Hogarth: One Man and His Pug Secret Knowledge

In 1730, Covent Garden was, much as today, a hive of activity -

busy markets and bustling crowds.

But it was also the scene of a sad, but illuminating, event.

"Lost from the Broadcloth warehouse in the little Piazza Covent Garden -

"a light-coloured Dutch dog with a black muzzle,

"and answers to the name Pug.

"Whoever has found him and will bring him to the said place

"shall have half a guinea reward."

What was so special about Pug?

The answer is, he belonged to the man who was probably

England's greatest artist -

William Hogarth.

This was a lost dog with a difference.

Behind it lies a tale, not just of a devoted owner,

but an important key to Hogarth's life and work.

This plucky breed appears time and again in his prints and paintings.

And I intend to reveal what these canine cameos can tell us

about the pretensions of the privileged classes,

the shadowy world of freemasonry,

but, above all, about the character of Hogarth himself.

I also hope to recover a long lost a piece of Hogarth heritage,

a terracotta sculpture of his iconic pug Trump.

It's a tale of paintings, porcelain and pugs.

You may wonder where my obsession with all things Hogarth began...

For most of my working life I've been dealing with crockery -

identifying, cataloguing and lecturing on all things ceramic.

But one lunch-time, to take a break from looking at pots

I went to the National Gallery.

Here amongst the priceless Old Masters

there was one work that grabbed my attention.

And here it is.

William Hogarth's Marriage a La Mode, painted in 1743.

The story is the union of an aristocrat

who has fallen on hard times

with a young woman who is about to inherit nouveau riche money.

This is what Hogarth has become most famous for,

what he called his "modern moral subjects".

This is arguably his finest -

a series which highlights the folly of marrying for money not love,

resulting in adultery, murder and suicide.

But it's an earlier scene which captures my professional interest.

So here is our hero and heroine having breakfast.

They look deliriously happy.

He has just come back from a night on the tiles,

and his dog has sniffed out a lace bonnet.

But what caught my eye, as a ceramics specialist,

was these - the table and the mantelpiece.

What on earth is going on there?

Well, I can tell you as a ceramics historian

the little bottles certainly exist - they could be snuff bottles.

But, hang on, what are those two white figures

standing either end of the mantelpiece

with their hands like this?

What are they?

They don't exist.

Hogarth is using these figures standing there

to send the couple up.

They are collectors with no taste whatsoever.

The world had gone crazy for porcelain.

London was getting richer

and the rich had to do something with their money,

and they bought stuff.

They crammed their houses with knick-knacks.

They started collecting.

And this was one of the big issues, the moral issues, of Hogarth's day -

luxury, it's bad for us.

Which makes me wonder what Hogarth thought of the fact that

one of the most fashionable pieces of China at the time

was an early piece of Hogarth merchandise.

And it didn't depict this faith or even his work.

It was a porcelain figurine of one of his beloved pugs - Trump.

Porcelain was introduced into Europe from China in the 1500s

but it wasn't until the early 1700s that European factories

managed to produce their own.

Beginning with Meissen in Germany,

the English would finally crack the recipe in the 1740s.

Among the very first was the Chelsea factory

which swiftly set about tapping into popular tastes.

And this is one of the great pieces

of early English porcelain.

Just look at this wonderful little dog.

Are you a dog owner? I am.

It's a huge irony that Hogarth -

the man who satirises luxury and conspicuous consumption -

suddenly finds that his very own dog

has become the object of this luxury.

Because these would have been very, very expensive at the time.

But, secretly, I like to think,

Hogarth would have been very pleased.

These dogs would have been pointed to on the mantelpiece -

"Ah, I have a couple of Hogarth's dogs."

The 1740s was his decade.

He was at the height of his powers,

the height of his popularity.

And so to have Hogarth's dogs on the mantelpiece

was really quite something. It was, er...

a la mode.

This model is particularly fine

as it was taken from

an original terracotta sculpture

made by Louis Francois Roubiliac.

He undertook a bust of his friend

William Hogarth,

and, interestingly, he obviously felt no portrait was complete,

without also sculpting his faithful four-legged companion.

And so the Chelsea factory made moulds.

They made the mould of the model they were given,

and they made a reverse mould. This is the reverse.

So you could have a pair of Trumps on the mantelpiece.

One facing one way

and the other facing this way.

And it is a little masterpiece.

I mean, not for nothing Louis Francoise Roubiliac

was considered to be, arguably, THE greatest sculptor of his age -

not just of human beings,

but, my goodness, of dogs.

Anybody who likes dogs will immediately warm to this.

