Hogarth: Place and Progress

800px-the_painter_and_his_pug_by_william_hogarth

The Painter and His Pug by William Hogarth

For the first time, William Hogarth’s “Modern Moral Subjects” narrative series were united in an exhibition that explored the artist’s views on morality, society and London. Where better to hold the exhibition than at the unconventional Sir John Soane’s Museum, which already owned two series of Hogarth’s works. Sir John Soane (1753-1837) and his wife Eliza purchased Hogarth’s A Rake’s Progress in 1802, followed by The Humours of an Election in 1823. For three months, visitors to the museum were able to view these paintings alongside Hogarth’s other narrative series, including Marriage A-la-Mode, Four Times of Day, The Happy Marriage, The Four Stages of Cruelty, Industry and Idleness and Gin Lane and Beer Street.

William Hogarth was both an engraver and painter – the most outstanding in Britain during the 18th century. Born on 10th November 1697, Hogarth grew up in London where his father worked as a schoolteacher. Unfortunately, Hogarth Senior was imprisoned for debt, which had a great impact on his young son, evidenced in the prison scenes of later paintings.

Hogarth entered the art world by training as a silver plate engraver, eventually opening up his own London business in 1720. Although his working day was spent completing various commercial tasks, he spent his remaining spare time at the St Martin’s Lane Academy, studying painting under Sir James Thornhill (1675-1734).

Within the next decade, Hogarth’s painting skills were recognised through the success of his conversation pieces. He then went on to develop a new idea of using a sequence of paintings to tell a story – a precursor to the modern-day comic book. As a result of his unsatisfactory childhood, these sequential artworks focused on morals and social inadequacies.

A Harlot’s Progress (1732)

A Harlot’s Progress was the first of Hogarth’s “Modern Moral Subjects”, however, the original paintings were lost in a fire in 1755. Fortunately, engravings had been produced of the series, saving it from falling into obscurity. The series consists of six scenes that tell the story of the protagonist “M. Hackabout” and her fall from grace. It has been suggested the fictional character may have been inspired by Daniel Defoe’s (1660-1731) novel Moll Flanders, however, there is also a connection with the notorious prostitute Kate Hackabout, the sister of highwayman Francis Hackabout (hanged in 1730).

In the first scene, Moll or Mary Hackabout has arrived in Cheapside, the historic financial centre of London. Dressed immaculately, the innocent country girl has come to London in search of employment as a seamstress. Unfortunately, the unchaperoned girl has been discovered by Elizabeth Needham (d.1731), a middle-aged English procuress and brothel-keeper. Whilst Needham tries to lure Hackabout into prostitution, Colonel Francis Charteris (1675-1732), a Scottish soldier nicknamed “The Rape-Master General” looks on from the doorway of the Bell Inn.

The presence of Needham and Charteris is enough to suggest the direction of Hackabout’s future, however, Hogarth has included other visual clues in the picture. Hackabout is dressed in white, the same colour of the dead goose in her luggage, which foretells of her early death as a result of her gullibility. A teetering pile of pans also allude to Hackabout’s “fall”.

How Hackabout fared at the brothel is unknown because, by the second scene, she is now the mistress of a wealthy Jewish merchant. The merchant’s riches are evident from the West Indian serving boy, monkey, artwork on the walls and the mahogany table. Whilst this may seem a step up from the Brothel, Hackabout has taken on a young lover who can be seen in the background trying to escape whilst Hackabout causes a distraction by knocking the table over.

The Jewish merchant evidently caught on to Hackabout’s secret tryst because in the third scene she is no longer a kept woman but a common prostitute at the Rose Tavern in Drury Lane. Hackabout is shown sitting on her bed looking through the items she has stolen from various clients whilst being tended to by an old and syphilitic maid. On the wall hangs a witches hat and broomstick, suggesting prostitution is the work of the devil and a box belonging to the highwayman James Dalton (d. 1730) is stored above the bed, indicating the type of people with whom Hackabout has become involved. Her life is about to be disrupted once again, however, by the magistrate John Gonson (d. 1765) and three armed bailiffs coming through the door.

Hackabout is taken to Bridewell Prison, a place of correction for wayward women where, in scene four, she beats hemp to be used to produce hangman’s nooses. Hackabout is still dressed in fine clothes, however, the state of the women around her suggest she will not stay that way for long.

By scene five, Hackabout’s life as a prostitute has finally caught up with her as she lays dying from syphilis. Two doctors, the English Richard Rock (1690-1777) and the French Jean Misaubin (1673-1734) argue over the right type of treatment, evidently unaware that their patient is about to take her final breath. The presence of a child suggests Hackabout had a son, however, his disinterest in the situation makes it clear they did not have a loving relationship.

At Hackabout’s funeral in scene six, only one person appears concerned about her death – a young woman who peers into the coffin, seeing her own fate if she does not change her situation. An inscription on the coffin lid reveals Hackabout died at only 23 years old, but the people in the room seem not to care about the passing of such a young life, particularly the parson who spills his drink while getting cosy with the woman seated beside him.

Hogarth’s A Harlot’s Progress reveals how quickly a person can fall into temptation and sin, going from innocent young girl to the grave in a handful of years. Hogarth originally painted a picture of a prostitute for rakish clientele, however, he decided to explore how the girl found herself in that situation and her eventual fate. As a result, A Harlot’s Progress is a warning to young women living during Hogarth’s time of the sinfulness in London and the impossibility of escaping a life of prostitution once one has “fallen”.

A Rake’s Progress (1734)

Hogarth’s second and most famous progress is A Rake’s Progress, which usually hangs in the Picture Room at the Sir John Soane’s Museum. Following the success of A Harlot’s Progress, Hogarth decided to explore the fate of a male character whose sins lead to inevitable death. The Rake, Tom Rakewell, is the son and heir of a rich merchant. In the first scene of eight, Tom is being measured for new clothes, using the money he has gained from the death of his father. Whilst the servants mourn their master’s passing, Tom is more concerned about getting rid of his pregnant fiancée Sarah Young, despite having had a common-law marriage with her.

Tom Rakewell moves to London where he purchases a spacious house in the West End. Scene two shows Tom at his morning levée attended by a music master on the harpsichord (potentially George Frideric Handel), a fencing master, a dancing master, an ex-soldier, a bugler, a jockey and the landscape gardener Charles Bridgeman (1690-1738). Tom has yet to “fall” but his lavish spending of money reveals him to be a spendthrift and at risk of losing his wealth.

