jiKNRY Mf,rritt 
 
 ROMANCE 
 
Ulrich Middeldorf 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2015 
 
 https://archive.org/details/henrymerrittartc01merr 
 
HENRY MERRITT 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
HENRY MERRITT 
 
 ART CRITICISM AND ROMANCE 
 
 WITH RECOLLECTIONS, AND 23 ETCHINGS 
 BY ANNA LEA MERRITT 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON 
 
 C. KEGAN PAUL & CO., 1 PATERNOSTER SQUARE 
 
 1879 
 
{The rights of translation and of reproduction are reserved) 
 
EDITOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 THOSE who had opportunities of knowing how large an 
 amount of picture restoration Mr. Merritt undertook, 
 and how conscientiously and thoroughly he performed it, 
 will probably be surprised to learn that he was, during 
 the latter part of his life, a most active contributor to 
 several journals, and that his collected writings of this 
 kind are sufficient in bulk to represent the product 
 of a life-long activity rather than a mere interlude to 
 graver and more congenial employment. Besides these 
 labours, which for the most part have merely an ephe- 
 meral value, and which, as will be seen, suffer from undue- 
 pressure of time as well as from other disadvantages, he 
 has left at least two works, of a totally distinct character, 
 which establish his claim to an original and most valu- 
 able vein of genius. By his occasional writings he suc- 
 ceeded in exercising a steady influence upon contem- 
 porary art, while his more imaginative works place him in 
 the front rank of those who by the warm light of genius 
 have made the life of the poor vivid and real to the 
 imaginations of all. 
 
 The principal works of the latter kind which he has 
 
vi 
 
 Editors Preface. 
 
 left, and which are printed in these volumes, are two 
 stories, the earlier of which, ' Robert Dalby,' has already 
 been published anonymously, and with very considerable 
 success, though it has now long been out of print. The 
 later story, ' The Oxford Professor and the Harpist,' 
 which was left by him in manuscript, still wanting the 
 final touches which only the author could have given it, 
 is now printed for the first time in this collection. 
 
 In the same vein is the smaller sketch, called ' A Story 
 of a Flower,' which originally appeared in Mr. Ruskin's 
 ' Fors Clavigera,' and is by his permission reprinted. 
 
 To all three of these works a special interest attaches 
 from the fact that they are very largely autobiographical. 
 Indeed, ' Robert Dalby ' is substantially an account of 
 the experiences of the author's earlier life, in which he 
 has changed very little besides names and the order of 
 events, having however adopted as a personal experience 
 of the hero some few circumstances which had from 
 other causes become vividly real to the imagination of 
 the author. When this story was published, in spite of 
 certain characteristics peculiarly calculated to prove 
 stumbling-blocks to the critical intelligence, it at once 
 arrested the attention of a wide circle both of reviewers 
 and readers. The defects were obvious enough : a cer- 
 tain lack of continuity, method, and proportion in the 
 arrangement of the story, especially in the falling off of 
 the interest towards the end, where it should culminate ; 
 an occasional roughness of expression, ill-calculated for 
 an over-sensitive ear ; and finally, a certain direct and 
 
Editor s Preface. 
 
 vii 
 
 uncouth originality of presentment which would give 
 pause to such critics as judged by a conventional stan- 
 dard. On the other hand, all who read the story with 
 sympathy and intelligence, to whom substance was more 
 important than form, and imagination than polish, could 
 not fail to find in it a true and refined pathos, a note of 
 genuine poetry in the reticent simplicity of the language 
 such as made the very roughnesses of expressions count 
 only as the stamp of unconventional truth and of actual 
 experience. 
 
 When the story appeared, many of its critics com- 
 pared it to the works of Defoe. To draw such a parallel 
 was perhaps as high and as truly appreciative a compli- 
 ment as could well be paid it ; and yet in some respects it 
 fell short of rather than exceeded the truth. To my mind 
 Merritt's work stands before that of other chroniclers of 
 the ' Simple Annals of the Poor ' by all the interval which 
 we might expect to find between actual experience 
 working on a mind of warm imagination and genuine 
 sympathy, and the very highest efforts of genius upon a 
 theme remote from actual contact. 
 
 It would perhaps be still more in favour of the author 
 of 'Robert Dalby ' to compare his work with that of con- 
 temporary writers of fiction who have dealt with similar 
 themes. Our own time has been prolific of efforts to 
 bridge the gulf between the educated and those who 
 from want of knowledge are inarticulate, and to bring 
 them On the scene to tell their own story. Such figures 
 vary upwards in the scale of verisimilitude from the 
 
viii 
 
 Editor s Preface. 
 
 conventional peasant whose fully developed powers of 
 thought and of expression are hampered only by the 
 conditions of rustic dialect. But of the best works in 
 this field, so far as our national authors are concerned, 
 I know of none which brings home to us the pathos of 
 humble life without giving rise to some degree of 
 scepticism that the figures are puppets on an artificial 
 stage. 
 
 With ' Robert Dalby * no such suspicion occurs. The 
 descriptions are as simple as they are complete ; the 
 dialogues command instant and absolute belief, while 
 they are often more deeply pathetic in their briefness and 
 simplicity than the most impassioned utterances. Wit- 
 ness, for example, the conversation in the hospital between 
 the old men who are making up a kit for Robert Dalby 
 after he has fallen among thieves ; or that between 
 * Ben ' and ' Mother Jones,' when the former returns from 
 long imprisonment and finds his sweetheart dead. It is 
 this utter truthfulness which is the chief charm of the 
 story ; and it was for this that the author mainly valued 
 his own work. I shall never forget a certain evening, 
 now years ago, which I spent in Merritt's rooms with 
 a few congenial friends, when one of the party, an ac- 
 complished writer and critic, read aloud some manuscript 
 of our host's in which scenes of this kind are described, 
 and at the end of one pathetic episode, which he could 
 scarcely finish for emotion, the reader threw down the 
 
 papers with an exclamation : 1 By , Merritt, it's the 
 
 best thing in the English language ! ' and the author, 
 
Editors Preface. 
 
 ix 
 
 crying like a child at the pathos of his own crea- 
 tion and at the sympathetic emotion it caused in the 
 hearers, could only blurt out, ' I swear it's true ; I swear 
 every word of it is true.' So, too, he would tell his friends 
 countless stories, never, alas ! committed to writing, in 
 which the obvious truthfulness of the narration was only 
 equalled by the beautiful tact, the tact of a genuine 
 artist, with which he brought out the points of the tales 
 — tales often of vice and squalor through which shone 
 some ray of pure human tenderness most lovingly por- 
 trayed, and which forced the hearer to recognise how 
 the dark places of the earth are redeemed by sympathy 
 and love. 
 
 Truthfulness, however, though the most prominent, 
 is by no means the only special charm of Merritt's 
 writing. The reader will scarcely fail to notice his 
 extreme sensitiveness to impressions of the utmost 
 subtlety, such as few minds could consciously perceive, 
 much less represent in words. 
 
 As an instance, I would call attention to the chapter 
 called 'An Order for the Hangman,' and to the con- 
 summate art with which the entire atmosphere of the 
 narrative is coloured in harmony with the gloomy object 
 of the boy's walk. Here is a touch of no common kind : 
 ' The farmer for whom the rope on my shoulder was 
 intended was a remarkably clean man, with white hair, 
 and when I beheld him in the court he wore a neck- 
 cloth white as snow. Considerately enough, when I 
 would have rested the rope upon the soddened ground, 
 
X 
 
 Editors Preface. 
 
 I was deterred from doing so by the remembrance of 
 this fact, and exerted myself in order to avoid soiling 
 the rope.' 
 
 As an example of the quality of reticence which ex- 
 cludes all superfluous and extravagant touches, I may 
 mention such an idyll as ' The Pauper's Funeral.' But 
 it is hard and almost unjust to select for special praise 
 from a number of scenes, each complete in its own 
 special light and colour. Indeed, the whole story is a 
 chaplet of gems, indifferently strung it is true, but un- 
 rivalled in their pure and genuine simplicity. 
 
 * The Oxford Professor and the Harpist,' which is 
 published for the first time in these volumes, has mainly 
 the same merits and the same defects as its predecessor. 
 They are, however, blended in a less favourable propor- 
 tion, principally for two reasons. The first is that many 
 of the phases of life herein described were less intimately 
 known to the writer than those in which ' Robert Dalby ' 
 moves ; the second, and perhaps the more vital dis- 
 advantage under which it labours, is that the work never 
 received the final recasting by the author's hand, which it 
 greatly needs. Both stories turn to a large extent upon 
 Oxford life ; but while the earlier story has chiefly to do 
 with events outside the University, of which certain figures 
 appear merely incidentally, 'The Oxford Professor and the 
 Harpist' is a story of University life, a theme which re- 
 quired a more intimate knowledge than the writer pos- 
 sessed. It is evident in reading these pages that, as we 
 
Editor s Preface. 
 
 xi 
 
 know too from his personal history, the author's knowledge 
 of the University was that of a town boy ; of one too who 
 was acutely sensitive to the abuses and inequalities, 
 both real' and apparent, to which such an institution gave 
 rise, as is shown in many of the occasional writings 
 which he has left. For example, the Proctor is to him 
 an irresponsible possessor of more than inquisitorial 
 powers equally over town, undergraduate, and professor ; 
 while his authority and power of espionage is not limited 
 to the University town or neighbourhood, but pursues 
 its victims into London itself. 
 
 It is scarcely surprising that this should have been 
 the case, seeing that the limitation of the powers of its 
 officers is a little puzzling even to those most versed in 
 the life of the University ; puzzling perhaps sometimes to 
 those in whom they are vested. And indeed, a study 
 of the University from this point of view is both interest- 
 ing and profitable, but is at the same time so unusual 
 and leads to so many anomalies in the course of the story 
 as to call for some indulgence from the reader. 
 
 Another point against the story is that the romantic 
 interest turns upon a train of circumstances which, if 
 not incredible, are at least strange, weird, and unattrac- 
 tive. The determination of the heroine to fulfil the last 
 wishes of her father concerning his interment is noble, 
 no doubt, but the conditions which it entails of the con- 
 stant presence of the embalmed body during a number 
 of years have the effect of creating an uncanny and 
 ghoul-like atmosphere about her actions which tends to 
 
xii 
 
 Editor s Preface. 
 
 alienate our taste, and through it our sympathy. This 
 portion of the plot is, however, so closely interwoven in 
 the action of the story, that I have found it impossible 
 to eradicate, or even to modify it considerably, and have 
 contented myself with softening down some of the more 
 startling occurrences to which it gives rise. 
 
 I should wish therefore, frankly admitting the un- 
 promising conditions under which the story labours, to 
 ask of those who read it the fullest indulgence for the 
 incomplete work of a hand that will write no more, con- 
 fident that those who are able to discount those ele- 
 mentary defects will be amply repaid for their candour 
 by many charming qualities in the work, such as the 
 tenderly sympathetic delineation of the Professor, a 
 kind of Dr. Primrose of Oxford life, whose unsuspicious 
 generosity and high-minded chivalry make him the 
 victim of the most transparent intrigue, while experience 
 diminishes nothing of his trustfulness and simplicity ; 
 such again as the beautiful descriptions of the local 
 scenery with which the author's childhood had been so 
 familiar ; principally perhaps by such episodes as the 
 Oxford Professor and the Acrobats, which is equal to the 
 very best of ' Robert Dalby.' 
 
 It has scarcely seemed to me worth while to call 
 attention to some minor inaccuracies, which every reader 
 will correct for himself. For instance, it will trouble 
 geologists rather than the general reader that the author 
 believes in a chalk formation in the immediate neigh- 
 bourhood of Ravenna. (It is, by-the-bye, worth noticing 
 
Editor's Preface. 
 
 xiii 
 
 that the episode of Count Campo's interment seems to 
 have been constructed upon some imperfect notions of 
 the mausoleum of Galla Placidia). Nor does it much 
 matter that he imagined the subject of Warton's Ode to 
 have been the Cherwell, and not, as it was, the Isis. It 
 is curious that he should have made the last hunt of the 
 season coincident with the first frost, a combination 
 which could only happen under very exceptional 
 meteorological conditions. The mistake is, however, as 
 excusable as that well-known one of the Oxford tutor, 
 who recommended his pupils to get their hunting done 
 in the long vacation ; far more pardonable than that of 
 a some-time head-master of one of the public schools, 
 who congratulated his boys on their self-restraint in 
 giving up birds-nestirig during the October quarter. 
 
 'A Story of a Flower,' reprinted from 'Fors Clavigera/ 
 needs no comment of mine. It already has a higher 
 imprimatur than the best I could give it. The occur- 
 rence is doubtless as true in fact as the description is 
 genuine in sentiment, and of the quality of the writing 
 I can only say that it is a gem which proved worthy of a 
 setting which few could bear. 
 
 Mr. Merritt's critical writings are those of one who 
 understood art in many of its aspects more thoroughly 
 than any of his contemporaries. It might therefore 
 have been expected that having the requisite knowledge, 
 together with many charms of thought and style, he 
 would have left much work in this field worth preserv- 
 
xiv 
 
 Editor s Preface. 
 
 ing. This, however, I have not found to be the case. 
 Having gone completely through a very large amount of 
 material of the kind, I have to admit that I can find very 
 little which there is any advantage in preserving. Indeed 
 nearly the whole of his critical work seems to have been 
 calculated only for its immediate purpose, and is alto- 
 gether at a lower level of literary attainment than the 
 writings I have noticed above. The reason of this in- 
 equality is not far to seek. It lies in the conditions under 
 which the work was produced ; conditions of which the 
 writings themselves afford ample evidence. In the first 
 place, it is clear that the greater portion of them was pro- 
 duced under great pressure of time. It would appear to 
 be an established rule of the general instructor that, as 
 soon as, or often sooner than, an exhibition of pictures is 
 opened, a full account and judicious appraisal of the 
 works therein exhibited should be placed before an impa- 
 tient public, which will not be at the trouble of judging 
 for itself ; and, as a consequence, the critic must dispense 
 with the leisure necessary to mature his judgment and 
 his words, and furnish in the hottest haste the necessary 
 ' copy/ the quality of which is not to be studied at the 
 expense of speed. In Merritt's case these ordinary con- 
 ditions were complicated by two which are not universal 
 — the first that he had another engrossing and far 
 more important occupation ; the second, that he was too 
 good-natured. His critical writings give ample proof 
 that he was fully aware how many struggling artists, 
 some with wives and families to feed, were, or thought 
 
Editor s Preface. 
 
 xv 
 
 themselves, dependent" for a chance of recognition on a 
 few favourable words, no matter what. He knew too 
 well by sad experience what struggling against poverty 
 meant, and, having a most tender heart, did his best to 
 benefit the largest number possible. Many of his critiques 
 seem to be inspired by no motive but this, and are suc- 
 cessful in their aim by the surprising ingenuity with which 
 name after name is introduced with a favourable word of 
 recognition. With a motive such as this, creditable as it is 
 to the writer's character, it is no wonder that his writings 
 fail of permanent value, and I have been compelled to 
 content myself with reprinting only a few sketches of 
 the lives of certain old masters, together with the whole 
 of his criticisms on the pictures of the International 
 Exhibition of 1872. None of these seem to have been 
 written in undue haste ; and the critiques, having mainly 
 to do with the works of artists of established reputation, 
 are not hampered by the dictates of the writer's good- 
 nature. An additional reason for reproducing them is 
 that, as the Exhibition marked an epoch in the history 
 of modern art, its individual works are more likely to be 
 remembered by the general reader than those of less 
 important collections. 
 
 It is certainly disappointing to have to dismiss so 
 much matter so briefly. The work is that of a man of 
 especial and most accurate attainments, and notwith- 
 standing this it seldom gives proof of any knowledge 
 beyond the reach of the veriest dilettante. Much 
 has been said lately both in condemnation and in defence 
 
 vol. I. a 
 
xvi 
 
 Editor s Preface. 
 
 of art-criticism as a whole. Without entering on so large 
 a question we may at least conclude that, under con- 
 ditions which bring competence and ignorance to a 
 common level, it cannot be a very profitable means of 
 public instruction. 
 
 Of the author himself it is not my province to say 
 much. This has been done with perfect tact and most 
 graphic fidelity by the one who is most entitled and most 
 competent to speak of him. Still I may be allowed 
 briefly to record the complete and harmonious impres- 
 sion which his personality, his technical work, and his 
 imaginative writings have left upon my memory. In all 
 of these the same characteristics are manifest : an utter 
 sensitiveness to the most subtle impressions in nature 
 and in art ; a deeply-rooted tenderness for all that was 
 simple and lovable in human life, for all that was 
 beautiful in animals and in flowers ; a quaint and graphic 
 power of description, ordered by a consummate tact, 
 which made the scenes and events he pictured as vivid 
 as the reality, and grouped their details with a sense of 
 fitness and proportion such as ruled the designs of the 
 masters over whose works his life was mainly spent. 
 How deeply and faithfully he has imbibed the spirit of 
 the great artists whose works it was the principal occu- 
 pation of his life to restore is known to all that had 
 occasion to profit by his accomplished skill ; and to the 
 care and thoughtfulness with which his principles had 
 been developed, his work ' Dirt and Pictures Separated ' 
 bears ample testimony. Even apart from the endorse- 
 
Editor's Preface. 
 
 xvii 
 
 ment which' experience gave to his success in this walk 
 of art in the high reputation which was generally ac- 
 corded to him, his very temperament was a guarantee 
 that he would lovingly and with utter self-abnegation 
 follow out the thoughts and intentions of the masters, 
 risking, with his characteristic reticence, to do too little 
 rather than too much. Indeed the note- of his work both 
 in art and in literature is one and the same ; the truth- 
 fulness with which he followed out the impressions which 
 he had faithfully conceived, without a superfluous or 
 irrelevant touch. 
 
 It was his ambition from a very early age to be a 
 painter of original pictures, and I believe the impression 
 to have remained with him to the end of his life that, 
 but for adverse circumstances which compelled him to 
 do what came to hand rather than what was congenial 
 to his taste, he would have found this to be the pursuit 
 for which he was best fitted. Though I cannot doubt 
 that his powers of mind and of hand would have insured 
 him very considerable success as a painter, I am dis- 
 posed to think that his more true calling lay rather in 
 that acre of the field of art into which the roughness 
 of circumstances forced him. Of the qualities of his 
 mind none are more prominent than a certain passivity 
 of receptiveness combined with an extreme refinement 
 of perception. In his literary work, the best passages 
 are nearly always those in which he describes actual 
 experiences, finding in them innumerable features which 
 would be lost on an average understanding. When a call 
 
xviii 
 
 Editor s Preface. 
 
 is made upon his power of original invention, or when 
 his constructive faculty is put to the test, the result is 
 usually less successful. In plastic art his powers were 
 not to my knowledge made trial of to the same ex- 
 tent, but I scarcely doubt that the same deficiency 
 would have been shown as evidently as the same ex- 
 cellence undoubtedly was : for his perception of the 
 most infinitesimal touches in ancient painting was 
 almost magical, and his passive fidelity in following 
 them out was such as is not ordinarily found compatible 
 with strong inventive genius. In my own opinion then, 
 whether in his writing or in his art, the same powers are 
 shown in connection with the same limitations. Had he 
 been strongly endowed with originating power he would 
 have been a great painter or a noted writer of fiction. 
 As it was the character of his genius to be passive rather 
 than creative, it has been his less conspicuous, but not less 
 noble task, to be the faithful chronicler of the humble 
 life, which he knew as none can who are not born in it, 
 with an intelligence altogether above it, and to be the 
 Interpreter and the preserver of much of the greatest 
 work of past ages. 
 
 BASIL CHAMPNEYS. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 OF 
 
 THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF HENRY MERRITT I 
 DIRT AND PICTURES SEPARATED : 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 /. Obscured Pictures 69 
 
 //. Durability of Pictures in Oils . . . . 75 
 ///. Antipathy to Picture Restorations . . . .80 
 
 IV. Picture Cleaning 89 
 
 V. The Varnish Glaze Theory 91 
 
 VI. Standard Pictures 98 
 
 VII. Vandyke's Process of Working . . . .103 
 
 VIII. Special Cases from Rembrandt . . . . 108 
 
 IX. An Ideal Process of Painting 114 
 
 X. Idiosyncrasies of Picture Proprietors . . 118 
 
 XI. Professional Advisers 123 
 
 XII. Pictitre Destroyers 129 
 
 XIII. The Restorer 131 
 
 j XIV. Devotion of the Restorer 1 34 
 
xx Contents of the First Volume. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 SELECTIONS FROM OCCASIONAL WRITINGS : 
 
 Rembrandt 141 
 
 Paul Brill 149 
 
 Hans Holbein in England 154 
 
 Dietrich . . 162 
 
 Gerard Dow . . . 166 
 
 The Pictures in the International Exhibition . . 171 
 
 A STORY OF A FLOWER 267 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 PORTRAIT ....... Frontispiece 
 
 SKETCH BY H. MERRITT .... To face page 45 
 
 SKETCH BY „ „ 4 6 
 
 ' A VERY HOPEFUL LOOKING MORNING,' BY H. MERRITT >, 4& 
 
 ' YE BANKS AND BRAES ' „ ,,5° 
 
 SKETCH ,, », 5 2 
 
 SKETCH „ 54 
 
 RECOLLECTION OF EARLY DAYS . „ » 5 6 
 
 LIGHT BEYOND .... „ „ 5 8 
 
 SKETCH „ ,, 60 
 
 SKETCH „ „ 64 
 
 SKETCH „ ,,138 
 
RECOLLECTIONS OF HENRY MERRITT 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
RECOLLECTIONS OF HENRY MERR1TT. 
 
 THE march of the Prussians upon Paris, where T was 
 then studying art and living with a sister at a boarding- 
 school, drove me unwillingly to London, where the great 
 good of my life awaited me. 
 
 My father, ready to gratify my wish to study art 
 here as it could not be studied in Philadelphia, arranged 
 that I should live with friends in London. A studio, 
 however, could not be had under their roof, and chance 
 led me to find one in the house where Henry Merritt 
 lived. I soon heard that he was a restorer and a con- 
 noisseur, but with timidity natural in a woman living 
 alone in a foreign country, I avoided every acquaintance 
 which might seem to arise in an accidental manner. I 
 shut myself into an ugly studio, with a window through 
 which I could look neither on the earth nor into the sky, 
 and produced ugly pictures with no truth in them. 
 
 A relative of mine, travelling in Austria, picked up 
 some wonderful pictures — wonderful bargains, at all 
 events — and sent them to me to be housed until he 
 sailed for America. He desired, moreover, that they 
 should be restored by the artist living so near me. 
 
 My landlord carried to Mr. Merritt my request that 
 he would look at these pictures. The case when un- 
 packed discovered two colossal canvases, representing 
 
 B 2 
 
4 
 
 Recollections of Henry Merritt. 
 
 dogs and cats fighting in a well-filled larder ; two small, 
 modest little pictures were by Paul Veronese, or so the 
 dealer had sworn. Other works were equally desirable. 
 Mr. Merritt found me surveying the lot with no great 
 satisfaction. 
 
