Delphi Complete Paintings of William Hogarth (Illustrated)

By William Hogarth

The Father of English painting, William Hogarth aspired to an art that would engage and delight ordinary citizens, rather than educated connoisseurs and critics, whom he despised. He achieved this ambition by creating a new type of painting, a comic strip-like series of pictures called ‘modern moral subjects’. Famous examples such as ‘A Harlot's Progress’, ‘A Rake's Progress’ and ‘Marriage A-la-Mode’ were reproduced en masse as popular engravings and were accessible to all. His work also provided a visual influence to the satirical works of England’s great men of letters. More importantly, Hogarth’s extraordinary achievement of securing a Copyright Act would benefit countless artists in all media to the present day. Delphi’s Masters of Art Series presents the world’s first digital e-Art books, allowing readers to explore the works of great artists in comprehensive detail. This volume presents Hogarth’s complete paintings in beautiful detail, with concise introductions, hundreds of high quality images and the usual Delphi bonus material. (Version 1)

* The complete paintings of William Hogarth – hundreds of images, fully indexed and arranged in chronological and alphabetical order
* Includes reproductions of rare works
* Features a special ‘Highlights’ section, with concise introductions to the masterpieces, giving valuable contextual information
* Enlarged ‘Detail’ images, allowing you to explore Hogarth’s celebrated works in detail, as featured in traditional art books
* Hundreds of images in colour – highly recommended for viewing on tablets and smartphones or as a valuable reference tool on eReaders
* Special chronological and alphabetical contents tables for the paintings
* Easily locate the artworks you wish to view
* Includes a wide selection of Hogarth’s prints – explore the artist’s varied works
* Hogarth’s treatise of art: ‘The Analysis of Beauty’
* A special criticism section, with eight seminal essays exploring Hogarth’s contribution to the development of British art
* Features four bonus biographies – immerse yourself in Hogarth’s world

CONTENTS:

The Highlights
Masquerades and Operas (1724)
Emblematical Print on the South Sea Scheme (1724)
Conversation Piece (c. 1731)
A Harlot’s Progress (1731)
A Rake’s Progress (1734)
Self Portrait (1735)
Jesus at the Pool of Bethesda (1737)
Four Times of the Day (1738)
Portrait of Thomas Coram (1740)
Marriage à-la-mode (1745)
The Painter and his Pug (1745)
David Garrick as Richard III (1745)
The Shrimp Girl (c. 1745)
The Gate of Calais or O, the Roast Beef of Old England (1748)
Beer Street and Gin Lane (1751)
Sigismunda Mourning over the Heart of Guiscardo (1759)
Credulity, Superstition and Fanaticism (1762)

The Paintings
The Complete Paintings
Alphabetical List of Paintings

The Prints
List of Prints

The Book
The Analysis of Beauty (1753)

The Criticism
Preface to ‘Joseph Andrews’ (1742) by Henry Fielding
Letter to George Montagu, Esq. (1761) by Horace Walpole
Characters of Hogarth (1765) by Horace Walpole
On the Genius and Character of Hogarth (1811) by Charles Lamb
Hogarth, Smollett, and Fielding (1853) by William Makepeace Thackeray
Hogarth’s Works: First Series (1874) by John Ireland and John Nichols
Hogarth and His Time (1877) by James Parton
Hogarth’s Sigismunda (1892) by Austin Dobson

The Biographies
Biographical Anecdotes of William Hogarth (1785) by John Nichols
William Hogarth (1900) by Austin Dobson
Hogarth (1912) by Arthur St. John Adcock
Hogarth by (1913) C. Lewis Hind

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Delphi Publishing Ltd
• Release date: Aug 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781801700153

Book preview

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William Hogarth

(1697-1764)

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Contents

The Highlights

Masquerades and Operas (1724)

Emblematical Print on the South Sea Scheme (1724)

Conversation Piece (c. 1731)

A Harlot’s Progress (1731)

A Rake’s Progress (1734)

Self Portrait (1735)

Jesus at the Pool of Bethesda (1737)

Four Times of the Day (1738)

Portrait of Thomas Coram (1740)

Marriage à-la-mode (1745)

The Painter and his Pug (1745)

David Garrick as Richard III (1745)

The Shrimp Girl (c. 1745)

The Gate of Calais or O, the Roast Beef of Old England (1748)

Beer Street and Gin Lane (1751)

Sigismunda Mourning over the Heart of Guiscardo (1759)

Credulity, Superstition and Fanaticism (1762)

The Paintings

The Complete Paintings

Alphabetical List of Paintings

The Prints

List of Prints

The Book

The Analysis of Beauty (1753)

The Criticism

Preface to ‘Joseph Andrews’ (1742) by Henry Fielding

Letter to George Montagu, Esq. (1761) by Horace Walpole

Characters of Hogarth (1765) by Horace Walpole

On the Genius and Character of Hogarth (1811) by Charles Lamb

Hogarth, Smollett, and Fielding (1853) by William Makepeace Thackeray

Hogarth’s Works: First Series (1874) by John Ireland and John Nichols

Hogarth and His Time (1877) by James Parton

Hogarth’s Sigismunda (1892) by Austin Dobson

The Biographies

Biographical Anecdotes of William Hogarth (1785) by John Nichols

William Hogarth (1900) by Austin Dobson

Hogarth (1912) by Arthur St. John Adcock

Hogarth by (1913) C. Lewis Hind

The Delphi Classics Catalogue

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© Delphi Classics 2021

Version 1

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Masters of Art Series

William Hogarth

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By Delphi Classics, 2021

COPYRIGHT

Masters of Art - William Hogarth

First published in the United Kingdom in 2021 by Delphi Classics.