Scene three shows a vastly different party to the previous painting. Tom is attending an orgy at a brothel, potentially the Rose Tavern, Drury Lane, with many drunk men and prostitutes. Having had too much to drink, Tom slouches in a chair where he is distracted by one of the prostitutes whilst another picks his pockets. The immorality of the scene is emphasised by an upturned chamber pot spilling its contents onto a plate of food. Hogarth has painted black spots on the faces on the prostitutes to suggest they are suffering from venereal diseases.

By scene four, Tom has spent all his money and has been arrested for debt by Welsh bailiffs in the centre of London. The scene reveals he was apprehended whilst on his way to St. James’s Palace to celebrate Queen Caroline’s (1683-1737) birthday, which was incidentally Saint David’s Day, hence all the Welsh symbolism. Fortunately, Tom’s rejected fiancée Sarah Young is passing by and, because she still loves him, pays his fine, saving him from debtors prison. Hogarth adds comic elements to this scene, including a lamplighter accidentally pouring oil on Tom’s head and a young thief stealing Tom’s cane.

In an attempt to salvage his fortune, Tom marries a rich but elderly woman at St Marylebone Church, as shown in scene five. In the background is Sarah Young with their child, trying to stop the wedding but guests prevent her from entering the church. Tom is completely oblivious to the commotion and also shows little interest in the wedding, eyeing his new wife’s pretty maid rather than focusing on the ceremony.

Despite marrying into money, Tom’s addiction to spending and gambling gets the better of him. Scene six takes place in a gaming den at White’s Club in Soho where Tom has, once again, lost all his money. Whilst Tom kneels on the floor begging for divine intervention, other gamblers continue playing, completely oblivious that a fire has broken out at the back of the room.

Tom survived the fire but Sarah Young was unable to save him from Fleet’s debtors prison, which is where he ends up in scene seven. Although Sarah has come to visit with their child, she faints at the scene before her; meanwhile, Tom’s wife berates him for spending all her money and leaving her with no resources or protection. The jailer and beer-boy demand money from Tom, which he is unable to pay, having given up on writing a play in an attempt to earn money.

With no hope left, Tom goes insane and possibly violent, ending his days chained up in Bethlem hospital, London’s infamous mental asylum. The ever-faithful Sarah Young is the only person there to comfort him whilst fashionably dressed women visit the madhouse for fun as a place of entertainment. The bizarre antics of the other inmates, such as a naked man wearing a crown and urinating on the floor, reveal how filthy and inhospitable the asylum was during Hogarth’s time.

Since mental health is better understood today, 21st-century viewers of the paintings may be shocked by the behaviour of the wealthy in the final scene. The mentally ill were exploited for entertainment purposes and their chance of recovery was slim or nonexistent. Although Hogarth never painted Tom Rakewell’s death, it is clear from the conditions of the hospital that he would die there – his punishment for living such an immoral life.

Marriage A-la-Mode (1743-45)

Marriage A-la-Mode differs from Hogarth’s previous series in that it does not tell the story of an unfortunate individual but rather the unavoidably tragic story of an arranged marriage. Wealthy families tended to arrange the marriages of their children to benefit the family name and business, however, Earl Squanderfield has become bankrupt. Nonetheless, he is determined to arrange a marriage between his son and the daughter of a wealthy city merchant. The Earl uses his family tree, which claims he is descended from William the Conqueror, to win over the miserly merchant.

The first scene reveals the attitudes of the son and daughter toward their impending marriage. The young girl is in tears, evidently not wanting to marry the Earl’s uninterested son who gazes at himself in a mirror. The health of the Earl demonstrates the fate of selfish, money-grabbing people, resting his swollen, gouty foot on a footstool under the table.

The second scene takes place at a grander house, suggesting the Earl has died and the son has used his inheritance and wife’s money on luxuries. His money cannot last forever, which is clear from the stack of unpaid bills in the steward’s hands. The marriage also appears to be failing as the husband appears to be uninterested in his wife who is attempting to entice him over the breakfast table. A lady’s cap poking out of his pocket suggests he has been conducting an affair with another woman, and a black mark on his skin hints he may be suffering from syphilis.

The lady who the cap belonged to could be the young girl in the next scene. Set in a quack doctor’s surgery, the girl looks too small to be the man’s wife, therefore, it can be assumed she is the husband’s lover. The reason for visiting the quack is uncertain; some say the husband is complaining the mercury pills previously prescribed were not curing his syphilis, whereas, others point out the girl looks particularly unwell, therefore, could be pregnant or may have been infected with syphilis by her lover. It has been suggested that the other woman in the painting is the girl’s mother who is blackmailing the husband for defiling her daughter, however, the signs of syphilis on the mother’s skin imply she is equally to blame.

As earl and countess, the husband and wife hold and attend many parties, including one which is shown in scene four. The guests are preparing to enter the ballroom but the countess has turned her back on them to talk to a lawyer named Silvertongue. Various symbols suggest an existence of an affair between countess and lawyer, which is confirmed in the next scene where the earl discovers his wife in her private rooms with her lover.

Presumably after a duel, the earl is fatally wounded and the lawyer makes a hasty exit through the window in his nightshirt, as shown in scene five. Interestingly, the countess reaches out for her dying husband, forgetting all about her lover, despite the lack of affection in the marriage.

Whether from guilt or grief, the countess poisons herself with a bottle of laudanum, which lies empty at her feet in the final scene. An elderly woman lifts a baby to kiss its mother goodbye, revealing marks of syphilis on the baby’s cheek and leg, possibly passed on by the father. The countess’ father removes the wedding ring from his dead daughter’s finger, presumably to try and sell as it is the only item of worth in the poverty-stricken house.

With this series, Hogarth was satirising the rich and their arranged marriages. Whilst poorer, the common people were more likely to marry for love and live happily, unlike the wealthy who could afford to turn to vices to make up for the lack of affection in their lives.

The Happy Marriage (after 1745)

Following the completion of Marriage A-la-Mode, Hogarth began working on a positive counterpart known as The Happy Marriage. The series was never completed and all that remains are three unfinished paintings and four engravings made by artists after Hogarth’s death. Reasons for abandoning the project are widely speculated from the suggestion that “the rancour and malevolence of his mind” made it impossible for Hogarth to paint happy scenes, to it was too similar to works by other artists or authors at the time, for instance, the novel Pamela; or Virtue Rewarded by Samuel Richarson (1675-1732).

Due to the incompleteness, it is not certain in what order the images were intended to be viewed, however, some art critics have managed to piece together some semblance of a story. Unlike in Marriage A-la-Mode where the marriage was forced upon the young couple, The Happy Marriage begins with a courtship during which time they attend a garden party. A marriage eventually follows and the couple lives happily together with several children. One engraving also suggests they assisted the poor by handing out money and provisions.