Look at the detail -

the muscles in the legs,

the pads on the paws with the little claws.

You could tousle the front of his mane.

It's so fluffy!

Then turning him around,

the ridges of fat on the back.

He's been well fed by his master.

But best of all, it's the expression in the face.

Those ears - now they tell a story.

Those of you who have a dog know that

when a stranger comes into the room,

and the dog is wary,

the dog will sit between you and the stranger,

eyeing up the stranger -

one ear will be listening to the stranger.

Meanwhile, you're standing behind and the other ear is flipped back.

And that is the moment Roubiliac has captured in this dog.

And he doesn't look particularly happy, either, does he?

It's a hugely fond depiction of an animal.

But this object doesn't just tell us about a pivotal moment in porcelain

or fine sculpture.

It is a clear indication just how famous William Hogarth was

and, more interestingly, how he had become synonymous

in the public's mind with one particular breed of dog - the pug.

But to understand the part it has played in Hogarth's story

we must go back to his humble beginnings.

Born in 1697, William Hogarth was not destined for fame and fortune.

His father was a teacher

whose ambitions of opening a Latin-speaking coffee house

ended in debtors' prison.

This cast a shadow over his life.

He needed a trade and began as an apprentice silver engraver

before graduating to copper-plate printing.

He showed talent and opened his own shop engraving book illustrations,

trade cards and occasional satires.

But he wanted more.

He wanted to be taken seriously as an artist

and he enrolled in the academy of James Thornhill -

a celebrated artist based in Covent Garden.

Thornhill recognised Hogarth's potential.

And how did William show his gratitude to his teacher Sir James?

Well, he eloped with his daughter Jane.

Not the greatest of moves - Hogarth was, after all,

a man with doubtful prospects.

And yet within in a few months we know that the young Hogarths

were reconciled to the Thornhills.

Here is a Thornhill sketch of the extended family -

as depicted by Sir James.

There are the newlyweds - the young Hogarths in the corner -

the Thornhills standing and seated

and just there...

a little pug.

This is the first appearance

of the other great love of Hogarth's life - his pugs.

But it would not be the last.

The 1730s were a turning point in Hogarth's career.

He married his two skills of engraving and painting

and it would make his name and his fortune.

He embarked on a series of paintings that were printed

and sold to an eager audience - a revolutionary move

that gave birth to the modern self-sufficient artist.

From the corruption of a young woman in The Harlot's Progress,

to the adventures of the Rake's Progress,

and, of course, the happy couple in Marriage a La Mode.

Hogarth's morality tales were instantly popular.

They didn't just preach they entertained

with bawdy scenes of wit, drama and humour.

While many of his most arresting figures are frankly grotesques,

there is one supporting role that is to be found time and time again.

From his very earliest works, the prints, the paintings,

and the prints of his paintings,

William Hogarth takes a theme

which other artists before him had used - the dog.

But being William Hogarth,

being the satirical man that he undoubtedly was,

he likes to get the dog involved in the action.

Now those dogs ranged from greyhounds to poodles, to spaniels.

Now nothing is straightforward in Hogarth's images,

something is always symbolic of something else.

Whenever you see in one of Hogarth's images, a spaniel,

the suggestion is maybe, just maybe, that the people in that portrait

are supporters of the Stuart cause -

the King Charles spaniel.

Those who espoused the Hanoverians -

after all, a Dutch dynasty, originally -

they included the Dutch dog, the pug.

But the pug is more important than that -

he is a satirical little animal.

He is comical looking,

he's almost like a monkey,

and in that respect, dare I say,

that the pug resembles his owner.

While it's easy to see why dogs serve so well

as a useful comic device in his satirical work

what is more surprising is that he can't resist

including the playful disruptive little dog

in his more formal commissions -

or conversation pieces.

Here a little puppy is playing in the foreground,

somewhat upstaging the family!

And it does feel that Hogarth is being subtly subversive,

using the pug to prick the pomposity of these grand and formal scenes.

In this painting of the Strode family

he seems to have his very own pug Trump

squaring up against the family spaniel.

And we know it's Hogarth's pug, Trump, as he appears again

in his most defining image -

the so-called Manifesto portrait of 1745.

People call this Hogarth's self-portrait.

It's not a self-portrait.

Look at it.

Yes, there is a picture of Hogarth within this painting

but that picture is on a canvas.

And it's in front of that canvas

we see the true subject of this painting is his pug.

His alter ego.

Now I understand more than anything the love of a man for his dog,

but there seems something quite unique

about this particular breed.

While you'll have no doubt noticed that Hogarth's pug

is very different from the one you may know...