© Delphi Classics, 2021.

All rights reserved.  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form other than that in which it is published.

ISBN: 978 1 80170 015 3

Delphi Classics

is an imprint of

Delphi Publishing Ltd

Hastings, East Sussex

United Kingdom

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The Highlights

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Bartholomew Close, Smithfield, London — William Hogarth was born at 58 Bartholomew Close in 1697.

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The site of the birthplace

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St. Bartholomew Close, c. 1800

The Highlights

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In this section, a sample of William Hogarth’s most celebrated works is provided, with concise introductions, special ‘detail’ reproductions and additional biographical images.

Masquerades and Operas (1724)

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William Hogarth, the father of English painting, was born at Bartholomew Close in London to Richard Hogarth, an impoverished Latin school teacher and textbook writer, and Anne Gibbons. He grew up with two sisters, Mary and Ann, in the heart of the bustling city. In later years, Hogarth complained of the poor treatment of his gifted father at the hands of printers, booksellers and wealthy patrons. This developed in the young man a burgeoning distrust of learning and a self-assertive and independent character. He had little inclination to scholarship. Nonetheless, he had a lively perception of the world about him and stories survive of how he liked to mimic and draw every day characters, encouraged by his visits to a local painter’s workshop. Although his father never actively discouraged his creative pursuits, the artist later complained that he did little more than put me in a way of shifting for myself.

Hogarth turned to the security of a solid craftsman’s training; at the age of fifteen he was apprenticed to a silversmith. Scanty information of this period survives and it is assumed that he moved to his master’s house, where he learned to engrave gold and silver work with armorial designs. These years represent a disappointing hiatus in the artist’s development, when he could have been occupied with more demanding work. He was frustrated during this period, leading him to exploit unorthodox methods of self-instruction to make up for lost time. And yet there are positive aspects of this developmental process — it moulded Hogarth into an original and flexible artist, whose unconventional approach inspired ideas that otherwise would never have occurred to him.

Still, it certainly was not all hard work and no fun. The young Hogarth had a lively and humorous character, taking delight in sociable and frivolous activities. A keen observer of human behaviour, he enjoyed trips to the theatres and extravagant shows, where he was a convivial companion. His later artworks reveal a thorough experience of the diverse and colourful distractions available in eighteenth century London. His meticulous depictions of coffeehouses, taverns, bawdy houses, fairs and theatres show a fertile appreciation of the lively metropolis. During this formative period, he developed lasting friendships among lively intellectual circles; he usually mixed with the middle classes, specifically with the critical and enlightened spheres —the heart of the cultural life of Hanoverian England.

At the age of twenty-three, when George I had been king for six years, Hogarth sought a more mature approach to his work.  He set up his own studio, resolving to break away from the rigid limitations of his chosen trade. He attended a private drawing school in St. Martin’s Lane, where he joined other students drawing from casts and live models. However, he was still no great student. He was averse to copying, likening the practice to ‘emptying water from one vessel into another’.  His instinctive rejection of formal training, blended with a characteristic waywardness, convinced him to adopt a new method of learning to draw — using the ingredients of actual life. Hogarth was a realist at heart and in his early work he was more concerned with expressive rather than formal values. He later explained how he liked to retain in my mind’s eye without drawing on the spot whatever I wanted to imitate. Favouring observation of everyday life, he trained his unusual visual memory to such an extent that he no longer required the use of preliminary studies, committing his ideas directly to canvas or paper.

He still relied on his formidable knowledge of the European tradition in art, which he acquired through the plethora of reproductive engravings in the London market. While occupied with his novel learning process, he supplemented his living as a copper engraver, executing trade cards, tickets and book illustrations. Although he achieved success as an illustrator, it brought him no satisfaction; he wholly disliked being dependent on the same booksellers that had exploited his father. In short, his engraving work was but a means of maintaining funds for living expenses and the various leisure excursions that he enjoyed.

Hogarth was a keen admirer of Sir James Thornhill, an English painter of historical subjects, who worked in the Italian Baroque tradition. In 1724 Hogarth joined a drawing school that had newly opened in Thornhill’s house. At that time Thornhill held the official post of sergeant painter to the king and he was the first knighted English-born artist. In his work Thornhill affirmed the vitality of native art and the social respectability of the artist — concepts held dear by Hogarth. Like Thornhill, he believed in art as a vital creative force in society and he despised the connoisseurs’ prejudice for foreign artists and their exclusive regard for the Old Masters.

Hogarth’s first major work, a small print entitled Masquerades and Operas, was published independently of the booksellers in 1724. The illustration savagely attacks the contemporary taste and expressed attitudes that had frustrated Hogarth throughout his life. It questions the standards of a powerful clique, which had been patronised by the 3rd Earl of Burlington, an influential architect. This bold attack on the connoisseurs was likely designed to appeal to his hero, Thornhill, who was then suffering from Burlington’s Neoclassical revival. The fact that Hogarth was undaunted by the making of powerful enemies, right from the start of his career, reveals his stalwart, though imprudent nature. When the clique retaliated in 1730, nullifying all royal interest in Hogarth’s work, he was incensed. This is a salient aspect of his character; though always quick to attack and satirise others, he was always discouraged and offended when his adversaries responded in equal measure.

Also known as The Bad Taste of the Town, the print reveals the ‘reigning follies’ of London, mocking the contemporary fashion for foreign culture, including Palladian architecture and the current rage for pantomimes based on the Italian commedia dell’arte, masquerades (masked balls) and Italian opera. The artwork combines two printmaking techniques – etching and engraving – with etched lines made in the plate using acid and engraved lines, marked using a burin.

