DAVID SCOTT ives : DAVID SOO ak eo AND HIS WORKS WITH A CATALOGUE OF HIS PAINTINGS, ENGRAVINGS, AND DESIGNS BY NE OREN REAR AUTHOR OF ‘GEORGE MANSON AND HIS WORKS WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS EDINBURGH AND LONDON MDCCCLXXXIV All Rights reserved TO WILLIAM BELL SCOTT, Painter and Poet, THE BROTHER AND BIOGRAPHER OF DAVID SCOTT, THIS VOLUME IS INSCRIBED WITH DEEP RESPECT. PREFACE. N press our thanks to those who have rendered its offering this volume to the public, we have to ex production possible,—to the surviving friends of David Scott who have given us much information, and to the various owners of his works who have afforded us facilities for examining, and, when desired, for reproducing them. In particular we have to thank the Messrs A. & C. Black for permitting us, with the sanction of the author, to use three of the plates which illustrated Mr W. B. Scott’s Memoir of his brother, a volume now out of print and scarce, one to which those most interested in the painter will feel most indebted, and to which the present writer is under especial obligations. By the courtesy of Mr Andrew Elliot we have been enabled to reproduce the calotype which forms our final plate ; and we are fortunate in having been able to add to our illustrations an unpublished portrait of the father of David Scott, mezzotinted, from a painting by his son, by his pupil Mr John Le Conte, and also the same engraver’s important plate of Puck fleeing before the Dawn, from which only a very limited number of impressions have already been issued. The edition of the present work is limited to 100 copies on large paper, and 350 copies on small 3 paper, of which this is No. oO Se es Wish OF Mist Ra LUNs: BUST OF DAVID SCOTT, RSA, . ; : ‘ : ; . ; , Frontispiece From a cast, in the possession of Mrs Samuel Brown, of the bust, by Sir John Steel, R.S.A., in the National Gallery of Scotland. No. PORTRAIT OF ROBERT SCOTT, . : . : a 3 : 0 : 2 Unpublished mezzotint by John Le Conte, from an oil-painting by David Scott, in the possession of Mr W. B. Scott. ADAM AND EVE SINGING THEIR MORNING HYMN, : ; : : ‘ p 3 Line-engraving from an oil-painting in the possession of Dr J. Le Gay Brereton. NIMROD, THE MIGHTY HUNTER, : : : ; d : : : 2 4 From an oil-painting in the possession of Mr William Dickson. OF MAN: SIX MONOGRAMS, “The speech of these things trembleth and is moved.” —Espras. I, OF LIFE, . 3 ; 5 “Who bringeth forth the living from the dead, and bringeth forth the dead From the living ?” —At Koran. Il. OF RELATION, . ; 8 é - 5 3 : e é 6 ice; and the sun and the moon and the “The night and day to Your sei stars ; and given You dominion over whatever is created for You in the earth ; and subjected the sea unto You.” —Au Koran. ~I Ill. OF KNOWLEDGE, « Live you, or are you aught that man may question ?”—SHAKES RE. “ Destruction and Death say we have heard the fame thereof with our ears.’ —Jon. IV. OF INTELLECT, a 3 5 5 ‘ 4 a 5 4 5 8 “ Not only to discern Things in their causes but to trace the ways Of highest agents.” —M1L10N. “The eye is not satisfied with seeing, nor the ear filled with hearing.”— EcCLESIASTES. vy. OF POWER, ‘ 5 5 “ a 4 A 5 ‘ é ‘ 5 9 “ Of providence, foreknowledge, will, and fate, Fix'd fate, free will, foreknowledge absolute.” —Miuton. “Why doth one day excel another when as all the light of every day in the year is of the sun?” —Eccumstasticus. 10 DAVIN SCOTT, ES 4, VI. OF DEATH, : . é A 5 “The steps of his strength shall be straitned, and his own counsels shall cast him down; . . . if one know them they are in the terrors of the shadow of Death.” —Jox. Reproduced from the original etchings by David Scott, on which the above titles and mottoes are inscribed. THE SPIRIT OF THE SOUTH DEPARTS, AND THE ANGELIC SPIRITS CONDUCT THE SHIP, THE ALBATROSS FOLLOWS, Reproduced from two of the original etchings by David Scott, illustrative of Coleridge’s Ancient Mariner. THE AGONY OF DISCORD; or, THE HOUSEHOLD GODS DESTROYED, 3. Scott from an oil-painting in the possession of Mr James Leathart. THE VINTAGER, Reversed from the oil-painting in the National Gallery of Scotland. ARIEL AND CALIBAN, From an etching, by W. B. Scott, of an oil-painting in the National Gallery of Scotland. PUCK FLEEING BEFORE THE DAWN, Line-engraving by John Le Conte from an oil-painting in the possession of Mr James Campbell. THE TRAITORS GATE, From an oil-painting in the possession of Mr R. Carfrae, VASCO DE GAMA ROUNDING THE CAPE, Etching by W. B. Scott from an oil-painting in the Trinity House, Leith. SELF-ACCUSATION; or, MAN AND HIS CONSCI ENCE, Reproduction of a pencil sketch washed with water-colour, by David Scott, in the possession of Mr W. B. Scott. HOSTS OF ANGELS THAT CRY CONTINUALLY, HOLY! HOLY! HOLY! CHRISTIAN ENTERS THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH, Reproduced from two of the original pencil designs, illustrative of The Pilgrim’s Progress, in the Sunder- land Free Library. THE PROCESSION OF UNKNOWN POWERS, . EMBLEM OF THE ASTRONOMER, THE ALL-SUSTAINING HAND, CREATION OF A STAR, THE COMET, THE FOOTPRINT OF THE OMNIPOTENT, HEARING THE ETERNAL MELODIES OF THE SPHERES, Seven designs reproduced from a series of original pencil designs, entitled Man and the Stars, executed as illustrations to Professor Nichol’s Architecture of the Heavens, and now in the possession of Mr W. B, Scott. PORTRAIT OF DAVID SCOTT, RS.A, From a calotype by D, O, Hill, R.S.A., and R, Adamson, No. 10 29 DAN al DD etrit COE T ieagcibie rains ik HALL painting be confined to the sordid drudgery of facsimile representations of merely mortal and perishing substances, and not be, as poetry and music are, ele- vated into its own proper sphere of invention and visionary conception? No, it shall not be so! Painting, as well as poetry and music, exists and exults in im- mortal thoughts.” In these characteristic words of William Blake’s we have in brief and emphatic form his ideal of graphie art, of its scope, and the loftiness of its aim,—an ideal which was also that of David Scott, a painter who deserves to be better known in these days when we begin again to feel that imaginative work is precious. But the ideal which Blake’s words expr is by no means universally recognised even now, and was still less widely realised in Blake’s day than in ours. For in the higher and more imaginative departments of graphic art how little has been done in Protestant England, save in quite recent times. Here indeed, as elsewhere, in the days of medievalism, men strove by their art to body forth the things of vision; and the mouldering carvings of our cathedrals still picture the wiles of fiends and the triumphs of angels. But since the Reformation the art of England has concerned itself mainly with the sweet and common felicities of domestic and rural life,—has at any rate dealt with the actual, the immediately present, whenever it has dealt with anything effectively. Holbein is the first painter of power working in our country. In his own land he is some- thing of the visionary and the idealist,—he draws his Dance of Death, with its weird figures that co] J 2 “ to} close the drama of time and bring in the things that are to be; but the realist is always the better half of him, and round his vision of the Queen of Heaven he gathers his quaint, grave, human company of the Meyer family. He settles in England, and becomes the realist exclusively. The legacy which his life amongst us has bequeathed to the world is his splendid series of portraits of our sixteenth-century men and women. Yet while English graphic art was thus barren of the highest imagination, English poetry was soaring into the empyrean, our poets were dealing effectively with themes which in Italy had been common to painting as well as to verse, Chaucer, like Botticelli, dreaming of Spring and her “Menie”; Spenser setting his Virtues and Vices beside those of Giotto in the Temple of Art; and Milton, like Angelo, picturing the wars of Heaven, And even in graphic art there were signs that D 12 DAVID SCOTT, R.S.A. our painters felt imagination to be the best and master thing. Fuseli and Haydon strove after it. Reynolds must needs paint nymphs and tragic muses, sweet and stately personalities indeed, but no more divine than was his simple portraiture of the maids and matrons that lived around him. The efforts of these men indicate a struggle after imagination rather than its possession, they simulate a virtue if they have it not; and it can scarcely be said that, until the time of Blake, a single artist has appeared among us whose designs, dealing with the more ideal and imaginative class of subjects, hold and impress the spectator with any very vivid sense of reality, bear any authentic impress of visions actually seen and truly recorded. And if all this is true of English, it is still truer of Scottish art. Beginning with portraiture in the hands of Jamesone of Aberdeen, it has been effective always in the portrayal of nature and of man: strong in portraiture, in genre painting, in landscape, it has hardly entered at all the realms of ideal and “visionary conception.” To the main tendencies of the school the works of David Scott are a notable exception, and one of the utmost interest, especially when considered in the light of more recent efforts, in the hands of several living British painters, in the direction o imaginative art. The pre-Raphaelite movement, dating from 1848, was no less an effort after truth and intensity of sentiment than after accurate portrayal of nature. Poetic and inventive treatment, depth and intensity of feeling, expressed by face and figure, are—amid all that may be crude and faultful— at least as apparent as close study of nature and accumulation of varied detail, in Millais’s Car- penter's Shop, Hunt's Awakened Conscience, and Rossetti’s Girlhood of Mary. Owing much to the original pre-Raphaelites, and especially influenced by the medieval quaintness and the mystic poetic feeling of Rossetti, is a remarkable group of artists, including Frederick Sandys, M. J. Lawless, and Simeon Solomon. Known most of them as painters, they were more prolific as designers, contributing early in the sixties to ‘Once a Week, ‘Good Words, and occasionally to ‘Cornhill’; and the rough woodcuts of these men will yet be recognised as occupying an important place in the history of imaginative art among us. In our own time we have in Mr Burne-Jones and his followers a fruit- ful school of poetic art. The aims and subjects of all these artists have no little kinship with those of Scott; and it is not strange to find Mr Rossetti, in his supplemental chapter to Gilchrist’s ‘ Life of Blake, speaking of the subject of our volume—*a great though yet imperfectly acknowledged name ”—as “ the painter most nearly fulfilling the highest requirements for historic art, both as a thinker and a colourist, who has appeared among us from the time of Hogarth to his own.” In Scott, in Rossetti himself, and in Blake, we find the same variety as to method; they are no specialists in the means by which they express themselves: they work in water-colour, oil, or fresco; they handle the graver or the etching-needle, nay, the pen also, for prose or verse; all pointing to the fact that with them the subject—the truth to be stated, the vision to be recorded— is the main and master thing, the means being changed from time to time, that being selected which, at the moment, is best suited for the embodiment of the present thought. Another characteristic of the art of these painters, and indeed of imaginative artists generally, and very markedly of Mr Burne-Jones, is their imperfect mastery over form. It is so with the splendidly imaginative work of the early Italians, so too with the vivid carvings of our Northern Gothic. And the reason is not far to seek. The forms of this kind of art can be at best only pregnant symbols, not perfect realisations, A suggestive sign these men can give, but not the very HIS LIFE AND WORKS. 