 He paused on the steps leading down into my studio, 
 and suddenly I felt anxiety lest he should in any way 
 associate my idea of fine art with the specimens before 
 him. I said apologetically, ' I was not consulted in the 
 purchase, but my friend wishes to ask you to restore 
 them.' ' They are hardly in my line,' he answered ; ' but 
 I will tell you of someone who can wash them and give 
 them a slight varnish. Now will you come to see my 
 pictures ? ' I followed him along the corridor as he led 
 the way to his studio. But first we passed through a 
 little study, where I exclaimed with delight at the fine 
 collection of Eastern china and enamel, at the Italian 
 mirrors, the inlaid chairs and cabinets of antique 
 design. Leopard skins and musical instruments hung 
 in the corners, and carved brackets with vases of graceful 
 form carried the precious colours over every wall. In 
 the corner by the one long window was Mr. Merritt's 
 chair, whence he could enjoy the grouping of his pic- 
 turesque collection, or might look out on to his balcony. 
 Here he had arranged a miniature fish-pond, shaded by 
 some pieces of cork bark and a gnarled branch, from 
 which a spray of ivy drooped over the water ; a few 
 gold crocus-cups unfolded in a shaded nook. It was 
 never-ending amusement to him to feed the fish, and to 
 rescue them from untimely death when they had jumped 
 out of their shallow pond. 
 
 Looking into the room again, I saw that some 
 
Recollections of Henry Merritt. 5 
 
 oranges, carelessly placed, brought a delightful contrast 
 into a group of blue jars and plates. Mr. Merritt let me 
 look at everything, and enjoyed my pleasure ; but I 
 laughed at the untidy fashion in which he kept his list 
 of engagements, written in chalk on the wall opposite 
 where he sat. There were indications of caricatures, 
 too, sketched anywhere on the green and gold paper, 
 and everywhere a most odd mixture of splendour and 
 carelessness. For his pipe and tobacco a common 
 flower-pot saucer sufficed. ' Vile habits/ he said, ' should 
 only use vile things.' When I could steal a glance at 
 his face it could not be forgotten. He was not like 
 anyone else. 
 
 In the studio I found a treat of another sort. On 
 every side were stacked pictures upon pictures, leaving 
 scarcely access to the book-shelves, but space enough 
 for easel and chair. Here I was allowed to see the 
 choicest of those paintings which had come to him for 
 repair. Now panels blistered by fire, but not beyond 
 his skill to recover ; now a canvas torn by the house- 
 maid's broom ; oftener pictures encrusted with old 
 varnish and discoloured by time, or even modern 
 paintings cracked in process of drying through use of 
 unsuitable mediums. 
 
 ' You must never tell what you see here,' he said. 'This 
 is a hospital for pictures, and to have been in a hospital 
 makes their soundness suspected. When I have exerted 
 my greatest skill to save a precious work from destruction 
 its owner will be careful to conceal that anything has 
 been done. It is my greatest success when my toil is 
 invisible. Whatever I write is anonymous also. Think 
 of that, little girl, and be glad that you may devote 
 
6 Recollections of Henry Merntt. 
 
 yourself to a beautiful art, and win fame and happiness 
 in the pursuit.' 
 
 He made me look at a group of saints by Bellini ; 
 then at a weird landscape by Carpaccio, where two 
 ladies, walking in a dream-like garden, meet their own 
 ghosts, bearing one a mirror, one a vase. An open grave 
 separated the living and the spirits. Then he turned to 
 a silvery group by Teniers, a party of gallants, dining 
 before an inn, served in the open air by bustling hosts. 
 A sketch from Tintoret's flashing brush, ' A Little Virgin,' 
 thought to be by Raphael ; a portrait by Sir Joshua. 
 When I had looked in amazement at all these treasures, 
 looked long and silently into them, Mr. Merritt said : 
 
 ' Now you have seen enough for one day, but you 
 may learn a great deal here. I will show you whatever 
 is good for you.' 
 
 After that I was often in this delightful studio ; and 
 it was a curious proof of a sort of commanding gentle- 
 ness in the man that while I never dared approach him 
 without an invitation, I also never thought of leaving 
 him until he sent me away. I always felt in his com- 
 pany like a child on good behaviour. 
 
 Being in great conceit of a picture by which I in- 
 tended to win everlasting renown in the exhibition of 
 the Royal Academy, when also it was quite too late to 
 profit by any criticism, I begged my friend to give me 
 his opinion of it. 
 
 I thought the Piper of Hamelin piping away the 
 children, as Robert Browning has sung the story, would 
 be a delightful subject ; but having got the piper, I 
 found models so expensive and my purse so slender, 
 that I decided to design a swarm of rats instead of a 
 
Recollections of Henry Merritt. 7 
 
 bevy of children, hoping that the sale of my masterpiece 
 would enable me to paint the companion picture after- 
 wards. 
 
 Mr. Merritt did not look at it unkindly, 'but/ said he, 
 ' it is as if you wanted advice about a book when it is 
 printed and bound. Let me advise you next time when 
 your picture is begun. In the first place, choose some- 
 thing of human interest, only a head or a portrait. ' 
 
 From that time he assumed the direction of my 
 studies. A portrait or two gave me the means to 
 employ models constantly, and I set myself to study 
 from them with all energy and happiness. Every 
 impulse I had previously felt driving me to become an 
 artist was now merged in the great wish to please my 
 master. I had scruples about occupying his time, for 
 he took extraordinary pains with me, and after re- 
 solving a hundred times to ask what fee he would 
 accept for these lessons, and never daring to approach 
 the subject, I became more courageous at a distance, and 
 wrote a letter with all the delicacy I could command, 
 enclosing a cheque to begin with. And when it was 
 posted I fell to trembling. Within five minutes after 
 the postman's knock, which shattered my nerves as 
 a hundred cannon might have done, the cheque was 
 returned to me with a polite note. My master did not 
 come that day, nor the next, nor the next. I heard his 
 step, his voice ; he seemed to go everywhere, to speak 
 to everybody except me. All the following day I was 
 making little efforts to knock at his door and beg his 
 pardon. A dozen times I got to the end of the corridor, 
 and ran back again, but at last, late in the afternoon, I 
 actually stood before him. 
 
8 Recollections of Henry Meri'itt. 
 
 He remained in his arm-chair enjoying the evening 
 light ; he only held out his hand, and I stammered some- 
 thing quite incoherent, 
 
 * Oh, I am not angry, little girl, I never thought of 
 such a thing. But you see if I teach you I must have 
 the right to do it my own way. I must come when I 
 like and scold you as much as I choose, and be alto- 
 gether my own master if I am to be yours.' So it was : 
 how he scolded me ; how ruthlessly he rubbed out 
 again and again the work of days, bidding me do it 
 better ; what pains he took to make me appreciate true 
 points of excellence ! When my work was dry, and had 
 lain by awhile, he would sketch upon it in crayon, de- 
 signing backgrounds or trying various effects of chiaro 
 oscuro. No one ever witnessed as I have done his ferti- 
 lity of invention, his refinement of colouring, his variety 
 in touch. Often he would work thus for a couple of 
 hours, transforming my tame study of a model into a 
 vision. The picture would go through a succession of 
 different effects, any one of which could have satisfied a 
 less imaginative mind. He would then throw down the 
 chalks or the brushes, as the case might be, just give me 
 time to study it, and wash off all he had done, bidding me 
 make another design according to similar laws. 
 
 In such lessons I used to stand behind him, breath- 
 less with excitement, never speaking a word, taking care 
 to supply the pallet, and to remove all obstacles from 
 his track, as he rapidly walked forwards and backwards 
 or even up the stairs to have a better view of the effect. 
 
 The lesson over, I was often permitted to go with 
 him to his window, to fill his pipe, and then sitting quietly 
 in my own corner opposite him to wait for his words, 
 
Recollections of Henry Merrill. 
 
 9 
 
 ' You may come,' he would say ; never ' Will you 
 come ? ' I adore the recollection of these hours ! 
 
 The rare charm of my teacher lay in his freedom 
 from all affectation, his scorn of petty motives and 
 selfishness, his conscious power and true dignity of soul. 
 He must have been venerable in youth, and yet he kept 
 his youth in middle age. Not seldom after my painting 
 lesson I had a social lesson. Perhaps I had been thought- 
 less of my model and not observed her weariness. If I did 
 not choose to eat or rest for hours, at least I might allow 
 others to do so. Sometimes I gave offence to people 
 around me in a manner which earned me the name 
 of ' proud Yankee.' I did not take pains to be gentle 
 and thoughtful for all. Perhaps I wasted time in going 
 to parties, or appeared extravagant in my dress. My 
 faults were never passed over, but kindly shown up to 
 me in a manner to fill me with remorse. He would say : 
 * There is no use in my teaching you a refined and 
 noble art, if you cannot also learn to have a big soul ; 
 to be a great artist your whole character must be 
 great.' 
 
 Sometimes while he was thus discoursing, one of 
 the little children of the house would come unasked, 
 and climbing into his lap fall asleep there. Another, if 
 she felt wronged in the nursery, would come to him with 
 an appeal for justice. This, of course, when their mother 
 had left them to the servants' care. Even the household 
 cat, though he disliked cats, came complaining to him if 
 her wants had been forgotten, and though very tired 
 he descended into the kitchen to provide for her. His 
 gentleness won all to love him. 
 
 I feel compelled to make some record of the coura- 
 
io Recollections of Henry Merritt. 
 
 geous, upright, generous life revealed to me more plainly 
 than to any other, and to bear witness, at least, to the 
 deep impression this noble character has made upon my 
 own. This mind so liberally endowed with genius, and 
 developed through unusual experiences, is suddenly lost 
 in darkness. It is natural to cry out against the in- 
 evitable oblivion of time, natural to hoard a little longer 
 some still warm embers of a fading fire. 
 
 How often I have listened to the anecdotes of his 
 early days, told with such complete frankness that 
 all he related seemed to have occurred under my 
 own eyes, somehow to have been actually experienced 
 by me. 
 
 Henry Merritt was born at Oxford, June 8, 1822. 
 His parents' home was a cottage on ground now occupied 
 by Keble College. There was a row of cottages, with a 
 crescent-shaped garden at the back, and small gardens 
 in front. The Merritts' had the largest garden, in which 
 they cultivated strawberries to sell, and vegetables and 
 flowers for their own use. The four-roomed cottage 
 looked over wide open fields, and not far down the road 
 had a glimpse of an inn with a gorgeous new sign. Merritt 
 always declared that he remembered this picture, and that, 
 not having yet learned to walk, he crawled across the 
 muddy road to inspect it more closely. So evident was 
 it that the picture had allured him, and so much mud did 
 he gather on the way, that his father made a long poem 
 on the occasion. Joseph Merritt, the father, was a tailor 
 by trade, and eked out his earnings as prompter in the 
 theatre. He had a good memory, and was fond of 
 quoting noted passages of plays. The boy's mother 
 seems early to have discovered that Henry was more 
 
Recollections of Henry Merritt. 1 1 
 
 intelligent than her other children, and set her heart upon 
 getting him educated. 
 
 Henry was the fifth child, and followed by four 
 others. Ten shillings a week had often to support the 
 whole family. In a good season, when term in the 
 University brought life and business, or when the earliest 
 strawberries could be sold for twopence each, the 
 children had almost food enough. But the long vacation, 
 and generally the increased difficulties of the winter 
 season, necessitated prolonged skimping in a home 
 where there was never a chance to save. The most 
 vivid recollection of early youth was a continual never- 
 satisfied hunger. In the fields, or by the roadside, the 
 boy's eyes were always scanning the herbs for any- 
 thing that could be eaten. The roots of flags were bitter, 
 but they helped to fill. In those days poor people were 
 allowed to glean the potato patches, or even to break 
 off the early shoots of turnips. Once, in making a short 
 cut home, the child found a thicket of burrs so tall that 
 he could not break through them, but crawled under- 
 neath, where the stems allowed a passage. Inside he 
 discovered an open space, over which the burrs, closely 
 tangled, wove an impenetrable roof. Here a number of 
 dabchicks had built their nests, and in each were found 
 a few eggs. It was a delightful feast, never to be for- 
 gotten. The boy consoled his kind heart by replacing 
 the stolen eggs with pebbles of about the same size. 
 Sometimes he aspired to higher game : a rook's nest, for 
 instance, was a rare prize, watched with greatest longing, 
 seldom indeed obtained. 
 
 On a winter morning, when the squealing of pigs was 
 heard in a neighbouring pork butchery, the boys would 
 
I 2 
 
 Recollections of Henry Merrill. 
 
 spring from bed and hurry to the yard. The pigs were 
 singed, and the ears and tails lopped off. These precious 
 morsels burnt crisp would be devoured with relish. 
 
 A still more extraordinary method of obtaining food 
 was to set the dog after a flock of ducks as they went 
 waddling homewards from the river side, when the sly 
 dog nipped at one and another, hurrying and frightening 
 them, an egg was often dropped in the road. 
 
 Notwithstanding this extreme poverty Henry Merritt 
 was sent to school when about five years old. In the 
 first instance he was the only scholar of a pair of young 
 girls, daughters of an upholsterer. Instead of teaching 
 him letters, they surreptitiously taught him to pick over 
 old horse-hair, and amused themselves by dressing him 
 in their father's trousers and coat. His mother, always 
 watchful, happened one day to look into the window of 
 the so-called schoolroom, and discovered her boy, her 
 chief pride, thus ridiculously attired, and forthwith carried 
 him home. He next was sent to the primitive infant- 
 school so well described in ' Robert Dalby.' 
 
 Henry was always of delicate health, his sensitive, 
 excitable organisation almost succumbed to nervous 
 fever before his tenth year. On this occasion, determined 
 to save her boy, the good mother sought the most 
 eminent physician in Oxford. She waited outside his 
 door until the great man returned in his carriage from a 
 round of visits to important patients. When the poor 
 woman begged him to come at once to her humble 
 cottage, fatigued as he was, he bluntly refused. She 
 dragged herself home hopeless. Whether the physician 
 was struck by her desponding gesture, or whether a 
 moment's reflection banished fatigue from his charitable 
 
Recollections of Henry Merritt. 1 3 
 
 heart, he sprang into his carriage again, and reached 
 the cottage before her. 
 
 As a prelude to this nervous fever, the child had 
 taken a cold, which made a lasting impression on his 
 constitution. Insufficient food, scant clothing, and 
 labour from childhood, gave the body a poor chance. 
 When only five years old, Henry was out in the 
 meadows one autumn in company with boys whom his 
 mother disliked. On a sudden they were surrounded 
 by the floods. The bigger boys were quick in escaping, 
 and left the child on a little knoll, while the flood rose 
 rapidly far around. A long way off he could see a 
 troop of boys bathing and swimming, and to them he 
 shouted with all his might. Finally, to his joy, a big, 
 good-natured fellow swam toward him. ' Now, Harry, 
 take off your togs, roll 'em up in your breeches, and tie 
 'em round your head.' This correctly accomplished, he 
 took the child on his back, and carried him almost to 
 land, the clothes still quite dry. But once more in hail 
 of his companions, the deliverer became ashamed of so 
 much philanthropy, and to save his reputation dived 
 under until the little bundle was saturated. Glad 
 enough to be landed, but in a second dilemma, the child 
 endeavoured to dry his clothes, in vain, for dews were 
 falling and the sun low. At last, compelled to draw on 
 those cold clinging garments, he ran home ; did not 
 venture to show himself at supper, but got into bed 
 dressed as he was, thinking only of avoiding punishment 
 by this capital method of drying. He told me this 
 story when his cough became worse one November, 
 saying that was how it began. 
 
 During the slow convalescence from nervous fever, 
 
14 Recollections of Henry Merritt. 
 
 Henry could lie on a bank in the meadow, or in a corner 
 of the garden wall, too weak to move, but through illness 
 and suffering more keenly sensitive to the beautiful life 
 of trees and flowers. For the first time he attempted to 
 draw what he loved. 
 
 Through a crevice of the garden wall he could look 
 into a ropewalk, which became to him so familiar that 
 he could describe it in ' Robert Dalby ' as though he 
 had lived there. The gloomy pile of the old gaol flung 
 its shadows across the stream where he oftenest went 
 fishing. The prison and the ropewalk, which furnished 
 the implement of too frequent executions, became the 
 central figures in his long, imaginative meditations. 
 
 The description of an aged great-uncle must belong 
 to this period. A grand old fellow, far above common 
 stature, with lofty furrowed brow and sightless eyes. 
 His youth had been passed as servant on a nobleman's 
 estate ; but the estate coming to the hands of a new 
 family, the old servant was turned off forgotten. He had 
 his own cottage and piece of ground until great age and 
 blindness overcame him. Henry remembers him standing 
 in the sun leaning on a huge staff. The old man would 
 welcome his visitor, and, going through the potato-patch, 
 hold a good sack, bidding him fill it and carry it home : 
 a precious gift, though the little nephew, quite unable to 
 lift the weight, had to drag it a great distance. 
 
 The lonely old man at last preferred to all lodging 
 a sort of lair which he made for himself by an opening 
 in a pile of wood. Into this he would creep, liking the 
 odour of fresh pine logs, and finding a warm, dry bed 
 sheltered from every draught. Friends would provide 
 him with food, and he lived with a sort of happiness and 
 
Recollections of Henry Merritt. 1 5 
 
 enjoyment of independence. The officers of the parish 
 thought it their duty to interfere. They coaxed and 
 persuaded, and, under a false pretence, finally lodged 
 the old man in the workhouse, taking particular pains 
 for his comfort. When the blind giant discovered where 
 he was, with a mighty effort he broke away the iron 
 foot-rails of his bed, doubled and twisted them in his 
 hands like wire ; his feeble life blazed out in rage and 
 mortification, and expired. 
 
 Henry was never so intimately connected with the 
 poacher Ben as described in * Robert Dalby,' for until he 
 left Oxford he always lived under his father's roof ; but 
 there is no doubt that he learned to feed puppies, to 
 assist in a kennel, and to provide rats for the amusement 
 of undergraduates. Once he had an opportunity to see 
 the ward of a hospital ; for in a fight he had injured the 
 inside of his lip so as to require a surgical operation, of 
 which he always bore the scar. The wound was dressed, 
 and the patient was expected to remain some days in 
 bed ; but he found an early opportunity of escaping from 
 the window into the friendly arms of a great tree, and 
 thence home. 
 
 When eleven years old, Henry Merritt was entered 
 at the Blue Coat School, of which he has left so vivid a 
 picture. In a year he became the second teacher of the 
 first class. On Sundays he sang the alto and solo parts 
 in the choir of Carfax Church. The recompense was not 
 great, being half-a-crown at Christmas and a penny bun 
 four times a year ; but the master of the choir distin- 
 guished young Merritt by taking him to the picture 
 galleries of the Bodleian Library. 
 
 In the intervals of school hours, Henry ran errands 
 
1 6 Recollections of Henry Merritt. 
 
 for Mrs. Wiggins, a small stationer, who, like other 
 Oxford tradespeople then and now, found great difficulty 
 in collecting debts. The boy of eleven became ex- 
 tremely useful as a dun. In his extraordinary simplicity 
 he little dreamed that there was any impropriety in asking 
 for money due, and he managed to gain admission and 
 obtain payment with a seeming effrontery that gave him 
 many a laugh in later years. One bill of five pounds 
 ten shillings had been a long time owing, and he was 
 instructed to call for it at a certain hour on a learned 
 professor. Observing undergraduates use the knocker 
 on the professor's door, he also knocked with the same 
 confidence, obtained admission, and found the professor 
 engaged with his class, but delivered his message un- 
 dismayed : ■ Please, sir, Mrs. Wiggins sends this little 
 account, and would be glad to have her money, which 
 has been owing three years.' ' How much is it, boy?' 
 ' Five pounds ten shillings.' ' Here are five pounds ; 
 I have no change.' ' If you will give me a pound, sir, I 
 will fetch change in a moment,' and he did. ' Now, boy, 
 sign the receipt ' ; and Henry Merritt signed himself 
 • Mrs. Wiggins.' ' Are you Mrs. Wiggins, boy ? ' The 
 professor was glad to raise a laugh on his side ; and then 
 instructed his little dun in the proper form of signing 
 receipts. 
 
 From so great an income as eighteenpence a week 
 earned in this manner, Merritt saved one penny for a 
 picture magazine, which gave him not only woodcuts 
 from great pictures but a variety of useful information. 
 Whenever he could find a quiet hour he learned to copy 
 the engravings. By some wonderful luck he once 
 hoarded enough money to buy a small box of water- 
 
Recollections of Henry Merritt. 17 
 
 colours, which he ordered from London. He awaited the 
 arrival of his treasure with the greatest anxiety. At last 
 the carrier appeared inquiring in the lane of humble 
 cottages whether anyone knew of Henry Merritt, Esq. 
 The small Blue-coat boy, to the dismay of everyone, 
 claimed the precious package, and got a scolding from 
 the carrier, who had been seeking the ' Esquire ' in more 
 fashionable neighbourhoods. In the crowded cottage 
 there was little opportunity for quiet or meditation, and 
 Merritt, in the intervals of the Sunday services — his 
 only leisure — actually sought for rest and quiet in the 
 pigstye. He made a place for himself in a corner, and 
 there, at least, no noisy children pursued him. The old 
 pig had a share of his attention, for he curried her, and 
 kept her pen comfortable, and the haven of peace he 
 found was long a secret. Once he was inspired by a 
 lucky thought to decorate the wash-house, so as to induce 
 the family to prefer it to the sitting-room, which he 
 might thus obtain for himself. Over the whitewashed 
 walls he painted, in transparent oil colour, garlands of 
 blooming creepers, and masses of foliage. Now, he 
 said to his brothers and sisters, there is something for 
 you to admire, stay there and leave me the sitting-room. 
 The brilliancy of transparent colour obtained in this 
 accidental way, and the permanence of it, he endeavoured 
 later to adapt in a new method of colouring. 
 
 As he approached fifteen the time came when the 
 trustees of the Blue Coat School would apprentice their 
 pupils. Merritt entreated to be made an artist, ' Make 
 pictures ? ' said his father, ' better learn first to make the 
 frames,' and so he was bound for the term of seven 
 years to carvers and gilders doing a first-class business. 
 
 VOL. I. C 
 
18 Recollections of Henry Merritt. 
 
 Ten pounds were paid to them by the trustees of the 
 school, and during the last two years only he was to 
 receive wages — namely, four shillings a week. His 
 father promised in the indenture to supply necessary 
 food and clothing. These masters were very unlike the 
 old carver to whom Robert Dalby so gladly bound him- 
 self, and the apprenticeship was a period of sore vexa- 
 tion : seven years' penal servitude, as he often called it. 
 Many opportunities occurred, however, to see and study 
 pictures, as his masters were in a large way of business, 
 and often employed in the galleries of the University ; 
 also in those days he was often sent to the studio of 
 William Boxall, already a young artist of marked ability, 
 to take him colours or canvas. On these occasions 
 Merritt observed with eager appreciation the method of 
 the artist. Once a portrait of Boxall by himself was 
 sent to the gilders for a frame or to be lined, when the 
 young apprentice contrived to copy it. 
 
 To the last day of his life, Merritt looked fondly at 
 an engraving from a picture by Turner, a view of ' New 
 College Street.' He could see in it the spires of two 
 churches where, in the days of his apprenticeship, he had 
 climbed to fasten the gilt weather-vanes. 
 
