The Expedition of Humphry ClinkerSmollett, T. (Tobias)
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The Expedition of Humphry Clinker
Smollett, T. (Tobias)
Epistolary fiction; Great Britain -- Fiction; Travelers -- Fiction
I shall to-morrow set out for London, where I have bespoke lodgings, at
Mrs Norton’s in Golden-square. Although I am no admirer of Bath, I shall
leave it with regret; because I must part with some old friends,
whom, in all probability, I shall never see again. In the course of
coffeehouse conversation, I had often heard very extraordinary encomiums
passed on the performances of Mr T--, a gentleman residing in this
place, who paints landscapes for his amusement. As I have no great
confidence in the taste and judgment of coffeehouse connoisseurs, and
never received much pleasure from this branch of the art, those general
praises made no impression at all on my curiosity; but, at the request
of a particular friend, I went yesterday to see the pieces, which had
been so warmly commended--I must own I am no judge of painting, though
very fond of pictures. I don’t imagine that my senses would play me so
false, as to betray me into admiration of any thing that was very bad;
but, true it is, I have often overlooked capital beauties, in pieces of
extraordinary merit.--If I am not totally devoid of taste, however, this
young gentleman of Bath is the best landscape-painter now living: I was
struck with his performances in such a manner, as I had never been
by painting before. His trees not only have a richness of foliage
and warmth of colouring, which delights the view; but also a certain
magnificence in the disposition and spirit in the expression, which
I cannot describe. His management of the chiaro oscuro, or light and
shadow, especially gleams of sunshine, is altogether wonderful, both in
the contrivance and execution; and he is so happy in his perspective,
and marking his distances at sea, by a progressive series of ships,
vessels, capes, and promontories, that I could not help thinking, I had
a distant view of thirty leagues upon the back-ground of the picture. If
there is any taste for ingenuity left in a degenerate age, fast sinking
into barbarism, this artist, I apprehend, will make a capital figure, as
soon as his works are known.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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