13 thing itself which they have seen with their inner eye. The models of the painters of the actual will stay while they trace them line by line,—but how for those who paint dreams and visions, of which a shadow passed before them, but they knew not the shape thereof? With such men, almost invariably, the colour sense is present far more powerfully than the command over form, the gift of colour being perhaps the most instinctive and inborn of all the artist's endowments—a thing of original make and structure, given or withheld — while perception of form seems to be more distinctly a matter of study and experience. But it is to be noted that when one of these painters is working upon any part of his canvas which is vitally concerned with the sentiment of his picture —a face for instance, and its expression —he seems always roused to put forth his full strength ; and such parts, the subtlest and most complicated, which would be the stumbling-blocks of ordinary artists, become with these more imaginative men the very points of most signal technical triumph. Wh, These few general remarks on imaginative art bring us to the special subject of our paper. David Scott was born in Edinburgh in 1806, coming of a family that could count their descent back for several generations through ancestors of a stout burgher sort. His actual birthplace was in the centre of the city, in the “ Parliament Stairs,” a block of buildings in the High Street, destroyed by fire some fifty years ago, but similar in character to those other antique “lands” near its site whose altitude still impresses the stranger. While he was young the family removed to St Leonards, now a dingy quarter of the city filled with coal-depots, then a pleasant suburb redolent of the country, and settled in an old house enclosed by holly hedges, shaded by alder and lime trees, and full in view of Salisbury Crags, and the green slopes and grey and rosy rocks of Arthur Seat. The birth- place, however, in the historic heart of the city, was retained as the workshop of the father of the family,! who was an engraver; and it formed a kind of El Dorado or wonderland to the children, one portion of it filled with the bustle of busy labour and wonders of homely art, but with strange winding passages in it leading to disused lumber-rooms—wainscoted chambers filled with old dusty law-papers, among which prizes of seals and armorial bearings were occasionally to be discovered. The place seems to have made a strong impression on their imagination. William Scott, writing nearly half a century afterwards, says he feels as if he ‘were describing some recess in a guild in Nuremburg” rather than a prosaic ttish house. About the home itself there always hung something of gloom and sadness. The father was of grave temperament, deeply and sombrely religious, suffering too from feeble and broken health. Four sons, all of them older than David, had been removed by death; and the mother, her thoughts brooding upon those who were gone, would often address the living children by the names of the dead. All the surroundings tended to confirm and intensify the naturally grave and earnest disposition of the lad. There seems, indeed, to have been one thoroughly cheerful and natural personality in the house — “ uncle George””—a hale old man, genial and merry-hearted, greatly interested in field-sports, keeping his set of pointers and setters and his flight of pigeons, and coming, as we can well believe, like a very godsend to the younger members of the family. 1 A portrait of Robert Scott, from a painting by his son, forms our illustration, No 14 DAVID SCOTT, R.S.A. Several characteristic anecdotes of these childish days have been preserved. One, indicating how _keen was Scott’s sense for beauty even at a very early age, he has himself recorded. “ He went into a company assembled in the principal room of the house, and making his way up to a young lady laid his hand on her knees and said, ‘You are very beautiful.’ There are more things in the world than there are faces among women to which he could now look up and say the same.” Another anecdote shows how strongly nervous and imaginative his temperament was. Ghost-stories had been going the round of the nursery, and the children were much exercised with unseen terrors. David, the eldest, to frighten the rest, fashioned a bolster, a sheet, and a mask into the semblance of a ghost; but no sooner had he raised it into an erect position than he was filled with horror of the Frankenstein which his own hands had created, and alarmed the house with his piercing screams. As he grew older his mind was greatly occupied with theology,—debating questions of “ provi- dence, foreknowledge, will, and fate,” and composing “ Odes on Death,” and other verses on kindred subjects: then, even as to the very end, the unseen world was pressing on him and engaging his imagination. Among the books in his father’s library was a copy of Blair's ‘Grave, with Blake's illustrations, and the plates had doubtless their own important share in forming the boy’s artistic taste. His interest in the volume is testified by a long manuscript note, which he appended to it many years after. The time speedily arrived when Scott must choose a profession ; and owing to the failing health of his father, it was in the last degree desirable that he should take to engraving. But the laborious, minute, painstaking nature of the paternal art was little to his liking; and, above all, the youth could ill consent to spend day after day slowly copying the tame designs of others— he whose imagination was teeming all the while with visions that burned for expression. He con- tinued the uncongenial occupation only for a few years, and by the time he was twenty had thrown it aside altogether, and become a painter. We have proof of his devotion to study in his efforts, along with Macnee, J. A. Hutchison, Steell, and other artists, to found a class for painting from the life, and to obtain permission to draw from the gallery of casts in the Trustees’ Academy ;' while under Dr Monro he made himself acquainted with anatomy, and thus sought to probe the more hidden secrets of the human frame. In 1829 he was elected a member of the then recently founded Scottish Academy, which obtained its royal charter eight years later. His first exhibited picture was Zhe Hopes of Early Gentus dispelled by Death, shown in 1828; and among his other early works may be mentioned Cain, Nimrod, The Death of Sappho, Wallace defending Scotland, Adam and Eve singing their Morning Hymn, and Sarpedon carried by Death and Sleep. The Nimrod,’ in particular, may he identified with this period of the artist’s youth; it was painted in 1831. We may regard it as a kind of personification and apotheosis of physical life and vigour. The large upright canvas is filled with the form of the mighty hunter, which alone arrests the eye, relieved against an expanse of firmament with its rifted flakes of rosy clouds that scatter before the dawn. The figure stands erect, naked but for the cincture of tiger-skin at the loins and the purple drapery which flutters from the shoulders. The feet, set well apart, rest on masses of rock that are just seen at the foot of the canvas; for the man seems to stand on some 1 The Scottish School of Art, under the control of the Board of Trustees for Manufactures in Scotland. 2 Tilustration, No, 3. 3 [lustration, No, 4. HIS LIFE AND WORKS. 15 mountain-top, on the very apex of the world, heaved high as earth can carry him. His right hand holds a spear; the left raises to the mouth a great ram’s horn, whose wild notes fill the morning air. At his feet lies a fawn, pierced with a javelin, and bleeding to death,—a type of the suffering which the merely natural life, the life of instinctive and unrestrained impulse, gathers around it. It is interesting to compare the Sarpedon of Scott with Mr W. B. Richmond’s rendering of the same subject, exhibited in the Grosvenor Gallery of 1879. In the English artist’s great canvas of blue monochrome, we have academic skill and finish, and an impressive sense of amplitude in the moonlit space of sky and sea, against which is seen the downward sweep of the spirits that bear the dead hero. In Scott’s picture the grim presences loom out from the blackness of a night swept clear of moon and stars, a darkness dense, and that could be felt; yet the work is full of colour—in the pallor of death, the rosy flesh-tints of sleep, and the dark crimson poppies of his chaplet. There is a weird and tragic power in this conception of the three figures, their limbs twining and involved, their bodies pressed each to each, as though Sleep and Death, and the man they carry, had become indeed one flesh. Ill. During these years the command over the acid and the metal plate which Scott had acquired in the workshop of his father was turned to good account in the production and publication of origi- nal designs, executed in a free and artistic spirit. The Monograms of Man, the first series of these etchings, were issued in 1831, drawn by the artist on the copper in delicate outline. The bold- ness and directness of their symbolism, the simple way in which they deal with the profoundest subjects, has no parallel in art, except in the works of the early Italians, and in those of Blake and Durer. In the first design a mighty hand calls into existence by its touch the sun and moon in the firmament, and man, who is stretched supine upon the globe of the earth. In the second, we see the full-developed human being, and the whole round of things ministering to him. “He stands, like the angel in the Apocalypse, one foot upon the sea and the other upon the earth,” his arms wide extended, the ether ensphering his naked body, and his head crowned with the full-orbed sun. In the next design, an attenuated figure rises out of the ground, the grey hair waving in sparse flakes on his forehead, and a wild look of madness in his eyes and his bitter half-opened mouth. Laying his lean hand upon the head of a youth, he forces him to contemplate a grinning skull. The winged caduceus which the mortal holds in his hand is