 He seemed to have had greater aptitude for carving 
 than for gilding, and his skill in drawing was often of use. 
 So soon as he understood anything of his trade, he was 
 glad to work early and late at extra hours, whenever an 
 opportunity offered of so earning a few pence, for the 
 seven years were full of privations. The meat and 
 clothing which his father had pledged to provide were 
 of the scantiest. So poor was the family that when an 
 epidemic of small-pox brought down several in the 
 
Recollections of Henry Merritt. 
 
 19 
 
 Merritts' cottage, and two children died, their little coffins 
 had to lie in the same room where other children lay 
 ill. Henry escaped the disease, though he nursed the 
 patients. 
 
 The period of apprenticeship was not without some 
 joyful recollections, the chief and never forgotten being 
 the instruction in drawing given gratuitously by William 
 Alfred Delamotte. In the story of Robert Dalby, this 
 incident is told with fidelity and gratitude. The descrip- 
 tion of the French artist and his goodness there given 
 would be injured by any word I might attempt to add. 
 Fifteen years after these lessons, when Merritt published 
 his Essays on the restoration of pictures, they were pre- 
 faced with the following dedication : 
 
 f To William Alfred Delamotte, Esq., who, when I 
 was a boy, a stranger, unknown to him even by name, 
 carefully and gratuitously instructed me in the rudi- 
 ments of art, I inscribe this little volume, with long 
 cherished feelings of respect.' 
 
 I have several little pictures in oil colour, indicative 
 of true genius, painted by Merritt at this time. A 
 country lane and a hill side with groves of trees, touched 
 in a strong broad manner and clear low tones, more like 
 the sketch of a master than the first effort of a boy. He 
 must also have had ability in taking likenesses, for he per- 
 suaded his fellow-apprentices, who were well fed in the 
 master's house, to sit for their portraits, and pay for it 
 by bringing him their share of the pudding. 
 
 In 1844, having worked about one year as journey- 
 man gilder to his former masters, Merritt was thrown out 
 of employment in the long vacation. 
 
 This did not cause him great regret or great anxiety, 
 c 2 
 
20- Recollections of Henry Mewitt. 
 
 He found ample opportunity of studying pictures. In 
 the Bodleian Library he copied two pictures. He got 
 access to books, and read and studied constantly. 
 Meanwhile he had received, on an affidavit as to his 
 apprenticeship, the Freedom of the City of Oxford, 
 which granted certain privileges of fishing, pasturing, &c. 
 The former was of real use to him in supplying frequent 
 food at this season. He also found portraits to paint at the 
 modest price of ten shillings, and in one way or another 
 just managed to exist, while every effort was bent upon 
 the acquirement of knowledge, and especially art-know- 
 ledge. 
 
 Thus employed, he remained in Oxford until early in 
 1846, until a well-to-do brother, a scout in one of the 
 Colleges, with a comfortable income, told him to get out 
 of the city, as his appearance was a disgrace. Henry 
 Merritt waited no further advice ; carrying on his 
 shoulder a box about twelve inches square, which he 
 always retained in his possession, and which contained 
 easily all his worldly goods — carving tools, pencils, 
 and a change of linen — he went out from. Oxford, and 
 walked the entire journey to London. His heart always 
 lingered fondly among the memories of his native place. 
 Its silvery streams, its meadows starred with flowers, its 
 avenues of majestic elms, its Gothic arches and moss- 
 grown walls, were henceforth to him the fabric of a 
 vision. 
 
 The next few years were indeed dark and lonely. In 
 the narrow streets between the Strand and Holborn he 
 found one or another dismal lodging, sometimes in a loft 
 above a stable, accessible only by a ladder, to be pulled 
 in after him : at one time a night lodging only, with no 
 
Recollections of Henry Merritt. 21 
 
 rest or shelter by day ; once he rented half the narrow- 
 bed of a poor tailor. He had an anecdote of a lodging 
 where the four corners of the room and the middle 
 belonged each to a separate family. They lived in 
 peace and concord, until the family in the middle took a 
 boarder ! It was, however, for a single night only that 
 he saw the interior of a public lodging-house, to which 
 he was driven because distress had been put upon his 
 landlady's house, and her tenants' poor furniture seized 
 for rent. Oddly enough, in the rough penny-a- night 
 lodging, he met face to face an old Oxford friend, who 
 has also since won a fair place in the world. The first 
 thought of each was to exact a promise of secrecy. 
 Merritt's dear mother in Oxford was never to know of 
 his struggles and privations. Among the many land- 
 ladies met with in these wanderings was one whose good 
 nature permitted her to lend small sums to her poor 
 lodgers, of which loans, when not repaid, she had a 
 delicate way of reminding them. She would borrow a 
 penny or a halfpenny of the debtor, and the following day, 
 with a slight emphasis in her manner, ' Here, my gentle- 
 man, is the penny I borrowed yesterday.' ' Here is 
 your halfpenny, sir. I am very particular to pay my 
 debts.' 
 
 In these days the best diet that could be afforded 
 was often but a loaf of hot bread, into which a penny- 
 worth of dripping inserted dissolved through the whole 
 mass. This eaten hot was a very filling meal, and its diges- 
 tion took a very long time, so that hardly more food was 
 needed for a day. A more luxurious dinner was to be had 
 in a soup-kitchen, where a long narrow deal table, with 
 bowls scooped out of its surface, and spoons chained at 
 
22 
 
 Recollections of Henry Merritt. 
 
 each place, was thus always set for guests. Woe to the 
 man, however, who thought of dining upon credit ! The 
 great pot of soup was always on the fire, and was served 
 out by means of a squirt. If the pennies were not put 
 down immediately the soup was served, the useful squirt 
 could also suck it up again, every drop of it, from the 
 very plate of the hungry but too daring man. 
 
 In a life so coarse and poor, living, indeed, only from 
 day to day, Merritt still contrived to acquire knowledge 
 both of art and of literature. He found casual employment 
 as a gilder, just enough to keep him in such poor food and 
 lodging, and was permitted by a dealer in old pictures 
 and curiosities to set up an easel in a corner of a lumber 
 room, where occasionally he was of use in regilding a 
 frame, or in concealing the decay of an old canvas. Here 
 he painted little fancies of his own, without the aid of 
 models or of elaborate materials, but always refined in 
 colour and composition. He was able to sell them for 
 about five shillings. A print seller would also give five 
 shillings for a copy in colour of a print after Gains- 
 borough or Landseer. In these he succeeded so well, 
 that, thirty years later, one of his own pictures was 
 brought to him for his opinion. ( Is it by Gainsborough ? ' 
 ' No, I painted it myself from a print after Gains- 
 borough.' Sometimes there was no place to work, no 
 place even to rest in by day, and he was compelled to 
 linger under draughty archways to escape the rain, or found 
 enjoyment in reading at the second-hand bookstalls ; 
 once, in great want of a shilling, he begged the bric-a- 
 brac dealer to let him earn a trifle in carrying various 
 objects to another shop, for a moving was in hand. The 
 request was granted, and after one or two journeys, a 
 
Recollections of Henry Merritt. 23 
 
 bronze Atlas bearing the globe was put upon his 
 shoulder. This incident, and the unfortunate fall of the 
 Atlas, are described in ' Robert Dalby ' with literal truth- 
 fulness. 
 
 The picture dealer soon found that the youth, 
 aspiring through such trials to become an artist, had 
 a skilful touch, and could be trusted to repair old and 
 worn canvases, of which he had enough to supply con- 
 stant work at the very lowest wages. Thus poverty 
 and accident conquered the genius that could draw no 
 livelihood from their barren soil. Merritt, after all his 
 struggles, had to abandon the hope of expressing his 
 own heart in glowing lines and colours, and thenceforth, 
 with rare sympathy, devoted his genius to rescuing from 
 destruction the works of others. The generous sym- 
 pathy, the earnest tender comprehension found in him 
 by all who knew him, corresponded to his appreciation 
 of the many forms of expression in art. 
 
 He soon became familiar with the touch of many 
 artists, as we might with the handwriting of friends, and 
 his judgment on the authenticity of pictures was early 
 recognised by the dealer, who took him to a great sale 
 in Holland for the sake of his advice. Merritt worked 
 for more than one small dealer, and was not always paid 
 in money. On one occasion a case of sago was forced 
 upon him, which his employer had been obliged to re- 
 ceive for a bad debt. It was a useless thing to Merritt, 
 but he bethought himself of the dear mother in Oxford, 
 for whom it was suitable food, and sent it to her ; con- 
 vincing her, by the wholesale character of the gift, that 
 he had made his fortune. His trials in these days were 
 carefully concealed from his family. 
 
24 
 
 Recollections of Henry Merritt. 
 
 Thus four years wore on, and prospects mended so 
 far that the young restorer ventured to take a better 
 lodging, where he might be able to receive a patron. 
 In Red Lion Square he found a large, desolate house 
 with grand staircases, lofty ceilings, and every melan- 
 choly sign of decayed grandeur. Here he rented a 
 room that by day served as a studio and by night was 
 transformed into a bedroom ; for he only unrolled from 
 a cupboard a straw mattress and a pillow, and again 
 early in the morning, before the richer tenants were 
 stirring, stole downstairs for a jug of water, and re- 
 arranged and cleaned his studio. 
 
 Here many nights he sat in darkness unable to afford 
 a candle, sifting the ashes on his hearth through his fin- 
 gers that no atom might be wasted ; the greatest luxury 
 he could afford — a pipe filled with coffee-grounds ! No, 
 not the greatest ! His heart yearned for affection, and 
 into the lonely room crept a little mouse. He contrived 
 to spare a crumb for the little creature, and allowed her 
 to make a nest and raise a brood in a corner of his 
 mattress. Once he was compelled to regret his bounty 
 to the mice, and took back a crust he had given them to 
 satisfy his own hunger. His difficulties were always 
 studiously concealed from his kin in Oxford. Harry in 
 London must be doing well, they thought, so an elder 
 brother wrote to borrow a sovereign. Feeling that 
 some great emergency must have prompted a request so 
 extravagant, Henry contrived to raise the sum among 
 his friends. The poor will always endeavour to aid 
 one another. He borrowed a few shillings here and a 
 few there, and in great haste despatched the pound to 
 Oxford. The recipient presented himself in a day or 
 
Recollections of Henry Merrill. 25 
 
 two at Red Lion Square in the best spirits, having 
 wanted the money solely for a visit to London. 
 
 Another brother, ten years Henry's senior, for some 
 time past established as a grocer in a London suburb, 
 hearing of the studio in Red Lion Square, thought it 
 might be safe to call upon the rising artist. Henry at 
 the moment had but ninepence in the world, and six of 
 them went for ale and cheese to regale his well-to-do 
 relative. The brother was busy in noticing appear- 
 ances. ' Why, Harry, you must need a string every time 
 you dress, and a knife to undress ! ' He refused to be- 
 lieve the story of the pet mice, for no mouse, he declared, 
 could pick up a living there, with which consolation he 
 departed. Henry returned the visit, but was not so 
 warmly received by his brother's wife as to induce him 
 to repeat it. 
 
 Still, on the whole, Merritt gradually mastered his 
 world of troubles, for he neglected no opportunity of 
 increasing his store of learning. Even by the sacrifice of 
 food he did not hesitate to procure a book or a print 
 which could improve his knowledge of the history or 
 materials of painting or of the best literature. No 
 opportunity was neglected of studying pictures. In 
 the course of six years, from the time he left Oxford, 
 his progress was immense, and a decent subsistence 
 seemed to be assured to him. 
 
 About the year 1 85 1 a suit was decided which caused 
 a collection of old paintings to fall, in lieu of a debt, to 
 Mr. Joseph Parrinton. Dirt, discoloured varnish, and 
 gaping cracks rendered the pictures scarcely visible, 
 and Mr. Parrinton contemplated them with much dis- 
 satisfaction, when a tradesman said that he knew a 
 
26 Recollections of Henry Merritt. 
 
 young fellow who could make those old pictures like new. 
 Mr. Parrinton accepted this chance introduction, and 
 brought a picture to be experimented upon. Then for 
 the first time Merritt had the pleasure of working for a 
 gentleman, and fortunately it was for one appreciative, 
 thoughtful, sympathetic, capable of discerning genius 
 and courage in the lonely careworn artist. Mr. Parrinton 
 recognised at once his skill, and gave him constant em- 
 ployment, cheering him with intelligent society and com- 
 panionship. On the plea of consulting him about the 
 purchase of pictures, he enticed him many a day to stroll 
 about the city, in and out of picture galleries and sale- 
 rooms, not forgetting to make him share a substantial 
 meal. He even invited the poor artist to the country, 
 welcomed him to a refined home and the society of his 
 family. On the first occasion, and not the first only, 
 Merritt, not possessed of a valise, and unable to afford 
 one, carried his wardrobe in a paper parcel. Met at 
 the station by carriage and footman, who inquired for 
 his luggage, he quietly handed over the valuable pack- 
 age. Probably no man ever lived so incapable of any 
 pretence. What he appeared he was. In later years, 
 often the chosen friend of men in high position and of 
 the greatest culture, he never concealed or forgot the 
 poor from whom he came. His stories of early hard- 
 ships, fascinatingly told with flashes of delicate wit, the 
 cruelty of them softened by the ease and comfort 
 gathered around him, were of a sort seldom heard viva 
 voce. One sketch of this period which he delighted 
 to relate was ' The Girl of Camberwell Green.' When 
 he had called up my tears by stories of want and hunger 
 and loneliness, then, with a twinkle in his eye, he would 
 
Recollections of Henry Merritt. 
 
 27 
 
 say — ' Did I ever tell you about the Girl of Camberwell 
 Green ?■ ' Leaning back in his 1 arm-chair, with an extra 
 puff or two at his pipe, which needed lighting every five 
 minutes, turning his face towards me and smiling through 
 half-closed eyes, he would begin : 
 
 ' Once on a spring evening I was standing under 
 a gas-light opposite a theatre in the Strand ; I had 
 a little to spare in my pocket, but tried to resist the 
 extravagance of seeing the play. At any rate it amused 
 me to watch the crowd enter, and perhaps after a while 
 I should hear some music outside. Presently I noticed 
 a young girl scanning the people with some anxiety, 
 she looked at everyone who approached the theatre 
 until only a few straggling groups lingered at the door. 
 Apparently she resolved to go away, then repented of 
 her resolve and returned to wait again. For my part I 
 could only watch her artless, childlike face under its 
 cloud of disappointment. How her lip pouted and her 
 eyes gleamed ! She wore a fresh print dress and a 
 straw bonnet. When we heard the signals that the play 
 had begun she finally made a decisive movement of 
 departure. I couldn't bear to lose the pretty, fresh little 
 creature. I hurried after her, and said, " Miss, you ex- 
 pected, no doubt, a friend to take you to the theatre, and 
 are disappointed. Will you hear the play with me ? " 
 She gave me a full look out of her clear blue eyes and 
 assented with joy. I paid for two places in the pit, 
 and found seats. All the evening she sat there enchanted, 
 and while she was absorbed in the play I could only 
 look at her face. Smiles passed over her rosy lips, tears 
 stood in her great clear eyes ; once in excitement she 
 clung to my arm. At last, the play over, I accom- 
 
28 Recollections of Henry MerritL 
 
 panied the girl to her home. It was a long way, three 
 miles at least to Camberwell Green, but we never thought 
 of the extravagance of riding, and her light step never 
 flagged. She insisted upon introducing me to her father 
 and brothers, who seemed just returned from some pro- 
 fessional engagement. They were hanging up violins 
 and bows, and placing music books on a high shelf. 
 The artless little beauty gave a full account of our ac- 
 quaintance, and her enjoyment of the play, and I was 
 made welcome to ale and cheese. We did not part until 
 an evening had been fixed for another visit to the theatre. 
 
 1 When I presented myself again at her door I had 
 taken some pains to look well, to brush my hair until it 
 shone, and arrange my dress. When I rang, down came 
 the little beauty, with her sleeves rolled up above her 
 dimpled elbows, and traces of soap-suds on her plump 
 arms. 
 
 ' " La ! Mr. Merritt, I knew you would come, but 
 mother wouldn't believe it, so to please her I was 
 finishing the washing. If you would be so good just to 
 sit down a minute, I will be ready in no time." She 
 tripped away, and very soon reappeared in her simple 
 finery, fresh as a rose. We enjoyed the long walk to- 
 gether in one of the brightest of spring evenings, the 
 theatre, the walk home again. Anything more fresh 
 and natural than my companion I had never seen. I 
 was thinking of this in silence — I may have seemed to 
 her absent-minded— and trying to linger on the few last 
 steps I began to say something. She interrupted me 
 promptly : " I know what you are going to say, Mr. 
 Merritt, you are going to propose — but you must not 
 do it. I am not at all the right one for you. I should 
 
Recollections oj Henry Merntt. 29 
 
 make you very unhappy, and so would you me. You 
 are serious, you like to be quiet and to study, and I 
 couldn't bear that at all. My father plays the fiddle 
 every night at Camberwell Music Hall, and I always 
 lead off the dance, and I like that best of everything 
 in the world. I should be dreadfully put out if I 
 couldn't dance every night. Now, you see, we could 
 never do together." ' 
 
 This was not the only escape from early matrimony. 
 Once Merritt had painted the portrait of an innkeeper, 
 and in the important commission succeeded to the satis- 
 faction of all concerned. The innkeeper, serene in the 
 enjoyment of his vanity, invited the artist and some 
 friends to partake of a flowing bowl. One after another 
 in crescendo expressed admiration of the portrait, until 
 finally the idea got introduced that some extra reward 
 should be heaped upon the artist. At that moment the 
 innkeeper's daughter ' Sal,' a long lank person of un- 
 certain age, entered to wait on table, and her father con- 
 cluded a burst of rhetoric and gratitude with : ' He shall 
 have our Sal ! ' 
 
 Sal showed such signs of agreeing to her father's 
 generous offer, that Merritt snatched his hat and ran. 
 
 A new era in his life began in 18152, when he became 
 a lodger of a friend, living near the Euston Road. Here 
 he found intellectual companionship and a share in 
 domestic life. His friend was connected with journalism, 
 and introduced him to the ' Leader.' 
 
 In 1853 Merritt published in the ' Leader' ten chap- 
 ters on the 'Works of the Old Masters, their Ruin and 
 Renovation,' and from this time became a constant con- 
 tributor to various journals, taking no little pains with 
 
30 
 
 Recollections of Henry Merritt. 
 
 his style. The question of the restoration of the pictures 
 belonging to the nation came under the discussion of 
 Parliament, and was echoed in many journals. The 
 ' Athenaeum ' published, not without decided influence, 
 various papers on this subject contributed by Henry 
 Merritt. He also wrote chiefly on art for the ' Empire ' 
 newspaper. Early in the following year he collected 
 these articles from the ' Leader ' and from the ' Athe- 
 naeum/ and from this basis formed the little volume 
 entitled 1 Pictures and Dirt Separated.' 
 
 In the publication of these essays he had the sym- 
 pathy and encouragement of his friend Mr. Parrinton. 
 
 To Sir William Boxall (then Mr. Boxall, A.R.A.) 
 remembered since Oxford days, Merritt ventured to in- 
 troduce himself by presenting a copy of his work, and 
 at once found an appreciative welcome. Mr. Boxall was 
 in a position to give the poor restorer valuable intro- 
 ductions, and he did not hesitate to do so, as the evident 
 merit of the little book and the recognition by leading 
 reviews of its talent, sound principles, and elegant style, 
 authorised. Introduced by Mr. Boxall to Sir Charles 
 Eastlake, then Director of the National Gallery, Merritt 
 was immediately employed by him on works requiring 
 the highest skill. 
 
 Here, under the direction of the greatest connoisseur 
 of the day, of all English artists the one most learned in 
 the history of art and in the chemistry of its materials, 
 the restorer may be said to have attained all that was 
 needful for the mastery of his art. At this time, also, 
 Merritt became acquainted with Mr. George Richmond 
 (then A.R.A. and Fine Art Commissioner), and found in 
 him a true friend to the end of life. There was now no 
 
Recollections of Henry Merrill. 31 
 
 difficulty in obtaining employment : not only various 
 public institutions, but many people who had collections 
 to care for began to look for the restorer who had so 
 eloquently expressed the aim and limits of his art. 
 Not only was he occupied in his studio during all hours 
 when it was possible to see, but late into the night he 
 studied and wrote. He now had a regular engagement 
 to write art notices for the ' Morning Star/ at a salary of 
 25/. per annum. 
 
 It is not surprising among letters recording this first 
 success following upon years of privation, to find a copy 
 of one from Merritt to a water-cure physician : a sort of 
 testimonial as to the cure of a long-standing indiges- 
 tion. 
 
 The friends with whom he lived were as poor as 
 himself, and now shared the benefits of his increased 
 earnings. Now, too, he had the happiness of supplying 
 his dear mother with the necessities of her declining 
 years. The good mother's letters are tenderly preserved, 
 and lying next to a package from Professor Ruskin. 
 What a contrast ! 
 
 Her letters, written with difficulty and spelled ac- 
 cording to the inspiration of the moment, are full of 
 tenderness. She always chides her son for unnecessary 
 generosity towards her. i You need not have sent the 
 money so soon ' ; or, ' The canister was not empty yet ' ; 
 or, ' I fear you have sent me what you need for yourself.' 
 Were it possible to detail Merritt's countless acts of 
 generosity — perpetual, unlimited, depending not on his 
 love or liking for people, but on their wants — the pros- 
 perous years of his life would have an interest fully as 
 great as those of his trials and poverty. 
 
32 
 
 Recollections of Henry Merritt. 
 
 In 1856 Merritt made a visit,of only a few days to 
 Paris, and saw the galleries of the Louvre. During the 
 following year he published various articles in the 'Art 
 Treasures Examiner' of Manchester, and also visited 
 Manchester during the Great Art Exhibition there, in 
 order to write notices of it for 'The Star.' Separate 
 essays on different Old Masters were composed. In this 
 year also he began and finished the story of * Robert 
 Dalby,' which he kept nine years before offering to a 
 publisher. He indulged in this literary labour as a sort 
 of relaxation from the work of the studio. Recom- 
 mended by Sir Charles Eastlake, William Boxall, R.A., 
 and George Richmond, R.A., he was now consulted by 
 many distinguished persons, and by most of the public 
 institutions of England. He worked for the Fitzwilliam 
 Museum of Cambridge, the Archaeological Institute of 
 Great Britain, the National Portrait Gallery, the Society 
 of Antiquaries, the Corporation of Trinity House, the 
 Garrick Club, the Bishop of Oxford, and many others. 
 By Mr. Gladstone he was treated with cordiality and 
 friendliness. Merritt was commanded to restore many 
 of the paintings at Hampton Court, and the large battle 
 scenes discovered under coats of house-paint on the 
 staircases of Marlborough House. 
 
 It is not surprising that with this incessant labour 
 are found accounts of constant, ever-increasing ill-health. 
 The malady of the lungs, which ultimately caused his 
 death, was already established. In vain was he ordered 
 to have change of air or a little rest. It is touching to 
 see how often he supplied his friends, one family especi- 
 ally, who depended upon him for every comfort, with the 
 
Recollections of Henry Merrill. 
 
 33 
 
 means of that enjoyment in the country or by the seashore, 
 while he remained at home literally to work for them. 
 
