their pursuits, and to show, that by a judicious choice they supplied, in some degree, their want of innate power, and even of discernment in their objects of imitation. Who, better than our historian, knows, that, if Nature be inexhaustible in her resources and productions, and genius be merely a power, seizing and representing with clearness some of her features, the appearance of one man of genius can no more check the perceptions, than preclude the existence of another? He who takes Homer or Michael Angelo for his model, adopts him merely as his medium to see Nature more distinctly or on a grander scale; he imitates without copying, like Virgil and Pelegrino Tibaldi, for whom it will be difficult to find a name, if they be refused that of imitators of the Ionian and the Tuscan genius. If the supposed inaccessible excellence of Dante and his contemporaries dispirited the Italians of the fifteenth century from the cultivation of the higher Italian poetry, it proved not that they had exhausted Nature, but that they were no longer understood; and that they were not, almost every line of their pedantic commentators proves.

Machiavelli, Ariosto, Ta.s.so, appeared after them, with the same models before their eyes, and each produced works none would wish to exchange for all the laboured lucubrations of Tuscan Latinists: the fact is, it was easier to shine before a partial public formed by themselves, with glittering compilations of cla.s.sic lines, almost always dishonoured by some clumsy or gothic addition of their own, than to emulate the pace of their great predecessors before the general eye.

The domestic character of Lorenzo, the wit, the husband, father, friend, appear in the eighth chapter. The author examines and acquits him of the charge of having been addicted to licentious amours, and exhibits him, if not as a tender, at least as a civil husband: but "in no point of view," says he, "does the character of this extraordinary man appear more engaging than in his affection towards his children, in his care of their education, and in his solicitude for their welfare." He accordingly, on each of these particulars, enters into very interesting details: we are introduced to the characters of his sons, Piero and Giovanni, the first known as his successor, the second celebrated as supreme pontiff under the a.s.sumed name of Leo X. From his children, we pa.s.s on to Lorenzo's domestic concerns. His villas, Poggio Cajano, Careggi, Fiesole, and other domains, pa.s.s in review. The visits of Piero to Rome and Milan, his marriage with Alfonsina Orsini; the exaltation of Giovanni to the dignity of cardinal at the age of fourteen, his father's admirable admonitory letter to him on that occasion; the death of Madonna Clarice, Lorenzo's wife; his patronage of learned ecclesiastics; the a.s.sa.s.sination of G. Riario, and the tragic death of Galeotto Manfredi, Prince of Faenza, occupy the remainder.

If the subject of the ninth chapter, the progress of the plastic arts, under the patronage of the Medici, reflect a new l.u.s.tre on the beneficent grandeur of that family, the judgment, perspicuity, elegance of taste, and 'amore,' with which it is treated by our author, reflect almost equal honour on himself. From the obscure dawn of Cimabue to the noonday splendour of M. Angelo, we are gradually led to form our ideas of art with a precision and distinctness, in vain looked for in the loquacious volumes and indiscriminate panegyrics of Vasari. Among so many beauties, the choice of selection is difficult; a short extract from one or two pa.s.sages will inform the reader what he is to expect from the whole. After mentioning the successful efforts of Lorenzo, Ghiberti and Donatello, the author continues:

P. 189.--'Notwithstanding the exertions of these masters, which were regarded with astonishment by their contemporaries, and are yet ent.i.tled to attention and respect, it does not appear that they had raised their views to the true end of the profession. Their characters rarely excelled the daily prototypes of common life, and their forms, although at times sufficiently accurate, were mostly vulgar and heavy. In the pictures which remain of this period, the limbs are not marked with that precision which characterizes a well-informed artist. The hands and feet in particular appear soft, enervated, and delicate, without distinction of s.e.x or character.