It is thought the timespan of The Happy Marriage is the same as its counterpart, thus revealing how different life can be when a couple remains virtuous.

The Four Times of Day (1736-37)

The Four Times of Day is different from Hogarth’s previous works in that it does not follow a story but rather an observation of the goings-on in London over 24 hours. Slightly humorous in parts, Hogarth depicted people of all classes without showing preference to any particular type of person.

The first painting, titled Morning, shows an upper-class lady on her way to a church near Covent Garden, presumably St Paul’s Church, whose recognisable Palladian portico can be seen on the left-hand side. In front of the church is Tom King’s Coffee House, a regular haunt for prostitutes and their customers. The lady shields herself with her fan as she passes the disorderly group outside of the coffee house, who still appear to be intoxicated from the night before.

Noon takes place in the district of St Giles in the West End of London. On one side of the painting, well-dressed Huguenots are leaving the church, presumably St Giles in the Fields, which contrasts with the opposite scene. A small slovenly maid walks past the rotting corpse of a cat and the churchgoers, distracted by a black man fondling her breast. Not only is she unaware of her surroundings, but she is also no longer concentrating on her work, causing the contents of her pie dish to fall onto and break the plate of the boy in front of her, who stands there in distress.

The third scene, Evening, takes place in Clerkenwell, which during Hogarth’s time was outside of the city. A cow being milked in the background suggests it is about 5 pm and an ill-matched couple are returning from the capital. The husband, who carries his exhausted daughter, is a dyer by trade, evidenced by his stained finger-tips. The wife, presumably pregnant due to her size, tries to cool herself down with a fan displaying the classical scene of Venus and Adonis, suggesting she has been unfaithful to her husband. The timing of the scene places the husband directly in front of the cow’s head, making it appear as though the cow’s horns belonged to him. This is symbolic of a cuckold, the husband of an adulterous wife, which suggests his daughter and the unborn child may not be his.

The series ends with the scene Night, which takes place in Charing Cross with the statue of Charles I in the background. Scholars have suggested the date of the scene to be 29th May and, therefore, the people in the scene are returning home after celebrating the anniversary of the Restoration of the Monarchy. Charing Cross was a central staging post for coaches, just as it is now for taxis, however, the surrounding narrow roads were difficult to traverse during congested times. Hogarth reveals the fate of one of these coaches, which has overturned in front of a bonfire. The coach has yet to catch fire, however, the faces of the terrified passengers suggests the disaster will be inevitable. Meanwhile, a scene through a window reveals the unhygienic room belonging to a barber-surgeon. In those days, surgeons and barbers were one and the same, hence the sign that reads “Shaving, bleeding, and teeth drawn with a touch”. The barber, probably drunk after the day’s festivities, haphazardly shaves the beard of a customer with a knife that has no doubt been used for other more gruesome jobs.

The Four Stages of Cruelty (1751)

Ultimately, Hogarth’s progress series were produced as warnings against immoral behaviour. The Four Stages of Cruelty “were done in hopes of preventing in some degree that cruel treatment of poor Animals which makes the streets of London more disagreeable to the human mind, than any thing whatever.” (Hogarth) Rather than painting, Hogarth decided to only make engravings, which could be printed in multiples and distributed to a wider audience.

The series follows a character called Tom Nero who, in the first stage of cruelty, is seen inserting an arrow up a dog’s backside. Other boys in the street carry out other barbaric acts, such as burning out a bird’s eyes. Meanwhile, a tenderhearted boy pleads with Tom to cease the torture. It is said this well-dressed boy represents a young George III.

Tom is older in the second stage of cruelty and makes a living as a hackney coachman. His cruelty of animals as a schoolboy has continued into adulthood and he can be seen beating his horse, who has collapsed due to the previous mistreatment and overwork. Ironically, the overweight passengers in the carriage are lawyers, who turn a blind eye to Tom’s crimes. This, along with the lack of law enforcement in the first scene was Hogarth’s way of pointing out animals had no protection for mistreatment and violent crimes.

Things have escalated by the third scene, which reveals Tom has turned to thieving and murder. Tom persuaded his pregnant girlfriend Ann Gill to rob and leave her mistress. Ann, however, has second thoughts after the event, so to keep her quiet, Tom murders her. Her mutilated body lies at the bottom of the engraving along with a note that reads:

Dear Tommy
My mistress has been the best of women to me, and my conscience flies in my face as often as I think of wronging her; yet I am resolved to venture body and soul to do as you would have me, so do not fail to meet me as you said you would, for I will bring along with me all the things I can lay my hands on. So no more at present; but I remain yours till death.
Ann Gill.

Now that Tom has murdered a human being, the authorities finally get involved. In the final scene, Tom has been found guilty and hanged for his crime. The scene shows Tom’s corpse being subjected to the process of public dissection, however, the contortions of the body and expression of agony on Tom’s face suggests he was not yet dead when removed from the hangman’s noose.

Although The Four Stages of Cruelty did not have an immediate effect, Hogarth was pleased with the results. Eighty years after the scenes were published, the first Cruelty to Animals Act was passed by Parliament, outlawing the animal tortures depicted in Hogarth’s work.

The Humours of an Election (1754-55)

Whilst the majority of Hogarth’s works are based on fictional people, The Humours of an Election is a satirical series of oil paintings about an election held in Oxfordshire in 1754. Hogarth demonstrates the corruption of parliamentary elections before the Great Reform Act, which was eventually passed several decades after the artist’s death.

In the first scene, An Election Entertainment, the Whig candidates are enjoying a meal at an Inn whilst the Tories can be seen through the window protesting on the streets. Members of the latter party hold a banner with the words “Give us our Eleven days” in protest against the adoption of the Gregorian calendar.

Supposedly parodying the Last Supper, the Whig candidates try to butter up their supporters, which includes kissing an unattractive pregnant woman and listening to a drunk man’s story. Meanwhile, one man is knocked out by a brick thrown through the window by the Tories and another collapses from eating too many oysters. Hogarth pokes fun at the Irish politician Sir John Parnell (1720-82) who is seated at the table using a napkin as a hand puppet.

Scene two, Canvassing for Votes, shows two opposing candidates attempting to bribe an innkeeper to vote for them. Although this series is based on Oxford, Hogarth named the town Guzzletown, implying the members of parliament are corrupt drunks. The parties are represented by different inns: The Crown for the Whigs and the Royal Oak for the Tories. The Whigs’ establishment is being mobbed by those opposed to being taxed, whereas, the Tories are made to appear antisemitic. A third establishment, the Portobello Inn, represents an independent party.