 About this time the friends with whom he lived pur- 
 chased of a building society a detached house on the 
 Oval Road, near the north-east corner of Regent's Park. 
 The house was called Dymoke Lodge, and was separated 
 by a long strip of garden from the deep cutting of the 
 railroad. Here Merritt gratified his love of plants and 
 animals, filling the garden with fruit-trees, vegetables, 
 and flowers, raising rabbits and poultry. Then it became 
 a difficult matter to protect the flower-beds from the 
 rabbits, but this was accomplished by laying down 
 drain-pipes for the marauders to burrow in. A small 
 fish-pond was stocked with tiny fish ; even a goat was 
 domesticated. A poor cat, whose tail had been merci- 
 lessly cut off, sought shelter under the garden wall, and 
 her wounds were dressed by a tender hand. It is ques- 
 tionable whether Merritt had more enjoyment in his 
 garden and live stock, or in the healthy amusement they 
 afforded to the children of his friends. Besides a studio 
 in 'The Lodge/ he now rented a studio in Langham 
 Street. It is a curious fact that, until 1865, Merritt 
 never put any money into a bank, and yet for ten years 
 he had constantly earned large sums. His excuse was 
 that some emergency might compel him to reduce the 
 bank account to the last shilling — whereas, being his 
 own banker, that could be done without mortification. 
 His method of banking was very simple, for the notes 
 he received were merely placed between the leaves of 
 books, and returned to his book-shelves. It was evi- 
 dent to all who knew him that his unlimited generosity 
 alone prevented him from saving a comfortable fortune. 
 
 vol. 1. D 
 
34 Recollections of Henry Merritt. 
 
 About 1859, a long and wearing affliction of a friend 
 caused Merritt great anxiety and even bodily fatigue. 
 His own health failed ; for several years he was so ill 
 and weak that he could undertake no work away from 
 his house. He was liable to long spells of unconscious- 
 ness, owing to an affliction of the heart of a most serious 
 nature, but he bore all his ills manfully, and continued 
 his work, both of the pencil and of the pen. 
 
 In 1865 he first offered his story called 'Robert 
 Dalby, and his World of Troubles,' to Messrs. Chapman 
 and Hall, by whom it was published. This story em- 
 bodied, if not in all respects the literal facts, at any rate 
 the very pith and marrow of his early experiences. It 
 was published anonymously, more from a certain diffi- 
 dence and modesty in the author, than from any wish to 
 conceal the trials he had endured. The authorship was 
 no secret from his acquaintances. 
 
 During the same summer Merritt wrote the story of 
 ' The Oxford Professor,' which, however, remained incom- 
 plete. He intended to re-write and alter parts, and even 
 thought of incorporating the best scenes only in a new 
 work. Carlotta, the heroine of this story, was a recollec- 
 tion of the famous harpist Maria Moesner, with whom, 
 some years before, he had a short acquaintance, and 
 whose power of musical expression had deeply impressed 
 him. Professor Campo is certainly drawn from himself, 
 perhaps unconsciously. 
 
 In the same year the portrait of 'Richard II/ was 
 restored. This monumental portrait, the earliest extant of 
 an English monarch, preserved in the Jerusalem Chamber 
 of Westminster, was lent by the Dean and Chapter 
 to the Great Exhibition of Manchester in 1857, and 
 
Recollections of Henry Merritt. 
 
 35 
 
 afterwards to the South Kensington Portrait Exhibition 
 in April 1866. On these occasions, from the interest of 
 the subject, the portrait attracted great attention, and its 
 condition was closely inspected. It became the general 
 opinion of critics that the original work lay buried under 
 thick repaintings at least a century old, and Mr. Rich- 
 mond, R.A. urged that the picture should be cleaned 
 before being returned to Westminster, and offered to 
 superintend the operation and to work upon important 
 parts himself. He argued so well that the picture was 
 confided to him by the Dean and Chapter, and was ac- 
 cordingly removed to Merritt's studio at the Lodge, where 
 the process of cleaning occupied several summer months. 
 Mr. Richmond gave day after day to superintend and 
 assist in the process, supplying the caution (as he has 
 himself expressed it) to Merritt's courage. They were 
 rewarded by discovering a portrait delicately painted in 
 tempera, quite uninjured by the superimposed oil- 
 paintings, and greatly superior to them in artistic 
 qualities. It was, in fact, a triumph of restoration. 
 
 About this time Merritt formed an engagement to 
 write art notices for the ' Standard,' and continued to do 
 so for the rest of his life. 
 
 In 1866 it became necessary to break up the home 
 at the Lodge ; and Merritt removed to Devonshire Street, 
 where he obtained a good suite of rooms on one floor, 
 and, if again lonely, at any rate found quiet and 
 peace. 
 
 With all the expenses he had undertaken for others, 
 it is not surprising that on removing to Devonshire 
 Street, having paid his quarter's rent in advance, he had 
 not five pounds left in the world. He had, however, a 
 
36 Recollections of Henry Merritt. 
 
 store of engravings, casts, valuable books, and comfort- 
 able furniture, work waiting for his hand more than could 
 be completed in a couple of years, and a good income 
 from his position on the press. 
 
 At this time a brother of Merritt's, with wife and 
 eight children, called upon him for support. I need not 
 detail the circumstances under which this brother, who 
 had long earned a good income, became utterly destitute 
 and helpless. It ended by Merritt's renting a cottage, 
 and supplying the family with all the necessaries of life 
 during eight years, when a legacy from a relative of the 
 wife made it for a time unneedful. 
 
 This brings Merritt's history to the period when first 
 I knew him. Can I better sketch his remaining years 
 than by describing his goodness to me ? He lived in 
 the utmost simplicity, but surrounded by the choicest 
 works of art. Among hundreds of ordinary pictures his 
 studio always contained a few of the world's master- 
 pieces. He delighted in them, but they were his tyrants. 
 He feared to leave the house ; though change and rest 
 were constantly urged upon him, and many friends in- 
 vited him to country homes, he never dared to leave 
 London. When one of these precious pictures was 
 safely returned, another was sure to fill its place. He 
 counted them when he went out, when he came in, and 
 in the wakeful hours of night. He seldom dared to have 
 a fire in the studio, and watched every fire in the house. 
 While he worked it was with energy, almost with fury. 
 Every thought was occupied, or rather his mind admitted 
 but one thought. After an hour's such effort he left the 
 studio, and threw himself wearily into the old arm-chair, 
 enjoying long, silent meditations, and a pipe. Sometimes 
 
Recollections of Henry Merritt. 37 
 
 his eyes rested on a window-flower, or on the dull, ugly 
 street ; and if I were in my corner opposite he would 
 signify that I must be quiet. After long silence, he would 
 then talk of Oxford as though he had lately walked 
 under her stately elms ; across the meadows, where nar- 
 cissus bloomed in spring ; or under her arches and old 
 crumbling walls, where dainty flowers found a footing in 
 every crevice of masonry. No beauty of his native place 
 was ever forgotten. 
 
 After the long illness, from which he gradually re- 
 covered after removing to Devonshire Street, and another 
 dangerous illness in the autumn of 1870, his health was 
 doubly delicate. His breathing was always obstructed, 
 his heart often faint. But he refused to regard these 
 ailments, and the cheerfulness of his conversation almost 
 concealed them from his friends. He used to be almost 
 always tired, and then, at the end of a busy day, 
 would wander out in the winter fogs to dine at a 
 restaurant or visit his few intimates. On the gloomiest 
 and darkest of November nights he liked to revisit the 
 neighbourhoods familiar in his days of poverty ; per- 
 haps to enter a cheap eating-house where he might find 
 people of the class among whom he had lived, and 
 who always retained his sympathy. After facing the 
 past in these dismal scenes he was not sorry to find me 
 at home, and to pour out to me the history of those 
 days. 
 
 He had little rest on Sundays. Then it was the 
 art notice had to be prepared, and it was seldom finished 
 before night. Most often he found time to give me a 
 lesson on Sunday morning. A number of my pictures 
 were kept as studies, never to be sold or exhibited, so 
 
38 
 
 Recollections of Henry Merntt. 
 
 that he felt free to paint upon them as was necessary for 
 my instruction. 
 
 Probably no master ever had a finer instinct for com- 
 position, for colour, for all the charms of chiaro oscuro, or 
 those peculiar bold touches which disguise and complete 
 the labour of days. 
 
 In these lessons he enjoyed the freedom of invention 
 which his own branch of art forbade. It was impossible 
 to witness the display of his imagination and knowledge 
 without realising in bitter sorrow that the real power and 
 aim of his life had been for ever thwarted. 
 
 As I acquired the mastery of materials, and began to 
 attempt ambitious designs, my master left me to my 
 own resources, interfering only when I fell into manifest 
 error. 
 
 One day in my absence he came into my studio, and 
 by way of pointing out an error in my picture left the 
 following sentences on my writing-table : — 
 
 * Leonardo loved Jessamine, which he used sparingly 
 as coronals, and the Narcissus. 
 
 ' Titian once in a way employed a few wild flowers, 
 which he set like gems. 
 
 ' Vandyke a rose, now and then a wreath. 
 
 i Velasquez seldom asked the aid of Flora. 
 
 ' Reynolds generalised flowers in his sylvan scenes 
 unrecognisable in the mass, and now and then of 
 blossoms a couple or so near at hand. 
 
 ' Raphael would content himself with a single flower, 
 as we see in his Holy Families. 
 
 ' Large masses are the aim of great massive minds, 
 and splashing about pigments of little triflers. 
 
 ' Much of a picture should slumber, and leave the 
 
Recollections of Henry Merrill. 
 
 39 
 
 soul to shine forth and speak as it were, and whatever 
 detracts from this, the main object, is wrong.' 
 
 With marvellous delicacy my master provided me 
 with materials to improve my style. His stores of 
 engravings, his casts, had long been at my command, 
 but the only draperies I possessed were modern stuffs 
 of little value. One summer afternoon, early in our 
 acquaintance, he came into my studio followed by his 
 servant with a bundle. This was deposited on the floor 
 and unfastened. With delightful satisfaction my master 
 unrolled piece after piece of rich silks and velvets woven 
 centuries ago in Venetian looms, wrought with flowers 
 that no modern could design, woven with threads of 
 gold or embossed with golden flowers. Dresses that 
 Juliet might have worn. Bits of brocade from the mantle 
 worn by the Doge when he sat to Bellini. My master 
 shook out each piece and threw it among others, not 
 forgetting contrasts and harmonies. I was enchanted, 
 but embarrassed. Was it a present ? How could I 
 accept such a treasure ? He had thought of this. 
 4 Little pupil, I do not give them to you. It would give 
 your friends something to talk about that might annoy 
 you. So these shall be my draperies, and I will lend 
 you them when you like. You cannot paint beautiful 
 pictures unless your eye is familiar with precious colour. 
 Every part of your picture must be studied from beautiful 
 objects.' 
 
 Under such tuition I soon was able to earn consider- 
 able sums. I had models and casts to my wish ; and 
 then gratified a fancy for old carved furniture to make 
 my studio picturesque. I wanted a piece of tapestry to 
 cover a certain blank wall, but was so rebuked for my 
 
40 Recollections of Henry Merrill. 
 
 extravagance that I dared not buy it. One afternoon I 
 looked into Mr. Merritt's study and found two pieces of 
 old tapestry with Sabine warriors designed by Julio 
 Romano spread out over the floor, while he was consult- 
 ing with our landlord where they should be placed. He 
 was in favour of hanging them in his study and fastening 
 the mirrors and brackets upon them. A barbarous 
 destruction, but he appeared quite serious, for there was 
 no other wall to spare. Our landlord suggested hanging 
 them in my studio, and then I observed a twinkle in the 
 master's eye, and discovered what had all along been his 
 intention, when he asked me if I could allow him to hang 
 them in my studio for the present. 
 
 In the sultry August weather of 1872 Mr. Merritt 
 sprained his foot. Then it was that his solitude and 
 loneliness seemed most oppressive, and that I first knew 
 the pleasure of soothing his lonely hours. Fretted with 
 many cares, at a season too when of his circle of sincere 
 friends hardly one was in London, he had to endure 
 pain, and for some months absolute confinement. A 
 boy waited on him, and was always at hand, but many 
 times a day this messenger brought me a line : ' Will 
 you come for a moment, Miss I^ea? ' And gradually I 
 ventured to come without being asked, and found ways 
 to make his imprisonment less irksome : to bring him 
 flowers, to arrange his papers, to fill his pipe, to know 
 all he wanted before he called for it. Sometimes I 
 painted at his easel, sometimes he made little sketches 
 to teach me principles of art, sometimes he would read 
 to me from favourite books ; oftenest I sat in my corner, 
 opposite his place, listening to the strange stories of his 
 life. Could I listen to such a history coldly ? 
 
Recollections of Henry Merritt. 41 
 
 1 Little pupil/ he said once, early in our acquain- 
 tance, 'you must not be deceived by my fondness for 
 .you. Remember I could not come through such a life 
 without many poor friends. You cannot understand 
 what it means to have been poor. I live, I have lived to 
 work for a dozen poor friends and relatives. I pay the 
 rent of three families. There is my brother with all 
 his children, I have had to keep them for some years. 
 Another brother has given up work now, and depends 
 upon me. The family with whom I lived fifteen years, 
 they have lived upon me so long that they regard it as 
 a right. They have kept me poor, but I cannot forsake 
 them. I must never think of marrying. If you were 
 only a poor little beggar, or anything but a rich, extra- 
 vagant American girl, I might take you to my heart. 
 But I won't! I knew I had no wealth to bring-him, but 
 why should I say that ? Would it not be almost asking 
 him to take me ? Is it not rather too much like bargain- 
 ing to say ' Feed and clothe me, and engage to do so for 
 ever, then I will love you.' It seemed to me the risk of 
 such a bargain would be all on his side. So we re- 
 mained master and pupil for five years, five happy years. 
 
 During these five years, when his every act, I might 
 say every thought, was known to me, his generosity 
 was amazing. Not only did he give to those whom he 
 cared for, but to some whom he despised, to one at least 
 who had grossly injured him. The sums he gave, taken 
 all together, were quite out of proportion to his earnings, 
 and thus his pensioners soon imagined his means to be 
 greater than they were. 
 
 No man perhaps ever won more sincere respect and 
 affection from those who came to him as employers and 
 
42 Recollectiofis of Henry Merritt. 
 
 remained as friends, enjoying the originality of his con- 
 versation, and the simple nobility of his character. I 
 should like to quote two of Professor Ruskin's letters, 
 because they so well describe a charm of Merritt's 
 nature. 
 
 ' Corpus Christi College, Oxford : December I, 1872. 
 
 'My dear Merritt, — When I got your story of a 
 flower I put it aside for a quiet day when I should not 
 be tired. 
 
 1 It has refreshed me this morning, being somewhat ill, 
 and not able to see anything golden anywhere but 
 through your young eyes. 
 
 ' It is very beautiful. Might I use it for my February 
 Fors ? 
 
 i Had you been a little less gently made you would 
 have been a great painter. The world has crumbled 
 you in its fingers, or, rather, used you as soft earth for its 
 own purposes, but you have made many a seeming dead 
 crocus bloom again. 
 
 * Ever affectionately yours, 
 
 'J. RUSKIN. 
 
 ' Henry Merritt, Esq.' 
 
 ' Bruntwood : January 19, 1875. 
 
 ' My dear Merritt, — I will be sure to give you due 
 alarm concerning the old masters. You have given 
 great pleasure to Carlyle by your report, and you always 
 give much to me whenever you write to me. I have no 
 other friend who says such pretty things to me, in a way 
 that reminds me of the little courtesies of old days, when 
 people were graceful by kind act in a letter as much 
 
Recollections of Henry Merritt. 43 
 
 as in a quadrille, and when flattery was the naughtiest 
 of one's faults to one's friends, never carelessness. 
 
 ' Ever affectionately yours, 
 
 'J. RUSKIN.' 
 
 The following letter was written on learning that I 
 had narrowly escaped shipwreck. After seventeen days 
 on the Atlantic, during ten of which the steamer was 
 helpless and almost hopeless, I had regained Liverpool, 
 and started again in a few hours for America. The 
 voyage in all was thirty-seven days. 
 
 'London : Dec. 8, 1872. 
 
 ' My dear Pupil, — I trust that by this time you are 
 safe, and quite recovered from your sea troubles. Read- 
 ing of them made us all grieve that you were allowed to 
 go at all until a better time. But what could be done 
 with a self-willed lady like you are ? Do not think that 
 I was neglectful in not replying to your two letters with 
 the Queenstown postmark upon them. Both letters 
 were too late, having, as I am told, met with contrary 
 winds on the ocean. I did not get either until twenty- 
 four hours after the latest time you named for answering 
 them. Mr. and Mrs. Easton and Mr. Hurth, to whom I 
 told your story, were much affected by it, as you may 
 well believe, for I never heard a sadder. 
 
 ' You are now happy, I trust, and able to smile again, 
 and paint pretty pictures to astonish your friends by 
 their rich colour. Paint some American beauties with 
 their expressive mouths, and if you meet with a handsome 
 Creole get her to sit. There is nothing like a picture of 
 a rare type of woman, especially when the nice differences 
 of feature are closely observed. There is ever novelty 
 
44 Recollections of Henry Merritt. 
 
 to be seen in nature wherever you go, but few are 
 conscious of the fact. You would like to hear the news, 
 but what I hear is not worth troubling about, for I have 
 not walked a quarter of a mile yet, and here I am now, 
 with my leg on the red-cushioned chair, just as you saw 
 me months ago. I do not despair, but the foot is at 
 present too weak to carry an elephant. There is really 
 nothing stirring, but I hear of a collection of pictures 
 forming for the Royal Academy Winter Gallery. The 
 Water Colour Institutions are all open now in Pall Mall 
 and thereabouts, but no great novelty distinguishes them 
 from collections of former years. The aim of the con- 
 tributors would seem to be to earn money. Do not, 
 pray, follow their example in this respect, but learn to 
 paint well. 
 
 ' I hardly know how to account for it, but now I wish 
 to write you a good letter, I have no ideas to put in it, 
 or I would. I am so stupid that I surprise myself; but 
 then, when we are past fifty we have not many reasons 
 to be hopeful, as you have ; for the young are trustful 
 always, as it is right they should be ; for to the young 
 every succeeding day brings new thoughts and ever- 
 brightening prospects, while the old have but to turn 
 their faces to the wall, which is a blank more or less. 
 I have nothing to send you of mine, for I write very un- 
 interesting notices at this time of the year, which you 
 would not care to read, although I feel that you have 
 very kind regards for me, as a pupil will necessarily 
 always have for any master who is willing to confide his 
 art-knowledge to others. If I have ever been helpful 
 to you, I am happy in the thought, for I know that you 
 will become no ordinary painter in a few years ; that is, 
 
Recollections of Henry Merritt. 45 
 
 if you are careful of your contours, and not wilfully 
 hasty, as is your wont to be. 
 
 ' I wish you and yours a merry Christmas. Kindly 
 remember me to all, and believe me 
 
 ' Ever faithfully yours, 
 
 ' H. Merritt.' 
 My master's nature speaks plainly in the following 
 letter, which I received from him during a visit of some 
 months to Philadelphia : — 
 
 '54 Devonshire Street, Portland Place, W., London, England: 
 'November 28, 1873. 
 
 ' Dear Pupil, — I am sure that the ocean is possessed of 
 some strange quality which has a saddening influence on 
 those who go down to the sea in ships. Otherwise why 
 is it that whenever I approach salt water my heart lies 
 dead within me, stifled as it were by the mighty flood 
 and its ceaseless commotion which ignores all trifles ? I 
 would hardly trust sensations and impressions born of 
 the * big 1 waters. Come to the reality, live among the 
 Smiths, the Browns, and the Robinsons, scheme daily and 
 hourly to keep pace with the rabble of life, and how 
 different are our thoughts of the world and of one 
 another ! Before this reaches Pine Street, Philadelphia, 
 you will have felt the bliss of being dear to those bright, 
 soft-eyed sisters of yours, and all that is morbid in your 
 thoughts will cease, and instead of the old teacher and 
 his soured existence, the example of young life will be 
 yours. Take to the same and partake of its joys. 
 
 ' I must stop this or I shall not be equal to many 
 more November days such as we now endure. Fogs 
 drop down into our streets in the most insulting way, 
 and we shudder to think what our poor will do without 
 
46 Recollections of Henry Merritt. 
 
 the means of getting fuel this winter ; and I, who am of 
 the poor, have no other thought just now than what I 
 can do for the less fortunate than myself, and perhaps I 
 have my share of misfortunes. My poor brother Joe 
 has just been run over and terribly injured. He may, if 
 he gets over it, remain on my books a pensioner for life. 
 I do not mean the one who has fallen from a good estate 
 to utter nothingness ; but a quiet steady fellow, whose 
 wife died leaving an only girl just sixteen years old now. 
 And so I work every day to get enough money for at 
 least half a dozen people. 
 
 ' I am airing your studio and repairing large pictures 
 in it. Everything, saving that your velvet cushions are 
 covered up, is as you left it. 
 
 ' Of course I miss my little torment, who ought to 
 know how much I cared for her interest, since I told her 
 all that time would permit me of things nobody else 
 could tempt me to sell. However, so that she acquires 
 the calm self-possession of a master, and paints with 
 deliberation beautiful and solemn things, which will im- 
 press the frivolous and do no end of good, my trouble 
 taken with her will turn out a blessing to me. Good- 
 bye for the present, learn to endure tiresome people, and 
 do not bite your pencils in anger. I fear now that you 
 are under the Stars and Stripes you will forget to be 
 gentle. You did not send a word to the people here, 
 and they seemed disappointed. They may not deserve 
 a line, but, if we talk of deserts, we are reminded of what 
 Shakespere said. Let me hear of you and your home 
 and its inmates soon. Give them my love and best 
 wishes. ' Ever faithfully yours, 
 
 ' Henry Merritt.' 
 
Recollections of Henry Merritt. 47 
 
 In the autumn of 1873 I again spent some months in 
 Philadelphia, and received a few letters from Merritt so 
 characteristic that some examples of them must be 
 given. 
 
 'January I, 1874. 
 
 1 My dear Pupil, — Many thanks. Twelve canvas- 
 back ducks reached here safely, and as fresh as possible, 
 on Tuesday morning. Of course, everybody had a 
 taste. The children had a party in your studio last 
 night, and kept it up till a late hour. No harm was done 
 to anything, save the carpet. 
 
 * And now let me, first of all, thank your dear sister 
 Gertrude for her most kind letter, and next, yourself, 
 for the wonderful estimate you are so good as to form 
 of me. I know myself well, and could contradict you 
 on every point concerning the view you take of me in 
 my feebleness. But this does not prevent my appre- 
 ciating the ' Yankee Gal ' and her courageous bearing, 
 and if I could serve her I would. When she comes to 
 England, I will get her a few lessons in drawing, which 
 will fix her in the right rules and principles taught by 
 Raphael himself, who was more divinely gifted with the 
 sublime power of expression than any mortal that I ever 
 heard of ; more especially was he mighty in the power 
 which women and little children unwittingly possess. 
 You shall yet know the art of eloquence in lines and 
 colours, the only language which speaks alike to all 
 people of all climes. Your father 'is a convert to fine 
 art. I think that he was right to like best the ' Babes in 
 the Wood,' because the children were pretty innocent 
 faces enough, whereas Tennyson's heroine belongs to an 
 
48 Recollections of Henry Merritt. 
 
 ideal world very far removed from daily life. I like 
 best myself beautiful objects within my reach ; and so 
 do you, or why delight so much with every look of 
 happy sisters on their advent into a new sphere of life 
 which to them gives every promise of happiness. 
 