shivering in pieces beneath him, and through horror of this sight of decay and corruption as the end of all the very heavens above seem to rock to their ruin, the sun bursting into fragments, and the stars falling like untimely fruit. In the fourth plate we see, far beneath, a man standing on the orb of the earth, his feet firmly rooted there, a mortal prisoned by time and space, yet sending his spirit——imaged as a long - haired gigantic figure—forth on an arrow-like flight in quest of the great mist-shrouded Presence, who holds in his hand the fire and the rain, who is the life of all that live. Again, we have Fate, a huge form turned from us, the head bowed, the face hidden. With his powerful right hand he presses one 1 Tilustrations, Nos, 5-10, E 16 DAVID SCOTT, R.S.A. mortal to the earth, with his left arm he sustains a second, who, in his turn, stretches his sceptre over his prostrate brother ; ‘but the neck of this very Fate is bound by that great chain whose links encircle slayer and slain, and encompass the round of the globe itself. Then we have the last scene of all. Man, grown old and dying, spite of his clinging hands is slowly and surely sliding from the solid rock of mortal life into the vague misty sea—the “world not realised ”— towards which he gazes so fearfully, and from which there comes a hand, girt with the serpent- circle of eternity, and holding the cup of which all must drink. The very garments of the man are falling from him, leaving him unclothed. Around are gathered the representatives of the world’s religions: the Mohammedan with his crescent; the Parsee with his censer; the monk with cross and uplifted keys; while in front, “the naked intellectual man” lifts his head from long study, and confesses his darkness by covering his eyes and laying his finger on his lips. In exam- ining this noble series of designs, so full of profound thought which halts sometimes in its technical expression, it should be borne in mind that they were the production of a youth of twenty-five. Shortly after the publication of the Monograms, in the winter of 1831-32, Scott employed his evenings in sketching a series of twenty-five “poetic and dramatic scenes,” illustrative of Coleridge’s “ Ancient Mariner,” which, however, were not published till five years after. In these designs the drawing is even more glaringly defective than in the former series, and necessarily, the thought is less absolutely original. We find in them little of the beawty of Coleridge’s poem, with its rose-red bride, its crimson shadows of the spirit-men, and its ice “green as emerald.” Scott gives us little grace of line or form to set against all this exquisiteness of colour. And for the “ happy living things” whose beauty no tongue might declare, “God's creatures of the great calm” whose every track on the ocean was a “flash of golden fire,” the artist shows only putrescent horrors, as of a magnified drop of water. Beauty of form and free grace of springing flight we do get in the ascending figure seen against the long horizon line of quiet sea, in that twenty-first design,! where “the spirit of the south departs, and angelic spirits conduct the ship.” In the fourth plate,? too, there is much sense of motion and sharp salt breeze in the sunlight weather and the glancing ocean that surround the floating icebergs, and exquisite litheness of attitude in the figure of the seaman who leans from the ship's bulwarks, extending his arm to feed the following albatross. And if the beauty of the poem does not find fullest exposition in the designs, its weirdness, its sense of supernatural terror, is given most powerfully in the spell-bound stare of the wedding-guest ; in the spectral ribs of the phantom ship and its loathsome crew; in the form of the mariner bent upon the deck as the level procession of the dead crosses his face, their bodies, stiff and stark, converging around him as though dumbly pointing to their murderer; or, again, kneeling as the lightning flashes around him, and the rain-deluge pours from heaven: till at length the last design—All is Absolved—telieves us from the accumulated terror, with its cool cathedral interior, where even death is beautiful with carvings of quiet faces, and folded palms, and winged watchers, and its symmetrical circle of bowed worshippers who kneel for priestly benediction, while over them, com- ing from the withdrawn and unseen recess of the altar, we “perceive the waving of the hands that bless.” It is interesting to compare this series with Sir Noel Paton’s exquisite illustrations to the same poem, which are strong precisely in the very points in which Scott’s are weak. Those by the living painter are full of grace and beauty, learned and elaborate in costume, refined in feature ; 1 Tllustration, No. 11. 2 Tilustration, No. 12. HIS LIFE AND WORKS. a7, yet they scarcely except in one splendid plate, Zhe Seraph Band—convey, as do Scott's rude designs, an overpowering and enthralling sense of the supernatural. The difference between the two series will be felt very accurately if we compare the two renderings of The Phantom Ship. In Sir Noel’s design, Death has only the terror of skeleton form and veiled unseen face; and the Life-in- Death is a fair woman, stamped as vile only by the darkened circles round the wild eyes, and the long hair which bickers agaist the sky like flames of fire. From these the artist turns to dwell with manifest delight upon the picturesque details of the ancient ship, its broken and rotting timbers, and their rich accretion of trailing sea-weed and encrusting shells. But Scott’s vessel is no human ship, fashioned by men, and once their habitation ; it has been shaped by witchery for its loathsome crew; its black ribs, through which the sun doth “peer as through a grate,” are square and fresh as if carved yesterday: and of those it carries, one is a deformed and writhing woman- shape, the other no thing of whitened bones that have grown peaceful in the sepulchre, but a very spirit of corruption and decay, the mouldering cerements clinging round his attenuated limbs, his skull-face seen in unveiled horror,—a spirit before whose touch all mortals are like the empheris that creeps along the sharpened edge of his scythe. The pictures which we have already mentioned include the most important of those executed by Scott before his visit to Italy in 1832, Ten years before he had been in London, standing long and eagerly, till the hour for admi on, at the unopened doors of the Royal Academy; admiring Martin’s grandiose Nineveh ; praising, cautiously and with reserve, Haydon’s Entry of Christ into Jerusalem ; and visiting Turner’s studio, where he was pounced upon by the irate genius of the place for making a surreptitious sketch of one of the pictures on a card. Doubtless, also, he had learned something from the two large pictures by Etty, exhibited in Edinburgh in 1831, and pur- chased by the Royal Scottish Academy in the following year. They were fitted to teach a young artist much regarding design on a large scale, and their colour would come to him as a foretaste of the splendid hues which he was afterwards to see in Venice. IV. The visit to Italy was his first experience of foreign travel, and his last, if we except a short stay in Paris with his brother in 1837. At the present time he spent a week in that city, greatly impressed among the works of the moderns with the pictures of David, “a very great artist” ; rightly praising his “learned talent,’ “his revived mode of study,’ which has done so much to recall the art of France and Belgium, and through it that of our own country, to an accurate per- ception and portrayal of form. © From Paris he passes to Geneva, and across the Simplon; Chillon and Coligny are seen through the poetic glamour which Byron had cast around them; and the canvases of Italy rise before him in the distance, gorgeous to the eye of his imagination as morning clouds. Milan, Venice—where he stayed about a month—Bologna, Florence, and Siena were visited; and in December he settled in Rome, where he remained some fifteen months, his stay broken only by a short visit to Naples and Pompeii. The physical conditions of the time were far from enviable. His diary records perpetual 18 DAVID SCOTT, R.S.Ax changes from studio to studio, with the necessary accompaniments of discomfort and interruptions to work, Once he narrowly escaped being shot in the streets by an assassin. But the feeble and uncertain state of his health was a still more serious source of uneasiness; and resulting in part from this, but still more from the artist’s nervous and over-sensitive constitution of mind as well as body, there were hours and days of blackness and despair, when the search for excellence was a kind of agony, when the art that had been his god seemed to have become a tormenting fiend. No wonder that Scott had his fits of nostalgia and longing for home, that he wearied for the security and quiet of the parental nest, even for “ those old Sunday evenings, and the books” which occupied them, and which had perhaps been found sufficiently tedious when they were a present reality. His letters of this period, his biographer tells us, are for the most part “bitter or sad, painfully obscure or rising in rebellion with society and its conventions, with nature and its laws,— even with his own soul and the divine voice.” It is the old story of a man quarrelling with the bars of his appointed cage,—the old tale of “infinite passion, and the pain of finite hearts that yearn.” Less than most art-students in Rome was Scott a beginner and’a learner. He was twenty-six now, and had already produced works of solid worth, both as regards thought and handling. The study of his growth as a painter is greatly complicated by the fact that, most of his earlier pictures, remaining unsold in his studio, were worked upon again and again, at widely different inter- vals; but it is quite certain that the technique of his art, as well as the imagination which that technique expressed, was far less a thing of gradual and orderly growth from youth to fully developed manhood, than one of sudden impulse and effort—a thing of the mood and the moment. His earlier paintings have qualities that would not discredit those of his latest period: the productions of his very last years are as full as those of his youth of glaring and inveterate errors of form. In the works of the moderns around him he found little indeed to admire, they seemed dead alike in thought and method. When a Roman artist praised his Monograms of Man for their invention, he could scarcely suppress his wonder that such a quality should be considered by a modern Italian as at all necessary or desirable in a work of art. Even in the productions of the great periods, he found mainly skill of handling and technical power, little of the high aim which, for him, was the soul and savour of art. ‘‘ Upon the whole,” he writes, “there is nothing over- whelming. I had always judged painting by its sentiment, its mental bearing, and thought most of invention and new spheres of meaning. What is to be seen here to fulfil what painting ought to, and can, perform? Nothing. Titian is an old man without imagination in all his works; Tintoretto a blind Polyphemus; Veronese a doge’s page.” Yet, when he returned to England, and saw the flimsy art which was there in vogue, he was forced to confess that in Italy he “had been conversing with stern, strong, and correct men.” He seems to have given scarcely any serious study to the painters of the fifteenth century. He indeed says vaguely that “the elder masters are venerable, stern, and true;” but Giovanni Bellini and Mantegna are the earliest to whom he definitely refers with any measure of praise; and the latter he only calls “a true genius in the fettered time of art.” Had he examined with care, he would have found, amid all the quaintness and imperfection of the early masters, no lack of the thought, invention, and imagination which he sought for in vain among the splendid canyases of a later time—but thought and invention scarcely akin to his own. With him, thought is expressed by rapid motion and striking attitude; with them, a gentle quietude is shed over every saintly face and every smiling landscape. The time for HIS LIFE AND WORKS. 