The next stage of the progress is The Polling, in which voters are shown declaring their support for their favoured party. The Whigs are represented by an orange banner and the Tories with blue. Both parties are using unethical tactics to increase their votes, for instance, forcing a mentally disabled man to vote and carrying forward a man on the brink of death. Meanwhile, a genuine voter, a veteran soldier, is challenged because he has lost both of his hands and cannot swear his identity on the Bible. In the background, a woman in a coach that represents Britannia struggles as the carriage breaks down, unbeknownst to the drivers who are too busy playing cards, one of whom is cheating.

The final scene, Chairing the Member, depicts the aftermath of the election. A victorious Tory candidate is being carried aloft on a chair but is about to be knocked over by two opposing voters who are fighting in the street. Although the scene is one of celebration, there are many impending disasters that only the viewer can see. Pigs run riot, two chimney sweeps urinate on a dancing bear and, in the background, hoards of either celebrating or protesting voters are crowding the street.

At the time, Hogarth was making a mockery of the way elections were held, highlighting how corrupt the politicians were. Nowadays, the paintings are useful for historians when researching how elections were held in the 18th century, for instance, the lack of a secret ballot.

Industry and Idleness (1747)

Just as he went on to do with The Four Stages of Cruelty, Hogarth created Industry and Idleness solely as a set of engravings. With a total of twelve plates, this is the longest series of work Hogarth completed, which tackles both the inevitable consequences of vice and the rewards of virtue. The series follows the lives of two characters, Francis Goodchild and Tom Idle, who begin life on the same rung of the ladder but gradually move towards their respective fates. Each scene is accompanied by a Biblical reference, which foreshadows the future.

In plate one, Goodchild and Idle are apprentice weavers, however, their attitude to the work differs greatly. “The hand of the diligent maketh rich,” (Proverbs 10:4) describes Goodfellow, who is busy at the loom surrounded by helpful literature, including his copy of The Prentice’s Guide. On the other hand, “The Drunkard shall come to Poverty, & drowsiness shall cloath a Man with rags,” (Proverbs 23:21) warns of Idle’s fate, who is already disappointing his master by sleeping on the job.

“O! How I love thy Law it is my meditation all day.”
Psalm 119:97

On Sundays, the apprentices were given the day off to attend church, which is what Goodchild is doing in plate two. He can be seen standing next to the master’s daughter at St Martin-in-the-Fields. Meanwhile, in plate three, Idle is spending his Sunday rather differently.

“Judgments are prepared for scorners & stripes for the back of Fools”
Proverbs 19:29

Rather than attend a church service, Tom Idle remains in the churchyard with other badly behaved boys who are sitting on top of a tombstone and gambling with a few coins. Behind them stands a beadle, ready to beat the boys for their disrespect.

“Well done good and faithfull servant thou hast been faithfull over a few things, I will make thee Ruler over many things.”
Matthew 25:21

By plate four, Goodchild has been promoted from apprentice to the bookkeeper of his master’s business. The set of keys and a money bag in Goodchild’s hands proves he has earnt his master’s trust.

“A foolish son is the heaviness of his Mother.”
Proverbs 10:1

Idle, on the other hand, has been turned away from the business and sent out to sea to earn a living. Plate five shows Idle and his weeping mother crossing the Thames in a wooden rowing boat, however, Idle has thrown his contract in the water, no longer wanting to be under anyone’s authority.

“The Virtuous Woman is a Crown to her Husband.”‘
Proverbs 12:4

Not only did Goodchild work his way up in the weaving company, but he also won the hand of his master’s daughter, who he has married by plate six. Mr and Mrs Goodchild stand at a window, distributing the remnants of their dinner to the poor. A sign hanging on the building reveals Goodchild’s name has been added to the title of the family business.

“The Sound of a Shaken Leaf shall Chace him.”
Leviticus 26:30

Having rejected formal employment, Idle has become a thief or highwayman and has taken up residence with a common prostitute. While this woman studies Idle’s latest spoils, Idle starts at the sound of a cat falling down the chimney. The bolts and extra planks of wood on the door to the room suggest Idle is terrified of the law catching him for his crimes.

“With all thy getting get understanding Exalt her, & she shall promote thee: she shall bring thee to honour, when thou dost Embrace her.”
Proverbs 4:7-8

Whilst Idle hides away, Mr and Mrs Goodchild attend an opulent banquet where they sit in the seats of the guests of honour. Although Goodchild has become associated with the upper class who Hogarth generally dispised, he portrays Goodchild as a well-dressed individual, whereas, the others present at the meal tend to be overweight, unruly and busy stuffing food into their mouths.

“The Adulteress will hunt for the precious life.”
Proverbs 6:26

Idle progresses from thieving to murder, as seen in plate nine. Idle is examining the possessions of his recent victim whilst another man disposes of the body through a trap door. Idle’s prostitute, however, reveals Idle’s location to men of the Law in exchange for a small sum of money. With nowhere to run, Idle is about to be caught red-handed.

“The Wicked is snar’d in the work of his own hands.”
Psalm 9:16

“Thou shalt do no unrighteousness in Judgement.”
Leviticus 19:15

Idle and Goodchild’s paths cross once more in plate ten. Goodchild has become an alderman and it is his job to sentence Idle for his crimes. Despite the pleading of Idle and his mother, Goodchild has no choice but to sentence Idle to death. The expression on Goodchild’s face suggests he is struggling to hide his emotions and feelings for his former workmate.

“When fear cometh as desolation, and their destruction cometh as a Whirlwind; when distress cometh upon them, they shall call upon God, but he will not answer.”
Proverbs 1:27

So, Idle meets his fate in plate eleven as he travels to the gallows. In the coach, Idle leans against his coffin whilst a Methodist preacher makes a last-minute attempt to persuade Idle to repent of his sins. The coach is surrounded by crowds of people travelling to witness Idle’s execution. No one looks particularly upset about Idle’s fate and only accompany him out of morbid curiosity.

“Length of days is in her right hand, and in her left hand Riches and Honour.”
Proverbs 3:16

By the end of the series, Goodchild’s life is a stark contrast to his deceased workmate. Due to his virtuous nature, Goodchild has been elected Lord Mayor of the City and rides through a celebrating crowd in the Lord Mayor’s carriage. Since this is the final plate, Hogarth does not reveal how Goodchild’s life ends, however, if the previous plates are anything to go by, Goodchild is likely to have a long and happy future.