 'Tell them all that I share with them the joy which 
 is theirs now, and will, I hope, always be theirs as long 
 as they live. 
 
 ' I have been writing incessantly, and am very tired, 
 so, for the present, good-bye. 
 
 ' Ever yours, 
 
 ' Henry Merritt.' 
 
 ' February 16, 1874. ' 1 
 
 ' Dear little Pupil, — I send a sketch of a very hope- 
 ful-looking morning, because I have to tell you that all 
 through the late cold weather and rain I have been 
 coughing, sans-intermission, with great violence and loss 
 of rest, and so I have become a little depressed. You 
 will therefore be pleased that the parts of your letters 
 which have had reference to weddings have been a solace 
 to me. 
 
 ' I could imagine you in a frame of mind to say 
 only the kindest things possible and to do generous acts 
 to everybody, for on such occasions most people manage 
 to be charitable, and especially those who pursue a 
 graceful creative art, for they find in art a life-joy denied 
 to those who follow only a plodding craft. You have 
 a trouble, and you create a beautiful face or a sunny 
 landscape which wins the admiration of beholders and 
 fills a blank in your own heart. 
 
Recollections of Henry Merritt. 
 
 49 
 
 1 God help me ! I know not what I should do with- 
 out my pictures. I never had a happy home ; and now I 
 slave to keep ungrateful relatives from disgracing me 
 by becoming paupers to sweep the streets. Compare 
 this with dear sisters on whom has burst a beautiful 
 prospect of earthly happiness, and then think that you 
 too, for all I know, might be happy, and leave off biting 
 your pencils. By the bye, I forget if I told you that I 
 took advantage of your kindness to put pictures in your 
 studio while mine was cleaned. It is again exactly as 
 you left it. 
 
 ' And now, little pupil, I hope that you will write 
 me about your studies in art, and how that you are 
 happy in them ; talk of eloquent persuasive lines and 
 colours that reflect the hues of Paradise. 
 
 1 The Author of " His World of Troubles." 
 
 'H. Merritt.' 
 
 For the following letter of this period I am indebted 
 to a friend, who will not give his name, or even that of 
 his work, because the letter praises it : 
 
 ■ December li, 1874. 
 
 ' My dear , — Were I an emperor, and you had 
 
 been instigated by my court physican to set your wits to 
 work and solace the jaded spirits of his majesty, you 
 could not have hit my distemper more completely than 
 you have done by your beautiful sympathetic account. 
 
 ' You might have known that my day-dreams and 
 my nightly visions teem with Gothic, a very forest of 
 glistening spires and pinnacles. 
 
 ' " Robert Dalby " tells of a scaffold-builder who carried 
 planks and poles to the top of spires and reached the 
 
 VOL. I. E 
 
50 Recollections of Henry Merritt. 
 
 gilt vanes in the clouds. I was with him and worked 
 with him. 
 
 ' In those days what discoveries did I not make ? 
 Through loop-holes which barely disturbed the gloom 
 within, I have seen strings of sleeping bats, and in dark- 
 some chambers found quaint carvings never intended to 
 see the light. As a boy I worked alone in the gloomy 
 cloister, and thought of the past. And all these 
 memories you have in spirit revived. Your book is 
 entirely in harmony with my life. 
 
 ' Faithfully yours, 
 
 'H. Merritt.' 
 
 'August 9, 1875. 
 
 ' Dear Pupil, — Content yourself with keeping about 
 and in the house making light sketches of herbs and 
 flowers and weeds of the common sort. Think of a 
 flower by Titian, like that in the Bacchus and Ariadne, 
 and the dandelion in seed, like that in the picture of 
 St. Catherine by Raphael. You need not wander far 
 for materials, and you do not need active employment 
 but repose. 
 
 * It is true I have suffered two or three days with the 
 atmosphere oppressing me always, but I have worked all 
 the same. 
 
 ' To-morrow I hope to go to Hampton Court in an 
 open carriage 
 
 ' Give my love to May, and do not prevent her enjoy- 
 ment of happy England. To-morrow when she will 
 have to flee the city of her home for shelter from the 
 
Recollections of Henry Merritt. 5 1 
 
 heat, she will call to mind the green fields of Godalming 
 with pleasure, I have only time to make a little sketch. 
 
 ' With my best wishes, 
 
 ' Yours faithfully, 
 
 1 H. Merritt.' 
 
 ♦August 25, 1875. 
 
 ' Dear Pupil, — This little sketch should teach you 
 how much depends upon what is called composition. 
 In all the studies you make do not lose sight of the art 
 of picture-making as taught by the great masters ancient 
 and modern. 
 
 ' Thus Salvator found dainty morsels of foliage among 
 the Alps, and Claude clumps of aspen on the plains 
 around Rome. 
 
 ' So much for art. I despair of your noting the signs 
 of the atmosphere and all that might enable you to 
 keep free of coughs and indigestion. Roast simple 
 meat, and eat a slice while hot with fresh vegetables and 
 wholesome bread. Walk only so far as you can cal- 
 culate your strength will warrant you ! Give my love 
 to May, and respects to Fraulein, and kind regards to 
 Liutz. 
 
 * Your affectionate teacher and monitor, 
 
 * H. Merritt.' 
 
 In the spring of 1874 a little sister was allowed to 
 accompany me to London, and we then lived at Devon- 
 shire Street in an upper apartment. The two years 
 following were full of happiness for us. In the evenings 
 Merritt delighted to have little Marion's company, and 
 to invent for her romantic tales which he knew how to 
 present in quaint and simple language. 
 
5 2 Recollections of Henry Merritt. 
 
 What humour there was in his caricatures of us. 
 Marion always appeared as a young swan, with lifted 
 head and a sidelong look from her eye ; while I was 
 easily recognised in a small bantam hen, looking up to 
 the swan with a hopeless attempt at command. 
 
 He was fond at times of silent meditation, and then 
 could tolerate no movement. Sewing he detested ! he 
 would not allow any sort in his presence. When his 
 cough had somewhat yielded to mild weather, he 
 would reach down a favourite guitar, and sing delightful 
 old ballads with an accompaniment wholly original. We 
 kept a programme written on the wall, and constantly he 
 would remember new old ballads, not heard since child- 
 hood, and they were added to our list. In the course of 
 time the melodies may have become somewhat trans- 
 formed, but they never were sung with more pathos. I 
 dared not in such happy evenings bring up a word about 
 pictures. ' Romola ! ' with an air of reproach, would be 
 his only reply. 
 
 I contrived to see him in the morning at his break- 
 fast, and during the fifteen minutes' rest afterwards, when 
 he smoked his pipe. How wearily he always lay back 
 in the old chair. No wonder, for all winter and spring 
 his violent cough made rest impossible. He treated it 
 with supreme indifference, or even with a sort of satisfac- 
 tion. 
 
 ' It would be impossible to cough so splendidly/ he 
 would say, 'with weak lungs.' His old and dear friend, 
 Dr. Bird, used every argument to induce him to take 
 better care of his health. Once he was persuaded to try 
 some remedies, from which he derived little benefit, and 
 then he wrote to the Doctor : 
 
Recollections of Henry Merritt. 53; 
 
 ' My cough is no better, although I have practised it 
 continually.' 
 
 When he discovered that he raised blood he would 
 only use red silk handkerchiefs, so that he might not 
 notice it. He resolutely put aside every thought of him- 
 self, and suffered for years manfully what would kill 
 most people in a month. 
 
 In the spring of 1876 I was compelled to visit 
 America, and to take my young sister back to our 
 parents. It was promised me that I should return to 
 England the following autumn. The thought of leaving 
 him even for a few months was horrible, but there was 
 no help. So long as I had a penny in my purse I had 
 managed to postpone the dreadful day ; but just then I 
 had not a penny of my own. Therefore I was reduced 
 to the sad plight of a dutiful child, and started on the 
 dreaded journey. My dread of it was realised ; circum- 
 stances quite unforseeen arose to prevent my return. It 
 depended, at least, upon my own exertions to find the 
 means, and in America, in a financial crisis such as then 
 existed, few people were likely to buy my pictures. 
 The Centennial Exhibition, too, had overstocked the 
 market. The long hot summer, six weary months, when 
 all the world are scattered through mountain resorts or 
 along the shore, had to go by before a chance of exer- 
 cising my pencil could be expected, and meanwhile I had 
 double rents to pay in London, and for studios in 
 America. Scarcely had I arranged one in Philadelphia, 
 wnen a commission called me to New York. The kind 
 and thoughtful tone in which my beloved master encour- 
 aged me in these trials can best be appreciated in a few 
 of his letters. 
 
54 Recollections of Henry Merrill. 
 
 1 54 Devonshire Street, Portland Place, W. 
 'London : May 8, 1876. 
 
 ' My dear little Pupil, — Lest the newspapers I post 
 with this should be lost, I enclose a cutting of Article 
 No. 3. No doubt there will be much confusion in Phila- 
 delphia, and therefore you will have no time to send me 
 too many letters about the pictures. Please confine 
 your remarks chiefly to your own concerns and of those 
 more immediately around you. 
 
 ' The place seems solitary now that you are away, 
 no one knocking at my door any more. Even the ballad 
 singers have disappeared, while the organ men sent by 
 the Italian model are rarely heard. 
 
 ' You imagine that I shall forget you. Am I likely 
 after all the trouble I have taken to make a painter of 
 you ? Do we plant fruit trees in order to leave them 
 when the blossoms that are to produce peaches and 
 apples appear ? Some day you will learn to value your 
 many precious gifts better than to surmise that anyone 
 possessing understanding will fail to appreciate a 
 talented girl. Those who have hearts — there are not 
 many — will not fail to see that Anna M. Lea is also a 
 generous girl. I saw it long ago, or I should hardly 
 have taken the trouble to teach her to spread colours 
 upon canvas. 
 
 ' Ever your sincere Friend, 
 
 'Henry Merritt.' 
 
 'June 6, 1876. 
 
 ' Dear little Pupil, — Above is a picture of complete 
 repose shut in from all the world. Try and bring your 
 mind into the same temper and frame, for I find that 
 you already take to exciting scenes. 
 
Recollections of Henry Merrill. 5 5 
 
 'Your letter came last night, and the newspaper 
 this morning. Art criticisms in America are certainly- 
 meagre. 
 
 ' Julia wrote a nice sparkling letter in acknowledg- 
 ment of the mournful landscape I sent. I hardly expect 
 one from May now that she is in the Free States. Here 
 she was a sort of prisoner. Father and mother must be 
 proud of her. Anyhow she cost me something for jam. 
 All the feeding and coaxing would be wasted if be- 
 stowed upon you, because you are always sighing for a 
 perfection in your art which cost Titian a life to accom- 
 plish. Take heart and faith in the future, and all will 
 come right. Go as much as you may in the woods, and 
 as little as possible to the Exhibition. 
 
 ' Give my kind regards to father and mother, and all 
 who care to hear of me. 
 
 4 " This comes hoping to find you well, as it leaves 
 me at present " (old style). 
 
 ' Ever faithfully yours, 
 
 ' Henry Merritt.' 
 
 'June 18, 1876. 
 
 1 My dear little Pupil, — In a lonely spot like this no 
 American could survive long. There are no telegraphs, 
 no post-boxes, no communications with the world. Yet 
 somehow I fancy it. In such a place about fifty kinds 
 of birds would come, and all manner of little creatures 
 abound. Your moonlit waters and birds belong to ano- 
 ther race and world. It would take long to grow accus- 
 tomed to the sounds all new. Your liking for them 
 proves the fact that you belong to the soil where the 
 moon rains down a purple mist, and the oriel bird dwells 
 
56 Recollections of Henry Merrill. 
 
 among the branches of the trees. So much for the 
 poetical. Now for the prose. Business is at a standstill 
 perfectly dreadful ; all the big shopkeepers look miser- 
 able. At home, the corridor with its creeping plants will 
 be attended to. The lilies did not blossom ; a few 
 small promises of flowers ended in nothing. This is no 
 place for flowers, except flowers of speech. The future 
 is a trouble to me. I therefore dwell in the present. 
 
 ' Paint as many nice faces and hands as you can ; 
 choose subjects which you can do wholly from nature, 
 and you will be sure to do well. The moment you begin 
 to splash and dash with paint you paint " bunkum." I 
 forget how to spell the word, but you will know what I 
 mean. The best pot boilers are the best and most irre- 
 sistible pictures. Little and good. A sonnet in fourteen 
 lines will, if perfect, as some I know, give immortality 
 to its author. I am as well as when you left me. Most 
 pleased with that part of your letter which refers to 
 your health as so much improved. Kind regards to 
 all. ' Ever faithfully yours, 
 
 ' H. Merritt.' 
 
 'September 8, 1876. 
 
 * Dear little Pupil, — You will find by reading my last, 
 that I had anticipated something like the above, since 
 confirmed by yours of August 25. I see how matters 
 are with you. Become a second mother to your sisters, 
 you will find it no easy matter to wean them. I know 
 too well the power of the spell which these grown-up 
 babes weave about you, and how impossible it becomes 
 to break with the weakly. It is thus that our best aims 
 are ever thwarted, and we become the mere servants of 
 
urkuot S aXitus^t 'found *rru^, dtUf** 
 
Recollections of Henry Merritt. 57 
 
 those about us. Since you left I have been almost 
 altered by the constant clamour of those who have sup- 
 posed claims upon me. 
 
 ' Your poor teacher has had no rest. Pictures come 
 in daily and few go out. 
 
 ' Time will shape a future no doubt, so keep on keep- 
 ing on, as I do. I am as well as usual, and that is not 
 quite well. 
 
 ' Your friend, 
 
 'H. Merritt.' 
 
 1 September 26, 1876. 
 
 ' Dear little Pupil, — On the other sheet is a weary 
 bantam, arrived at a peaceful spot, where everything 
 speaks, or rather breathes, of repose. 
 
 ' You have a studio, model, and all sorts of materials, 
 so there is no reason now why you should not be quiet, 
 and quite free to go on with your work. 
 
 ' If you, in your grand way, talk of paying me for 
 the services rendered you in your absence, you shall 
 never have a letter or a sketch from your old teacher 
 from that moment until the next time ! 
 
 1 Your well-wisher and friend, 
 
 ' H. Merritt.' 
 
 ' December 24, 1876. 
 
 ' Dear little Pupil, — I have only time to send you the 
 above recollection of " Early Days," a reedy spot on the 
 Cherwell, the river on which I almost passed my days. 
 Have only one outlet in the background of your portrait, 
 or you will destroy its oneness and repose. I would 
 
58 
 
 Recollections of Henry Men'itt. 
 
 give you an illustration of this, but I am so very tired, 
 owing to great exertions in preparing Exhibition of Old 
 Masters at Burlington House. 
 
 ' I have hardly had time to eat, much less to write. 
 Please thank Julia for her kind letter. So May has been 
 acting Sleeping Beauty. That is a divine creature your 
 sister. I had to lock the photograph up for fear of having 
 it stolen by some of the artists who look in. Woolner 
 was charmed when he beheld it. 
 
 . ' The Watsons are about to write you, so I am 
 spared the trouble of speaking in their behalf. 
 
 ' I am writing this on Christmas Eve, which falls this 
 year on Sunday. Perhaps you know that, but to make 
 sure, I mention the fact. A thousand good wishes. 
 
 ' I am, dear little Pupil, 
 
 ' Your affectionate adviser, 
 ' H. Merritt.' 
 
 'January 7, 1877. 
 
 'My dear Pupil, — The little sketch is worth all 
 the commonplace things I could recollect respecting 
 the loss of your dear grandmother. I wish that I could 
 have seen her. 
 
 ' You will find an intelligent appreciation at the home 
 where this will reach you, but please do not build so 
 many castles in the air. Only be so very earnest when 
 you are trying to paint like Titian, or rather as well as 
 that famous Venetian. 
 
 'Always begin a face cautiously in low tones, and 
 before you begin to load your canvas, make sure of your 
 likeness, because with any failing on that point, all other 
 labour is worth so much as the best floor-cloth. The 
 
Recollections of Henry Merritt. 
 
 59 
 
 resemblance once fixed, guard it from that wayward 
 brush of yours, and make the light fall in the right 
 places : for if you understand me the commencement of 
 the process should chiefly concern the shadows, over 
 which you must spend time in order to secure the like- 
 ness. 
 
 ' You kindly inquire after me and my health. It is 
 about my winter's standard. I look the same, cough the 
 same, have the same affectionate regard for Pupil that 
 I ever had since I beheld her. 
 
 ' I hope you gave your young people lessons in knit 
 ting and tatting, so that in future they will be able to get 
 on very well ; although it seems wrong to deprive poor 
 people of the profits which ought to come of the making 
 of socks, &c. — I mean those who supply the shops. 
 
 1 Ever faithfully yours (overworked), 
 'Henry Merritt.' 
 
 ' February 9, 1877. 
 
 'My dear Pupil, — Nobody can feel for you better 
 than I can, and it grieves me to think that, now you 
 are embarked on your own account, you should be beset 
 with troubles. 
 
 ' You ought to have found letters at Ottawa which 
 were meant to console you for the loss of your dear 
 grandmother. There was some reason in trying to do 
 so, but the loss you anticipated in your letter from 
 Ottawa admits of no alleviation save that which time 
 can and will bring you. There are griefs which only 
 increase with years — 1 as streams their channels wider 
 wear,' — but griefs of this enduring kind usually spring 
 from bad actions. The memory of the good can never 
 act as thorns in the side. 
 
6o 
 
 Recollections of Henry Merritt. 
 
 ' The living have a claim on us, and while we give 
 way to sorrow we unfit ourselves for the work of to-day. 
 I have no time to say more now, save that you ought to 
 have regard for yourself. You have been much thwarted 
 by the free use you make of your sympathies. That 
 portion of mankind who live from hand to mouth have 
 no time for the luxury of woe. This I know well 
 enough from experience. So please pluck up your 
 spirit and be big and brave, 
 
 ' Your affectionate adviser, 
 • Henry Merritt/ 
 
 1 54 Devonshire Street, Portland Place, London : 
 'November 25, 1876. 
 
 ' My dear Pupil, — Here are three sketches just to 
 remind you of Europe where you have been. You will 
 no doubt come here again greatly improved in all ways. 
 In health, I hope, and as a painter. The little sketches 
 I send are made to fully realise the broader features of 
 the scenes depicted, leaving out trivial things. Do 
 likewise, only on a nobler scale. Seize upon the salient 
 objects first, and make out details after you have secured 
 an idea of what the total of a composition should be. 
 
 'So much for art. You are still the little bantam 
 with those children who have no imperfection. It is all 
 very well, but my heart goes with the poor. I stand 
 and look at the schoolboard children leaving school, and 
 note among them many most beautiful ; and that with 
 barely enough rags to cover them, like the children of 
 Murillo. Love your own people, but remember those 
 who claim to be fellow-creatures only. I say this 
 because an artist who would paint big pictures must 
 
Recollections of Henry Merrill. 
 
 61 
 
 needs have a big heart and a sympathising soul, like the 
 renowned St. Christopher (whose name I formerly wrote 
 under) who could only be induced to mingle with the 
 least fortunate of mortals. 
 
 1 1 hardly know where you may receive this letter, 
 possibly in Canada, but wherever you may be re- 
 member me as one who despises trivial things on canvas. 
 
 ' Your affectionate friend, 
 
 ' H. Merritt.' 
 
 After waiting for months fortune came to me all 
 at once, and important commissions crowded upon me. 
 Scarcely had I a chance to begin work when death 
 snatched from us two of my dearest relatives. Grief 
 unfitted me for painting, but the longing to see my 
 master again gave me courage to return to it. At last, 
 about the middle of March, I reached Liverpool. Only 
 of late had I begun to realise the uncertainty of life, and 
 on the lonely ocean voyage a terror grew upon me that 
 I might not see again my dear master. As the distance 
 between us shortened greater was my fear, until at last it 
 ended in a joyful meeting. What a happy evening ! 
 A little festival was prepared for me. My studio in 
 order, and lighted up, to show my last picture in the 
 frame he had provided. My favourite plants carefully 
 tended, primulas, crocuses, and tulips in bloom, where- 
 ever a nook could be found for them. A little supper 
 spread for us. But all these cares were almost wasted 
 upon me. I could only see my dear, dear master. 
 
 1 Little Pupil,' he said, ' we shall be married. I can- 
 not part with you again. I am like a ship at the end of 
 
62 Recollections of Henry Merritt. 
 
 a long voyage, after ploughing the ocean for many a 
 year, become covered with barnacles and all sorts of 
 queer clinging weeds. But I do not see why I should 
 give up our happiness for the sake of ungrateful people, 
 who only think of what money they can get from me. 
 We can still spare something for them, but in time per- 
 haps you will have to defend me from them. You will 
 be happy living in a cottage, as we soon shall, when I 
 show you what a beautiful life it can be made. You 
 are my only true friend, we must never be separated.' 
 
 In about three weeks we were married privately in 
 St. Pancras Church. We met in the vestry, and walked 
 home together. Our most intimate friends were informed 
 when we saw them. Even in this first happiness he began 
 to speak of approaching death. ' We are too happy,' he 
 would say, ' it cannot last. Learn to think of my death. 
 You must accustom yourself to the idea. It appals me 
 to think what will become of you when I am taken. 
 Remember only to plant an elm-tree over me.' 
 
 How happy we were ! — and yet, day by day, a terror 
 grew into my joy. He suffered constantly, although his 
 face expressed only supreme happiness. The last time 
 he left the house was on his birthday, when we drove 
 to Hampton Court, and spent the day in a little inn- 
 parlour overlooking the river, and beyond the old brick 
 palace, screened by stately elms. It was of all scenes 
 near London that which he most enjoyed. We talked of 
 the cottage we should have in that neighbourhood, and 
 the quiet rest of old age : of the books he would write 
 out of his stores of strange experience. 
 Another rest was in store for him ! 
 For some days he lay between life and death ; then 
 
Recollections of Henry Merrill. 
 
 63 
 
 rallied so far that we felt safe and confident. But, so 
 soon as he was allowed to give up the recumbent posi- 
 tion, his weary heart refused to do its work, and surely 
 and steadily failed. 
 
 Suffering became intense, but was never more nobly 
 borne. His constant thought was for me. He feared 
 my fatigue, he- feared my anxiety ; but it was my great 
 comfort that he could not spare me from him. No one 
 else could be permitted to wait upon him, and for every 
 trifling service he was so grateful, as though he did 
 not expect to be tenderly nursed. 1 1 have borne years 
 of loneliness,' he said, ' but happiness is too much 
 for me." 
 
 Almost to the last he gave each day some attention 
 to his business. Work was pointed out for his assist- 
 ants, and what they had done was brought to him for 
 criticism. Sometimes he insisted upon touching the 
 picture himself. Even then his suffering was so violent 
 that it was not possible for him to see many friends who 
 called. His patron and dear friend, Mr. William Gra- 
 ham, was with him every day, and Dr. Bird nursed him 
 and watched over him with the affection of a brother. 
 All encouraged me to hope, but I knew better than all 
 the suffering he endured. 
 