19 2 the admiration of ‘the Primitives” was not yet, and Scott was hardly the man to profit by the calm lessons which they might have taught. He seems to have been most impressed by Michael Angelo and Caravaggio, recognising in their impetuous force something that was germane to himself. His own style was certainly strongly influenced by his study of the former master. Scott spent little of his time in copying; we hear, indeed, of only one work of this sort, a transcript of Angelo’s Delphic Sibyl. Sketches and studies he made in plenty, especially from groups of Zhe Last Judgment in the Sistine; but he desired mainly that the art of old Italy should be round him like a bracing atmosphere, to stimulate and aid him in the free and original production of works of a like power, and to be assimilated and made his own less in the manual way of transcript than by the surer and more intellectual one of intelligent study and observation. His drawings from the life in oils and chalk numbered 137; and in the Hospital d’Incurabile he turned again to anatomy, producing eleven sheets of elaborate diagrams. The chief pictures dating from Rome are, The Agony of Discord or The Houschold Gods Destroyed, Sappho and Anacreon, four paintings of The Periods of the Day, and The Vintager. The first of these works, a symbol of “the old order changing, yielding place to the new,” is the most important example of the artist’s earlier period. He regarded it as the main artistic result of his stay in Italy, and carefully worked upon it at two separate times after his return. The gloom that enwraps the canvas is the fitting environment of the wild scene that is being enacted in its midst. A family have risen in wrath against their head, and are fiercely dragging him from the seat whence he has exercised rule and authority. Old, blind, and all but overpowered, he still struggles for mastery. One youth, of debased and distorted feature, seizes his left limb in furious and wanton rage—personating the evil and foolish spirit of change; but the noble elder son does not even touch the falling man, but kneeling, with outstretched arm and uplifted finger he charges him with impiety and turpitude. Clinging around the head of the house are the women, “ perplext with fear of change,” hardly knowing on which side to range themselves, but mainly holding by the old man; while beside them, unnoticed and unregarded, lies an infant,—type of the unsuspected new age, which in its turn will supersede the now victorious combatants. Beneath, broken and headless, is an image of wood, a god that was no god, which had been raised for worship; in front a censer of fire flames fiercely, like the passion of the living actors in the tragedy; and in the distance nature herself, in her labouring volcano and destroying lightning, seems to echo and repeat the human tumult. Even this slight verbal sketch is sufficient to show how full the picture is of subtle thought and invention. Its technical workmanship is certainly not wanting in the artist’s usual defects, yet it must be conceded that it shows, especially im the struggling principal figure, something of Angelesque power. Scott himself, who greatly valued the picture, was fond of finding in it some likeness to Greek sculpture, comparing it to the Laocoon. The Four Periods of the Day recall the similar title of a series of engravings by Hogarth. But in the title the likeness begins and ends. For the shrewd realist of the eighteenth century the interest of the world is centred in its humanity; for him the four periods of the day mean what men and women are doing at morning, noon, evening, and night. Other painters have affixed the names to mere landscape transcripts, thinking only of the various effects of the hour on the woods and hills, the streams and trees of earth. But Scott, like Mr Burne-Jones in his Night and Day, has striven to suggest, by “one form with its single act,” the full meaning and 1 Tllustration, No. 13. LP TA NEN Mo 20 DAVID SCOTT, R.S.A. significance of the time,—to set on canvas some shadow and symbol of that spirit and presence which rules over the hour, and sheds alike on man and nature an exulting joy or a peaceful calm. In Scott's design the spirit of the Morning is seen as a female figure appearing from behind mountain-tops, her body poised as though about to ascend the sky. With her raised hands she flings off the rosy mantle which is her only covering; and the painter has marked the meaning of this robe by making the extremity of its folds mingle with the purple and grey of the upper sky, which below is flecked with ruddy clouds, and fades through delicate green into a clear yellow, against which is defined the grey range of distant hills, In a smaller but not less poetic version of the subject, the impersonation of Morning is borne aloft on the wings of a butterfly, delicate white wings, spotted with black and crimson. The figure fronts us, the body thrown backwards, the loins circled by yellow drapery, which floats freely behind; the head, with its long black hair flowing on either side, is raised, and the eyes gaze upwards into the depths of blue sky, that fades softly into delicate warm yellow, against which is relieved a green corner of the earth, with its many -coloured flowers opening in the light. Noon is represented by a brown-skinned, red-girt man, alighted on a floating mass of white clouds. The blaze of the sun strikes vertically upon him through the blue atmosphere; his head is crowned with gold, and his hand holds aloft a sceptre. The next design, Evening, is the quaintest of the series. The whole canvas is suffused with a dusky ruddy tone; the warmth of the sky passes into yellow towards the zenith, where two long level lines of cloud bar its breadth; and the dark leaves, buds, and flowers of a rose, which springs from an unseen foreground, are struck sharply across its clearness. In the midst of all, the spirit of the hour appears as a male child, who is carried through the air standing on the back of a huge moth. This work may be regarded as the precursor of Puck, Ariel and Caliban, and the similar pictures of the artist, with all their quaintness and all their poetry. In Night a female figure floats through the dark-blue air; her head is bowed, the face gazes downwards, and the hands, which eross over the head, sustain the black drapery that partly covers her and is girt at the loins with a golden girdle. The body, naked for the most part, shines pallid against the sky of night, which is alive with keen star-points. The extended feet touch gently a long band of white clouds; to the left is the yellow crescent moon, and beneath a dark sea with faintly glimmering lights wandering over it, and the steady glow of a pharos. The life-sized figure of The Vintager1 is one of the examples of the artist preserved in the Scottish National Gallery. In its largeness of handling, its comparative flatness and want of projection, its calculated opposition of full and but slightly gradated colour, and in the abstract treatment of such of the accessories as the vine leafage, it contrasts strangely with the modern and Renaissant art beside which it hangs, and seems like a work from some very far off country and time. The peculiarity of its treatment is probably due in great part to the artist’s experiments in fresco - painting, made during his stay in Rome; certainly both in feeling and in handling it has many of the characteristics proper to that technical method. The Sappho and Anacreon, a piece of strong masculine colour, is a scene of feast and revelry, a triumph of the glowing things of sense. The white-skinned poetess, clasped by the brown vine- crowned Anacreon, holds aloft her lyre. The scene is a pavilion, richly hung with crimson curtains, and open overhead to the blue. On the floor are strewed shed roses and other blossoms, an emptied wine-goblet, and a flute untouched of finger. And if we ask, “ What of the end?” there ” Illustration, No. 14. HIS LIFE AND WORKS. 21 seems some hint of solemn warning in the beautiful grave face of the Cupid to the left, and in the long upright line of sky that is seen beside him growing keen and pale towards evening, and pierced by the dark finger of a single poplar. We We may here speak of Scott’s writings on art; for, though the composition of the papers which he contributed to ‘Blackwood’s Magazine’ was probably not begun till some four or five years after his return from Italy, they very definitely owe their existence and their material to his foreign experiences. About 1838 he etched, in a broad bold style, and in the “soft ground ” method, a series of large subjects from Michael Angelo’s Last Judgment, intending to publish them along with a paper on “The Peculiarities of Thought and Style” displayed in the work. But he was unable to find a publisher willing to place his undertaking before the public, so the original idea was abandoned; and in February 1839, the letterpress which he had prepared appeared in the pages of ‘Blackwood’s Magazine,’ where it was followed in June 1839, in January and August 1840, and in March 1841, by articles on Raphael, Titian, Leonardo, the Caracci, and Caravaggio. Unlike most of the criticism that comes from painters, these essays are far more occupied with the spirit and motives of art than with the media of its expression. The author complains that “the spirit, the vivida vis animi which distinguishes different periods and different schools of art, one from the other, has been placed in lines and tints; and its law, which led to the adoption or rejection, the selection and combination of these, has remained unnoticed. Its vehicula, like the cover of an Egyptian two thousand years dead, has been looked to for all that was to characterise it — the chrysalis shell mistaken