..which is stouter, shorter, with a flattened muzzle.

What hasn't changed is their expressive nature

and their ability to capture the public's imagination.

And just like the Chelsea factory centuries ago,

one company has realised their marketing potential.

What is it about pugs that so many people are attracted to them?

I think it's because they have human-like faces.

They have big eyes, little noses.

They like to be happy, they're quite dizzy. They're happy little dogs.

You may have Labradors and you may have Spaniels

but you won't have a dog that has a face like that,

that basically is telling you exactly how he feels.

So, it started as love and it turned into business?

It started as love, then it became an obsession.

And then it became business.

Cos they've got this kind of chubbiness about them,

they're kind of angel-like, you know what I mean?

And I thought, "If I could make really ornate wings

"then I could make a really lovely piece in the living room."

And then I thought, "Right, cushions."

Then from there I did Christmas lights, soaps...

What I really liked about it and where I thought I had something

that could work was people laughed.

Everything I do has to have... It has to be tongue-in-cheek.

-They are humorous.

-Yes.

I've often been baffled by the fact that Hogarth's very early images,

conversation groups with families, people who'd come to him and said,

"Mr Hogarth will you come along and paint our family portrait, please?"

Along he goes with is pet pug

and hey presto

Hogarth's pug appears.

I would imagine that he brought his pug along to a painting to break down

any atmosphere there is. He would have known how to make that

relationship with the person he's painting.

You've absolutely put your finger on it.

They just break down the social divide and you know what...

I mean, London is a city that is known not to be friendly

but you walk out with a pug and you've suddenly got

the whole world talking to you and it's fabulous.

But clearly to Hogarth his pugs were more than a faithful companion.

He identified with the plucky breed.

He was diminutive, determined, pugnacious,

driven by a desire not end up like his penniless father.

In fact, the pug provides an unexpected clue

as to one of the ways in which he secured his future.

Just around the corner from Hogarth's home in Covent Garden

are the headquarters of a secret organisation.

Welcome to Freemasons Hall,

home to a fascinating array of unusual objects.

But I've come to look at one cabinet in particular which houses

a collection of Meissen porcelain

with it's characteristic flinty sparkle.

What you may begin to notice is each one features a little pug.

Well, all expect this one, where the poor dog has been snapped off.

But he has left his calling card.

Now, you may be wondering what pugs have got to do with the Masons?

Well, in the 1730s the Pope told the Germans that he didn't like the idea

of anybody swearing an oath of allegiance to anybody

other than the Catholic Church.

So, they were not permitted to become Freemasons.

And so they founded the Order of Pugs.

As it was known in Germany, the Mops-Orden.

This was a society where men and women could partake.

And almost as a send up of true Masonic ritual,

the Order of the Mopses decided that the initiation would involve

the blindfolded candidate

being presented with the rear end of a pug and you had to...

..kiss the ring, I suppose.

But we shouldn't get too carried away.

People say whenever there's a pug in Hogarth,

"Ah, that's because he was a Freemason."

Well, actually he was a Freemason

but he started using the pug in the late 1720s when Freemasonry

in London was relatively new

and certainly long before the German Mops-Orden.

Nevertheless it was the perfect place for Hogarth to rub shoulders

with the rich and powerful behind closed doors

and to charm wealthy potential patrons.

In fact, Hogarth even took it upon himself to redesign

a ceremonial jewel for his lodge,

seen here adorning the neck of the Grand Steward Colonel John Pitt.

When Hogarth joined the Freemasons

it was because he had a sense that it would do him good.

At the same time, he was perfectly happy to send up

the alleged mysticism of the group he joined,

as he does in that print of the Gormogons.

Despite Hogarth's ambition, it's amusing to see

he still can't help giving in

to his natural instinct for barefaced cheek.

Hogarth had an eye for the absurd

and a nose for business.

Hogarth was a canny self-promoter, a one-man marketing machine.

He attached himself to good causes and charities

but the one closest to his heart was the Foundling Hospital.

An institution for abandoned children,

it became England's first public art gallery.

And this is Hogarth's portrait of its founder, Thomas Coram,

immensely accomplished. No sign of a pug. Hogarth had arrived.

He was at last what he had hoped to be -

an eminent and respected artist.

In 1749, now in his 6th decade,

Hogarth could relax and enjoy the fruits of his labour,

and he bought a country retreat, here in Chiswick.

On what is today the rather busy A4,

but in those days was a very pleasant bucolic part

of the peripheries of London.

And it was here that he decided

that he was going to fulfil a long held ambition.

It was almost as if his father from the school master days

took over his ego.

He decided that he was now in a position to tell other people

what art was all about.