Many practices yet remain that evince the imperfect state of the art. Ghirlandajo and Baldovinetti continued to introduce the portraits of their employers in historic composition, forgetful of that _simplex duntaxat et unum_ with which a just taste can never dispense. Cosimo Roselli, a painter of no inconsiderable reputation, attempted, by the a.s.sistance of gold and ultramarine, to give a fact.i.tious splendour to his performances. To every thing great and elevated, the art was yet a stranger; even the celebrated picture of Pollajuolo exhibits only a group of half-naked and vulgar wretches, discharging their arrows at a miserable fellow-creature, who by changing places with one of his murderers, might with equal propriety become a murderer himself.[36] Nor was it till the time of Michaelagnolo, that painting and sculpture rose to their true object, and instead of exciting the wonder, began to rouse the pa.s.sions and interest the feelings of mankind.'

Though indignant at the doating tradition which still presumes to foist the bedlam trash of t.i.tus Andronicus among Shakspeare's pieces; and certainly as little partial to the rubric of martyrologies as our author or Mr. Tenhove; we yet believe, that their observation receives it's force rather from the insensibility, perhaps brutality, of artists, than from the subject itself. Let horror and loathsomeness be banished from the instruments of art, and the martyrdom of Stephen or Sebastian, Agnes or John, becomes as admissible as that of Marsyas or Palamedes, Virginia, or Regulus. It is the artist's fault if the right moment be missed. If you see only blood-tipt arrows, brain-dashed stones, excoriating knives, the artist, not the subject, is detestable; this furnished heroism, celestial resignation, the features of calm fort.i.tude and beauty, helpless, but undismayed; the clown or brute alone, who handled it, pushed you down among the a.s.sa.s.sins from the hero's side. Humanity may avert our eyes with propriety from the murdered subjects of Pietro Testa, Joseph Ribera, sometimes even of Domenicho himself; but apathy, phlegm,[37] effeminacy, alone would prefer an Andromeda, an Agave, or a Venus hanging over an expiring Adonis, to the "Madonna del Spasmo" of Raffaello, or M. Angelo's Crucifixion of St. Peter.

We next present the reader with the following pa.s.sage on Michaelagnolo.

P. 208.--'The labours of the painter are necessarily transitory, for so are the materials that compose them. In a few years Michaelagnolo will be known like an ancient artist, only by his works in marble. Already it is difficult to determine whether his reputation be enhanced or diminished by the sombre representations of his pencil in the Pauline and Sixtine chapels, or by the few specimens of his cabinet pictures, now rarely to be met with, and exhibiting only a shadow of their original excellence. But the chief merit of this great man is not to be sought for in the remains of his pencil, nor even in his sculptures, but in the general improvement of the public taste which followed his astonishing productions. If his labours had perished with himself, the change which they effected in the opinions and the works of his contemporaries would still have ent.i.tled him to the first honours of the art. Those who from ignorance, or from envy, have endeavoured to depreciate his productions, have represented them as exceeding in their forms and att.i.tudes the limits and the possibilities of nature, as a race of beings, the mere creatures of his own imagination; but such critics would do well to consider, whether the great reform to which we have alluded could have been effected by the most accurate representations of common life, and whether any thing short of that ideal excellence which he only knew to embody could have accomplished so important a purpose. The genius of Michaelagnolo was a leaven which was to operate on an immense and heterogeneous ma.s.s, the salt intended to give a relish to insipidity itself; it was therefore active, penetrating, energetic, so as not only effectually to resist the contagious effects of a depraved taste, but to communicate a portion of its spirit to all around.'

The comprehensive conception and energy of this admirable pa.s.sage prove our author to have penetrated farther into the character of Michaelagnolo, and to have found far more accurate ideas of his real prerogative, than either of his favourite biographers.[38]

Before we dismiss this chapter, we state it as matter of surprise, that the accomplishments and gigantic powers of Lionardo da Vinci, a man nearly of Lorenzo's own age, appear to have shared in none of the favours which he showered on inferior artists.

