The collected works of William Hazlitt, Vol. 09 (of 12) — Text and Context

A Catalogue of Feelings, Not Paintings

Hazlitt's advertisement for the Sketches declares his aim is 'to describe the feelings which they naturally excite in the mind of a lover of art.' This is not a dry inventory. When he writes of the Angerstein collection, he does not merely list works but evokes the emotional response they produce. The same approach governs his travel notes: at Spoleto, he remarks that the town 'has an appearance (somewhat startling in Italy) as if life were not quite extinct in it.' The observation is characteristically personal, turning a landscape into a barometer of vitality. Throughout, Hazlitt's voice is that of a connoisseur who trusts his own reactions over received opinion.

Travel as a Test of Patience and Perception

The Notes of a Journey are as much about the irritations of travel as about art. Hazlitt complains of vetturino arrangements, bribing waiters, and the difficulty of finding decent accommodation. He notes that 'it is best, if you travel in this manner, to pay for yourself; and then you may stand some chance of decent accommodation.' These practical frustrations are woven into the aesthetic observations. At Foligno, he finds an inn 'equally clean and hospitable'—a memorable exception. The travelogue thus balances high culture with the mundane realities of early nineteenth-century touring, giving the reader a sense of the physical and social context in which art was encountered.

Early Art and the Shadow of Raphael

Hazlitt's response to early Italian painting is notably free of condescension. At Assisi, viewing frescoes by Giotto and Ghirlandaio, he writes: 'I see nothing to contemn in them—much to admire—fine heads, simple grouping, a knowledge of drawing and foreshortening, and dignified attitudes and expressions, some of which Raphael has not disdained to copy, though he has improved upon them.' This measured judgment places Hazlitt in a critical tradition that values the origins of Renaissance art, not merely its later achievements. His willingness to praise the early masters, while acknowledging Raphael's refinements, shows a historical sensibility that avoids simple progress narratives.

Readers approaching this volume should expect a critic who writes with the intimacy of a personal essayist. Hazlitt's judgments are grounded in direct experience, and his prose carries the rhythms of conversation. The travel notes, in particular, reward attention to their blend of aesthetic commentary and practical complaint. This is not a systematic art history but a record of one intelligent observer's encounters with paintings and places.

Skimming Hazlitt’s wandering notes on paintings, I felt that same unhurried intimacy—his thoughts unfurling like a conversation with himself. It reminded me of sitting with Life and Letters of Robert Browning — Reading Companion, where the poet’s voice feels equally close, equally human. Both seem less about expertise and more about simply being present with what moves you.