Gin Lane and Beer Street (1751)

Although Gin Lane and Beer Street are not one of Hogarth’s “Modern Moral Subjects” nor a series, the two prints were an appropriate ending to the exhibition at the John Soane’s Museum. Hogarth issued these prints the year after the Sales of Spirits Act was passed in 1750, also known as the Gin Act. Since the quality of water in London was so poor, citizens took to drinking gin as a cheap alternative. Unfortunately, this led to extreme drunkenness and addiction. Even when prices were raised, people still found a way to purchase and abuse gin. With these two prints, Hogarth was attempting to persuade people to drink a “safer” alternative: beer.

Gin Lane is set in the slum district of St Giles full of dishevelled people on the brink of death or despair. The only two flourishing businesses are the gin seller and the pawnbroker, where people sell their possessions for a few pennies to spend on gin. In the foreground are two people whose lives have been ruined by gin. One man resembles a skeleton, having given up food to be able to afford the drink. The other person, a woman, is so drunk she lets her baby slip from her arms, plunging to certain death. The syphilitic sores on the woman’s legs suggest she may have taken to prostitution to fund her addiction.

Beer Street, on the other hand, is set near St Martin-in-the-Fields on 30th October, George II’s birthday. The inhabitants are good-humoured, well dressed and, although they are all drinking, are taking a break from a hard day’s work. Businesses appear to be thriving and no one is in the grips of despair, except perhaps the pawnbroker who receives very little custom.

Whilst Hogarth deliberately makes the Beer Street lifestyle more appealing, it did not have an immediate effect on the people of London. Those gripped by addiction ignored his warnings and continued to seek out supplies. In 1836, gin consumption was still an issue, as Charles Dickens (1812-70) pointed out: “Gin-drinking is a great vice in England, but wretchedness and dirt are a greater; and until you improve the homes of the poor, or persuade a half-famished wretch not to seek relief in the temporary oblivion of his own misery, with the pittance that, divided among his family, would furnish a morsel of bread for each, gin-shops will increase in number and splendour.” Nonetheless, Hogarth’s prints started the slow progress of sobering up the people of London.

Hogarth: Place and Progress not only allowed visitors to the museum to see some of the best works of one of the greatest English painters and printers, but it also allowed us to discover life in London during the 1700s, particularly for the poor. History tends to focus on the victors, the rich and the important, therefore, the people at the bottom of the social scale tend to get erased. Hogarth, who grew up in a lower-middle-class family, thus experienced both ends of the scale, captured the truth, albeit slightly satirical, for posterity.

The art critic Brian Sewell declared in 2007 that “Hogarth saw it all and saw it straight, without Rowlandson’s gloss of puerile humour and without Gainsborough’s gloss of sentimentality.” This also says a lot about Hogarth’s personality. Having experienced debtors prison through his father, he sympathised with the poor, however, he tended to blame them for their vices and suggested it was their choices that controlled their future and not their financial positions. Meanwhile, Hogarth did not believe the upper classes were better than the lower. Often, he painted the rich as fat, selfish men, however, those who had worked their way up the ladder through virtuous behaviour were looked upon in a different light.

Hogarth was by no means a perfect gentleman, however, he made a name for himself and tried to provide for his wife Jane, the daughter of his former tutor Sir James Thornhill. Hogarth was initiated as a Freemason by 1728 and bought a house in Leicester Square, then known as Leicester Fields, and a country retreat in Chiswick. The latter is now known as Hogarth House and is preserved as a museum. Although Jane and Hogarth had no children of their own, they frequently fostered foundling children and helped to set up the Foundling Hospital in Hatton Garden.

Hogarth died in London on 26th October 1764 and was buried at St Nicholas Church in Chiswick. His greatness as a painter of “Modern Moral Subjects” was captured in an inscription on his tomb written by the actor David Garrick (1717-79):

Farewell great Painter of Mankind
Who reach’d the noblest point of Art
Whose pictur’d Morals charm the Mind
And through the Eye correct the Heart.

If Genius fire thee, Reader, stay,
If Nature touch thee, drop a Tear:
If neither move thee, turn away,
For Hogarth’s honour’d dust lies here.

Although the exhibition has now closed, it is still possible to see A Rake’s Progress and The Humours of an Election at the Sir John Soane’s Museum in Lincoln Fields Inn, Holborn. Other places in London to view Hogarth’s work include Tate Britain, the National Gallery and the Foundling Museum.

Opera: Passion, Power and Politics

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© Victoria and Albert Museum

After the success of Pink Floyd: Their Mortal Remains, the Victoria and Albert Museum has moved on to a completely different genre of music. Using the newly opened Sainsbury Gallery, the V&A are taking visitors on a journey through four centuries of European history, demonstrating the evolution of opera music and performances leading up to its contemporary interpretations of the 20th and 21st-centuries. Opera: Passion, Power and Politics focuses on seven particular premieres in seven different European cities whilst it not only celebrates the exceptional style of music but explores its effects on society, politics and the changes in the developing world.

In a darkened display room with dramatic lighting, the exhibition weaves through corridors of temporary walls decorated with relevant images, original artworks and a wealth of information. With striking typography, information is presented in an exciting manner, revealing the history of opera and the countries involved.

Opera first came on the scene in Italy during the 17th century, particularly in the cultural city of Venice. Unfortunately, as a result of a plague which killed off 30% of its population, Venice was struggling to maintain its maritime trade and political status. Despite this, it still remained a popular destination for tourists and pleasure seekers, also attracting artists and revolutionaries. Its international status brought a wealth of different cultures to the realm, offering entertainment such as carnivals and gambling.

Initially, opera was a production of spectacular costumes, dances and music, which were put on to impress visiting public figures and to show off the wealth of the theatre owners. The stories acted out were usually mythological retellings that contained parallels with the present day, thus placing current rulers in a positive light. However, in order to boost the Venetian population, opera was opened up to the public as a means of attracting more tourists and visitors.

The first public opera that was not restricted to courtly audiences was L’incoronazione di Poppea, with music composed by Claudio Monteverdi (1567-1643) and a libretto written by Giovanni Francesco Busenello (1598-1659). Premiering at the Teatro Santi Giovanni e Paolo in Venice in 1642, the opera describes the ambition of Poppaea, the mistress of Roman emperor Nero, to be crowned Empress. This was the first opera to recall a historical event rather than a fictionalised story and focused on morality and virtue. Full of problematic characters, it glorified lust and ambition.