The building to the left is intended to represent King’s Theatre, Haymarket, where a queue of masked figures is being led to a masquerade ball by a devil or satyr. This figure holds a bag containing £1,000, accompanied by a figure wearing a jester’s cap and bells, with a garter round his right leg – a reference to the Prince of Wales, later George II, who was said to frequent masquerades. A banner hangs above the entrance depicting Charles Mordaunt, 3rd Earl of Peterborough and two other nobles kneeling before the Italian soprano opera singer Francesca Cuzzoni, asking her pray accept £8,000 to perform in London. The Earl pours money on the floor and the singer draws it towards her with a rake, while two male singers stand behind. This banner – an imaginative picture within a picture convention — is based on a 1723 caricature of a performance of Handel’s opera Flavio.

To the right, a crowd gathers outside Lincoln’s Inn Fields Theatre to see John Rich’s commedia dell’arte pantomime, Harlequin Doctor Faustus. The mitred soldiers guarding the buildings signal the patronage of George I, a monarch born in Germany who spoke no English. A countryman with his staff looks on incredulously, scratching his head, as another man tries to interest him in the play. No doubt the feverish actions of the city dwellers are unintelligible to the man newly arrived from the peace of the country.

A sign advertises the conjuring act of Isaac Fawkes in the Long room of the theatre. John James Heidegger, Swiss impresario, manager of the King’s Theatre, Haymarket, and introducer of the masquerades to London, is portrayed leaning out of a window, identifiable by the letter H... on the window ledge beneath him. His wide spreading arms show his desire to capture the wealth and interest of the easily-led Londoners.

In the background, we can see the gate to Burlington House – the London house of Richard Boyle, 3rd Earl of Burlington in Piccadilly – which is now labelled as Accademy of Art, topped by a sculpture of Burlington’s favoured architect William Kent (KNT), who is humorously lifted above Michelangelo and Raphael. This indicates Hogarth’s preference for the old English Baroque style over the new Palladian style preferred by Burlington and Kent. Hogarth clearly bemoans the fashion for foreign entertainments and the neglect of their British equivalents. This is particularly stressed by the woman in the centre foreground, who pushes along a wheelbarrow filled with the works of the great English dramatists – William Congreve, John Dryden, Thomas Otway, Shakespeare and Joseph Addison – now being sold as waste paper.

As Hogarth published the print himself, aiming to avoid the monopoly of the Stationers’ Company, he could sell it for the low price of one shilling. The print was popular, though it would not be a commercial success, when half-price unauthorised copies appeared soon after its publication. Hogarth’s ensuing difficulties with the copyright infringement of his prints made him an advocate for copyright reform and ultimately led ten years later to the passing of the Engraving Copyright Act.

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The first state of the print

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Later state of the print, with numerous changes

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Sir James Thornhill (1675-1676) was an English painter of historical subjects, working in the Italian Baroque tradition. He was responsible for several large-scale schemes of murals, including the Painted Hall at the Royal Hospital, Greenwich, the paintings on the inside of the dome of St Paul’s Cathedral and prominent works at Chatsworth House and Wimpole Hall.

Emblematical Print on the South Sea Scheme (1724)

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Hogarth followed up his popular success of Masquerades and Operas with the following print, which he had in fact produced back in 1721 and now chose to widely publish. It caricatures the financial speculation, corruption and credulity that caused the South Sea Bubble in England in 1720-21. The print is often considered the first editorial cartoon, establishing a genre of satirical censure that would last up until the present day.

The South Sea Company had been founded almost fifteen years before and it had been granted a monopoly to trade with Spain’s South American colonies, as part of a treaty during the War of Spanish Succession, in return for the company’s assumption of England’s national debt, which had greatly increased during the conflict. Mounting speculation in the company’s stock led to a great economic bubble in 1720, with company’s shares rising rapidly in price from £100 to over £1,000. Many investors were ruined when the bubble burst and the value of stock in the South Sea Company crashed. A political scandal ensued, exposing fraud among the company’s directors and the corruption of cabinet ministers.

This event triggered several satirical engravings by foreign artists that were widely published in English newspapers, including a version of A Monument Dedicated to Posterity by Bernard Picart adapted by Bernard Baron, which depicted Folly drawing Fortune in a cart while she showered a crowd of hopeful investors with bubbles of air and worthless shreds of paper, rather than the riches they hoped to attain. Hogarth’s print is actually a response to the foreign engravings. The events had a personal poignancy for the artist, due to his father’s detention as a debtor in Fleet Prison from 1707-12 and his early death in 1718.

The print presents a teeming London scene, with the Guildhall and its monumental statue of the giant Gog to the left, a classical column based on The Monument to the Great Fire of London to the right, and the dome of St Paul’s Cathedral rising behind in the background. The base of the column bears an inscription: This monument was erected in memory of the destruction of the city by the South Sea in 1720. Notably, the monument, the artist’s symbol of London’s greed, towers above St Paul’s, a longstanding symbol of Christian charity.

In the centre of the illustration, there is a financial wheel of fortune, featuring easily recognised figures from society, including a whore and a clergyman on the left, a housewife and a hunchback and a Scottish nobleman to the right. As the South Sea Company tempted vast numbers of middle-class investors to invest in absurd speculations, this wheel of fortune is broken, symbolising the abandonment of values for quick money, while ‘Trade’ lies starving to death. The wheel has been seen by many as a parody of a print by Jacques Callot’s La Pendaison from the series The Miseries and Misfortunes of War. Callot was a baroque printmaker and draftsman from the Duchy of Lorraine who achieved great success in the field of print making in the previous century.

