Anecdotes about Authors, and Artists

In Short

This volume is a compendium of anecdotes, jests, and historical vignettes concerning famous authors and artists. Spanning centuries of British and European creative history, it focuses on the personal habits, professional rivalries, and curious accidents that defined the lives of figures like John Evelyn, Oliver Goldsmith, and Sir Joshua Reynolds. Rather than providing exhaustive biographies, the book offers a series of brief, vivid glimpses into the creative temperament. It has remained a staple for readers who appreciate the "human side" of genius, away from the pedestal of formal criticism.

The Story

The narrative begins with a modest admission: no single volume can contain the vast field of literary and artistic lore. The book sets its stage with the accidental recovery of John Evelyn’s diary from a lumber-room at Wotton, establishing a recurring theme of lost treasures—like the Magna Charta, saved from a tailor’s shears—and the fragile survival of human history. From here, the scope widens into the complex, often messy reality of professional life. We see authors like Tobias Smollett, who attempted to trade his political principles for government patronage, and others, like Oliver Goldsmith, whose anxieties over the reception of She Stoops to Conquer highlight the precarious nature of public favor.

As the text moves through the centuries, it explores the volatile relationships between creators and their patrons. We witness the shift from the heavy-handed censorship of the past—where "superstitious" art was burnt by parliamentary decree—to the fickle nature of the modern art market. Figures like Sir David Wilkie, who experienced the sudden, intoxicating leap from obscurity to acclaim, stand in contrast to those like Hogarth, who struggled to sell his work at all. The arc of these stories often emphasizes the irony of fortune; for instance, the way a publisher’s shrewd, manipulative marketing could turn a mediocre history into a bestseller, while a masterpiece like Tom Jones nearly went unsold until the intervention of a wife’s discerning eye.

The book does not shy away from the darker or more absurd corners of these lives. It details the physical violence directed at John Dryden by hired thugs, the deep, fearful delusions of dramatist John Dennis, and the vanity of poets and painters who would go to any length to secure their legacy. It concludes by reflecting on the endurance of art itself, often found in unlikely places—such as a "lost" painting discovered in the vaulted chambers of a city hall or the simple, unostentatious charity of a sculptor like Canova. By examining the interplay of petty rivalries, economic necessity, and genuine creative breakthrough, the book presents a mosaic of the life of the mind: one that is rarely graceful, often compromised, and perpetually vulnerable to the accidents of time.

How It Unfolds

The accidental archive The collection opens with the serendipitous discovery of John Evelyn’s diary in an old mansion, highlighting how much of cultural history hangs by a thread. This sets the tone for a journey through the "curious facts" that define the lives of the famous.

The trade of letters The narrative shifts to the commerce of creativity, detailing how authors like Smollett and Fielding navigated the harsh realities of the publishing world. It portrays the relationship between the writer and the marketplace as one governed more by luck and artifice than by merit alone.

The temperament of genius The focus turns to the personal quirks and public anxieties of writers, from Goldsmith’s stage fright to the awkwardness of poets like Thomson. These beats illustrate the wide gap between the polished work and the often-flawed individual behind it.

The struggle for high art The middle section examines the visual arts, documenting the historical destruction of religious imagery and the subsequent rise of portraiture. It reveals how painters struggled against a lack of public discernment and the whims of royal or aristocratic patronage.

The irony of legacy The final movement gathers anecdotes about the posthumous fate of artists and their works. It concludes with reflections on the "miracles" of discovery and the persistent, often misguided, efforts of those who attempt to define art through the lens of vanity or prejudice.

The People

The figures populating these pages are defined by their contradictions. John Evelyn is the quiet observer whose private record becomes a literary landmark, while Oliver Goldsmith embodies the classic, high-strung creator whose public success barely masks his private dread. Smollett represents the "trading author," willing to shift his politics for a fee, whereas the poet Thomson is depicted as a man of great talent but social awkwardness, unable to even read his own work to an audience.

Sir Joshua Reynolds appears as a figure of quiet authority, his practice of physically erasing the work of hair-dressers on his sitters serving as a metaphor for his pursuit of a higher standard. Conversely, the dramatist John Dennis is the embodiment of self-important paranoia, convinced that foreign powers are actively plotting his demise because of his plays. Finally, the sculptor Canova represents the ideal of the artist—titled and wealthy, yet remaining fundamentally simple and dedicated to the quiet support of his less-fortunate peers. Each of these individuals ends up differently; some find enduring fame, others fall into obscurity or are remembered only for a singular, absurd anecdote.

In Its Own Voice

"The field from which one may gather is so wide and fertile, that any collection warranting such a claim would far exceed the compass of many volumes, much less of this little book."

(The author introduces the premise of the book, acknowledging the impossibility of documenting every literary incident.)

"A note of interrogation," replied the young fellow, with a look of great contempt, "is a little crooked thing that asks questions."

(A young officer delivers this stinging retort to Alexander Pope during a dispute over a Latin manuscript at a coffee-house.)

"It will never do has been always the favourite watch-cry of those, in all ages and countries, who ever look on all schemes for the advancement of mankind as indirect reflections on the narrowness of their own petty comprehensions."

(The author quotes Haydon’s impassioned defense of innovation against the stifling skepticism of critics.)

What It's Really About

At its core, this book is an inquiry into the fragility of reputation and the chaotic nature of the creative process. It asks whether the "greatness" we attribute to authors and artists is an objective quality or merely the result of historical accident, marketing, and the shifting whims of public taste. The underlying argument is that the history of culture is not a clean, linear progression but a messy, human endeavor. By juxtaposing the sublime achievements of a Milton or a Reynolds with the trivial, humanizing details of their daily lives, the book suggests that the distance between "genius" and "eccentric" is often shorter than we care to admit.

Why Read It Today

Readers who delight in historical gossip, the "behind-the-scenes" of literature, and the peculiar habits of the famous will find this collection endlessly engaging. It offers the sensation of browsing through a dusty, well-stocked library where every shelf holds a surprise. The writing is warm and informal, though readers should be prepared for the occasional archaisms and the specific, sometimes sharp, judgments of the nineteenth-century author.

You will encounter period attitudes—such as the casual dismissal of certain art forms or the Victorian obsession with "taste"—that may strike a modern ear as dated or even restrictive. However, these biases are part of the book’s charm; they provide a window into how the past evaluated its own giants. It is not a book for someone seeking a rigorous, academic biography, but rather for a reader who enjoys an anecdotal, conversational approach to history. What remains with you is the sense that the icons we revere were once just people trying to make a living, dealing with bad reviews, difficult publishers, and the constant, nagging fear that they might be forgotten—or worse, misunderstood—by the very people they intended to reach.