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View of Venice, print, Frederick de Wit, Netherlands. Museum no. E.1539-1900. © Victoria and Albert Museum, London

From Italy, opera quickly caught on in London due to its influx of foreign visitors. The Reformation during the reign of Henry VIII brought thousands of refugees to the city along with international influences. Covent Garden, in the west end of London, was an artistic community full of coffee houses where many would come to be entertained or partake in political debates. It was only natural for opera to find a home here amongst the existing artists and performers.

As indicated in large letters on the painted walls of the gallery, “G. F. Handel – young German composer takes city by storm”. At the young age of 26, George Frideric Handel (1685-1759) composed the music for the first Italian language opera written for the London stage. Translated from Aaron Hill’s (1685-1750) English version by Italian poet Giacomo Rossi, Rinaldo is a story about love, war and redemption set at the time of the First Crusades (1095-99) demonstrating the conflict between the Saracens and Christians. For the English audience, this would have felt familiar after the not so distant antagonism between Catholics and Protestants.

Impressively, Handel composed the music within a couple of weeks and Rinaldo was opened to the public on 24th February 1711 at the Queen’s Theatre in Haymarket. At this point in the exhibition, the V&A excels itself with a scenographic wooden installation representing part of the 18th-century theatre. A short puppet-like show performs intermittently whilst visitors listen to Il Vostro Maggio – an aria performed by mermaids during Act II of Rinaldo – on headsets provided by the museum.

As with any innovation, opera received its fair share of criticism from the public and became a topic of debate in the neighbouring coffee houses. The artist William Hogarth (1697-1764) illustrated the fears many had about the foreign genre becoming a threat to traditional British Theatre, particularly Shakespeare. These etchings are displayed as part of the exhibition.

The V&A fast forwards seventy-five years to Vienna where another young musician is making his name known. This was, of course, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756-91). In the late 1700s, Vienna was the heart of European music and opera, which was encouraged by the “musical king” Emperor Joseph II of Habsburg (1749-90).

The philosophical movement, known as the Enlightenment (or the “Age of Reason”), was changing the way Europeans thought, particularly in regard to individual rights. This, along with the Vienesse love of music, made Vienna the perfect location to perform Mozart’s society-questioning opera Le Nozze di Figaro (The Marriage of Figaro).

Le Nozze di Figaro is a comic opera in four acts with an Italian libretto. It contains a range of characters from all classes of society and radically gives servants a central role. Previously, domestic workers were absurd figures to be laughed at, whereas this opera tells the story of Figaro and Susanna, two servants who succeed in getting married despite the corrupt efforts of their philandering employer.

“O, my homeland, so beautiful and lost! O memories, so dear and yet so deadly!”

Hebrew Chorus, Nabucco

The exhibition moves on to Milan, which in the 1840s was still under Austrian rule. Throughout the 19th century, the political and social movement Risorgimento or Italian Unification was gradually reunifying Italian states to consolidate the Kingdom of Italy. The famous opera house La Scala was often used as a venue for political discussion about independence and, therefore, was an ideal location for the first performance of Giuseppe Verdi’s (1813-1901) Nabucco.

Based on the biblical books of Jeremiah and Daniel, Nabucco follows the plight of the Jews facing abuse from the Babylonian King Nabucco (Nebuchadnezzar II). Despite the historical context, the audience would have been able to relate to the passion about national identity and fight for freedom, thus strengthening their own resolve.

With the rise of Nationalism affecting many European countries, new operatic styles began to develop. Two examples appeared in France in the mid-19th century, “Opéra Comique” and “Grand Opéra”. The former was an amalgamation of spoken word with sung arias and became popular with the public. The latter combined expressive scenery, singing and ballet. Richard Wagner’s (1813-83) Tannhäuser followed the form of Grand Opéra, however, he began to challenge tradition by blending orchestra and voice instead of having several different aria performances.

Tannhäuser und der Sängerkrieg auf Wartburg, to use its full title, was first performed at the Parisian Théâtre le Peletier on 13th March 1861 much to the delight of radical thinkers. It was not only Wagner’s Gesamtkunstwerk (all-embracing art form) that upset the traditional audience, it was the choice of themes. Sexuality, spirituality and personal struggle were concepts that disagreed with bourgeois tastes. Tannhäuser combines two legends and focuses on the struggle between sacred and sacrilegious love, naturally causing much discomfort amongst spectators.

It is the 20th century that really radicalised the opera genre, as graphically demonstrated in this exhibition. New ideas in psychology and feminism brought new themes for composers to experiment with, much to the audience’s dismay. In Dresden, the Fin de siècle culture was changing the perceptions of women, an attribute that Richard Strauss (1864-1949) took hold of and ran with it his psycho-sexual opera, Salome. The Semperoper opened the revolutionary opera in 1905 with an orchestra of over one hundred instruments. Salome only lasts for one act, but the snippet the V&A shows on a digital screen suggests this is more than enough – particularly for those with a more sensitive stomach.

“Salomania” had affected artists and poets for a number of years before Strauss brought it to the opera house. Salome is the biblical character best known for her desire for the decapitated head of John the Baptist. The “Dance of the Seven Veils” at the end of the story – a term first used by Oscar Wilde – contains erotic dancing and copious amounts of (fake) blood. Strauss’s version of Salome emphasises the passion and hysteria in the women contesting their suppressed status at the beginning of the 1900s.

The final destination on the V&A’s opera tour is Leningrad at the commencement of Stalin’s dictatorship. With avant-garde experiments being all the rage, the young Dmitri Shostakovich (1906-75) composed his Lady Macbeth of the Mtsensk District sharing the writing of the libretto with Alexander Preys (1905-42). Based on a novella by Nikolai Leskov (1831-95), the opera covers themes of rural life, adultery and murder (obviously, since it is derived from the original Shakespearean character).

A common theme between the seven operas explored by the V&A is the discomfort and unrest they caused for some of the spectators. This was no different for Lady Macbeth, however, the person it upset the most was the infamous Stalin who only wanted Socialist Realism depicted in any art form. The heroine did not match Stalin’s ideal Soviet woman, therefore Shostakovich’s opera was condemned to political censorship.

Comparing the first public opera, L’incoronazione di Poppea, with this 20th-century composition goes to show the major metamorphosis the genre has undergone in a period of 400 years. The V&A have presented this exhibition in an outstanding way, combining visual and audio to creates a seamless journey from 1642 to 1934.

Paintings from well-known artists provide glimpses into the way opera goers dressed and behaved in the past centuries, which gradually transform to photographic examples as the exhibition nears its end. Objects from original manuscripts and Mozart’s piano, to modern stage props, are located around the exhibition, adding to the historical aspect and providing more to look at than screens and walls.