 After a fainting spell one night early in July Merritt 
 seemed convinced of his fate. In the morning there was a 
 sternness, or rather firmness, in his expression that awed 
 me. His breathing was so shallow that he could hardly 
 move, but he shaved himself and insisted upon dressing. 
 Then he crossed the entry to our dining-room. There 
 he summoned his assistants, devoted friends they were, 
 who had worked for him, the one ten the other twenty 
 
6 4 
 
 Recollections of Henry Merrill. 
 
 years, and who now waited at hand every day on the 
 chance of being useful. He insisted upon having at 
 once their accounts for the past month, and sent me to 
 look for any bills unpaid. He wrote cheques for all, and 
 thought of those pensioners to whom he usually sent aid. 
 Then for me, although he had provided me with a bank 
 account of my own, he wrote a cheque for a large sum. 
 I protested against it, but he insisted. These affairs 
 settled to his mind, he returned to the bedroom. From 
 the entry he could look down the mews through an open 
 window. No beautiful view to most people, but he 
 could see what he liked in anything. ' One last look,' 
 he said, 'what a beautiful place, full of grottoes and 
 nymphs ! ' In early dawn, at this season, about two 
 o'clock, he would have the curtains drawn aside that he 
 might gaze upon the chimney-pots. In this light they 
 were beautiful to him. He would say, ' That is how 
 Velasquez would have painted them.' 
 
 Among many proofs of esteem was one from Mr. W. J. 
 Farrer, who wrote to Merritt, supposing him to be con- 
 valescent, and offered his country house for a few weeks. 
 I read the kind letter to my husband, hoping it would 
 inspire cheerfulness and courage. He had scarcely 
 breath to say, ' I fear it is too late. Everything in my 
 life has come too late. I could not buy good food and 
 clothing until my health was ruined. Now I have the 
 dearest wife, I cannot live to enjoy happiness.' 
 
 After a few days, as suffering increased, we spoke 
 together once of the parting that might be. 
 
 ' I am not afraid to die,' he said ; ' I have been a good 
 man.' 
 
 His only other thought was anxiety for me and to 
 
Recollections of Henry Merritt. 65 
 
 console me. ' Do not despair. Take heart ; I will try to 
 live for your sake.' 
 
 Soon again the torture became so terrible that I can- 
 not speak of it. To the last his mind was clear, his 
 senses acute ; only morphine injected into the veins 
 brought a short forgetfulness. The long death-struggle 
 lasted for hours. He held out his arm to me many times 
 to be lifted up, and then, unable to speak, he still found 
 strength to recognise me by gently moving his hand 
 upon my shoulder. In eight hours he slowly breathed 
 away, keeping his face towards mine, his eyes upon me. 
 For ever his face in its agonised beauty floats before me. 
 I see the world only through this pale shadow of pain 
 and love. 
 
 Merritt died at the age of fifty-five. Mr. Frederick 
 Willis Farrer offered a most touching mark of friendship 
 in requesting that his friend might be buried in his vault 
 at Brompton. I gratefully accepted the generous kind- 
 ness, and there Merritt was interred. But when I felt 
 able to realise all that had occurred, and remembered 
 how often my beloved master had asked me to plant an 
 elm-tree above him, and saw how impossible it was to do 
 so at Brompton, Mr. Farrer with equal kindness per- 
 mitted me to remove my husband to a ground I chose at 
 Woking. It seems a fitter place for one who so loved 
 fields and flowers, and the promised elm-tree is planted 
 there. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 F 
 
DIRT AND PICTURES SEPARATED 
 
 F 2 
 
CHAPTER I. 
 
 OBSCURED PICTURES. 
 
 It has been said that the delight of a connoisseur is 'a 
 dark, invisible, very fine old picture ; ' and there can be 
 no doubt of the existence, among admirers of the old 
 masters, of considerable reverence for the mysterious 
 stains and discolourations which pictures acquire by 
 neglect, in the long lapse of years. Enthusiastic 
 collectors will exult in the ' golden ' splendour of a 
 Claude, the 'glowing warmth' of a Cuyp, or the 'rich 
 transparent browns ' of Rembrandt, which qualities, in 
 a large degree, are occasioned by coatings of discoloured 
 varnishes and oils, producing upon the pictures effects 
 similar to layers of stained glass. A celebrated critic, 
 speaking of Sebastiano del Piombo's 1 Raising of 
 Lazarus,' in the National Gallery, grows eloquent on the 
 dark incrustation by which that famous composition is 
 obscured. He says, ' the figure of Lazarus is very fine 
 and bold. The flesh is well baked, dingy, and ready to 
 crumble from the touch, when it is liberated from its 
 dread confinement to have life and motion impressed on 
 it again.' Thus it is inferred that Sebastiano stooped to 
 the trivial artifice of imparting an appearance of half 
 putrefaction to the exhumed corpse. The ' baked ' look 
 of the figure is an affair of time and the critics, and not 
 of the original painter. Did not Hazlitt overlook the 
 
70 Dirt and Pictures Sepa7'ated. 
 
 too evident fact, that the noble picture referred to is 
 embedded beneath a thick covering, compounded of half 
 opaque varnish, patches of modern paint, and dirt, and 
 that the figure of Lazarus is only discoloured in the 
 same degree as the other portions of the work ? The 
 same critic dwells rapturously on the decayed Cartoons 
 of Raphael at Hampton Court. After describing the 
 spirit and beauties of those divine pictures, he proceeds 
 to account for their transcendental qualities, which he 
 thinks 1 perhaps are not all owing to genius — something 
 may be owing to the decayed and dilapidated state of 
 the pictures themselves/ which ' are the more majestic 
 for being in ruins.' He delights to observe 'that all the 
 petty, meretricious part of the art is dead in them ; ' that 
 ' the carnal is made spiritual ; ' that ' the corruptible has 
 put on incorruption ; ' and that ' amidst the wreck of 
 colour, and the mouldering of material beauty, nothing 
 is left but a universe of thought, or the broad, imminent 
 shadows of calm contemplation or majestic pains.' We 
 dissent with deference from the opinions of one who so 
 often thought justly, and always expressed himself well. 
 But when the mind escapes from the enchanting thraldom 
 of these imposing words, we are disposed to ask, ' Did it 
 never occur to critics accepting these views absolutely, 
 that if the painter had intended all these appearances of 
 decay, and included the infirmities of age among the 
 beauties of his design, that it was in his power to have 
 produced them before he dismissed the work from his 
 studio ? ' Doubtless, he never contemplated such effects, 
 and we are bound to study the intention of the master, 
 and to respect it. Is not every eminent picture-buyer 
 jealous of the imposition of modern copies upon him as 
 
Dirt and Pictures Separated. 
 
 7i 
 
 the incontestable productions of the master ? The artistic 
 impostor — the dread of the connoisseur and the disgrace 
 of art — owes the success of his counterfeit issues to this 
 fashion of preserving the genuine productions in a half 
 invisible state. Artificial discolourations and layers of 
 dirt are to these creators of the ' modern antique ' what 
 night and darkness are to the highwayman and the 
 burglar. If decay is to be trusted as the source of so 
 much beauty, it should lead to practical results, which 
 we never see attempted by any partisan of the theory. 
 Whatever principle is true in theory may become the 
 foundation of practice ; but what would be said if some 
 ingenious theorist, of a scientific turn, should haply dis- 
 cover some process by which the decay of pictures might 
 be facilitated, and the picture-gazer of this age be enabled 
 to possess himself of intellectual delights which in the 
 ordinary course of things he would never live to enjoy ? 
 What would be said if, seized with this idea, the Trustees 
 of the National Gallery should order the most valuable 
 of the pictures in their charge to undergo an ordeal to 
 get rid of their gross ' material 5 and ' carnal ' qualities ? 
 We should soon see this theory of beauty by destruction 
 considerably recast. 
 
 The value in which the learned Doctor Cornelius 
 held the 'rust, the precious aerugo/ which clung so 
 tenaciously to the famous shield, is not extraordinary, 
 when contrasted with the singular affection manifested 
 by able connoisseurs for the ' venerable verdure ' which 
 obscures so many chefs-d'oeuvre of the old painters. 
 The strange appearances of decay which that learned 
 Doctor styles 'the traces of time,' and 'beautiful ob- 
 scurities, where doubts and curiosities go hand in hand, 
 
72 Dirt and Pictures Separated. 
 
 and eternally exercise the speculations of the learned ' 
 — these awaken quite as much interest and admiration 
 when discovered on the surfaces of old pictures as 
 when found on half-obliterated coins and battered 
 armour. But whoever shall employ any artifice to 
 decay pictures, in order to realise these beauties, will 
 soon be reminded that we keep costly Picture Galleries 
 and National Museums, in which to preserve valuable 
 remains of the Fine Arts ; and, despite our theory 
 that 
 
 ' Statues 7?ioulder into worth? 
 
 and that pictures put off the ' corruptible ' to put on 
 ' incorruption,' we keep the day of supreme perfection as 
 far distant as we are able. 
 
 Hogarth, being much in the company of cognoscenti, 
 and hearing them continually aver that the works of the 
 old painters were much indebted for the charms which 
 they possessed to the mellowing influence of time, took 
 an opportunity to venture a contrary opinion, asserting 
 that ' pictures only grew black and worse by age.' 
 Walpole, commenting upon this, sides with the collectors, 
 saying that Hogarth could not 'distinguish in what 
 degree the proposition might be true or false.' Doubt- 
 less Hogarth intended his words for those who, in his 
 time, were affecting such unqualified admiration of rust 
 and dirt. The painter would have admitted that colours 
 do gradually soften in the drying ; but this natural 
 softening is a very different effect to that which is pro- 
 duced by a horn-like incrustation spread equally over 
 the whole surface of the picture. 
 
 It may be said with confidence, that the charms of 
 pictures having any pretensions to fine colouring cannot 
 
Dirt and Pictures Separated. 73 
 
 be enhanced by this over- rated 'varnish of time' — 
 especially those subjects which partake of a ' gay and 
 festive' character, of which the productions of Rubens 
 and Watteau furnish examples. The annoyance which 
 the delicate, fantastic ladies of the Frenchman would 
 have felt at its presence on their sparkling robes of silk 
 and satin, is precisely what the gazer should feel when it 
 interferes with his enjoyment of the pictures of this 
 charming court painter ; and the same may be said of 
 the incrustation, when it hides from us the ruddy, 
 glowing objects depicted by the luscious pencil of the 
 great Fleming. It has been said of another painter's 
 colours — whose pictures, from the intense religious 
 sentiment they possess, are so well suited to the cloister 
 — ' That it would seem as if he could have dipped his 
 pencil in the hues of some serenest and star-shining 
 twilight ; ' and let it be urged that colours so pure and 
 refined as to merit this distinctive eulogy little need the 
 addition of a 1 golden ' glaze. 
 
 The great preponderance of brown colour which we 
 observe on the pictures of Rembrandt, and the yellow or 
 gold cast on the works of Titian, have resulted from 
 causes in no way originating with those painters. Few 
 masters' productions are seen to worse advantage than 
 Titian's, and that by reason of the very effects which are 
 said to mellow and improve them. In illustration of 
 this, we may cite an example offered by the present 
 writer in a letter to the ' Athenaeum.' A portrait by one 
 of the Venetian masters (which came under the writer's 
 notice) furnished a striking example of time-mellowing. 
 The lawn robe of the Ecclesiastic, precisely and delicately 
 pencilled, with a century's dirt upon it, is not like lawn, 
 
74 
 
 Dirt and Pictures Separated. 
 
 but like sackcloth. Its innumerable small folds and 
 indentations — its chaste, lily-like whiteness and violet- 
 hued shadowings — are all buried and lost. His holiness 
 has no longer the fiery eye of the serpent. The emerald 
 stone on the shrivelled finger is no longer lustrous. The 
 clean, elaborate grey beard is a fiction ; the truth of the 
 carnations a matter of faith ; and the ample cape of 
 crimson velvet has sunk into a coarse cloth of sober 
 brown. 
 
 Granting to admirers of richly-toned pictures that 
 old oils and varnishes sometimes produce pleasing effects 
 in parts of the foregrounds in sunny pictures, yet the 
 impropriety of preserving them, even on such portions, 
 cannot be doubted, when we reflect that neither Claude 
 nor Cuyp, nor any painter, is to be justly credited with 
 the creation of beauties which are the result of chance ; 
 for chance never formed part in any great artist's 
 calculation of effects. Reflection brings us to believe 
 that the slightest film on a fine picture is an undoubted 
 evil. Every good picture, no matter what the subject — 
 whether figures or landscape, or both combined — suffers 
 more or less in proportion to the extent of its obscura- 
 tion. An idea of distances, and the appearances of 
 remote objects, can only be realised by a skilful manage- 
 ment of air tints. Truth is as much obscured in a picture 
 by the corruption of these tints as in linear perspective 
 by the perversion of the lines. 
 
 The horn-like glazing of old varnish and oils must 
 needs defile all the refinements which constitute a fine 
 landscape. Nor is the hateful incrustation less hurtful 
 in other portions of the picture. Its pernicious in- 
 fluence is alike traceable on the boldest parts of near 
 
Dirt and Pictures Separated. 75 
 
 objects. The 'purple tinge which the mountain 
 assumes as it recedes or approaches ; the grey moss 
 upon the ruin ; the variegated greens and mellow browns 
 of foliage ' — in short, the colours in every part of nature, 
 suffer alike from the much-admired ' varnish of time.' 
 In historical pictures, the nicer points, which are the 
 evidence of mastery, are alike involved. The various 
 distinctions of colour in age and in sex, the * bloom of 
 youth and the wan cheek of sickness,' are not spared. 
 The ' golden ' compound is permitted to reduce each 
 and all into one level tone ; and cheerfulness and 
 gloom, hope and despair, the times of the day and the 
 seasons of the year, all wear the same look of sadness 
 when beheld through the smoked glass of the picture- 
 worm ; for there are picture-worms as well as ' book- 
 worms.' 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 DURABILITY OF PICTURES IN OILS. 
 
 The complimentary language of Pope to Jervas, the 
 portrait painter, in the following couplet — 
 
 • Beauty, frail flower, which every season fears, 
 Blooms in thy colours for a thousand years,' 
 
 might be applied to many of the old painters with con- 
 siderable show of truth. It is no uncommon thing, on 
 cleaning pictures which have been painted two, three, 
 and even four hundred years, to discover the colours 
 fresh and beautiful as when they left the palette. The 
 
j6 Dirt and Pictures Separated. 
 
 flower pieces of John Van Huysum, Mignon, Seghers, 
 and De Heem, yet vie with nature in brightness of tints. 
 While penning this, the author has before him a work by 
 Seghers, composed of a few white and red roses inter- 
 woven with an ivy wreath, side by side with some roses 
 fresh from the garden, placed in a sunny window, so as to 
 have the shadows of a dark grove, at a short distance 
 beyond, for background ; and such is the truthfulness 
 and tenderness of the flowers in the picture, so little are 
 they injured by time, that art and nature live side by 
 side, and art seems to derive advantage by the rivalry. 
 Van Huysum's vase of flowers at Dulwich College 
 (the one in which the blue tint predominates) could 
 never have been more perfect in respect to its colours 
 than at the present time. Tints of the utmost con- 
 ceivable brightness and delicacy are yet perceptible 
 to the naked eye, and are even enhanced when viewed 
 through a magnifying lens of great power. There is a 
 vase of flowers by Mignon at the Hague, in which the 
 dew-drops have a diamond-like freshness, and reflect the 
 delicate hues of a warm sunbeam which falls upon the 
 flowers and displays a number of insects ' clothed in 
 rainbow and in fire.' The connoisseur is familiar with 
 pictures by Carlo Dolci — of lovely Madonnas and 
 penitent Magdalens, with pale marble faces and tearful 
 eyes — which pictures, for freshness and solidity, might 
 still bear comparison with any pictures similar in style 
 of yesterday's painting. In contrast with the enamelled 
 softness of the Italian, we have crowds of mythological 
 deities and personages of every description from the 
 pencil of Rubens. Fair, round, Cyprian queens, in 
 loosely flowing crimson robes, accompanied by sportive 
 
Dirt and Pictures Separated. 
 
 77 
 
 Cupids, wing their airy flights in chariots of silver and 
 gold, drawn by fairy-like doves or graceful swans. The 
 glowing limbs of the love-gods and goddesses, the bright 
 plumage of the birds, contrasted with the azure sky and 
 purple clouds, appear still in all the depth and richness 
 of the rose and purity of the lily — while the gorgeous 
 display of Vulcanic skill, the silver and gold, present no 
 sign of dimness ; on the contrary, time seems to have 
 imparted to the colours of the great Flemish artist a 
 purer and deeper lustre, a lustre and purity which pictures 
 at first seldom possess. One might enumerate in every 
 school pictures which are instances of high preservation. 
 We still contemplate the pride and beauty of Spain in 
 the virgin tints of Velasquez and on the canvases of 
 Vandyke, as in a glass — we compare the still fairer 
 women of England, who, if they exceeded in beauty the 
 transcripts of the courtly Vandyke, must have been more 
 than humanly beautiful. Here still the mild radiance of 
 the costly pearl reveals the dark recesses of the silken 
 robe, or glitters like morning dew on the soft folds of 
 luxuriant tresses. The glare of colour and its gross- 
 ness have departed — but over all there still lingers an 
 intense beauty, a life-light warmth and transcendent 
 sweetness. 
 
 The juicy, luscious look in the colours of Flemish 
 and Dutch masters is not owing to the presence of 
 liquid oil still in the colours, for in the process of drying, 
 the oil in which the colours were ground found its way 
 to the surface, whence it has subsequently been re- 
 moved, and its place supplied by varnish. Albert 
 Diirer's pictures are still remarkable for a certain juicy 
 freshness, in contradistinction to what is called the ' brick 
 
78 
 
 Dirt and Pictures Separated. 
 
 tone,' and it is evident this master's works are as hard 
 and dry as enamel. The fact is, with respect to colours, 
 when laid on in cool, tender tones, in perfect imitation 
 of natural freshness, it is not, and it ought not to be, 
 necessary to their permanent truthfulness that they 
 should always retain an actual moisture. For instance, 
 a dew-drop by a Dutch painter will always look like 
 a dew-drop, however hard and dry the colours may 
 become. 
 
 Look at the best preserved pictures of Jacob Ruys- 
 dael. Their calm, soft airiness, subdued sunlights, and 
 quiet shades, still possess all we can conceive of intense 
 beauty. The pictures of Ruysdael are as opposite, in 
 their simple chasteness, to the splendid allegories of 
 Rubens, as the mellow notes of a solitary flute to the 
 outburst of an orchestra. Yet Ruysdael's represen- 
 tations of woods, lanes, villages, waterfalls, and scenes 
 on the ocean, have not, as far as we can guess, been 
 despoiled of a single charm. Again, look into the 
 interiors of Adrian Ostade ; you may almost guess the 
 hour of the day with no other guide save the lights, reflec- 
 tions, and shadows. Thus you imagine in one picture it is 
 three o'clock on a summer afternoon, and the boor on 
 the ale-house bench is dozing over his after-dinner cup. 
 Or, in another picture, in which the painter has repre- 
 sented himself at work, that it is early morning, by the 
 cheerful sunlight which steals so calmly into the apart- 
 ment ; you feel the desire to step across the room and 
 look through the old-fashioned window into the garden. 
 You feel sure there is a garden without, nay, that it is 
 the month of June, and that the painter's roses are in 
 full bloom. Such are the nice distinctions of light, shade, 
 
Dirt and Pictures Separated. 79 
 
 and tint yet preserved in the pictures of Adrian Van 
 Ostade. 
 
 These instances of durability of colours in the works 
 of the old painters are taken almost at random. The 
 same quality would be found to exist in the greater 
 proportion of pictures in any choice collection. The 
 earliest specimens of Italian pictures in distemper are 
 mostly very solid and pure in colour — that is, where a 
 direct cause for their decay, such as gross exposure, 
 has not existed. The pictures of Taddeo Gaddi, in 
 the National Gallery, present an instance of colours 
 which have survived the influence of time, through a 
 period of nearly five hundred years. In the represen- 
 tation of ' Saints in Glory,' those early pictures display 
 a great variety of colours, and frequently very striking 
 and beautiful effects of sunlight. The blues and reds 
 have often an enviable degree of purity, depth, variety, 
 and force, even when compared with less ancient pro- 
 ductions. 
 
 It is commonly observed that portions of old paintings 
 are in good preservation, while other parts of the same 
 pictures are almost obliterated, the obliterations having 
 been occasioned either by accident, neglect, or wilful 
 bad treatment. The Cartoons of Raphael, at Hampton 
 Court, are a painful case in point. If the whole series 
 of that work had been preserved, as, by chance, some 
 favoured parts have been, it is clear that the whole would 
 now be almost as perfect as when they left the master's 
 pencil. 
 
8o Dirt and Pictures Separated. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 ANTIPATHY TO PICTURE RESTORATIONS. 
 
 In the spring of 1854, on the abatement of the con- 
 troversy on picture restoration, the author wrote the 
 following protest against the unphilosophical spirit in 
 which the controversy had been conducted. 
 
 If the apparent verdict of public opinion is to be 
 credited, the picture restorers' art is abolished in England. 
 The restorers are in danger of being driven from our 
 public galleries. These unostentatious conservers of the 
 works of genius are described as ' picture rats ' ; their 
 studies are styled ' shambles ' ; their careful and patient 
 manipulations, ' systematic and wanton destructiveness.' 
 In these controversies the non-restorationists always 
 assume that cleaning pictures means no less than 
 scrubbing out the pictures themselves — repairing small 
 blemishes they regard merely as a pretext for repainting 
 entire works ; lining, battening, cradling, and transferring 
 have received no sort of recognition. But will not this 
 judgment suffer reversal when the public shall become 
 practically informed upon it ? Vituperation in art is no 
 more likely to produce lasting conviction or intelligent 
 satisfaction than in other party controversies. A dis- 
 cussion of critics which has triumphed by assuming an 
 utter want of conscientiousness, reason, devotion, or skill 
 on the part of their opponents (the restorers) can never 
 retain its victory — unless art controversies are privileged 
 to be conducted without discrimination or justice. Take 
 the matter in merely a popular point of view — for the 
 
Dirt and Pictures Separated. 
 
 81 
 
 appeal lies from the critics to the people. Does it stand 
 to common reason that the dark, unsightly blotch on the 
 serene sky is preferable to the subtlest imitation of the 
 true tint which the ablest artist can produce ? Are the 
 soft shadows broken up and disfigured by patches of 
 ghastly white (pieces having fallen out, laying bare the 
 ground) ? We are not to stop the cavities with binding 
 cement and tint the eye-sores into harmony with the rest, 
 but submit to contemplate the picture under the dis- 
 tracting influence of these disfigurements. If the panel 
 has become rent, we are to let it remain until the crack 
 becomes widened into a chasm. In many instances a 
 century will suffice to render every thread of the canvas 
 which supports the masterpiece sufficiently brittle to 
 crumble to dust at the slightest touch, and it has only 
 been by lining old canvases upon new that the chief 
 pictures of the great masters now hang on our walls 
 entire. It is rare to find an old canvas picture which has 
 not received the benefit of lining — and not unfrequently 
 the process has several times been repeated. To line a 
 picture properly is to renew the lease of its existence for 
 a century. A corresponding care is indispensable to the 
 preservation of old pictures painted on wood. Through 
 the labours of the ever-active tooth of the worm, and 
 other agents, few works of the great Roman master 
 would have descended to these times but for their timely 
 transfer from the worn-out timber on which they were 
 painted to other and sounder material. 
 
