in a knowledge of drawing.  Proh pudor!  This will remind you of Jervas’s celebrated piece of nonsensical flattery to himself—­when, on Pope’s complimenting that artist upon one of his portraits, he compassionately exclaimed “Poor little Tit!”—­Surely all these national prejudices are as unwise as they are disgusting.  Of Gerard, I would wish to speak with respect; but an artist, who receives from fifteen to twenty thousand francs for the painting of a whole length portrait, stands upon an eminence which exposes him to the observation of every man.  In the same degree, also, does his elevation provoke the criticism of every man.  But, however respectfully I may wish to speak of Gerard, I do not, in my conscience, consider him superior to what may be called the second rate class of portrait-painters in England.[194] His outline is often hard, and full of affectation of a knowledge of drawing:  his colouring is as frequently severe and metallic, and there is rarely any expression of mind or soul in his faces.  I saw at Laugier’s the other day, his portrait of Madame de Stael—­painted from recollection.  He certainly had forgotten how to colour when he executed it.  Forster (a very clever, sensible, and amiable young man) is busied, or rather has just finished, the engraving of a portrait of the Duke of Wellington, by the same painter.  What has depended upon him has been charmingly done:  but the figure of the great Original—­instead of giving you the notion of the FIRST CAPTAIN OF HIS AGE[195]—­is a poor, trussed-up, unmeaning piece of composition:  looking-out of the canvas with a pair of eyes, which, instead of seeming to anticipate and frustrate (as they have done) the movements of his adversary, as if by magic, betray an almost torpidity or vacancy of expression!  The attitude is equally unnatural and ungraceful.  Another defect, to my eye, in Gerard’s portraits, is, the quantity of flaunting colour and glare of varnish with which his canvas is covered.

The French cognoscenti swear by “the swearing of the Horatii” of David.  I saw a reduced copy of the large picture at the Luxembourg, by the artist himself—­at Didot’s:  and it was while discussing the comparative merits and demerits of this famous production, that I ventured to observe that Raffaelle would have drawn the hands better.  A simultaneous shout of opposition followed the remark.  I could scarcely preserve common gravity or decorum:  but as my antagonists were serious, I was also resolved to enact a serious part.  It is not necessary to trouble you with a summary of my remarks; although I am persuaded I never talked so much French, without interruption, for so long a space of time.  However, my opponents admitted, with a little reluctance, that, if the hands of the Horatii were not ill drawn, the position of them was sufficiently affected.  I then drew their attention, to the Cupid and Psyche of the same master, in the collection of the Marquis of Sommariva, (in the notice of which my last letter was pretty liberal) but I had here a less obstinate battle to encounter.  It certainly appeared (they admitted) that David did not improve as he became older.