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HENRY FUSELI—so he chose to spell his name, though his fathers wrote it Fuessli–first saw the light, by all accounts save his own, in the year 1741, at Zurich; but as he seldom wished to think like other men, so he refused to be born according to tradition or register books, and taking up a little German memoir of himself, changed the date from 1741 to 1745, without adding either day or month. He always spoke of his age with reluctance. Once when pressed about it he peevishly exclaimed, “How should I know? I was born in February or March—it was some cursed cold month, as you may guess from my diminutive stature and crabbed disposition.” He was the second of eighteen children: his name pertains to Switzerland—all by which that name is distinguished to England. The father, John Gaspard Fuessli, obtained some fame as a portrait and landscape painte. : his taste for poetry procured him the friendship of Kleist, Klopstock and Wieland; and from his History of the Artists of Switzerland, his more eminent son drew some of the materials for an enlarged edition of Pilkington's Dictionary of Painters. He was

of the same family as that Matthias Fuessli, a painter, of Zurich, who studied in Venice, and died in 1665, of whom Henry gives this brief character:—“His extensive talent was checked by the freaks of an ungovernable fancy—his subjects in general were battles, towns pillaged, conflagrations, and storms.” There is a kindred likeness here. The maiden name of Henry's mother was Elizabeth Waser; he loved to speak of her, and attributed much of his knowledge to her instructions—she died when he was eighteen years old. His father, a scholar and an artist, had probably experienced some of the sorrows common to both characters, and, desirous that his son should at least have bread, proposed to educate him for the church. The wayward temper of the boy, and his already enthusiastic love of painting, opposed strong obstacles to this sensible plan, and the father, with much of his own wilfulness of spirit, resolved to enforce obedience. For a while he was successful. Henry made great progress in learning—having overleaped the first difficulties, he became an ardent devourer of the classics; but it was only or chiefly to find, in the poetry of Greece and Rome, vivid images of heroic life and daring flights of imagination. The time which the school demanded was thus spent, by one who could do in minutes what would have cost his fellows hours; for the rest of the day he had other occupation. As soon as he was released from his class, he withdrew to a secret place to enjoy unmolested the works of Michael Angelo, of whose prints his father had a fine collection. He loved when he grew old to talk of those days of his youth, of the enthusiasm with which he surveyed the works of his favourite masters, and the secret pleasure which he took in acquiring forbidden knowledge. . With candles which he stole from the kitchen, and pencils which his pocket-money was hoarded to procure, he pursued his studies till late at night, and made many copies from Michael Angelo and Raphael, by which he became familiar thus early with the style and ruling character of the two greatest masters of the art. The wild old work, called “Howleglas,” caught his fancy, and he illustrated it with outlines, representing the ludicrous gambols of a motly jester—with the strange dances and mischievous tricks of fantastic imps and elves. The chief character in this strange book, which was once as popular in England as in Germany, is Howleglas himself—a personage corresponding with the Lord of Misrule of Scotland—so well described by Sir Walter Scott. “The mock dignitary was a stout-made under-sized fellow, whose thick-squab form had been rendered grotesque by a supplemental paunch well stuffed. He wore a mitre of leather with a front like a grenadier's cap, adorned with mock embroidery and trinkets of tin. This surmounted a visage the nose of which was the most prominent feature, being of unusual size, and at least as richly gemmed as his head-gear. His robe was of buckram, and his cape of canvass curiously painted and cut into open work. On one shoulder was fixed the painted figure of an owl, and he bore in the right hand his pastoral staff, and in the left a small mirror, having a handle to it, thus resembling a celebrated jester, whose adventures translated into English were once extremely popular.” The illustrations of Fuseli were in the spirit of the book, and it is a right facetious one—abounding with practical jokes, many of which the young artist very cleverly embodied. Etchings of these early attempts were afterwards published, and are now exceedingly rare; they are said not to be without merit, and to show, as the poet says, that “the boy is father of the man.” His schoolfellows perceived his talents—some of them purchased his works—and he presently found himself with more money in his pocket than he knew well what to do with. The taste of our youth was decidedly in favour of whatever is staring and extravagant. He bought a piece of flame-coloured silk, had it made into a coat, and in this splendid attire marched up the streets of Zurich; but the laughter and mockery of his companions put him into such a passion that he soon threw off the garment and vowed never to be fine again. With this two-fold taste for literature and art upon him, Fuseli was placed—I know not at what age—in the Humanity College of Zurich, of which two distinguished men, Bodmer and Breitenger, were professors. Here he became the bosom companion of that amiable enthusiast, Lavater, studied English, and conceived such a love for the works of Shakespeare, that he translated Macbeth into German. The writings of Wieland and Klopstock influenced his youthful fancy, and from Shakespeare he extended his affection to the chief masters in English literature. His love of poetry was natural, not affected—he practised at an early age the art which he admired through life, and some of

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