Before the exit, although accessible from other areas of the gallery, is a large space full of enormous screens showing clips from a range of operas. With the audio headset, visitors can pick up the music and sit and listen to the various compositions. This video-audio experience uses a selection of 20th and 21st-century operas to quickly take viewers from its origins in Renaissance Europe to the global phenomenon it is today.

Opera: Passion, Power and Politics is an extraordinary feat on behalf of the V&A. The amount of time, effort and research that has gone into its construction is evident in the amazing outcome. Educational from both a historical and political perspective, this exhibition will excite opera fans and interest those that are new to the genre – although not suitable for younger visitors.

After attending this exhibition, opera will no longer merely be a form of entertainment. Who knew how political and socially challenging a seemingly harmless production could be? Opera: Passion, Power and Politics certainly challenges opinions and reveals that it is not only about music and singing.

Opera: Passion, Power and Politics is on now until Sunday, 25 February 2018. Tickets are £19.00 and advance booking is recommended. 

The Foundling Museum

Where artists and children have inspired each other since 1740

Charities play a vital role in societies throughout the world. Thanks to volunteers and funding, many lives have been changed for the better. From international organisations to independent health-focused charities, so much is being done in an attempt to improve the conditions of those less fortunate. Coram is the UKs leading charity in the field of adoption services and dates back to the 1700s when it was first established as The Foundling Hospital by a man named Thomas Coram.

Thomas Coram was concerned about the desperate poverty on the streets of London, particularly in the case of children. At the beginning of the 18th century, 75% of children under five died as a result of neglect or disease due to the increasing destitute state of Londoners.

Although the idea of charity organisations existed across the continent, Britain had yet to jump on the bandwagon. Therefore, thanks to Coram’s determination, the first charity was born. By taking in babies from mothers without the means to look after them, The Foundling Hospital greatly improved and saved the lives of thousands of children.

The hospital continued to protect children from the disease-ridden streets until the 1900s when attitudes towards children’s emotional needs changed. In 1953, the hospital ceased to take in children, instead,  renaming themselves the Thomas Coram Foundation for Children, focused on nursery, welfare and foster services. Now shortened to Coram, the charity is registered as an adoption agency and continues to give the best possible start in life for as many children as possible.

The original buildings of The Foundling Hospital no longer exist, however, the headquarters in Brunswick Square, which opened in 1939, does. As of June 2004, this building has been open to the public and renamed The Foundling Museum.

The Foundling Museum contains a wealth of knowledge about the original hospital, its patrons and its former pupils. In order to fund the charity, artists donated works to be exhibited to members of the public, thus creating London’s first art gallery. The most important supporter from the initial conception was painter and engraver William Hogarth (1697-1764). Having had a precarious childhood himself, Hogarth was eager to become part of a charity for children of the poor. He donated several artworks, including the hospital’s first piece, a portrait of Thomas Coram. Another of Hogarth’s paintings The March of the Guards to Finchley (1750) was also donated. Both are on display in the museum.

William Hogarth was also involved with the design of some sections of the original hospital – a few of which have been preserved and re-erected in the museum’s building. He also designed the Foundling Hospital Coat of Arms (1747), which was proudly displayed above the entrance to the residence.

It was not only painters who contributed towards The Foundling Hospital, musicians and composers were also eager to play a part. Alongside Hogarth, George Frideric Handel (1685-1759) was significantly valuable to the hospital. Handel’s support began in 1749 when he offered to conduct a benefit concert. The audience included a great number of distinctive people including the Prince and Princess of Wales. Over 1000 people attended and, amongst some of Handel’s known works, the Foundling Hospital Anthem, written by the composer himself, was performed for the first time. A year later, Handel conducted another benefit concert, this time performing his famous Messiah.

Handel’s Messiah became a significant musical work for The Foundling Hospital, being performed on an annual basis. Collectively, these concerts raised £7000, which today would be worth well over a million. On Handel’s death in 1759, a copy of the score was left to the hospital in his will, so that the charity could continue benefitting from the concerts for years to come.

The Museum celebrates Handel’s life and his contribution to the charity with his very own gallery located on the top floor of the building. As well as a portrait and plaster bust, the room displays items relating to the conductor and his Messiah. Most importantly, protected behind a screen, are the original will and codicils signed by Handel, stating his bequest to The Foundling Hospital.  

The donated artwork takes up most of the space in the museum, lining the walls of rooms and staircases. Nevertheless, part of the ground floor has been devoted to the history of the hospital. In glass cases, are clothing, bedding, crockery, receipts, registers and so forth belonging to the original inhabitants of The Foundling Hospital. Most noteworthy are the cabinets containing tokens that mothers left with their babies.

From the moment the hospital doors were open, the greatest care was taken in noting all the items that arrived with each child, a physical description and any significant marks to distinguish which child belonged to which mother in the event of a reunion in the future.  However, as children grew, their features would alter, making it more difficult to prove identity. Since names were changed in order to respect the mother’s anonymity, the hospital encouraged the parents to leave a token of some sort for the child to keep, from which any future claims could be accurately affirmed.

The tokens on display show an example of the range of items used to identify children. Each is unique in some way, be it a piece of embroidery, an item of jewellery or a disfigured or personalised coin with a name or number etched into it. It is amazing that these did not go astray during the children’s lives at the hospital, and that so many still remain intact today.

Although photographs exist of the hospital’s later years, paintings are relied on to understand the situation during the 18th century. The majority of the paintings, particularly those along the staircase, are portraits of governors and other notable names associated with The Foundling Hospital. Yet, hidden in certain rooms, are remarkable scenes depicting life in and around the hospital. A particular series of note can be found in the Committee Room alongside Hogarth’s The March of the Guards to Finchley. 

Emma Brownlow (1832-1905) produced a series of four paintings that reveal the life at The Foundling Hospital. Initially, it may come as a surprise that a woman of that era had the opportunity to study and paint in oils, however, on learning her father was John Brownlow, one of the hospital’s secretaries and ex-foundling, it becomes clear why Emma was such a reliable source of accurate representation. Growing up around the foundlings, Emma was able to illustrate the uniforms, the admission system, the infirmary, and the emotions and behaviour of the children. More of Emma Brownlow’s paintings can be found elsewhere in the museum.

Emma’s father, the aforementioned John Brownlow, had some correspondence with the author, Charles Dickens, who, like him, had a difficult childhood and was ashamed of his upbringing. It is thought that Dickens used both his own experiences and his observances at The Foundling Hospital to accurately portray his celebrated characters.