The ride is surmounted by a goat and the slogan, Who’l Ride, as it is surrounded by a jostling crowd below. Hogarth’s bawdy taste for humour is revealed by the women lining a balcony in the upper left section of the print, who are queuing to enter a building surmounted by stag’s antlers (a pictorial pun on ‘cuckold’), under a sign that offers Raffleing for Husbands with Lottery Fortunes in Here.

To the front, a short pickpocket rifles through the pockets of a larger gentleman. The thief is believed to be a caricature of the poet Alexander Pope, who profited from the South Sea Scheme, while the victim of the theft is likely the dramatist John Gay, who, refusing to cash in, lost his investment and all of his profits.

The satire is further extended by a series of allegorical figures, identified by letters explained in the accompanying verse below the print. To the left, a blindfolded Fortune hangs by her hair from the balcony of the Guildhall (the devil’s shop), whilst a winged devil severs parts of her body with a scythe and throws the gory chunks into the baying crowd. In the bottom left corner, distinctive clothing identifies a Catholic, a Jew and a Puritan, who are ignoring the tumultuous scene to concentrate on their game of chance. To the right, the naked figure of Honesty is broken on the wheel by Self-interest, while an Anglican priest looks on. Further to the right, Villainy, who has removed his fair mask hanging between his legs, scourges Honour beneath the column. Standing nearby is a monkey, serving as a symbol of mimicry or aping, who wears a gentleman’s sword and a baronial hat, while wrapping himself in Honour’s cloak.

After his unsuccessful attempt to break the printmakers’ monopoly by self-publishing Masquerades and Operas, Hogarth sold Emblematical Print on the South Sea Scheme and another engraving entitled The Lottery through the print sellers Mrs Chilcott in Westminster Hall and R. Caldwell in Newgate Street. Once again, the prints were sold for 1 shilling each. Various states exist; between the first and second state some minor corrections were made, including a change from And Swarm to To Swarm in the fourth line of the verse, but all other states only change the publication line to reflect a corresponding change in the print seller. The last known state, produced sometime after 1751, has the publication line erased completely.

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Jacques Callot (1592-1635) was a Baroque printmaker and draftsman from the Duchy of Lorraine; Callot was an important figure in the development of the old master print. He produced more than 1,400 etchings that chronicled the life of his period, featuring soldiers, clowns, drunkards, Gypsies, beggars, as well as humorous scenes of court life.

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Jacques Callot’s ‘La Pendaison’ (The Hanging), Plate 11 from ‘The Miseries and Misfortunes of War’, c. 1635 — a likely influence on Hogarth’s print

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A 1754 engraving of Old South Sea House, the headquarters of the South Sea Company, which burned down in 1826, on the corner of Bishopsgate Street and Threadneedle Street, London

Conversation Piece (c. 1731)

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In the early eighteenth century, commencing a career as a painter was an expensive occupation to choose.  For this reason Hogarth had initially worked as an engraver, a decidedly more cost-effective medium to work in. After the success of several popular engravings and further pecuniary assistance — largely brought about by his advantageous marriage to Jane Thornhill, the daughter of his former master Sir James Thornhill on 23 March 1729 — Hogarth set about learning the practise of painting in oils. He remained mostly self-taught, revealing an extraordinary depth of raw talent.  His first dated painting is The Beggar’s Opera (1728), a scene from John Gay’s popular farce. It shows Hogarth’s prevailing interests, which would occupy his works for the rest of his career, including the life and times of the theatre and a fascination in depicting everyday and comic subjects. There is also an attentive regard to realistic detail, as he portrays the scene with precision to the text, with individual portraits of the principal actors and spectators. This early painting anticipates Hogarth’s famous series of narrative paintings.

In the 1720’s a new craze of artistic genre was sweeping across the continent of Europe. The small, informal group portraits, or conversation pieces, would be the genre that Hogarth used to launch his career as a celebrated painter. A conversation piece was usually an informal group portrait, concerning affluent figures, often families or large groups of friends, in a domestic interior or garden setting, enjoying conversation or light recreational activities, such as playing cards. The sitters are usually depicted interacting with each other or with their pets, taking tea or playing games. These conversation pieces contrasted strongly with the more formal court or grand style portraits that been in vogue. The genre evolved early in the eighteenth century to meet the demand of the new middle classes, although it also attracted aristocratic and royal patrons. It was likely introduced in Britain by Philip Mercier in c. 1725, though Hogarth is largely responsible for popularising them, as well as Arthur Devis and the highly fashionable artist Johan Zoffany.

One of the most prominent examples of Hogarth’s conversation pieces is a group portrait of Sir Andrew Fountaine with several other men and women, completed between 1730 and 1735. Located today in the Philadelphia Museum of Art, having entered the John Howard McFadden Collection in 1928, the portrait was designed to stimulate as well as to depict conversation. It has encouraged an unusual degree of debate concerning its participants, context and implied meanings. This is partly due to how the canvas had originally included a fourth male figure, who for some unknown reason was painted out prior to 1817. This enigmatic figure was seated in front of the two women on the left. Although the identity of most of the figures is uncertain, we do know that the painting was commissioned by the leading aristocratic collector and connoisseur Sir Andrew Fountaine, who is probably the figure standing to the right, with his hand tucked into his jacket.

