DOI Page / Citation link:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.51519#0061
INTRODUCTION.
47
Sir Godfrey Kneller died in 1723, and left £800 to erect a
monument to himself in Westminster Abbey, which was executed
by Rysbracb. Pope said the epitaph he composed for this monu-
ment was the worst thing’ he ever wrote,'"' and he was not far
mistaken. The thought in the concluding’ lines,
“ Living, great Nature feared lie might outvie
Her works, and dying, fears herself may die,”
is borrowed from Cardinal Bembo’s epitaph on Raphael in the
Pantheon at Rome; but the hyperbole does not sound so ill in
Latin, as in plain homely English; and is, besides, most clumsily
translated. It may be added, that a compliment which, paid to
the divinest of painters, was only a poetical licence, has become
burlesque and absurd when applied to one so immeasurably his
inferior. One would almost think, that the vanity which Pope
had flattered and ridiculed when living, he meant to stigmatize on
the tomb, by praise at once so affected and poor in its expression,
so exaggerated and misapplied in its meaning.
It will not be out of place here to continue this slight sketch of
portrait-painting and portrait-painters, as connected with female
beauty and the English Court, down to our own time.
Jervas succeeded Sir Godfrey Kneller as court-painter. In
spite of the poetical flattery of Pope,f who embalmed his name in
* “ I paid Sir Godfrey Kneller a visit but two days before lie died, and I think
I never saw such a scene of vanity in all my life : he was lying in his bed, and
contemplating the plan he had made for his own monument. He said many
gross things in relation to himself, and the memory he should leave behind him ;
he said he should not like to lie among the rascals in Westminister : a memorial
there would be sufficient, and desired me to write an epitaph for it. I did so
afterwards ; and I think it is the worst thing I ever wrote.”—Pope - in Spence.
t Pope spared not to flatter his friend in prose as well as in verse. In one
of his letters to him, he writes, “ Every body here has great need of you : many
faces have died for want of your pencil; and blooming ladies have withered in
expecting your return,” In another, he says, “ I long to see you a history-
47
Sir Godfrey Kneller died in 1723, and left £800 to erect a
monument to himself in Westminster Abbey, which was executed
by Rysbracb. Pope said the epitaph he composed for this monu-
ment was the worst thing’ he ever wrote,'"' and he was not far
mistaken. The thought in the concluding’ lines,
“ Living, great Nature feared lie might outvie
Her works, and dying, fears herself may die,”
is borrowed from Cardinal Bembo’s epitaph on Raphael in the
Pantheon at Rome; but the hyperbole does not sound so ill in
Latin, as in plain homely English; and is, besides, most clumsily
translated. It may be added, that a compliment which, paid to
the divinest of painters, was only a poetical licence, has become
burlesque and absurd when applied to one so immeasurably his
inferior. One would almost think, that the vanity which Pope
had flattered and ridiculed when living, he meant to stigmatize on
the tomb, by praise at once so affected and poor in its expression,
so exaggerated and misapplied in its meaning.
It will not be out of place here to continue this slight sketch of
portrait-painting and portrait-painters, as connected with female
beauty and the English Court, down to our own time.
Jervas succeeded Sir Godfrey Kneller as court-painter. In
spite of the poetical flattery of Pope,f who embalmed his name in
* “ I paid Sir Godfrey Kneller a visit but two days before lie died, and I think
I never saw such a scene of vanity in all my life : he was lying in his bed, and
contemplating the plan he had made for his own monument. He said many
gross things in relation to himself, and the memory he should leave behind him ;
he said he should not like to lie among the rascals in Westminister : a memorial
there would be sufficient, and desired me to write an epitaph for it. I did so
afterwards ; and I think it is the worst thing I ever wrote.”—Pope - in Spence.
t Pope spared not to flatter his friend in prose as well as in verse. In one
of his letters to him, he writes, “ Every body here has great need of you : many
faces have died for want of your pencil; and blooming ladies have withered in
expecting your return,” In another, he says, “ I long to see you a history-