He entered into art theory and he gave us a clue

in that 1745 portrait that this was in his mind.

Here he is, the portrait with his beloved Trump.

But look down in the corner here and you'll see that the pallet,

there is this strange curved line and the inscription

"The line of beauty WH."

He put that into the portrait in order to get people talking.

And for the next five/six years he busied himself with the project

that culminated in this -

his 1753 book called

The Analysis Of Beauty. A rather immodest title.

And the line that we saw just now...

..reappears here in this extraordinary print.

Because Hogarth had one big theory.

And that was that beauty came from variety.

And it came from curved lines, not straight.

His basic premise is that beautiful things have an inner undulation,

a variety, a sense of grace.

You will note that here we have a vision of a sculptor's yard

in the centre of London.

Here the gentleman standing to attention, looking rather comical,

whereas next to him, a rather graceful, classical statue.

Throughout all of this, Hogarth is saying,

"If you're looking for beauty, if you're looking for grace,

"you'll find it in the curved line." So, this was a major treatise.

And, well, he was now a member of the establishment.

And the moment Hogarth went into print with theory,

something that was really rather beyond a man of such humble origins,

people felt, "Ah, we can get at him."

One of the many people who attacked him was a man called Paul Sandby,

himself an artist.

In this etching Sandby caricatures Hogarth painting monstrously

deformed women in order to conform to his "Line of Beauty"

or "Line of Deformity" as the critics referred to it.

And even using his beloved alter-ego against him

giving Hogarth the legs of a pug.

But Hogarth's characteristic puggish resilience saw him shrug off

such criticism and it did little to affect his standing

and reputation where it counted.

In 1757, the humble engraver found himself appointed

Sergeant Painter to the king no less, a position that prompted him

to embark on what would be his final self-portrait.

Dubbed Hogarth Painting The Comic Muse,

in fact, we find him much the sober, serious artist and yet

there is in fact a secret that reveals that Hogarth

was as cheeky and irreverent as ever.

When curator's were looking at this portrait for a new catalogue

of our works, they realised that there had been some alterations,

and they sent it for X-ray,

and rather to their surprise the X-rays revealed that the alterations

had actually been rather substantial.

Instead of the muse of comedy on the canvas,

Hogarth is painting a life model,

and in this corner, my favourite touch,

there is a little pug who is leaping over a pile of canvases

and peeing on them.

-In the corner?

-In the corner.

Sadly, no trace of this remains.

It's a theme that goes all the way through his work.

What do you make of that?

Well, I think the pug symbolises lots of different things to him.

I mean, on the one hand there's a sort of pun on pugnaciousness,

which is a recurrent theme in Hogarth's career.

On the other hand, the sort of pugs that Hogarth has

are listed as being a kind of mongrel in British breeds of dogs

and I think Hogarth rather celebrates the fact that this is an animal

that is seen as a bit down the social sphere perhaps, not, you know,

one of these fine thoroughbred dogs,

but instead has this dogged determination.

And I think that is something which he really sees in himself,

erm, not coming from the sort of aristocratic background.

And why did he erase his pug?

Well, I think it reflects a slight change in his status, perhaps,

as he's made Sergeant Painter to the king,

and a desire perhaps to make a less provocative statement.

For me, it almost suggests that by originally putting his own pug

in here and over painting it,

it's almost like a concealed joke, isn't it?

He knows when he looks at this painting, that in there -

we can't see it - but there is a pug.

As you may remember, I began this story

with the search for a lost pug and here I've found one.

However, this is not the pug that I need your help to track down.

For the real mystery I must remind you of that glorious little

porcelain dog in the V&A.

This was based upon an original terracotta sculpture by Roubiliac,

a wonderful and witty accompaniment to his masterful bust of Hogarth.

The bust can be found today in its rightful place

in the National Portrait Gallery.

It is a spectacular work of art.

It breathes.

We see Hogarth thinking.

Something has caught his gaze over on the right

and that pugnacious jaw is already scanning it.

But wait. Where, where is the missing dog?

The original little terracotta pottery model from which

Chelsea made those spectacular porcelain models?

Well, this is my final appeal to you.

It's my hope that in my lifetime I will see Hogarth's missing dog

returned to him.

Are you the one who, at the back of your cupboard or in the attic,

may have a terracotta model, same colour as Hogarth here, lurking?

Perhaps it's chipped, doesn't matter.

Because we want to see him returned at heel to his rightful master.

And I can tell you that the reward ought to be more than half a guinea.

If you do have any leads to a forlorn little chap -

the mirror image of this one - in terracotta, please do get in touch.