Fountaine had first come to public notice when he accompanied Lord Macclesfield to carry the Act of Succession to the elector of Hanover in 1701. He was soon launched into the court circles of Europe, where he became a favourite. Over the next three years he made the first of his two Grand Tours of Europe, when he began collecting art. In 1705 Fountaine was in Holland as a member of the mission to the states general of the United Provinces. He used this trip to further enlarge his collection of books and coins. His second Grand Tour was in 1714, during which he collected many artworks for himself and his friends. Three years before his portrait by Hogarth, Fountaine succeeded Sir Isaac Newton as warden of the Royal Mint. In the conversation piece, Hogarth presents Fountaine as a calculating individual, who gazes with scrutiny at the painting being offered for his perusal by the art seller dressed in brown, who bows his head in deference. The collecting of art was clearly an important pastime of the nobleman, who has commissioned the artist to depict him as an astute and careful collector. An open book on the ground to the left hints at his scholarly and learned interests, while the inclusion of two pet dogs helps to soften his otherwise studious persona.

The artist’s depiction of the fruit still life in the centre of the table, as well as the hands of the women and their fine garments, reveals how quickly the artist had assimilated his new chosen medium of work. The world of commerce and business to the right is finely balanced with the domain of domesticity on the left. The two women are clearly involved in a serious discussion, separate to the purchase of a painting.  The lady in the light brown dress extends a finger on her right hand, as though giving an important warning to her companion, who looks uncertain of a difficult decision she must make.  This mysterious domestic drama, juxtaposed to the consideration of an expensive art purchase, gives the small scale painting an engaging quality, captivating the interest of the uninformed viewer. The conversation pieces serve as an important milestone in Hogarth’s career, as they enabled him to earn a basic income, while still in the process of learning how to paint effectively. They would also pave the way for an ingenious idea that would cause shockwaves in the world of British painting and have far reaching consequences for the rights of all artists in all media until the present day…

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Hogarth’s first dated oil painting: ‘The Beggar’s Opera’, based on a scene in the third act of John Gay’s celebrated farce, Tate Britain, c. 1728

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The artist’s wife, Mrs Jane Hogarth, painted by Hogarth in c. 1745

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Sir Andrew Fountaine by William Camden Edwards, after Armstrong

A Harlot’s Progress (1731)

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In 1726 Hogarth brought a lawsuit against Joshua Morris, a tapestry weaver, which gives us a good example of his character. The case reveals that by the age of thirty, Hogarth felt sufficiently confident of his abilities to embark on a painting career. A prospective patron, Morris did not share this opinion and rejected a painting he had ordered on grounds that it was ‘unfinished’. In resentment, Hogarth sought and obtained public vindication with the help of professional witnesses, including his father-in-law, Thornhill.

Hogarth’s lifelong fascination with the theatre would serve as the influence of his next bold venture, once more opting for down-to-earth and comic subjects. He conceived the novel idea of producing a series of paintings that would tell an easily understood narrative. He would then use these images to be turned into engravings, which could be sold en masse to the public.  These scenes would include a strong moral element, stressing the grim consequences of making the wrong choices in life.  In spite of this sobering theme, the images would concern contemporary issues — a novelty for the time — and be replete with humorous detail, adding a bitter-sweet element engaging for the everyday Londoner.  Hogarth liked to call these paintings ‘Modern Moral Subjects’, which he believed had the capability of captivating the public’s interest. At a time when literacy was still extremely low for the working classes, such a publication of prints, at once comprehensible and topically interesting, would be certain of great success; such were Hogarth’s thoughts. He certainly was not mistaken.

In 1731 Hogarth announced a subscription for a six part series of engravings, entitled A Harlot’s Progress (1731) (reinventing the title of John Bunyan’s allegorical and religious work Pilgrim’s Progress), which appeared first as a set of paintings now lost, to be followed by a set of engravings. They tell the story of a young woman, Moll Hackabout, who arrives in London from the country and becomes a prostitute. Apparently, Hogarth hit upon the idea for the series after painting a prostitute in her boudoir in a garret on Drury Lane, when he wondered might be the real-life scenes of her early days and her eventual fate. The protagonist is named after the heroine of Daniel Defoe’s Moll Flanders and Kate Hackabout, a notorious prostitute and the sister of highwayman Francis Hackabout, who was hanged on 17 April 1730; she was convicted of keeping a disorderly house in August the same year, having been arrested by Westminster magistrate Sir John Gonson. A hack was also a carriage for hire, providing an apt play on the theme of prostitution.

The first plate depicts the protagonist Moll Hackabout’s arrival in London’s Cheapside. She carries scissors and a pincushion, representing her hopes of acquiring work as a seamstress. Instead, she is being inspected by the pox-ridden Elizabeth Needham (note the black marks on her face that will later appear on Moll’s face), a notorious procuress and brothel-keeper, who seeks to secure Moll for prostitution. The notorious rake Colonel Francis Charteris and his pimp, John Gourlay, look on in the background, standing in front of a decaying building, symbolic of their moral corruption. Disturbingly, Charteris appears to fondle himself under his garments, in lustful expectation. Her plight is emphasised by how a mounted clergyman ignores her predicament, just as he ignores the fact that his horse is knocking over a pile of pans.

In the second scene, Moll is now a kept woman, the mistress of a wealthy Jewish merchant, confirmed by the Old Testament paintings in the background — these are prophetic of how the merchant will eventually treat Moll. She has numerous affectations of dress and accompaniment, as she keeps a West Indian serving boy and a monkey. She makes use of jars of cosmetics, a mask from masquerades and her apartment is decorated with paintings illustrating her sexually promiscuous and morally precarious state. In spite of our misgivings about her fate, Hogarth as always offers a comic interlude. Moll pushes over a table to distract the merchant’s attention, while a second lover tiptoes out.