Chap. X. We approach with regret the concluding period of this history, the last moments and death of Lorenzo. Our regret is increased by the limits prescribed to our review, as our author, if possible, rises here above the preceding chapters, in the acc.u.mulation of interesting circ.u.mstances, delineation of character, and pathetic scenery. The death of his hero involves that of the most conspicuous characters around him, of Politiano, Pico, Ermolao; the expulsion of his family, and the death of his unfortunate son soon follow; and with the reinstatement of the Medici, the extinction of the republic, after the unsuccessful struggles of Lorenzino de' Medici, and Philippo Strozzi, under the establishment of a tyranny, finishes the work. From so rich an aggregate of materials, we must content ourselves with a single extract, the character of Lorenzo and our author's review of his conduct as a statesman.

P. 239. 'In the height of his reputation, and at a premature period of life, thus died Lorenzo de' Medici; a man who may be selected from all the characters of ancient and modern history, as exhibiting the most remarkable instance of depth of penetration, versatility of talent, and comprehension of mind. Whether genius be a predominating impulse, directing the mind to some particular object, or whether it be an energy of intellect that arrives at excellence in any department in which it may be employed, it is certain that there are few instances in which a successful exertion in any human pursuit has not occasioned a dereliction of many other objects, the attainment of which might have conferred immortality. If the powers of the mind are to bear down all obstacles that oppose their progress, it seems necessary that they should sweep along in some certain course, and in one collected ma.s.s. What then shall we think of that rich fountain, which, whilst it was poured out by so many different channels, flowed through each with a full and equal stream? To be absorbed in one pursuit, however important, is not the characteristic of the higher cla.s.s of genius, which, piercing through the various combinations and relations of surrounding circ.u.mstances, sees all things in their just dimensions, and attributes to each its due. Of the various occupations in which Lorenzo engaged, there is not one in which he was not eminently successful; but he was most particularly distinguished in those which justly hold the first rank in human estimation. The facility with which he turned from subjects of the highest importance to those of amus.e.m.e.nt and levity, suggested to his countrymen the idea that he had two distinct souls combined in one body. Even his moral character seems to have partaken in some degree of the same diversity, and his devotional poems are as ardent as his lighter pieces are licentious. On all sides, he touched the extremes of human character, and the powers of his mind were only bounded by that impenetrable circle which prescribes the limits of human nature.

'As a statesman, Lorenzo de' Medici appears to peculiar advantage.

Uniformly employed in securing the peace and promoting the happiness of his country, by just regulations at home, and wise precautions abroad, and teaching to the surrounding governments those important lessons of political science, on which the civilization and tranquillity of nations have since been found to depend. Though possessed of undoubted talents for military exploits, and of sagacity to avail himself of the imbecility of neighbouring powers, he was superior to that avarice of dominion, which, without improving what is already acquired, blindly aims at more extensive possession. The wars in which he engaged were for security, not for territory; and the riches produced by the fertility of the soil, and the industry and ingenuity of the inhabitants of the Florentine republic, instead of being dissipated in imposing projects and ruinous expeditions, circulated in their natural channels, giving happiness to the individual, and respectability to the state. If he was not insensible to the charms of ambition, it was the ambition to deserve rather than to enjoy; and he was always cautious not to exact from the public favour more than it might be voluntarily willing to bestow. The approximating suppression of the liberties of Florence, under the influence of his descendants, may induce suspicions unfavourable to his patriotism; but it will be difficult, not to say impossible, to discover, either in his conduct or his precepts, any thing that ought to stigmatize him as an enemy to the freedom of his country.

The authority which he exercised was the same as that which his ancestors had enjoyed, without injury to the republic, for nearly a century, and had descended to him as inseparable from the wealth, the respectability, and the powerful foreign connexions of his family. The superiority of his talents enabled him to avail himself of these advantages with irresistible effect; but history suggests not an instance in which they were devoted to any other purpose than that of promoting the honour and the independence of the Tuscan state. It is not by the continuance, but by the dereliction of the system that he had established, and to which he adhered to the close of his life, that the Florentine republic sunk under the degrading yoke of despotic power; and to his premature death we may unquestionably attribute, not only the destruction of the commonwealth, but all the calamities that Italy soon afterwards sustained.'