The paintings of The Foundling Hospital and its patrons add to the historical knowledge imparted by the museum. The Court Room, however, contains four large artworks that are metaphorical rather than representational. These illustrate stories of the benevolence and deliverance of children in either religion, mythology or history. The artists liken the foundling children to biblical characters such as Moses and Ishmael, and one chose to paint Little Children Brought to Christ (James Wills, 1746) to emphasise the importance of all children.

The most famous artist displayed in the Court Room is, of course, William Hogarth with his Moses Brought Before Pharaoh’s Daughter (1746). Assuming most people know the famous Bible story, the significance of this scene is the similarity of the return of Moses to his adopted mother from his wet nurse (his real mother), with the way in which the foundlings lived the first five years of their lives. After passing medical tests, babies were sent to responsible wet nurses in the country to be fed and looked after, until, at the age of five, they returned to the hospital to live and attend school.

Just like for visitors during the 1760s, famous artworks are on show for everyone to see. Despite The Foundling Hospital’s closure, the charity (Coram) is still running, therefore artists are continuing to donate artwork to be included in what is now the museum. The basement of the building contains the perfect space for temporary exhibitions for 21st-century artists to showcase work influenced by stories and history of the foundlings.

Well-known names such as Tracey Emin, Quentin Blake and David Shrigley have all appeared in exhibitions during the past ten years. Incidentally, the most famous and popular of all the displays is the current presentation of Jacqueline Wilson’s Hetty Feather. Written during 2008 and recently adapted for television, Hetty Feather tells the story of a courageous 19th-century foundling, bringing the past alive for 21st-century children.

Picturing Hetty Feather is running until 3rd September 2017, converging with the school summer holidays so that all Jacqueline Wilson fans around London can attend. Props and costumes from the CBBC production are on display with the opportunity for children to dress up as a foundling and sit in a typical 19th-century classroom. The opportunity to view an interview with the famous author is available, and it is impossible to miss the illustrations by the respected Nick Sharratt.

There is something for everyone at The Foundling Museum to appease children, historians and art aficionados alike. Immersed in history, the museum tells a positive story of a cause that has developed and shaped the way children in care are treated today. Oftentimes, comments are made about the lack of modern techniques that could have prevented disasters of the past, but in spite of the absence of digital technology, the founders and governors, particularly Coram, Hogarth and Handel, were dedicated enough to create a highly successful charity.

The Foundling Museum is open every day except Mondays, charging £8.25 (£5.50 concessions), with an added £3 for the temporary exhibition. Children and National Trust members are welcome free of charge.

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Untitled, David Shrigley, 2012

Eastward Ho!

Not long ago, I visited the Museum of London with a friend because … why not? Whilst we were discovering the history of London (from prehistoric eras to the present day), we were both drawn to a particular painting hanging on the wall in the Expanding Cities – 1670s-1850s gallery. Neither of us were familiar with the artwork, nor the artist, but the bright colours were powerful and enticed me to have a closer look.

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Eastward Ho!

The painting, I learnt, was called Eastward Ho! by a man named Henry Nelson O’Neil, and was completed in c.1857/8. A minuscule notecard was situated to the left of the frame, providing an inadequate explanation and description of the artwork:

Soldiers are shown boarding a ship at Gravesend, leaving to fight in the ‘Indian Mutiny’ – the first Indian war of Independence. They are saying their final farewells to their loved ones. This immensely colourful and vibrant painting was Henry Nelson O’Neil’s most popular work.

The basic scenario has been explained, but who was Henry Nelson O’Neil? Why did he choose to paint this particular situation? How comes, if this work was so popular, I have never heard of it, nor him?  Let’s find out. Henry Nelson O’Neil, who are you?

Henry Nelson O’Neil

Henry Nelson O’Neil was born in Russia on 7th January 1817, however he spent the majority of his life in England, where he moved with his parents in 1823. Despite his origin of birth, his parents were British nationals, therefore his brief Russian beginnings had very little impact upon his future. Nothing is known about the O’Neil family, nor his childhood, until he entered the art scene in 1836 after enrolling at the Royal Academy.

The year 1838 saw O’Neil’s first exhibited artwork on display at the academy. Simply titled The Student, this picture – sadly unknown today – sparked off his career, resulting in almost 100 of his paintings adorning the academy’s walls during his life time. O’Neil produced a new painting almost yearly, experimenting with a range of subject matter. Art historians can assume the artist was an educated and cultured individual on account of his interest in painting scenes from literature and the Bible, as well as historical incidents.

O’Neil opted for striking colours, however his compositions were often criticised as faulty. It appeared that O’Neil was averse to demonstrating negative emotion in his artwork, resulting in unrealistic contexts. A particular example is titled The Parting Cheer (1861) which showed the emigration of British and European families at a time when this would have caused heartbreak, worry and despair. However, as the title suggests, O’Neil painted a cheerful atmosphere, implying that emigration was a cause for celebration rather than a time of uncertainty.

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The Last Moments of Mozart

More popular were O’Neil’s romantic scenes, particularly ones portraying the deaths of Mozart and Raphael. The Last Moments of Mozart (1849) shows the composer, moments from death, listening to a performance of his Requiem.

O’Neil also had a go at writing, publishing Lectures on Painting delivered at the Royal Academy containing a selection of talks he gave to students at the academy. Moving away from art, O’Neil also attempted a few pieces of literature, however he supposably was not all that successful in this venture. He also had a passion for music and enjoyed playing the violin. It may be assumed that O’Neil continued working until his death on 13th March 1880. His body is interred in Kensal Green Cemetery.

Compared with other artists of the era, O’Neil does not stand out amongst the greats, and today remains virtually unknown. The most significant endeavour during his lifetime is arguably his connection to the group of artists known as The Clique.

The Clique

Formed by Richard Dadd in the late 1830s, The Clique was a group made up of an assemblage of British artists, Henry Nelson O’Neil being amongst them. Not much evidence remains of The Clique‘s existence, however it is supposed that the group met up to sketch and receive opinions on their artwork.

The Clique apparently rejected academic high art in favour of genre painting – a term associated with the celebrated William Hogarth, who was probably a great influence to the group. They believed, like Hogarth, that art should be judged by the public, not by preexisting academic ideals.

Hopefully the Museum of London will continue to display Eastward Ho! as part of the exhibition, not only because it represents a particular event in London, but because it is one of the only remaining evidences of O’Neil’s existence. Although he may not have made himself known to the world, it would be a great shame to lose all recognition in the future.