The next plate reveals how Moll has become a common prostitute, revealing a stark contrast in her financial situation.  Her maid is now old and syphilitic. The only considerable piece of furniture in her room is the bed — the vehicle of her profession — and the cat’s sinuous pose alludes to Moll’s eroticised status. The witch hat and birch rods on the wall give a moral message of how prostitution is the devil’s work. Moll’s heroes are displayed on the wall: Macheath from The Beggar’s Opera and Henry Sacheverell, a clergyman that achieved nationwide fame in 1709 after preaching an incendiary 5 November sermon. Two cures for syphilis are provided above these pictures. The wig box of highwayman James Dalton, hanged on 11 May 1730, is stored over Moll’s bed, suggesting a dalliance with the criminal. The magistrate, Sir John Gonson, with three armed bailiffs, has just stormed through the door on the right to arrest Moll for her activities. At this moment, she is showing off a new watch, likely a present from Dalton and stolen from another lover, while incautiously exposing her left breast, hinting at her loss of control. Critics have pointed out how this dramatic and compelling image could be likened to a satirical inversion of an Annunciation, which depicts Gabriel’s announcement to the Virgin that she would become the mother of Christ. Hogarth’s Mary, however, is destined to a very grim outcome. The black spots, covering her syphilitic sores, are pronounced on her upper left cheek.

In the fourth scene, Moll is now imprisoned in Bridewell, where she beats hemp for the hangman’s nooses, while the jailer threatens her and points to the task. The marks of syphilis are now more prominent.  The jailer’s wife stands behind Moll and secretly steals from her, winking to the viewer at the theft. The prisoners are presented from left to right in order of decreasing wealth. Moll stands next to a gentleman, a card-sharp, whose extra playing card has fallen out. The inmates are in no way being reformed, despite the ironic engraving on the left: Better to Work/ than Stand thus.

The fifth plate represents Moll dying of syphilis. Two doctors argue over their medical methods, which appear to be a choice of bleeding and cupping. An attending woman, possibly the landlady, rifles through Moll’s possessions; her maid tries to stop the looting and arguing. We can now see Moll’s son, seated by the fire, possibly addled by his mother’s venereal disease, as he picks lice out of his hair. The only hint as to the apartment’s owner is a Passover cake used as a fly-trap, implying that her former keeper is paying for her in her last days; ironically, this suggests that unlike the Israelites, Moll will not be spared. Several opiates and cures litter the floor. Moll’s white garments convey more the appearance of a pall.

In the final scene, Moll is now deceased and many scavengers are present at her wake. A note on the coffin lid shows that she died aged 23 on 2 September 1731. The parson spills his brandy, as his hand is up the skirt of the girl next to him; she appears pleased. A woman who has placed drinks on Moll’s coffin looks on in disapproval. Moll’s son is seated on a small box by her mother’s coffin, ignorant of his loss. Moll’s madam drunkenly mourns on the right with a ghastly grinning jug of Nants brandy. She is the only one who is upset at the treatment of the dead girl, whose coffin is being used as a tavern bar. Humorously, a mourning girl (in reality a prostitute) steals the undertaker’s handkerchief. Another prostitute shows her injured finger to her companion, while a woman adjusts her appearance in a mirror in the background, even though she displays a syphilitic sore on her forehead. The white hat hanging on the wall by the coat of arms is the same that Moll wore in the first plate, referring back to the ‘beginning of her end’ in the first plate, providing a cyclic view of the fate of London’s harlots.

The series proved to be a popular success and Hogarth used his experience as an apprentice to a silversmith to create engravings of the images, selling a limited edition of 1,240 sets of six prints to subscribers for a guinea. Pirate copies of the engravings were soon in circulation, affecting the sales of Hogarth’s work. In time, he helped procure an Act of Parliament to prohibit the practice. Widely known as ‘Hogarth’s Act’, the Engravers’ Copyright Act became law on 25 June 1735 and was the first copyright law to deal with visual works, as well as the first to recognise the authorial rights of an individual artist.

The original paintings of A Harlot’s Progress were actually destroyed in 1755 in a fire at Fonthill House, the country home of William Beckford (1709-1770), a politician and father of William Thomas Beckford, builder of Fonthill Abbey in Wiltshire. However, the original plates survived, and were sold by Hogarth’s widow to John Boydell in 1789.

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Scene 1: Moll Hackabout arrives in London at the Bell Inn, Cheapside

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Scene 2: Moll is now a kept woman, the mistress of a wealthy merchant

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Scene 3: Moll has gone from kept woman to common prostitute

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Scene 4: Moll beats hemp in Bridewell Prison

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Scene 5: Moll dying of syphilis

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Scene 6: Moll’s wake

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William Beckford, a well-known political figure in eighteenth century London, who twice held the office of Lord Mayor of London (1762 and 1769). He is the only recorded owner of the original paintings of the series, which would later be destroyed by fire in his country house.

A Rake’s Progress (1734)

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Hogarth’s ingenious idea of a series of comparatively low-priced engravings was an immediate success, followed swiftly by a sequel series — this time with eight prints, entitled A Rake’s Progress.  The canvases were produced in 1732-1734, then engraved in 1734 and published in print form in 1735. The series concerns the reckless life of Tom Rakewell, the son of a rich merchant, who squanders his money on luxurious living, services from prostitutes and gambling, finally coming to a wretched end in Bethlem Royal Hospital. The original paintings are housed in the gallery room at Sir John Soane’s Museum, London, where they are usually on display for a short period each day.