Though we admire the author's eloquence, and in a great measure subscribe to this character, some doubts may be entertained, whether Lorenzo had not to thank a premature death for having left his political character, if not unsuspected, at least unimpeached by direct proofs. Aggrandis.e.m.e.nt by enormous acc.u.mulation of wealth, and that obtained, by cautious but unremitting grasps at power, appears to have been the leading principle of the Medicean family: hence those sacrifices of private attachments and animosities; hence that ambition of connecting themselves by intermarriage with the most powerful families of the surrounding powers; hence the indecent, though successful attempt of raising a boy to the dignity of Cardinal, against the qualms of an else willing Pontiff; steps not easily accounted for from men who professed the honour of being considered as the first citizens of Florence, to be the height of their ambition.

But let us return for a moment to our historian, whose work we cannot dismiss without adding our feeble vote to the unbounded applause which it has obtained from the best part of the public.

Mr. R., in our opinion, possesses a high rank among the historians of his country. Notwithstanding the modesty of the t.i.tle, the life of Lorenzo de' Medici unites the general history of the times, and the political system of the most memorable country in Europe, with the characters of the most celebrated men, and the rise and progress of science and arts. The greatest praise of the historian and biographer, impartiality, might be called its most prominent feature, were it not excelled by the humanity of the writer, who touches with a hand often too gentle, those blemishes which he scorns to disguise. It is impossible to read any part of his performance without discovering that an ardent love for the true interests of society, and a fervid attachment to virtue and real liberty, have furnished his motives of choice, and every where directed his pen. The diligence and correctness of judgment by which the matter is selected and distributed, notwithstanding the scantiness, obscurity, or partiality of the doc.u.ments that were to be consulted, are equalled only by the amenity with which he has varied his subjects, and the surprising extent of his information.

Simplicity, perspicuity, and copiousness, are the leading features of his style, often sententious without being abrupt, and decided without an air of dogma; that it should have been sometimes verbose, sometimes lax or minute, is less to be wondered at, than that it should never be disgraced by affectation or pretence of elegance. If we be not always led by the nearest road, our path is always strewn with flowers; and, if it be the highest praise of writing to have made delight the effectual vehicle of instruction, our author has attained it.

The Appendix, of upwards of forty doc.u.ments relative to the text, many highly interesting, is preceded by some original poems of Lorenzo, copied by Mr. Clarke, from the MSS. preserved in the Laurentian library, and now published for the first time.

CHAPTER VII.

Fuseli's Marriage.--His inducements to a.s.sociate himself with the Royal Academy.--He translates Lavater's "Aphorisms on Man."--Remarks on his own "Aphorisms on Art."--Particulars of Fuseli's acquaintance with Mrs. Wollstonecraft.

On the 30th June, 1788, Fuseli married Miss Sophia Rawlins, of Bath Easton, near Bath, a young lady of reputable parentage and of personal attractions. She had been for some time on a visit to an aunt who resided in London. In Mrs. Fuseli he found an excellent wife, and with her he lived happily for thirty-five years. She now survives him. On his marriage he removed from St. Martin's lane, and took a house, No. 72, Queen Anne Street, East, now called Foley Street: where he painted most of the pictures which subsequently composed "The Milton Gallery."

This alteration in his condition effected, from prudential motives, some change in his mode of acting, if not of thinking. Hitherto, he had a distaste to all a.s.sociated bodies for teaching the fine arts; and, in consequence, refused to belong to some foreign academies during his residence in Italy; nor would he attend to the repeated recommendations of his friends (particularly of Sir Joshua Reynolds and Mr. Alderman Boydell) to become a candidate for the Royal Academy. But being now a married man, and far from opulent, the consideration of the pension usually granted by the Royal Academy, under such circ.u.mstances, to the widows of their members, overcame his reluctance; and having put down his name, and forced himself to undergo the penance of solicitation, which the members of this as well as several other self-elective bodies expect from candidates as a right, he was elected an a.s.sociate of the Royal Academy on the 3d November, 1788.