 Mr. Buchanan informs us that M. Hacquin, of Paris, 
 transferred the chief pictures of Raphael, including the 
 ' Madonna del Pesche,' the ' Elizabeth receiving the 
 Virgin/ the famous work known as the Pearl of Raphael, 
 
 VOL. i. G 
 
82 
 
 Dirt and Pictures Separated. 
 
 the ' Holy Family/ in which the angel scatters flowers, 
 and the well-known picture entitled ( St. Cecilia,' together 
 with the ' Martyrdom of St. Peter,' by Titian. These 
 pictures were not placed in the hands of the renovator 
 until their ' utter ruin ' became the only alternative — and 
 thus were these chefs-d'oeuvre of art rescued from the 
 dust. The large picture in our National Gallery, by 
 Sebastian del Piombo (on the authority of Mr. John 
 Landseer), was found to need transferring. And let it 
 not be overlooked, that hundreds of old painters painted 
 on the same kind of timber as Raphael, and that their 
 works have suffered from the same casualties, and, in 
 important cases, received the same treatment. Services 
 of this kind may be appreciated without the possession 
 of a profound knowledge of painting. 
 
 ' If neither brass nor marble can withstand 
 The mortal force of Time's destructive hand,' 
 
 it is easier to ascertain the liabilities of mere canvas and 
 timber. 1 
 
 The author being on a visit to an enthusiastic col- 
 lector of pictures, and observing many valuable speci- 
 mens of the old schools in a very dilapidated condition, 
 took occasion to elicit his opinion with respect to the 
 restoration of damaged pictures, and of the persons 
 usually employed to repair them. It was at once 
 evident that the very mention of ' restoration ' was 
 sufficient to disconcert the ardent lover of the picture 
 art. 
 
 ' Sir,' said he, ' I am happy to say there is not a 
 picture in my collection which has been cleaned and 
 repaired.' 
 
 1 Author's letter, 'Athenaeum,' No. 1371. 
 
Dirt and Pictures Separated. 
 
 83 
 
 Of this there was no want of proof. Some of the 
 early Italian pictures were chipped, and large pieces, 
 loosened by heat or damp, had dropped from the panels, 
 in which worms, the growth of a warmer clime, had 
 been busy for centuries. Our collector, being asked 
 if he considered restoring old pictures advisable under 
 extreme circumstances, prescribed extreme penalties 
 for any one who should have the temerity to entertain 
 the idea. 
 
 1 Could anything be more absurd,' he insisted, ' than 
 for a modern dauber to scrub, plaster up, and repaint an 
 old picture ? ' 
 
 1 Certainly not.' 
 
 ' Very well, then,' continued he, 1 would you have 
 some image maker commence operations on the Elgin 
 marbles, wash and scrub them, plaster up the chinks, 
 replace the absent limbs, remodel the obliterated features, 
 and, in a word, restore them ? What would you think 
 of such a proceeding ? How great would be your in- 
 dignation ! How would you mourn the loss of Phidias, 
 and curse the miscreant who could so abuse the sublime 
 productions of that Athenian chisel. Thus should I feel 
 if some officious hand, some restorer, should attempt 
 to practise this remorseless craft upon yonder noble 
 specimen — the gem of my collection — a Leonardo da 
 Vinci.' 
 
 As respects fragments of ancient sculpture, the views 
 of our enthusiast possess some show of reason, but are, 
 at the same time, full of exaggeration ; while the com- 
 parison between old pictures and ancient sculptures is 
 far from being happy. If the lost member of a mutilated 
 Apollo could be found, there could be no difference of 
 
84 Dirt and Pic hires Separated. 
 
 opinion as to the propriety of its resuming its original 
 position. If a Venus stood complete in every limb, in 
 good preservation throughout, with the exception that 
 some unfortunate blow had struck out one eye, in con- 
 sequence of which blemish the whole statue was affected, 
 and its influence half destroyed — what objection would 
 there be, could some modeller replace the absent member 
 so cleverly that all traces of the injury should disappear, 
 and the figure again possess its full and complete effect ? 
 Surely no one could object to such a course being taken ? 
 But because the eye could be replaced (the other re- 
 maining to test its accuracy), it by no means follows that 
 if the nose were lost that feature could be replaced with 
 equal felicity, for, although men of taste might venture a 
 shrewd guess as to the kind of nose the face once 
 possessed, and sculptors might realise their conception, 
 yet for all that there would be wanting the proof by 
 comparison present in the case of the eye ; and where 
 doubt commences interference with the original work 
 should cease, in deference to the original artist. How- 
 ever well founded a conjecture might seem, it were far 
 better to rest with the mutilated form than to risk an 
 absolutely supposititious addition to the fragment. As 
 a matter of speculation, the restoration of a broken 
 figure may be accomplished without risk to the original 
 remnant simply by making a mould of it, and adding 
 the missing portions to the cast. Here lies the diffe- 
 rence betwixt pictures and statues in respect to their 
 restoration. 
 
 We now take an example of the picture art. We 
 have before us an elaborate specimen by Roger of 
 Bruges, representing a Christian knight at his devotions. 
 
Dirt and Pictures Separated. 85 
 
 Those who have seen the best pictures by this master 
 must have been struck by their singular lustre. The 
 present work has all the luminous appearance of ancient 
 glass windows found in Gothic churches. These beau- 
 tiful qualities in our example are disfigured by certain 
 absolute blemishes, the most prominent of which arise 
 from four squares of the tesselated pavement, on which 
 the knight is standing, having fallen out, leaving the oak 
 panel visible in the place ; another portion of the work 
 has likewise disappeared, separating the long handle of the 
 spear. The moment the eye is directed to the picture, 
 the whole attention is riveted on these two blemishes. 
 It is in vain that you attempt to realise the picture as a 
 whole, such as it appeared in its perfect state. The first 
 thing that enters the mind of the spectator is how may 
 those blemishes be remedied ? The answer is ready, 
 for the remedy is simple. Some able artist must restore 
 the lost portions of the tesselated floor and the spear. 
 This is not a difficult task, while it is a perfectly safe 
 operation, not involving a particle of the original re- 
 mains. The restorer has the same aids as the modeller 
 in remodelling the eye in the Venus. He proceeds by 
 filling with cement the large holes whence the pieces 
 have dropped ; after this, the cement is scraped level 
 with the surface of the picture ; and then the artist pro- 
 ceeds to sketch and colour the parts to match those 
 adjoining in form and colour, accomplishing this so accu- 
 rately in tint and texture that the keenest eye may 
 never after discover where the injuries have been. No 
 one will deny the practicability of making restorations 
 of this nature, and surely they are such as not even the 
 original painter would be disposed to reject. 
 
86 Dirt and Pictures Separated. 
 
 Having shown how large repairs may be accom- 
 plished without perverting the intention of the master, 
 we will see what can be done for the removal of numer- 
 ous lesser defects. Suppose the picture chosen for illus- 
 tration to be differently disfigured. A small worm 
 (common to old timber) has hollowed out the panel, and 
 perforated the picture. Thus in the scarlet robe of the 
 knight there are not less than twenty small round holes, 
 six in the face, and many more in the various parts of 
 the representation, making in all about a hundred. If 
 it were practicable to fill up a cavity of the size of four 
 squares of the tesselated floor, it might seem an easy 
 matter to fill up tiny holes no larger in circumference 
 than small shot. Insignificant as these small worm 
 holes may appear singly, a hundred of them dispersed 
 over a surface of twenty-four inches by sixteen are suffi- 
 cient to have a very damaging influence. Yet these 
 holes may be filled and tinted by the fine point of a 
 sable pencil, so as to mingle the specks with the neigh- 
 bouring colours, thus restoring the painting to its original 
 completeness. It will be borne in mind that the whole 
 of the processes described and recommended are per- 
 formed, not on the work of the master, but over cavities. 
 What has been advanced respecting these small open- 
 ings made by worms, and their repair, holds good also 
 of other injuries to which pictures are liable. Cracks, 
 rents, and fissures may all be remedied by the same 
 process. There are scarcely any old paintings which 
 have not received from time to time attentions of this 
 kind. One would think that such services rendered to 
 art would need no justification. Nor indeed would any 
 defence have been necessary, had it not happened that 
 
Dirt and Pictures Separated. 87 
 
 unskilful and impatient hands have often been employed 
 to make these essential reparations — who, instead of 
 confining themselves within bounds to the particles of 
 damage, to save time, or to hide their inability to match 
 the colours, have painted over whole works. Proceed- 
 ings of this unscrupulous nature have been frequent and 
 have come to throw discredit on the art of restoration ; 
 and the able, conscientious restorer suffers in the general 
 censure. 
 
 Mr. Lance, the eminent fruit painter, was ' instructed 
 by the Keeper of the National Gallery to restore the 
 " Boar Hunt " by Velasquez.' Mr. Lance (before a 
 Committee of the House of Commons) thus described 
 the injuries in the picture of the 1 Boar Hunt,' which he 
 was commissioned to repair : — ' One portion on the right 
 hand — as large as a sheet of foolscap — of the picture 
 was entirely bare. In fact, more than half the picture 
 had to be restored.' Witness ' had not seen the picture 
 before it was damaged,' nor had he had ' any plate to aid 
 him in his restoration.' 
 
 It is an unaccountable error to set aside as worthless 
 the fragment of a noble picture like the * Boar Hunt ' ; 
 and surely repainting such a work is scarcely more to be 
 preferred than its destruction. We justly attach great 
 importance to mutilated statues — we do not discard an 
 imperfect frieze ; and there is no reason why fragmen- 
 tary examples of the pencil should not be valued in a 
 corresponding degree. It must be evident that the 
 attempt to restore a picture half effaced ought never to 
 have been made. Picture restoration has its limits. 
 Mr. Lance had no engraving to aid him in his restora- 
 tion of the said picture ; nor, indeed, had he more than 
 
88 Dirt and Pictures Separated. 
 
 the merest conjecture of the appearance of the picture 
 before it had become injured. Hence, in restoring more 
 than half, he overstepped the defensible limits of resto- 
 ration, and chance usurped the place of law. In such 
 extreme cases of injury the safe rule is, not to exceed 
 such mechanical appliances as refer simply to the pre- 
 servation of the fragment, as a fragment. The restorer 
 might venture to tint in the damaged portions matching 
 the original ground colour ; thus leaving blanks, com- 
 paratively inoffensive, as if the master had desisted from 
 his work, deferring certain portions to be completed on 
 a future occasion. 1 
 
 Not a few instances are recorded of eminent painters 
 who have attempted to immortalise themselves by paint- 
 ing on the canvases of the old masters. It was with the 
 deepest indignation that Barry beheld an Italian repaint- 
 ing — the famous wreck at Milan — of the ' Last Supper,' 
 by Leonardo da Vinci. Carlo Marratti took upon him- 
 self to insert three Cupids in an ancient picture of 
 Venus found in the gardens of Sallust. West did more 
 than was necessary to the 1 Raising of Lazarus,' by 
 Sebastiano del Piombo. Sometimes whole collections 
 undergo a sort of repainting. Shelley records an in- 
 stance. Travelling in Italy, he arrived at a convent just 
 as the village plumber, glazier, and painter, was with- 
 drawing his workmen from their task of touching up 
 the old masters, which operation had been included in 
 the contract for renovating the paint and whitewash of 
 the holy edifice. Instances like this last are but too 
 common in secluded parts of Catholic countries, where 
 poverty and ignorance accompany the possession of the 
 1 Author's letter in the 'Athenaeum.' 
 
Dirt and Pictures Separated. 89 
 
 rarest treasures of art. The difficulty is to understand 
 how a modern painter of any reflection can commit the 
 blunder of supposing that an old picture is worth any- 
 thing after having been daubed over by a foreign hand. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 PICTURE CLEANING. 
 
 CLEANING pictures is a complicated and serious matter. 
 It is a subject to be approached with caution. The 
 operations necessary cannot be so well defined as can 
 those relating to artistic repairs. However, a distin- 
 guished senator, Mr. Drummond, in a speech delivered 
 in the House of Commons, July 1, 1854, thus defines 
 what he considered to be the popular method of clean- 
 ing the works of the old masters : — ' They (the Govern- 
 ment) bought pictures, and with a pound or two of 
 pumice stone, set themselves to rub them all out' This 
 summary mode of treating the question of picture 
 cleaning is open to the same objections as the process it 
 condemns. 
 
 Is it possible to clean old dirty pictures with bene- 
 ficial results, and without injury to the original tints and 
 touches ? ' No,' exclaims ' A Tory in Art,' in the 
 'Times'; 'it is as idle to talk of restoring a picture to 
 what it was, as to try and push back the iron hand of 
 time. We must make up our minds to put up with a 
 certain amount of dirt, and study the works of departed 
 
go 
 
 Dirt and Pictures Separated. 
 
 genius through the warm haze of time/ Much may we 
 profit by the contemplation of delicate beauties— as 
 they appear through a dark crust of dirt ! We may 
 venture the assertion that the old masters would be the 
 first to object to the present dingy condition of their 
 productions. The questions here to be asked are, ' Did 
 the old painters calculate that their pictures would come 
 to need cleaning ? ' and ' Did they make any provision 
 to that end ? ' Certainly they did. When oil painting 
 first came into use, one of its useful virtues, as noted by 
 the painters of the time, was, that it would wash. Long 
 before Italian pictures were remarkable for correct 
 drawing or harmonious colouring, painters had mani- 
 fested anxiety for the future preservation of their works. 
 Antonio da Messina, about the year 1494, seeing an oil 
 picture of John Van Eyck's at Naples, and perceiving 
 that ' it might be washed with water without suffering 
 any injury,' was so satisfied of the advantages of oil 
 painting over the old method of colouring in distemper, 
 that he immediately set out for Bruges, and there, by 
 presents and services, succeeded in prevailing on John 
 Van Eyck to divulge his precious secret. It is recorded 
 that the art of painting in oil thus found its way into 
 Italy. Anyhow, there is no want of evidence that the 
 early Italian painters were desirous that their pictures 
 should be so painted that they might afterwards be kept 
 clean and sightly. We find the venerable Leonardo da 
 Vinci speculating on a method of painting a picture 
 ' that will last for ever.' This durability was to be en- 
 sured by a layer of glass placed over the picture, so as 
 to preserve it from the action of the air. We find var- 
 nishes of some sort in repute as far back as the year 
 
Dirt and Pictures Separated. 
 
 9i 
 
 1410, after which time they came into general use, and 
 have continued so to the present day. 
 
 When we wish to preserve a print with its white 
 margin from dust, we place a glass over it, and there is 
 no doubt that painters, ever since the invention of oil 
 painting, have been accustomed to varnish their pictures 
 with a view to the preservation of the colours. There 
 can be no question of the long and general use of var- 
 nishes, or of the one sole reason for their use. 
 
 Had varnishes always kept as hard, clear, and dur- 
 able as glass, the preservation of the works of the old 
 painters had been an easy matter ; but, unfortunately, 
 the colours of many of the finest pictures are rendered 
 almost invisible by the discolouration and cracking of 
 the varnishes themselves. The simple removal of these 
 injurious incrustations is the work of the modern picture 
 cieaner. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE VARNISH GLAZE THEORY. 
 
 The chief and most plausible of the numerous objec- 
 tions which have been urged against the practicability 
 of cleaning pictures, turns upon the possibility of injur- 
 ing a glaze alleged to have been commonly employed by 
 the old painters. In the 1 Times ' controversy on this 
 subject in 1852, 'An Artist' made the following re- 
 mark : — ' The process of painting a picture which is the 
 most difficult is the final glazing. Indeed, it is the only 
 part which absolutely requires the hand and eye of the 
 
92 Dirt and Pictures Separated. 
 
 master.' Thus, 'An Artist ' would have us believe that 
 Raphael is famous more by virtue of his colouring and 
 chiaro oscuro than his drawing. We apprehend that 
 pictures of the Roman master challenge our admiration 
 by virtue of very different qualities than mere tone, or 
 richness, or even harmony of colouring. Rather might 
 it not be said that Raphael's pictures will still command 
 their high place when the tints and glazing are faded 
 away, and only the ' dim, dreamlike forms ' remain ? 
 
 ' An Artist ' may have been thinking of the Flemish 
 school. If so, who for a moment imagines that Rubens' 
 masterpiece, the ' Descent from the Cross,' in the Cathe- 
 dral of Antwerp, owes its influence to a ' glaze ? ' The 
 master speaks in every touch of the pencil, and the 
 timid hand of the pupil is nowhere to be seen. Even 
 the pictures by Vandyke which hang around it dwindle 
 into shadows by comparison. It may, indeed, be 
 doubted if the ' Descent from the Cross ' was ever glazed 
 in the manner described. To those who have inspected 
 the picture, the various colours appear to have been laid 
 on with a bold, light, fearless, flowing hand — each touch 
 in the right place, with little after-toning, softening, or 
 blending. We have, in some sort, the authority of 
 Rubens himself for asserting that the 'glaze' (which 
 ' An Artist ' thinks the only part of the process of 
 painting a picture ' requiring the hand and eye of the 
 master') was by Rubens seldom employed. Rubens in 
 the process he has so elaborately described makes no 
 mention of a final 'glaze.' He speaks of 'decided 
 touches ' as the final ' distinguishing marks of a great 
 master,' by which he cannot possibly mean the kind of 
 toning or colouring in varnish which 'An Artist' de- 
 
Dirt and Pictures Separated. 
 
 93 
 
 scribes. If a painter requires rich, transparent crimson, 
 he produces it by washing transparent lake over a light 
 tint, previously prepared and become dry. This, pro- 
 perly speaking, is 'glazing,' and is certainly not usually 
 regarded as the last and final process. The greater pro- 
 portion of the colours in a picture of the school of 
 Rubens would prove to be thus obtained. This pro- 
 cess of producing luminous effects of light, shade, and 
 colour, constitutes the entire process of painting a fine 
 picture in oil, and requires ' the hand and eye of the 
 master,' from first to last, to weigh well the nature of 
 the ground tints over which transparent colours are in- 
 tended to be passed. 
 
 The more skilful the artist the less need is there for 
 scumbling, toning, or any final operation to unite the 
 component parts into a 4 whole.' The skilful artist con- 
 ceives and executes each part of his design, so that 
 consistency shall be the result, without the necessity of 
 toning down one colour and heightening another, or of 
 painting out portions and supplying others, practices 
 which, when common, mark the indecision, or caprice, 
 or inability, of the amateur, rather than the progressive 
 process of the master. 
 
 The amateur stands in frequent need of erasing false 
 lines and ill-matched tints ; wanting foresight, he is 
 necessitated to resort to all kinds of trickery to har- 
 monise the bits and patches of his compositions. Com- 
 positions which present the finest effects of colour are 
 usually those in which the tints (as in the ' Descent from 
 the Cross ' at Antwerp) are left undisturbed in virgin 
 purity, bespeaking spontaneity of thought and action, 
 the hand having obeyed the warm impulse of the 
 
94 Dirt and Pictures Separated. 
 
 imagination. Where the work of an incompetent jour- 
 neyman is to be foisted on a patron for the master's 
 production, it becomes necessary for the master to do 
 something to ensure the success of the imposition. 
 Hence, the main body of paint being laid on by the 
 underling, the more dexterous hand is called into requi- 
 sition to correct and patch, to erase and blot, to darken 
 and lighten, as may be needed — in fact, to tinker a bad 
 picture, so that it will at least pass muster with over- 
 partial and credulous collectors. From this miserable 
 fashion (sometimes resorted to) of supplying the market 
 with the works (?) of popular painters has sprung the 
 belief entertained by 4 An Artist * that masters of re- 
 nown always leave the work to their pupils, and take 
 the credit to themselves. 
 
 The ' Times' ' correspondent not only infers that all 
 the old masters used a glaze in the completion of their 
 pictures, he also determines the composition of the 
 said glaze, as we learn from the following extract. 
 Speaking of the process of picture cleaning, he says : — 
 ' It does not consist in merely removing the dust and 
 dirt that may have accumulated on the surface of a 
 picture, but is the taking off a coat of chilled or dis- 
 coloured varnish ; ' and he adds — ' But what will take 
 off one coat of varnish will take off another coat of var- 
 nish immediately underneath the first, into which a little 
 transparent colour has been added [infused].' 
 
 Allowing for a moment that this glazing was always 
 resorted to, the theory of glazing oil pictures with var- 
 nish colour is not likely to have been much practised, 
 as the joint use of oil colour and varnish colour, the one 
 immediately upon the other, necessarily results in dis- 
 
Dirt and Pic hires Separated. 95 
 
 union and cracking of the surface. It is commonly 
 asserted that Francis Mieris and Gaspard Netscher 
 finished their pictures in a varnished medium, and the 
 singular transparency and smoothness of their produc- 
 tions would seem to bear out the assertion. De' Piles 
 (the chief authority in the matter) thus describes the 
 Netscher practice : — ' When he (Netscher) intended to 
 give the last hand to his piece, he rubbed it over with 
 varnish which did not dry in two or three days ; and 
 during that time he had leisure to manage his colours 
 over and over to his liking ; those especially that, being 
 neither too hard nor too liquid, were the more easily 
 united to those which he added anew.' Now, it is a 
 characteristic of j/^-drying varnishes that they dry 
 exceedingly hard, and that, once dry, they are altogether 
 as difficult to dissolve. Properly speaking, the Netscher 
 varnish was not varnish at all. Anyhow, a coat of 
 brittle mastic, or common dirt, might be removed from 
 pictures so painted without risk. De' Piles is borne out 
 by a practical view of the case. It would have been 
 simply impossible for Netscher to have handled an 
 almost inconceivably fine pencil if he had employed a 
 stubborn, quick-drying liquid to moisten his colours. 
 Thus the danger in cleaning a picture which 'An 
 Artist' fears is only contingent on certain conditions. 
 If a picture is varnished with the same varnish as that 
 used to complete the picture, then cleaning would be 
 dangerous indeed. Such instances would form the rare 
 exceptions, rather than the general rule. Why are pic- 
 tures almost always varnished with mastic ? Not only 
 to brighten the tints, and to preserve them from dirt 
 and atmospheric changes, but chiefly, as every artist is 
 
96 Dirt and Pictures Separated. 
 
 aware, on account of the practicability of removing 
 mastic from oil colours without their being injured by 
 the operation of the removal. The only condition 
 being that the oil colours shall have become thoroughly 
 hardened before the varnish is applied, in order to pre- 
 vent its too close incorporation with the colours. 
 
 This varnish glaze theory was selected as the most 
 critical point for testing the possibility of picture clean- 
 ing ; and it can be confidently asserted that the diffi- 
 culty and risk said to attend the removal of varnish 
 from the surfaces of pictures do not present themselves 
 in those very pictures where risk is most to be expected 
 — to wit, in those of the Netscher class. 
 