In the first painting, The Heir, Tom has come into his fortune on the death of his miserly father. While the servants mourn, he is being measured for his costly new clothes. In spite of having had a common-law marriage with the pregnant Sarah Young, he now rejects her, though he had promised marriage – note the ring she holds and the love letters being cast aside by her mother in disgust. Although he pays her off, she still loves him, and will reappear later in the series. His father’s miserliness is hinted at in the portrait above the fireplace, showing him counting money. The engraving, which is reversed left-to-right compared to the painting, reveals that the father went so far as to resole his shoes with a piece of leather cut from a Bible cover.

The second painting depicts Tom at his morning levée in London, attended by musicians and other hangers-on, all dressed in expensive costumes. There is a music master at a harpsichord, likely modelled on George Frideric Handel; a fencing master; a quarterstaff instructor; a dancing master with a violin; a landscape gardener, Charles Bridgeman; an ex-soldier offering to be a bodyguard; and a bugler of a fox hunt club. Upon the wall, between paintings of roosters (emblems of cockfighting), there is a painting of The Judgement of Paris, hinting at Tom’s ill-omened decision making.

The next painting depicts a wild party or ‘orgy’ at the Rose Tavern, a famous brothel in Covent Garden, where the prostitutes are stealing the drunken Tom’s watch. On the floor in the bottom right there is a night watchman’s staff and lantern, serving as souvenirs of Tom’s ‘wild night’ on the town. As seen in the previous series, the prostitutes have black spots on their faces to cover their syphilitic sores.

The fourth scene is ‘The Arrest’, wherein Tom narrowly escapes arrest for debt by Welsh bailiffs (signified by the leeks, a Welsh emblem, in their hats) as he travels in a sedan chair to a party at St. James’s Palace to celebrate Queen Caroline’s birthday. He is saved by the intervention of the faithful Sarah Young (the girl he had rejected in the first painting), now a dealer in millinery. Hogarth’s humour is always present, as the man filling a street lantern spills the oil on to Tom’s head — a reference to how blessings on a person were accompanied by oil poured on the head; sadly, Tom will not pay heed to the moral lesson (i.e. being saved by Sarah). In the engraving, lightning flashes in the sky and a young thief has just emptied Tom’s pocket, extending the sense of his foolishness.

‘The Marriage’ is the theme of the fifth painting, when Tom attempts to salvage his fortune by marrying a rich, but aged and ugly old maid at St Marylebone. In the background, Sarah arrives, holding their child, while her indignant mother struggles with a guest. Tom is sadly incorrigible – his eyes are already ogling the pretty maid to his new wife’s left.

The sixth instalment portrays Tom pleading for the assistance of the Almighty in a gambling house at White’s Club in Soho, after losing his reacquired wealth. Neither he nor the other obsessive gamblers seem to have noticed a fire that is breaking out behind them, emphasising the blindness of their folly.

The seventh scene is ‘The Prison’, when all is lost for Tom, who is now incarcerated in the notorious Fleet debtors’ prison. He ignores the distress of both his angry wife and the loyal Sarah, now unable to assist him. The previously plump wife, standing to his left, is now emaciated, indicating their distressed circumstances. Both the beer-boy and jailer demand money from him. Entirely stripped of his wealth, Tom is presented as starting to lose his sanity. Hoping to raise funds, he has written a play, which lies rolled on the table. Yet, this is as madcap a scheme as the alchemist seated at the back, attempting to make metal into gold. Tom’s latest failure has infuriated his wife, who scolds him. Meanwhile, the jailer points at a ledger, awaiting his payment. With no course of action left to him, Tom has fallen into a paralytic stupor. Above the bed at right is an apparatus for wings, stressing the impossibility of flight, which is more clearly seen in the engraved version at the left.

And last scene of all is ‘The Madhouse’. Now insane and half naked, Tom ends his days in Bethlem Hospital (Bedlam), London’s infamous asylum. Only Sarah Young is there to comfort him, but he continues to ignore her. The fashionably dressed women in the centre left have come to the asylum as a social occasion, to be entertained by the bizarre antics of the inmates — serving as a compelling reminder of Tom’s previous state of fortunes and the corruptibility of the upper classes. The great irony of the scene is that while Tom had initially aimed at the aristocratic lifestyle, he finishes by being one of its entertainments.

Hogarth published the engravings of the paintings on 25 June 1735, the day that the Engravers’ Copyright Act became law. An immediate success that caught the public’s interest, the engravings sold quickly, allowing him to enjoy the profits without fear of unknown pirates. The subject of Tom’s rascality was a well known trope of the time. ‘The rake’ was a long established symbol of masculine depravity, who fritters his fortune, usually inherited, on sex, drink and gambling. As with the harlot before, a literary convention had been developed in which the rake starts life as an impressionable young man from the country who comes to the city after inheriting money and swiftly embarks on a dissolute life. There are other compelling facets of Tom’s character introduced by Hogarth that was familiar to the public. For example, he is presented in the second painting as a middle-class man aspiring to be a cultured aristocrat, known as a ‘cit’. He patronises musicians and poets, going to an audience at court and he even attempts to compose a play. Also, we can detect the persona of the ‘fop’, through Tom’s excessive concern with outward display — a stock figure of eighteenth century drama and one that audiences loved to hate.  Through the dynamic characterisation of his protagonist, Hogarth holds up an incisive mirror to his fellow Londoners. And it is a merciless portrayal — there is no hint of redemption for the ignorant and insane figure of the eighth and final painting.