for the living psyche, which floated unobserved overhead.” He seeks in each picture for the mood of mind which conditions its mode of expression, from which in the artist himself it proceeded, to which in the spectator it appeals; and he finds that art is “pro- duced in abeyance to intellect by Michael Angelo, to morals by Raphael, and to impressions of sense by Titian.” Very strongly does he insist that method and technique — that colour, for instance — must never be criticised as something apart and absolute, but always with reference to subject, and to the spirit which inspires that subject, and that “the laws of no particular time 2 should be imposed as the idea of those of another;” that “each has its separate sphere in relation to the wide development of mind and quality, which, from age to age, passes on, changing and producing :” his meaning being probably much the same as was Blake’s when he said, long before, that among the masters of art, as in the kingdom of heaven, there is no greater or less, all are equal. A sixth paper was projected and commenced, but it remained a fragment, and was first published in 1850 as a supplementary chapter to the Memoir by Mr W. B. Scott. It deals with ‘“ Rubens, his Contemporaries, and Modern Painters.” In finish and clearness its style contrasts very favour- ably with that of the preceding articles, Its author looks on the Fleming as the first great modern who expressed himself through art, free from the fetters of medieval and Renaissant times; and he deprecates, as again in a later pamphlet, any such feeble and dilettante efforts to invest art with the mere externals of a dead and buried past as were visible in the productions of the modern German school. 22 DAVID SCOTT, R.S.A. In addition to these papers we have many detached notes on art, and a foreign journal which, though it possesses some general interest from the keen observation it shows of men and things, is mainly valuable for its remarks on Italian painting. At the same time Scott wrote a good deal of verse, and algo, as his brother informs us, several prose tales. Of these latter, as of “the much valued poem ‘Trafalgar’ ” we have no extracts in the Memoir. It would have. been interesting to know what narrative power their author possessed—how he managed that sequence of events which the painter, prisoned to the moment of his choice, can only hint at. One striking and individual fragment of imaginative literature by Scott appeared in ‘The Edinburgh University Souvenir, —a little volume, now somewhat scarce, which was edited by the late W. A. C. Shand, and published in 1835. The paper, entitled ““A Dream of my Studio,” is a vision of the artists who had been his predecessors in his Roman painting-room—of their lives, and their various efforts and aspirations. VI. We now find our artist at the age of nearly twenty-eight, returning to his native city, there to continue, amid much that was conflicting in himself and much that was discouraging in his sur- roundings, the production of that long series of high-pitched works which is associated with his name. In spite of his manner, which was somewhat cold and self-centred, and was apt to be repellent to strangers, he gradually drew to himself a few of the best and most thoughtful of his fellow-citizens, and won the hearty respect of the other members of the Scottish Academy, however little appreci- ative some of these latter might be of the aims of his art. Dr Samuel Brown the chemist, in particular, was one of his closest friends, the splendidly imaginative man of science finding very close spiritual kinship in the imaginative painter. He deserves to be especially mentioned, along with the Rev. J. Fairbairn, and a still surviving friend the Rev. Dr Simpson of Derby, for his steady advocacy of Scott’s art at a time when the press generally was either indifferent to it or definitely hostile. To these may be added the names of the late Professor John P. Nichol of Glasgow, Mr John Dunlop of Brockloch, the Rev. George Gilfillan, and of Dr Alexander Jackson and Mr Cormack Brown, from the survivors of whom we have received interesting particulars regarding the life and personality of Scott. Haydon and other English artists, whose professional aims Scott most appreciated, would visit him from time to time; and strangers came to him from over-seas even— Margaret Fuller, after spending a morning in his painting-room, exclaiming enthusiastically, “ They told me he was cold, but he is as ardent as man can be.” She records in a letter that she had seen in Edin- burgh “a man—an artist—severe and antique in his spirit: he seemed burdened by the sorrow of aspiration, yet very calm, as secure in the justice of fate.” Emerson, too, was the friend of this “man of high character and genius,” as he calls him in his ‘English Traits’ On leaving for America, he wrote Scott,—‘‘I carry with me a bright image of your house and studio, and all your immortal companions therein, and I wish to keep the ways open between us, natural and supernatural. If the Good Power had allowed me the opportunity of seeing you more at leisure, and of comparing notes of past years a little! And it may yet be allowed in time. But where and when?” During Emerson’s stay in Edinburgh, Scott painted his portrait, the figure standing erect, young and vigorous, the head circled with a delicate changeful iris. His portrait of Dr HIS LIFE AND WORKS 23 Samuel Brown is especially solemn and striking, its head, a little larger than life, with its long dark hair, set against the sky of night and the shine of stars. At another time we find Scott engaged upon a likeness of Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe; and the sale cataloeue of that most fastidious collector—the Scottish Walpole, as he has been justly called, who thought twice before he gave the name of artist to any one—contained several of the painter's sketches for his principal works. It is remarkable that so many of Scott’s most intimate friends, so many of the warmest admirers of his pictures, were men of mark in other departments of human effort than the arts; and the fact indi- cates the wide range of the man’s mind, the wide radius of its influence. Yet the appreciation of his works by artists themselves, and by artists whose own subjects and methods are quite other than those of Scott, proves that he was not a mere dilettante, expressing himself in a medium over which he had no mastery, but a capable craftsman, possessing, with all his occasional defects, a singular command of both form and colour. And so he lived his life, sadness becoming, year by year, more and more interwoven with it. It was filled enough with failures of the more palpable and visible sort,—failure, as we shall see, at ct 1e Westminster Hall competitions; failure, on two occasions, to secure a post as teacher in the Trustees’ Academy ; failures not infrequent in the sale of his pictures; and failure always to obtain fs he full sympathy and appreciation which he craved for his art. Love came to him, but came only to vanish, crossing his life with too brief radiance, like the white-robed Hope passing over the Sky of Adversity in his latest picture. And yet, no doubt, quite the deepest and most real cause of his sadness lay in himself, in his own unsatisfied, unsatisfiable nature, in the wide and peculiar Hw ange of his art, an art whose conceptions can never be fully compassed, can only be suggested on ct ne canvas, in which “the incomplete, more than completion, matches the immense,” and which can carry its message only to those who will receive it with open and sympathetic mind. There was wanting to him that calmness and perfect faith which gave such a gladness and beauty to the life of Blake. The mind of Scott was one in which the familiar and homely things of life were apt to be disregarded for its larger aims; over which the chances and changes that time brings, its sorrows and its joys, were apt to pass little regarded, except in so far as they bore upon the great and impersonal ambition. He was a man in whom the affection for kindred and those about him tended to assert itself seldom and in bursts of sudden intensity, rather than with quiet and constant presence, still and helpful like household fire. His earnest nature was wanting in flexibility; he could not readily adapt himself to his surroundings—could not for a time throw off his own indi- vidual and pressing concerns, and recreate himself in company, with the common cares and varied trivial interests which it brings. So for him more and more his studio came to be his world; he was busied there from morning to night with pencil or pen, leading, far more exclusively than most artists, the purely intellectual life. On his return to his native city there came to Scott a period of some doubt and hesitancy. Tis old Italian life was over, leaving him indeed with experience and added skill; but how was he to begin the new life of work at home? how was he to employ the skill which he had gained ? There was some prospect of his being commissioned by the Board of Trustees in Edinburgh to paint the roof of their Academy with subjects from the Last Judgment of Michael Angelo, —a monu- mental work such as he had in view when he learned the processes of fresco in Italy, and one upon which he could have entered heart and soul. The project was warmly urged by Andrew Wilson, Scott’s old master in the School—a man who deserves well of Scottish art, not only on account of G hae oo 24 DAVID SCOTT, R.S.A. his own excellent landscapes, but for his efforts to convey to his native country many fine speci- mens of Italian art. But in the end the proposal came to nothing, and brought only disappoint- t. paintings which had been executed in Rome; and then, hearing that an altar-piece was required ment and discouragement to the artis So he set to work quietly to complete and retouch the for the recently erected Catholic Church of St Patrick in Edinburgh, he offered to paint a Descent from the Cross if the mere materials were provided. The offer was accepted; the picture was exhibited, and afterwards mezzotinted, very indifferently, as a subscription work for the Association for the Promotion of Fine Arts in Scotland. The after-fate of this striking altar-piece is curious. During some repairs in the church it was removed from its place and deposited in a lumber-room. At length, its value having been forgotten, it was sold as rubbish; and a few years ago it was discovered in a broker’s shop by a keen-sighted Edinburgh collector, and secured for an insignificant sum. Among the other religious subjects which Scott produced may be mentioned The Kiss of Judas, painted in 1836; Zhe Baptism of Christ, 1846; and The Dead rising at the Crucifixion, 1844, a weird and stupendous picture, filled with figures, more than life-sized, seen rising from their tombs and cleaving the darkened air. Vil. The other works which occupied Scott until the end may be divided into two broad classes : those deriving their subject from poetry of the more