In the beginning of the year (1789), Fuseli published, in a small duodecimo volume, a translation of Lavater's "Aphorisms on Man;" which work, written in German, was dedicated to him by this early and esteemed friend. The dedication is dated October, 1787. When Fuseli gave this book in an English dress, it was with a promise, that a corresponding volume of "aphorisms on art," (not, indeed, by the same author,) "should appear in the course of the year." In conformity to this intention, one sheet was worked off and corrected by him; but an accidental fire having taken place in the premises of the printer, the whole impression was destroyed, and Fuseli could never bring himself to undergo the task of another revision. It is, however, so far fortunate, that the aphorisms now appear not only in a more concise, correct, and, in point of number, extended form, but they are also accompanied by many corollaries; for adding the latter, he gave to me this reason,--"that an aphorism may be discussed, but ought not to contain its own explication." These aphorisms, which are not entirely confined to art, but embrace also life and character, are certainly the master-work of Fuseli in literature: many of them, it is true, he has used by amplification in his lectures, and in the notes to "Pilkington's Dictionary of the Painters;" but what he himself wrote as an advertis.e.m.e.nt to Lavater's Aphorisms, may be fairly said of the work as a whole, that it "will be found to contain what gives their value to maxims,--verdicts of wisdom on the reports of experience. If some are truisms, let it be considered that Solomon and Hippocrates wrote truisms: if some are not new, they are recommended by an air of novelty."

In the autumn of 1790, Fuseli became acquainted with the celebrated Mary Wollstonecraft. Several publications having gone so far as totally to misrepresent the nature of his intercourse with this highly-gifted lady, it becomes the duty of his biographer to give a plain statement of facts.

The talents of Mrs. Wollstonecraft[39] were first brought into notice by the Rev. John Hewlett, who, to forward her views in getting employment by writing on literary subjects, introduced her to Mr. Joseph Johnson, bookseller, in St. Paul's Church-yard. The house and purse of this liberal man were always open to authors who possessed talents, and who required pecuniary a.s.sistance; and such being the case with Mrs.

Wollstonecraft, she was a frequent visitor at Mr. Johnson's: there Fuseli met her; but as he was not very ready to make new acquaintances, and was not only a shy man, but had rather a repulsive manner to those he did not know, so it was some time before they became intimately acquainted.

The eyes of all Europe were at this time fixed upon the pa.s.sing events in France. That spirit of liberty inherent in the Swiss, now burst forth in Fuseli, and he considered, as did his friend and countryman Lavater, that an opportunity was then offered to mankind to a.s.sert and secure their liberties, which no previous period in the history of the world had afforded. The same feelings animated the bosom of Mrs.

Wollstonecraft: this was kept up, and indeed heightened by her then daily occupation, that of translating from the French the political pamphlets of the day, which at this time met with a ready and rapid sale; and in writing criticisms on them, as well as upon other subjects, for the a.n.a.lytical Review.

Congruity of sentiments and feelings upon points which occupied the thoughts, and engrossed the conversation of persons in all ranks and stations of life, naturally brought about a closer intimacy between Fuseli and Mrs. Wollstonecraft, the consequences of which were not foreseen by the lady; for she little thought that the attachment on her part, which proceeded from it, would be the cause of her leaving this country, and thus becoming an eye-witness of the system of Gallic liberty which she attempted to uphold, emanating, as it did, from philosophers, being destroyed by murderers and madmen.

Mrs. Wollstonecraft had the strongest desire to be useful to her connexions and friends, and she began her career in life by sacrificing her feelings and comforts to what she fancied purity of conduct, and the benefit of others. It was a favourite consideration with her, that she "was designed to rise superior to her earthly habitation," and that she "always thought, with some degree of horror, of falling a sacrifice to a pa.s.sion which may have a mixture of dross in it."[40]