The great strength of all of Hogarth’s narrative series is the extraordinary depth of detail in each scene. Some contemporary critics likened his works to the dramatic achievements of Shakespeare, due to the replete and intricate characterisation, the skilful use of props and the countless contextual references to literature, religion and everyday London life. For example, in the tavern scene, a small box of mercury tablets subtly informs us that Tom has already contracted syphilis. In the same scene, if we look above, we can make out a series of busts of Roman emperors. Each has been defaced, except for the notorious Nero — the comparison to Tom’s own actions cannot be mistaken. Although there was in fact a long history of narrative series paintings in art, what sets Hogarth’s achievements apart in his Moral Subjects is the serious manner in which he treats his scenes. Capturing the public’s interest with modern day issues and subjects, he challenges his viewers to analyse the story and its implications in depth, giving it a new sense of significance. More importantly, these were didactic lessons for all, which could now be afforded by all, due to the low cost of the engravings.

Sir John Soane’s Museum, the long time home of the Rake’s Progress paintings, is located next to Lincoln's Inn Fields in Holborn. It had been formerly the home of the neo-classical architect, John Soane (1753-1837). The museum holds many drawings and architectural models of Soane’s projects, and a large collection of paintings, sculptures, drawings and antiquities that he acquired over many years. It was established during Soane's own lifetime by a Private Act of Parliament in 1833, taking effect on his death in 1837. Soane engaged in this lengthy parliamentary campaign in order to disinherit his son, whom he disliked intensely. The act stipulated that on Soane’s death his house and collections would pass into the care of a Board of Trustees, acting on behalf of the nation, and that they would be preserved as nearly as possible in the state they were at his death, as they still do to this day. Owing to the narrow passages in the house, decked with Soane’s extensive collections, only 90 visitors are allowed in the museum at any given time, and a formation of queue outside for entry is not unusual. Soane’s paintings include works by Canaletto, Turner, Thomas Lawrence, Antoine Watteau, Joshua Reynolds, Augustus Wall Callcott, Henry Fuseli and William Hamilton. The eight canvases of A Rake’s Progress were purchased from the collection of William Thomas Beckford at auction for 570 Guineas in 1801. Soane also purchased the four canvases from Hogarth’s Humours of an Election series, bought at auction at Christie's from David Garrick's widow for £1,732, 10s in June 1823.

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I – The Heir

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The engraving

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II – The Levée

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III – The Orgy

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Series of Roman busts, with Nero the only one not defaced

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IV – The Arrest

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V – The Marriage

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VI – The Gaming House

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VII – The Prison

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VIII – The Madhouse

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Sir John Soane’s House, c. 1812

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Sir John Soane’s Museum, Lincoln’s Inn Fields

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Portrait of John Soane by Thomas Lawrence, 1828

Self Portrait (1735)

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After the death of his father-in-law Thornhill in 1734, Hogarth re-established his drawing school on a cooperative basis, which was to become an important arena for artistic discussion and experiment. Hogarth moved away from the disreputable location of Covent Garden into a new home and studio at the nearby and fashionable Leicester Fields, the modern-day Leicester Square. The tall, terraced house stood in the south-east corner. To denote the premises as the studio of a painter, he hung van Dyck’s sign of the Golden Head outside, which Hogarth had carved from bottle corks, glued together and gilded. At the back of the house, a studio was added and his pictures were displayed in a room facing the square. Hogarth was to occupy this house until his death thirty years later.

Housed in the Yale Center for British Art in New Haven, Connecticut, the following self portrait represents the artist at the most promising stage of his career. We can see a man that is confident in his abilities, following the successful publication of his two groundbreaking series of engravings. This figure no doubt entertains high ambitions for the rest of his career. He does not shy away from including a reference to his trade — an artist’s palette is prominent in the lower right section of the painting. He is proud of his achievements and his success is hinted at in several ways. He wears a fashionable tunic and wig in the three quarter pose, bringing them close to the viewer’s eye, accentuating his man-about-town persona.  The thick impasto brushstrokes give the impression of a spontaneous and impressionistic quality, implying that he can work quickly to achieve his desired effect. It also suggests that it was a personal painting, rather than a formal commission. The slight lines around the eyes and cheeks hint at the maturity to come; this is no young and inexperienced artist, but an accomplished master, thirty-eight years old and on the threshold of greatness.

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The Yale Center for British Art at Yale University in downtown New Haven, Connecticut

Jesus at the Pool of Bethesda (1737)

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In 1735, in line with the humanitarian concern that enlightened opinion of the day, Hogarth was elected a governor of St. Bartholomew’s Hospital and he used this opportunity to decorate the main staircase with two large religious works, Pool of Bethesda (1736) and The Good Samaritan (1737). In abandoning comic narrative and genre for history painting, he was generally held by critics to have overreached himself and this opinion is generally upheld today.

When Hogarth learned that the governors the hospital in Smithfield were considering commissioning the Venetian artist, Jocopo Amigoni, to paint a mural in the newly constructed North Wing of the hospital in 1733, he was incensed that the commission was going to a foreigner. Piqued at the ‘insult’ offered to British artists, Hogarth offered his own services for free. This incident reveals more than one recurring aspect of his character; chiefly, his enduring jingoism and how he was largely insecure about his own social status and artistic reputation.  This gesture of largesse was intended to bolster his own standing and he certainly relished the opportunity to prove that an English artist could excel in the grand historical style – something that many of his critics continued to lament that he could not achieve.

Jesus at the Pool of Bethesda is a curious work that illustrates Christ healing the sick — an episode from John’s Gospel, chapter 5, verses 1–15. The man who has lain long at the pool of Bethesda, reclines in the foreground, a bandage wrapped around his head. Christ stands on a rock to the left, in a red tunic with blue drapery. A group of invalids — each figure representing a different ailment — stand behind him and an angel floats above in the centre. A cartouche at the foot of the painting contains a section of the biblical text concerning the story. The subject was of course selected to illustrate the good work carried out at the hospital on a daily basis. It has long been thought that the sick people were