ideal sort, or suggested directly by the artist’s imagination ; and those which, however wide and abstract may be their remoter significance and suggestion, derive their subject from the actual, from history and human life. We may most con- veniently consider his works under these two classes, and not adhere to any strictly chronological sequence; for, as we said before, Scott’s habit of constant retouching and reworking, renders it difficult to assign to many of them one accurate date. In dealing with pictures so full as these of thought and invention—and which, besides, are for the most part in private hands, and not easily accessible to the public—our remarks will fall mainly into the form of specific description: we shall aim less to gauge coldly and critically the presence of this or that technical quality, than to flash—so far as our poor and few words may—some image of the works themselves upon the mental retina of the reader. Those of the first class are generally small in size, and rich and glowing in colour. Though, of course, they insist somewhat on detail, they yet show clearly that Scott’s manner and way of handling was formed with a view to work on a great scale; that he was no “little master,” not a painter of cabinet pieces meant to be examined inch by inch by the eye-glass of the connoisseur, but of pictures which owe their effect to the full extent of the canvas, to the nobility of the colour and design seen as a broad and related whole. The most important of them is The Triumph of Love, in which, as in all Scott’s pictures dealing with the tender passion, the colour is bright, light, and airy, the whole blushing like a rose-bed. Above is the blue and white sky; beyond is the blended blue of the sea, and the city of the work-a- day world withdrawn into the far distance, and shut off by a line of trees from the path along which ey Q: 7 ts ig rorshi ers Thevw ew; the potent god conducts his worshippers. They sweep along, an eager company of all ranks and HIS LIFE AND WORKS. w on conditions of humanity,—gay maidens, and armed men; a grey-heard, with his star of honour; a crowned king, bent to the earth; a tonsured monk; a scalloped pilgrim; a youth, who now at length removes the mask which has hitherto concealed his face—his very self. Raised high over all is Love himself, with quiver and uplift bow, his blessed feet, his own closest and truest presence, resting on the head of a maiden, who passes on as in a dream, with bowed head and folded hands, unconscious of all but the vision which her heart discloses. A small Cupid sharpening his Arrows is a far more complete work than the artist usually gives us, admirable in the drawing and modelling of the figure, and thoroughly harmonious in its background of rose-trellis; but a more important subject is Time surpris ing Love, begun in Rome, but not finished till about 1843. Here the blue and white of the sky is cast grandly and broadly as by the Venetian masters; in the dark distance is a deserted maiden and a fleeing lover, while in the foreground stands a little terrified Cupid, his arrows all discharged, now at length aware of the presence of Time, whose keen scythe-blade circles him, whose great dark-brown figure has been seated behind him all the while, gazing on him grimly from beneath his scanty white locks. Delusive Pleasures and Children following Fortune are two subjects distinguished by colour of exceptional and almost Titianesque richness. In the former we see a central altar, on which stands a chalice heaped with grapes, adorned with leafage, and circled by an iridescent rainbow. Treading with flying feet the filmy surface of this rainbow is a maiden, and behind a blindfolded youth about to seize her. The girl is black-haired, with glowing flesh-tints, and crowned with vine-leaves; in her right hand she holds a red rose, with her left she adjusts the drapery of yellow and crimson with which she is lightly clad. Beyond on either side is a female figure, bending forward, gazing down on him who has been her pursuer, whose dream is past, and who is seen falling through the unsubstantial iris pathway into the dark misty gulf beneath. In the other picture the face of the female Fortune is admirably conceived, its expression excellent in its individuality and look of fickle falseness. She differs from the Fortune in Mr Burne-Jones’s design —that regardless figure, with bent head and downcast eyes, who turns care- lessly, and as if in a dream, her great wheel which elevates or depresses the mortals that are bound upon its rim. The Fortune of Scott is eager and actively tempting. She holds aloft her prizes—sceptres, coronets, decorations of honour—and breaks away from an exquisite group of excited struggling children that clamour around her, children like the attendants of Titian’s Bacchus, their brown ruddy skins half draped in crimson and white, their dark hair chapleted with green leaves and adorned with peacock-feathers. The robe of Fortune flutters behind her against the dark back- ground of bluish sky, and away to the left is seen, far off, a palace with banners waving from its pinnacles—some mundane House of Fame, where her favoured votaries will live happy and honoured all their mortal lives. Several of the best works of this class owe their suggestion to Shakespeare—as, for instance, the Ariel and Caliban, preserved in the Scottish National Gallery, and the Oberon and Puck listening to the Mermaid’s Song, with its poetic setting of moonlight shed over the ocean. In the Ariel and Caliban, we have contrasted the differing natures of the two creatures of earth and air, Everything around the earth-spirit is in keeping with his uncouth and bestial figure—the bundle of fagots which he carries, the loathsome body of a dead snake which he holds in his hand, the bare ground on which he crouches—terrified by the strange gambols of Ariel above him—with its growth 1 Tlustration, No. 15. 26 DAVID SCOTT, R.S.A. of discoloured herbage livid mushrooms and deformed cactus, and the bloated toad that perches beside him and gazes into his face as though claiming kinship. Around Ariel, too, everything is in keeping with the graceful lightness of his spir -form—a fragile white butterfly flits beside him, and his slender shape is seen against a delicate softly tinted sky, barred with rosy clouds, and passing through green away to yellow at the zenith. The Puck fleeing before the Dawn, which has been engraved in line by John Le Conte, is another exquisite subject. Puck is seen aloft to the right, floating on his moth’s wings into the star-quickened darkness, his body drawn together, the feet crossed, the knees raised to the chin and circled by the clasped hands. He glances down, with roguish eyes that emit strange brilliancy, on the earth with its terraced gardens, its dark contorted fir-boughs, its tall poplar spires, and its expanse of level sea. To the left, in the brightening space of sky, are seen delicate fairy forms sporting in a fantastic ring; and in the star-quickened darkness to the right, the sharp crescent moon dips bencath the water. VIII. It is in the second class, that of works dealing with real life and deriving their subjects from history, that we find the largest, and, in many ways, the most impressive of Scott’s pictures. In 1841 was exhibited Queen Elizabeth at the Globe Theatre, the production of which extended over two years. It contains much excellent character-painting, is well composed, with the interest admirably concentrated in spite of the multiplicity of component parts, but it is unfortunate that the figure of Shakespeare is one of the least satisfactory—limp and ineffective; and the colour, though still rich and fine, seems to have changed and darkened with time and over-varnishing, so that we can scarcely feel that we see the canvas as it left the artist’s hand. The Death of Jane Shore was exhibited in the same year. Its handling is definite even to hardness, its subject is repulsive; yet, like all the artist’s works, it shows his unerring power of going straight to the very heart of his subject. In the pale figure of her who had been caressed by royalty, lying there dead and half-naked; in the horror of the bystanders, and the pitying helpful gesture of a maiden who, bending forward, is restrained by the youth beside her—brother or lover, we see the sad moral of it all—the change from beauty to ashes, from loveliness to corruption. To the same period is referable The Duke of Gloster entering the Water-gate of Calais—The Traitor Gate, as the picture is now titled—the most complete, harmonious, and impressive of the artist’s historical subjects; probably, setting quality against quality, the greatest of all his works. A boat is entering the dark vaulted portals of a prison, whose heavy door is swung open by the hands of unseen warders. One of the rowers crouches down in his seat, overcome by the ominous gloom of the place. At the stern is the doomed nobleman, his face pale but composed,—apprehensive, evidently, of danger, but one able resolutely to suppress all signs of fear. Higher in the stern are armed guards, their black forms towering above him, and seeming to overshadow his figure. Beyond is a distance with a stretch of sea, on which a far-off ship is riding freely ; in the sky above, the chill light of early morning is slowly mastering that of the waning moon. ‘The sense of all that space and freedom of the outer world is grandly contrasted with the gloomy vault which the boat is entering, grey and ghost-like when 1 Illustration, No. 16. 2 Tilustration, No. 17. HIS LIFE AND WORKS. 27 compared with the warm reality of the torch-lighted figures in front who wait ready to receive it; and there is a fine imaginative touch in the introduction of the star above, its rays struggling through a barred portcullis. The picture is wonderfully free from the usual defects of the painter’s technique ; it is no less powerful in form, colour, and handling, than in invention. The admirable quality of the distance is especially striking—Corot-like in its quiet and tender grey mystery. Richard ITI. and the Princes was painted in 1842. It is a powerful and intense tragedy: the deformed usurper bending forward and holding the children, one with either hand, as though he would never let them go, scanning the face of the elder—the heir—with eager evil gaze; the grim attendants, one holding behind him a dungeon key, two, armed and mail-clad, standing silent and ominous like fates beside the regal seat. In the beautiful face, and shrinking yet stately figure of the queen, we have what is probably Scott’s finest personification of female comeliness and grace. While these pictures were in progress, he was also occupied with a still more important work. Shortly after his father’s death in 1841, he built a new and extensive studio at Easter Dalry, a suburb of Edinburgh, that he might have facilities for the execution of those works of ample size, in which he felt that his art had its fullest scope. Here he began, on a canvas nearly 20 feet in length, the Vasco de Gama encountering the Spirit of the Storm, which he always regarded as the main pro- duction of his later period, as the Discord had been of his earlier. It shows the great foreshortened shape of the ship's deck, with its crowded figures, terrified by the weird apparition of the Spirit of the Storm, who is seen in the darkened and bewildered sky, as by a momentary flash of lightning. The grouping and the varied gestures of the mariners beneath are grandly conceived,—some striving to be calm, some driven almost demented, a monk, lax and helpless with terror, his beard grasped by the Moor beside him, who points to the horror which his spells are powerless to exorcise. Amid all this tumult of confused emotions is the supreme figure of De Gama, standing firm, his feet planted on the deck, his weapon—sword and cross in one—pressed to his heart. Depicting, pri- marily, a scene from history or tradition, the scope and meaning of the picture becomes, through the earnestness and intensity of its treatment, wider and more universal. “It is a heroic man filling his sphere, sufficient for his circumstances, a match for fate. It is a universal text. It stands for Homer, St Paul, Dante, Michael Angelo, Luther, Shakespeare, Cromwell, Kepler, Luis de Caméens, or for Scott himself, as truly as for De Gama. Nor is any man alive who may not or ought not to see the express image of himself in this self-sufficing Vasco, with his faith in the cross, his confidence in himself, and his ready-handed use of means.”? The picture has splendid qualities of colour and design; and though not without the occasional faults of draughtsmanship which seem quite inseparable from the artist’s works, it conclusively proved his ability to treat figures of a colossal size with a skill and vigour which have no parallel in the productions of the Scottish school. The Alchymist, 1838, and Peter the Hermit preaching the Crusades, 1845, may be regarded as companion historical subjects, illustrating two different phases of the medieval spirit. Both pictures, while full of variety and character in their numerous subsidiary parts, are mainly remarkable for the strongly imaginative and individual personification of their principal figure. In The Alchymist we see the man of quasi science—in part a self-deceiver, in greater part a conscious deceiver of others—his form clad in academic black, and poised on tilted stool. In his right hand he holds a mortar, whence a curl of smoke issues as he stirs the contents with a pestle. His head is raised in eager attitude; like the Ancient Mariner, he holds his audience with his 1 Tllustration, No. 18. 2 Dr Samuel Brown. 28 DAVID SCOTT, R.S.A. glittering eye. Beside him are gathered the implements of occult research — glass phials, retorts, diagrams, &e. ; behind him in a shadowed corner is a skeleton half swathed in drapery, and lying on it are surgeons’ knives, with their suggestions of what was then held to be the unhallowed efforts of irreverent science to wring from the lifeless clay secrets which might aid the living. At the lecturer's feet sits a scribbling clerk, and leaning against the door of the laboratory is a servant, a shock-haired plebeian figure, drowsed and weary with his labours at the furnace-mouth. Before and around is grouped a motley auditory. In front we see the broad back of a Scottish soldier of fortune. ‘Two figures to the right, conspicuous by their gay dresses of pale blue and yellow, are young exquisites of the period. One has brought his lute into the lecture-hall, and leans back in easy posture, his hand held lightly behind his head as he laughs gently at the drollery of the lecturer’s experiment. The other is more intent,—the alchymist’s fervour has been strong enough to dissipate his frivolity for a moment. In the earnest face seen in profile beside them, the painter has depicted his own thoughtful features. To the left are two specimens of the burgher class, grave members of the municipal council, eminently stolid, much puzzled. In sharp contrast to their Teutonic dulness is a green-robed Hastern seated near, his hand resting on his mouth and sustaining his head, and in his dark Semitic face the unsatisfied yearning look of a man eager for supersensuous knowledge—a Magian this, ready to leave his home and seek the radiance of any star that may rise to brighten the firmament of East or West. On the seats that slope upward is a varied gathering of courtier, clown, and priest; while in the centre of them all sits the crowned figure of the reigning prince, with gentle face and “old smiling eyes,” like the mild ideal king of Pippa’s song. In Peter the Hermit the main figure is seen on the raised steps of a church porch, his form attenuated by fast and vigil, and by the fervour of the unresting spirit within. He is a man of the Baptist’s type, a desert-dweller, entering the city for a moment, visiting the haunts of men only to stir their inhabitants, and work them to the fulfilment of the visions which have come to him in solitude. Kneeling on one knee, with raised hand and impassioned gesture he sways the crowd beneath, who become under his eloquence like some mighty organ that sends forth billows of tumultuous sound at the touch of a master’s finger. In front, to the centre, is a mailed knight kissing the cross of his sword- hilt and swearing the Crusader’s oath,—his figure rightly prominent, as indicating the military nature of the mission which the Hermit preaches. Around we see all differences of feeling and attitude. Here a girl fastens the red badge upon her lover's shoulder; there a mother strives to stir into fervour her student son; or a daughter, clinging round her father’s neck, would keep him from the Holy War; while on one side is seen a young apothecary, his keen sneering face expressing the contempt of the scientist for the enthusiasm with which a fervid spirit can inspire the vulgar herd. Behind the swaying multitude is a space of chill sky wanly lighted by the crescent moon, and a great gloomy mass of towered and belfried masonry, a fitting type of the medieval church which had grown so hard and intolerant, and had in it so little of the gentleness and sweet reasonableness of Christ. Wallace the Defender of Scotland, is another of the artist's historical subjects or personifications, one which had an especial attraction for Scott, and which he frequently treated. A version of it was painted so early as 1829, another was left incomplete on the artist’s easel at the time of his death. In 1848 he produced a triptych of the subject, with exquisite use of his rich, powerful, and glowing colour. The central and most important compartment is memorial of the English defeat at Stirling Bridge. It shows the prostrate form of Cressingham, and Wallace towering above him with lifted battle-axe and the yellow folds and red rampant lion of the Scottish standard flapping around him. To the HIS LIFE AND WORKS. 29 right is Edward, with drawn sword and indignant brow, ready for the attack. The two wings are representative of English and Scottish warfare, the one filled with archers for whose success a monk kneels in prayer, the other, with spearmen who are cheered on to victory by the wild music of a harper. IX. We may here speak of the designs and drawings executed by Scott. The most ambitious of them were those which he contributed to the national competition that was held preparatory to the decoration of Westminster Hall. This occasion was felt by all the more earnest artists of the country to be one of the last importance, and by none more than by Scott. In 1841 he published a pamphlet on the subject, entitled ‘British, French, and German Painting; being a reference to the grounds which render the proposed Painting of the New Houses of Parliament important as a Public Measure.’ The occasion, he says, “ becomes a demand upon the mental status of the country. It will in very important respects be a verdict of life or death upon the future efforts of artists in Great Britain.” He is careful to insist that the proposed frescoes must be no mere pleasant patterns on the walls, no mere meaningless arabesques. In this sense “Raphael in the Vatican could never, in English language, be styled decorative, still less Michael Angelo in the Sistine.” Neither must the designs revert, as did the works of Cornelius and Overbeck, “to subjects and treatment which have lapsed from their worth by the passage of nearly four centuries,”—they must be art that is fresh, living, and of to-day, finding and pursuing such conceptions as are “abstract and dictated by the general intelligence.” In 1842 Scott contributed two designs to the competition, Drake witnessing the Destruction of the Spanish Ships, and Wallace defending Scotland,—at the same time informing his friends of his determination, should he be successful, of taking no part in the subsequent work in London, unless he obtained full control of an entire department, and was permitted to carry out his own thoughts in his own way. But the cartoons were by no means adapted to the public taste. Like all Scott’s works, they verged on wilfulness in their individuality, and showed no strenuous effort after executive skill and exactitude. As was to be expected, they failed of success; and a like fate befell the other designs which he afterwards sent to a similar competition. The first prize was carried off by Armitage, then a young man little known in this country, fresh from the academic training of France, and participation in the painting of The Hemicycle in the Palais des Beaux Arts under the eye of his master Delaroche. The separate smaller drawings of Scott are very numerous, their method, slight and rapid as compared with that of oil-pictures, fitting them to the readiest means for the expression of his teeming imagination. Indeed, as Mr Ruskin has remarked, there seems to be an especial appropri- ateness in monochrome as the vehicle of art which is mainly that of imagination and thought rather than of mere sensation; and it is doubtful whether such subjects as the Melencolia and the Knight and Death would have retained their full impressiveness had they been carried out in finished colour. Scott was fond of sketching with the brush and a rather liquid tint, which readily responded to his rapid hand, the line being sensitive and of easily varied thickness and depth. One drawing of this method, The Sirens, lately in the possession of Dr David Laing, we remember as singularly 30 DAVID SCOTT, R.S.A. passionate in the strenuousness of the mariner who binds Ulysses remorselessly to the mast, and in the steady action of the rowers, who never dare to raise their eyes as the boat flashes past the enchanted shore and the eager enticing forms that people it. Still more impressive is the design entitled Self-Accusation, or Man and his Conscience.! The scene is a lonely shore, with a background of dreary undulating waves beneath a chill grey sky. Along the beach are speeding two naked figures; in front a terror -stricken man, his form ruddy with the hue of mortal life, his hands cast forward despairingly, and his face turned back, gazing in horror at the weird pale spirit-presence that follows him—a double of himself in shape and attitude, setting his foot in the print which the mortal’s foot has hardly left, gazing into his coun- tenance with an accusing stare, from which there is no escape, and stopping his ears with his fingers, deaf to all remonstrance. The design has been described by the late Oliver Madox-Brown in his ‘Hebditch’s Legacy, and it forms the subject of a striking little poem in the ‘Poet's Harvest Home’ of Mr W. B. Scott. Many sets of drawings, like those entitled The Anchorite, Unhappy Love, and Scenes from the Life and Thoughts of a Student Painter, were executed ; more were only projected, and the subjects of their individual illustrations indicated in writing: two very important series of designs, the illustrations to the ‘Pilgrim’s Progress,’ and to Nichol’s ‘ Architecture of the Heavens,’ were com- pleted and published as engravings after Scott's death. The former date from 1841, the year of Scott's greatest and most impressive picture, The Traitor’s Gate. The original drawings, forty in number, are in pencil, executed with much vigour, in slightly shaded outline. In some of them we find more of that beauty which comes of quietude than in the former illustrations to the ‘Ancient Mariner, in the bowed heads of The Angels that ery continually Holy! Holy! Holy !? for example, in the Christian harnessed for the Pilgrimage, the Christian welcomed in the Palace Beautiful, and the Christian instructed in the Palace Beautiful—a design which was also carried out very successfully as an oil-picture. But whatever charm there is in these placid scenes, the artist is, with two exceptions, most powerful and most individual in subjects which have their motive in violent and vigorous action, in the tremendous force of demoniac assault in The Fight with Apollyon, in the terror of the descent of ‘Ignorance’ in fiendish clutches through The Byway to Hell. Two of the designs, conceived in calmer mood, Christian entering the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and The Martyrdom of Faithful, may rank as among the most impressive and suggestive subjects of modern art. In the first we see Christian, “ever a fighter,” entering, sword in hand and covered with his shield, on his “one fight more, the best and the last.” Towering above his pigmy human form is a gigantic Presence, sharply foreshortened so that the face is almost wholly concealed. The eyes are hidden, the expression of the countenance can only be guessed at. This great figure, vast like some mountain, some elemental feature of nature, casts over the human form beneath a shadow which in the distance, towards which the man advances, darkens like the recess of some gloomy cavern, and in front is outlined sharply by the serrated edge of that “like- ness of a kingly crown” which the Presence wears. It is Death, whose regal diadem, whose tyrant sway over the mind and imagination of man, lies in his mystery, his impenetrable shadow. In The Martyrdom of Faithful this shadow is rolled away, and, as in the death of Stephen, we see the heavens opened. Beneath is the witness for the truth, amid the crackling fagots and the fierce flames, watched by the stern faces of soldier and executioner. But the moment of release 1 Tllustration, No. 19. 2 Tllustration, No. 20. % [llustration, No. 21. HIS LIFE AND WORKS. 31 1as come: in the closed eyes, the lax open mouth, and the head that has fallen back and is pressed against the stake, we see that the man has sighed forth in anguish his last gasp of mortal breath, and has gained the insentient calm of death. And above are heavenly ministrants with palm ranches and a celestial chariot, and floating towards them is a form of utter peace, the hands laid softly together, the hair flowing quietly from the upturned face, which is calm with a new immortal ife that knows neither pain nor sorrow. Italian art herself has no vision more poctie or impressive ‘han this. The other designs of which we have to speak are the series of inventions illustrating an edition of Professor J. P. Nichol’s ‘ Architecture of the Heavens,’ published in 1850. The imaginative mind of Scott had always been strongly drawn in wonder and reverence to the splendour and vastness of the conceptions presented by astronomy; he tells us that even as a child the passages on the science in his school-books “were read with an unction and a glow which made old Master Cooper select them for specimens of my elocution.” Professor Nichol, a man of more than common enthu- siasm and poetic feeling, gladly welcomed the co-operation of such an artist, and the result is a set of designs strangely differing from the formal diagrams with which such treatises are usually illus- trated, and giving, as art can, “the impassioned expression on the face of science.” The series was to have been etched by Scott's own hand; but his death prevented this, and only a selection of the ibed by Mr W. B. Scott and Mr R. C. Bell. drawings which he executed were tran: The volume itself is now scarce, but one subject is given in the memoir—Zhe Procession of Unknown Powers'—grave spirit-forms, each bearing a light, floating out of the distance of the future, passing the human spirit who appears seated on the round of the earth, and then vanishing for ever in the past. They may stand for the Days of mortal life, each with his proffered gift— “Out of Eternity This new Day is born; Into Eternity, At night, will return.” In a second design we have The Astronomer set in his observatory, 1: ised high over the din and bustle of the dim spot that men call earth, the city beneath hidden by his elevation, only the tops of its highest spires visible, and around and behind him the quietne: of moonlit sky and sea. The man is old and feeble; the staff with which he stays his tottering steps rests beside him: his face has no special charm of beauty or grace, but it may be compared for the look of reverence and awe which it lifts towards the immensities above, to Baldini’s Astrologia, with her pale cheeks, and quivering lips, and rapt eager gaze into the starry spaces. In a second rendering of The Astron- omer, we have a boldly conceived, symbolic figure, grasping in his outstretched arms a sphere with its revolving planets. It might serve as an illustration of Herbert’s “fleet astronomer,” who has “walked with a staff to heaven,” whose “eyes dismount the highest star,” who “Can bore And thread the spheres with his quick-piercing mind. Who views their stations, walks from door to door, Surveys as though he had designed To make a purchase there.” The All-Sustaining Hand * shows us Man kneeling with bowed head on a promontory of earth, 1 Tilustration, No. 22. ® Illustration, No. 23. % Tllustration, No. 24. I 32 DAVID SCOTT, R.S.A. the corn waving beside him, and above him the outspread palm which upholds all mortal life, which ights the lamps of the sky, and sustains the winged things of the air, In The Creation of a Star? we have a literal rendering of the saying of the Psalmist—* By the word of the Lord were the heavens made, and all the host of them by the breath of His mouth.” Above is the venerable fisure of the Almighty, leaning from circles of radiance, with extended hands of benediction, breath- mbolie of ing divine potency into the void; while beneath are a cluster of nimble eager spirits, His manifold creative virtues, gathered round the new-lit luminary. Zhe Comet* seems to shadow orth a theory —one rather of the mystic than of the astronomer — that comets are embryo worlds in the process of formation. A strange human figure is speeding through the darkness, casting vehind it a broad trail of light, the body crouched together like a child in the womb, the feet drawn upwards to the hips, the head shrouded in antenatal coverings. In another drawing we have a splendidly imaginative subject—The Footprint of the Omnipotent. We see a great foot set on a seething liquid mass, which flies off at the touch into grand mysterious human forms, their faces averted and unseen, their heads crowned with coronals of stars. In another illustration, The Nebule it is titled, vague involved forms appear locked in strange strife—the strife from nothing- ness into being: in yet another, that naked long-haired figure of indeterminate sex under which Scott has so often figured the human soul, is poised in mid-air, the head thrown back, the hands crossed over the forehead, listening with intolerable rapture to The Eternal Melodies of the Spheres,’ and behind, arranged in symmetrical arcs, are companies of angelic forms, with locked arms and inter- lacing hair, who “sing, and singing in their glory move.” And then in the final design, for end of all, the artist has drawn three dead or dying men, and has gathered around them the implements of intellectual labour—lyre, compass, rule, and scroll. One figure lies prostrate on the earth, his face hidden, his hand yet holding a book; another sits fainting in utter weakness; the third sage, whose foot rests significantly on an hour-glass, is breathing his last, attended to the end by human sympathy, seen as a female form who sustains the dying man. Beside her hovers a winged angel, who directs her gaze aloft to where, in a broad band of light which streams from heaven, the parted soul, like a little child, “perfect of lineament, perfect of feature,” ascends with head held back in joyful wonder and arms widely and eagerly outspread as it enters upon “an hospitable eternity.” We have said that Scott was engaged upon this great series of designs at the time of his death ; and this, its last subject, may surely be received as the final message of his art. X. Very shortly before his death it was decided to purchase his Vasco de Gama by public sub- scription and deposit it in the Trinity House of Leith. Several members of the Scottish Academy waited upon the artist to inform him of this resolution; and one of the survivors tells us of the touching character of the interview, and says that even now, after the lapse of more than thirty years, the weird emphasis of Scott’s “Too late, too late!”—the words with which he received the g in his ears. The end came on the 5th of March 1849. Alway: announcement—sceems still to be soundin , at least since his residence in Italy, Scott’s 1 Illustration, No. 25. 2 Tllustration, No. 26. 8 Tllustration, No. 27. + Tilustration, No. 28. HIS LIFE AND WORKS. 33 health had been feeble, and his forty-three years of life, so filled with eager work and ardent thought, had worn thin the ties that bind soul and body together. His mother and his brother were with him to the end. As he lay a-dying, his thoughts were still busy with the art in which he had lived and had his being. “If I could but have time yet, I think I could meet the public in their own way more, and yet do what I think good,” he would murmur; and when his brother strove to encourage him with the hope of recovery—