 Few restorers will attempt to clean pictures not 
 originally intended to bear the necessary process. 
 Painters, with few exceptions, qualify their pictures for 
 such contingencies. There are some who have slighted 
 precautions of this kind ; but it has always been a 
 source of regret when fine pictures have been found 
 disqualified to undergo what must ever be considered an 
 essential operation — if the eye has to be gratified and 
 the understanding satisfied. 1 
 
 ' An Artist ' cites the current practice of the Con- 
 tinent in support of his varnish and colour ' glazing 
 theory.' Thus, he says — ' It is well known that many 
 pictures, attributed, and justly too, to certain artists, 
 were painted, except this last gtaze y by their pupils. 
 This practice prevails on the Continent to the present 
 day.' ' An Artist ' further informs us that the perform- 
 ance of this last glaze * Rubens or Delacroix would not 
 think of entrusting to his favourite eleve! One would 
 
 1 Author's letter, 'Athenaeum,' No. 1374. 
 
Dirt and Pictures Separated. 
 
 97 
 
 certainly conclude that the pupil who had accomplished 
 all but the final ' glaze ' of a picture, and was then 
 entrusted to add that, might justly lay claim to the 
 entire production. Is it reasonable to suppose that a 
 master, however expert, could take up the crude per- 
 formance of a pupil, and metamorphose it into a 
 masterpiece by the aid of varnish, into which * a little 
 transparent colour has been infused ' ? The fact is, the 
 class of goods referred to, being the joint work of 
 master and man, are commonly very well known, and 
 very little valued, by distinguished judges. As in 
 Rembrandt's case, they are detected and condemned. 
 Rubens was not the artist to deprive a pupil of his 
 rights. Animals, landscapes, and still-life inserted in 
 his pictures by contemporary painters, were always 
 publicly ascribed to those painters. So with Raphael. 
 He allotted certain compartments of work to pupils of 
 suitable talent. Thus in the Vatican, Polidoro had the 
 friezes to execute. It is easy to charge great men with 
 unjust practices. But the old masters are not likely to 
 have much followed a rule which could only have been 
 unjust alike to their patrons, their pupils, and to them- 
 selves. To talk of the practice of ' the Continent,' is 
 taking a wide latitude, and seems to imply the posses- 
 sion of vast information. This uniformity of practice 
 in continental studios we take to be of a piece with the 
 country bookbinder's notion of uniformity, who, being 
 requested by a gentleman to bind a large number of 
 books in a uniform style, replied — ' Leave them to me, 
 sir ; and depend upon it there shall not be two alike.' 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 H 
 
98 Dirt and Pictures Separated. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 STANDARD PICTURES. 
 
 The number, variety, and condition of pictures by the 
 old masters would seem to leave no hope of accom- 
 plishing their classification ; but, in other subjects of 
 scientific inquiry, much greater difficulties have been 
 surmounted, and distinct departments prescribed. What 
 is wanted is an analysis and classification of pictures for 
 the use of the restorer, to the end that he may proceed 
 with his work with precision. Hitherto, in the absence 
 of such a guide, his operations have been too much at 
 the mercy of chance. It is quite possible to determine 
 the peculiarities of certain pictures which constitute 
 them the representatives of a class for the special pur- 
 pose of the cleaner. As an illustration, we will take 
 Backhuysen, who, as a painter of sea pieces, ranks with 
 Vandevelde. The difference in quality of execution 
 between these two painters is not great, but they exhibit 
 marked dissimilarity of style. Both present the same 
 subject effectively, but by a different process, as respects 
 the manner of laying on the colours, and in the reten- 
 tion or rejection of minutiae. Vandevelde delights in 
 details, and prides himself on his seamanship with all a 
 sailor's coquetry ; he individualises the perfect model of 
 a ship, defining and elaborating, from his familiar recol- 
 lections, more than even a sailor's eye can seize at a 
 glance : he supplies what distance would obscure, or 
 storm and battle confound and obliterate. Backhuysen, 
 
Dirt and Pictures Separated. 
 
 on the contrary, while he betrays no ignorance of a 
 ship's physiognomy, is content to realise the somewhat 
 broader and more prominent features of his subject. 
 Backhuysen's ships roll heavily, and pitch deeply, and 
 founder fearfully, in the gale or in battle. His pictures 
 look real, and full of motion. For richness of inven- 
 tion, fullness, and completeness of effects, he rivals 
 Vandevelde. Yet, perfect as is the touch of Back- 
 huysen, and complete as are his effects, in minute 
 mechanical dexterity of execution, and in delicacy of 
 tint, he is altogether exceeded by Vandevelde, who, as a 
 portrait painter of ocean life, has no rival. Vandevelde's 
 sea pictures are, in a manner, so comprehensively expres- 
 sive that they may be said to include all other pictures 
 of the kind. 
 
 The lesson to be derived from this comparison is, 
 that in cleaning pictures by these two masters, the dis- 
 tinctive method of working employed by Vandevelde 
 should be specially understood, for the reason that the 
 means and method which would safely clean a picture 
 by Backhuysen, would destroy a work by Vandevelde, 
 because of its greater delicacy and excessive minute- 
 ness. The process which would remove dirt from the 
 more delicate picture would perhaps answer in all 
 respects for the bolder or coarser. It must be evident 
 that a general rule can be drawn for the practice of 
 restoration. In the instance of marine pictures, those 
 examples which contain the greatest amount of refine- 
 ment of execution in drawing, light, shade, and colour, 
 must be taken as the basis of study. A knowledge of 
 every picture to be operated upon is indispensable, and 
 this would be soonest attainable by the restorer making 
 
I GO 
 
 Dirt and Pictures Separated. 
 
 himself thoroughly acquainted with the distinctive cha- 
 racter of the most intricate and perfect works of each 
 class. A knowledge of the works of Vandevelde would 
 not suffice, perhaps, to qualify a restorer to handle all 
 other sea pictures ; but if choice were made of one 
 master's works to serve as the groundwork of investiga- 
 tion, perhaps no artist's are better than Vandevelde's for 
 this purpose. 
 
 Take another example, of a somewhat opposite kind, 
 in the pictures of Rubens and Vandyke. It will be 
 inferred that the pictures of Vandyke should serve as 
 a study for a class of pictures painted on principles 
 taught by Rubens. Rubens describes the process of 
 laying on colours which he himself practised, thus : — 
 ' Begin by painting in your shadows lightly, taking par- 
 ticular care that no white is suffered to glide into them : 
 white is the poison of a picture, except in the lights ; 
 if once your shadows are corrupted by the introduction 
 of this baneful colour, your tones will no longer be 
 warm and transparent. It is not the same in the lights, 
 they may be loaded as much as you think proper ; 
 provided the tones are kept pure, you are sure to suc- 
 ceed in placing each tint in its proper place, and after- 
 wards by a light blending of brush or pencil melting 
 them into each other, without tormenting them ; and on 
 this preparation may be given those decided touches 
 which are the distinguishing marks of a great master.' 
 
 The effects of these instructions may be traced in 
 the works of Rubens' best pupil, Vandyke. The master 
 furnished the style, the pupil perfected it ; the master 
 drew the fearless and flowing outline, the pupil, in his 
 works, corrected it of some of its extravagances. A 
 
Dirt and Pictures Separated. i o i 
 
 similar distinction may be seen in the colouring of the 
 two painters ; Vandyke (for his great works) spread 
 his palette with the same colours as Rubens, laid on 
 the tints by the same process, but more sparingly, using 
 a smaller pencil, giving them the same pure, unsullied 
 look, never ' breaking ' nor ' torturing ' them ; every 
 touch right to its purpose. The rule to be drawn from 
 a knowledge of these two painters is the same as that 
 drawn from Backhuysen and Vandevelde — i.e., the ne- 
 cessity of an acquaintance with the most intricate and 
 delicate pictures of each class. The process that would 
 clean a picture by Rubens might ruin a picture by 
 Vandyke, but the hand that has touched Vandyke with- 
 out injury, will ' restore ' Rubens without danger. 
 
 Admitted the restorer should be guided in his opera- 
 tions by the study of set standards from each class of 
 pictures, selected on the principle described, the diffi- 
 culty of deciding on the proper picture would be very 
 trifling. A little reflection would convince us that 
 Adrian Ostade would include a host of Dutch painters 
 of his class, from Isaac Ostade downwards. Even 
 Teniers might be included in this class, for the simple 
 reason that Teniers had a firmer, broader, and more 
 durable touch than Adrian Ostade ; in other words, 
 that one touch of the pencil by Teniers towards de- 
 scribing a boor's face, would do the work of a score of 
 small touches by Adrian Ostade. Now, though the 
 effective single touch of the one might be worth the 
 other's score, it would be twenty times more critical a 
 task (in the process of cleaning) to ensure the safety of 
 the more minute and intricate treatment. For the 
 restorer to reckon a score of minute touches by Ostade 
 
io2 Dirt and Pictures Separated. 
 
 to one dash of Terriers' brush would save from harm 
 the works of the one and doubly preserve those of the 
 other. It would be better to reckon fourscore touches 
 to Ostade than to under-estimate the number. It is the 
 more necessary to do this, as the finer the touch the 
 more likely it is to be disturbed, not only from its 
 smallness, but also because the colour is laid on thinner 
 for fine articulations than for more decisive pencilling. 
 
 No matter what the class of pictures under treat- 
 ment by the restorer, their safety can only be ensured 
 by a full apprehension of the painter's peculiar genius 
 and distinctive manipulation. If this be admitted of 
 the sort of pictures referred to, which appeal for the 
 most part to the senses only, how much more emphati- 
 cally true is it of those works which appeal to the under- 
 standing ? If there be danger, from ignorance, in the 
 treatment of the works we have cited, how much greater 
 must the danger be when the works of a Raphael are 
 at stake ? Those who have only tried their hands in the 
 restoration of a Rubens, Vandyke, Teniers, or Ostade, 
 would be very little in the secret of the rare qualities 
 which raise the Italian so far above the Flemish and 
 Dutch painters as to reduce them, by comparison, to 
 mere caricaturists. 
 
Dirt and Pictures Separated. 103 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 VANDYKE'S PROCESS OF WORKING. 
 
 In common with the school of Rubens, Vandyke com- 
 menced his pictures by painting in the shadows of a 
 transparent brown colour, on a ground of a whitish 
 brown tint. The restorer has reason to note this first 
 transparent wash with as much solicitude as any other 
 part of the process by which the picture was completed. 
 Vandyke's most valued works are those which are most 
 transparent in the shadows ; and he commanded this 
 excellent quality by working up the dark parts of the 
 picture before he supplied the lighter. He never con- 
 founded them ; each had its allotted place, subject to 
 distinct and separate treatment. When the picture was 
 completed, the first shadowings were to be seen in every 
 part of the representation. Thus, for instance, in the 
 trunk of a hollow tree, the moss, or loose pieces of bark 
 would be loaded with full layers of body colour, accord- 
 ing as they were more or less in the light ; while the 
 dark, hollow fissures would present nothing but the 
 transparent wash, more or less visible as the nature of 
 the subject required. 
 
 Why Vandyke's shadows require so much attention 
 is owing to their being composed of a thin dark colour, 
 on a light ground, which is easily rubbed off. The fear 
 is, that while cleaning the face, the shadows of the hair, 
 eyes, nose, lips, chin, and ears, may be rubbed and im- 
 poverished. This invariably happens when the inexpe- 
 
104 Dirt and Pictures Separated. 
 
 rienced attempt to clean pictures of this class. If they 
 try a portion of a picture by way of experiment, it is 
 usually some light part ; successful there, they conclude 
 all is right, proceed indiscriminately with the rest ; and 
 so the shadows, which are the chief cause of the bril- 
 liancy of the colours, vanish in an instant. In lieu of 
 the intelligent life-like face, nothing remains but an 
 empty and meaningless mask, the mere ghost of the 
 departed picture. 
 
 It is the peculiar transparency in Vandyke's shadows 
 that prevents his best works from being successfully 
 copied. Copies may be known by the absence of this 
 quality. Vandyke calculated the process of the picture 
 from first to last, and estimated the effect of every 
 touch. The power to do this seldom or never belongs 
 to the copyist. 
 
 The English landscape painter who delights in pic- 
 turing the pebbled brook, with its" fringe of hawthorn 
 and willow, with its sunlit chequered surface teeming 
 with flowers, very soon learns by experience that he 
 cannot produce on canvas the effects which he sees, but 
 by securing transparent shadows. The lily, that glows 
 and appears so pure while resting on the bosom of the 
 water, if plucked and laid upon an opaque surface, loses 
 its pure and glowing tenderness. So it is with the light 
 opaque tints of a picture ; unless they have a foil in 
 shadows of an opposite quality, they never appear fresh 
 and beautiful. However the uninitiated may pass them 
 by, the artist cannot be too mindful of the shaded parts 
 of his picture. The bright or light parts of natural 
 objects appear to fix the whole attention of the unculti- 
 vated, who give to the quiet portions, or the shadows, 
 
Dirt and Pictures Separated. 105 
 
 little consideration. Careless observers do not note that 
 in fine pictures, shadows are of several kinds, trans- 
 parent or not, according to the nature of the object 
 shaded ; and that they are of many degrees of dark- 
 ness, and of various colours ; that they are ruled by 
 regular laws, and subject to numerous irregularities, in 
 respect to tone and colour, and the fluctuation of lights 
 and changing hues reflected from surrounding objects. 
 To the uninitiated, there is a dark side of the picture 
 and a light side of the picture, simply. From such, the 
 light side attracts the greatest share of attention, merely 
 because it usually displays the most attractive colours 
 and the chief portion of the subject, not because there 
 is most art in that part of the picture — not because the 
 artist surmounted the greatest difficulties in the brighter 
 half of the scene ; for, although less noted by ordinary 
 observers, the shadows in high-class pictures are the 
 result of infinite pains. To the management of the 
 shadows every form is indebted for its relief and every 
 colour for its variety, force, and lustre. The shadows of 
 a picture by Correggio might become many degrees 
 darker, the fainter ones be altogether obliterated, and 
 few would detect the absence and loss of them ; but if 
 a decided defect, a blot or a stain, however small, 
 existed in any of the light parts, a child would almost 
 discover it. If a person, indifferently conversant with 
 art, wishes to trace the merits of a picture, he fixes his 
 attention on the lights, and never considers the shadows. 
 If an uninformed person attempt to clean a picture, the 
 dark parts are probably either deemed inconsiderable, 
 and escape unmolested, or get removed, especially if 
 they be of that transparent, luminous, space-creating 
 
1 06 Dirt and Pictures Separated. 
 
 kind just now referred to, as peculiarly excellent in the 
 works of Vandyke. 
 
 Rich stuffs, which make up the draperies in some of 
 this master's compositions, owe their intense beauty, 
 variety of colour, and reflections, to washings of trans- 
 parent colour, the one over the other, repeated until the 
 depth and various degrees of richness were obtained. 
 These washes of transparent colour sometimes extended 
 even to the flesh. It is necessary to consider these 
 glazings attentively, for they are not less susceptible of 
 injury than the shadows first laid on, being produced by 
 an exactly similar process. 
 
 The next portions of the picture to be considered 
 are the greys, or the transition lights of the flesh. In a 
 portrait of Charles the First, Vandyke furnished a very 
 perfect example of the management of these lights. 
 In this instance, beside breaking the sharp-edged angle, 
 and blending the forehead into the half shadows of the 
 temple, the grey lights also serve by contrast to give an 
 additional beauty to the flesh tints. 
 
 These grey lights are given in Vandyke's works 
 with great precision, and form a distinct and peculiar 
 feature in the school of Rubens. In Vandyke they 
 are most delicate, and are very evident upon close 
 inspection, but soften to the eye when the picture is 
 seen from a proper distance, whence they have all the 
 appearance of real lights, such as (under happy cir- 
 cumstances) the cultivated eye detects in natural ob- 
 jects. 
 
 With the transition lights may be included those 
 reflected ones, which are certain almost imperceptible 
 illuminated parts relieving the objects from the back- 
 
Dirt and Pictures Separated. 
 
 107 
 
 ground as on the dark side of the face where it melts 
 into the space beyond. 
 
 We have asserted that Vandyke's execution, in large 
 works, resembled his master's. The pupil, however, not 
 unfrequently relied on the use of the 'softener.' He 
 knew how to blend or caress his tints into harmony, 
 without hazarding their purity. Fuseli, speaking of the 
 management of the palette, says — 1 Two colours make 
 a tint ; three, mud.' Vandyke knew this, and avoided 
 the evil. It was only in the portraits of fair women 
 that he seems to have thought a soft texture an indis- 
 pensable refinement. In thus much, then, he differs 
 from Rubens, whom he excels in a certain melting 
 tenderness imparted to his colours. 
 
 The works of Rubens and Vandyke are like similar 
 flowers of different culture. Those of Rubens growing 
 in the open air and sunlight, bold, masculine, and strong ; 
 those of Vandyke forced beneath glass by artificial heat, 
 fragile, slender, and graceful. The same structure is 
 in both — the difference is only one development. 
 Nothing is more obvious than the necessity of being 
 specially mindful of the more delicate, so that in a 
 general calculation those pictures most susceptible of 
 injury (as Vandyke's in the school of Rubens) may be 
 most cared for. 
 
 Vandyke has been described as working with 
 certainty and niceness of calculation, with a conscious- 
 ness of certain results from a consistent process ; yet 
 even he, on the completion of a picture, found it 
 necessary to revise and retouch minute particulars 
 omitted in the regular process. The restorer should 
 always assume the existence of these small concluding 
 
io8 
 
 Dirt and Pictures Separated. 
 
 touches. They are small but important corrections, 
 niceties of expression suggested by after-reflections, 
 minute particularisations necessary to definiteness or to 
 break anything too marked — in fact, critical retouchings. 
 In contemplating a picture by Vandyke, the spectator 
 does not perceive (it was not intended that he should) a 
 thousand nice discriminating points in every feature — in 
 eye, nose, mouth, and chin ; not only to make each 
 perfect in itself, but chiefly to harmonise the whole. 
 All this after-care was essential to satisfy the connois- 
 seur, the physiognomist, the artist, and the anatomist — 
 to define all differences of age and sex, and the various 
 peculiarities of character, and the qualities of human 
 nature. 
 
 Some would suggest that it were better to make 
 Rembrandt, as the greatest artist of shadow painting, the 
 master whose works should form the basis of these re- 
 marks ; but it has been thought necessary to ask for that 
 painter a separate place in the consideration of the 
 restorer. The works of Rembrandt demand to be 
 objects of special contemplation, and to be studied one 
 by one apart. Each is a distinct drama, self-contained. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 SPECIAL CASES FROM REMBRANDT. 
 
 It is often thought surprising that the works of the bar- 
 barous Fleming should rank in the connoisseur's estima- 
 tion almost as high as the works of the learned and 
 graceful Raphael ; yet we are much deceived if any 
 
Dirt and Pictures Separated. 1 09 
 
 painter has done more for the triumph of his art than 
 this grand and solitary miller's son. His pencil re- 
 cognised the meanest things, and glorified the rags and 
 tatters of the vilest outcast. The vulgar, the hideous, 
 and the repulsive, touched by his pencil, became eloquent 
 and impressive. Misery, vice and crime, desolation and 
 violence, found a ready access to the serene cabinets of 
 the wealthy and refined. The dens of infamy, the 
 haunts of squalor, nay, the horrors of the tomb, even the 
 putrefying corpse, tortured and warped by disease, 
 endowed with a new life and light by the genius of 
 Rembrandt, came to be the delight of palaces, and to 
 exact the homage of Europe. 
 
 A heap of stones and a solitary, limping mendicant, 
 painted on a few square inches of wood, will be an 
 object of competition ; collectors swarm around, covet it, 
 and become as children in their unaffected admiration. 
 No word escapes them touching the choice of subject, 
 no one regrets its meanness, no one believes it mean. 
 Such vagabonds as Rembrandt paints, the critics shun in 
 the streets. Every sense is offended by the reality, and 
 yet every beholder is charmed by the transcript. 
 Wherein, then, is this magic which enables the painter 
 so to win the homage of the fastidious ? Rembrandt's 
 beggars, culprits, and executioners, have the lineaments 
 of the unmitigated realities they picture. Guilt, cunning, 
 avarice, and infamy, are stereotyped in every line of the 
 face. Were they alive, we should turn aside, nor suffer 
 them to start up in our paths, infest our streets, and 
 prowl about our homes. Living, they baffle the in- 
 telligent, and overawe the proud ; but in the pictures of 
 Rembrandt they captivate and charm. What trans- 
 
I IO 
 
 Dirt and Pictures Separated. 
 
 formation have these objects undergone at the painter's 
 hands that they appeal to sight with all this fascination ? 
 The choice of subjects certainly cost the painter no effort, 
 but his whole art was exhausted in the setting, in making 
 it effective, in rendering it dramatic in the fullest sense of 
 that term. 
 
 The art of Rembrandt, considered in respect to 
 design, consists in giving to each character of his selec- 
 tion the lineaments that truly belong to it. His lines go 
 home to the truth ; they express all, and no more ; they 
 never exaggerate. If they are forcible, it is because they 
 are accurate. If the forms they delineate are hideous, it 
 is because the models were deformed ; if they lack beauty 
 and gracefulness, it is because the sitters whom the artist 
 affectioned excelled in ugliness. It is the same with 
 his colours. They are all truth, uncompromising truth. 
 The flesh looks like flesh, and nothing else beside. You 
 need no simile to explain what his colouring is like. Fix 
 upon the local colours of any object, take into considera- 
 tion the sort of life in which they are seen, and they are 
 truthful to a shade. They are always vivid, never staring. 
 He knew the precise degree in which the contrast of 
 opposing tints was to be risked, when it produced variety 
 and force, and when its results were confusion and 
 vulgarity. He could give tangible existence to the 
 fleeting hues and transient effects of light and darkness, 
 with as much ease as ordinary Dutch painters trans- 
 scribed the appearance of fixed objects. He revelled 
 like an adept in the shadows of the night, peered wist- 
 fully into the solemn darkness, and drew order and 
 system out of the portentous chaos. By the blaze of 
 torch, or the wavering embers, he saw in the profound 
 
Dirt and Pictures Separated. 1 1 1 
 
 gloom immensity of space. And whatever of interest or 
 of wonder the eye comprehended, the hand as readily 
 expressed. 
 
 The chief works of the Roman school may be com- 
 pared to the rare books which occasionally issue from 
 our Universities. It is the good fortune of the few to 
 appreciate the refinement of essays, uniting at once 
 genius and fine scholarship. The best models in ancient 
 literature are digested by the classic author of to-day in 
 precisely the same spirit in which Raphael might have 
 contemplated the choice statues and medallions of 
 antiquity. To these Raphael owed the majesty and 
 gracefulness of his designs. Whoever would fully realise 
 the wonderful efforts of his pencil must, to some extent, 
 qualify himself by an appropriate course of study. The 
 same models which adorned the studio of the painter, 
 and the same books which suggested the subjects of his 
 noble compositions, now exist within the reach of all. 
 Hence it would be nothing extraordinary if the prince of 
 painters came to be more and more appreciated and 
 reverenced as the multitude shall become better informed 
 on the principles of ancient art. But what shall we say 
 of Rembrandt, whose works are not referable, in the 
 same way, to widely accepted standards ? We do not 
 hesitate to assert that the time will come when his genius 
 will be recognised as legitimate, just as the once erratic 
 comet has become recognised amid the orderly pheno- 
 mena of the celestial system. There are a class of 
 painters whose works, while not remarkable for very great 
 defects, are neither possessed of very striking excellences. 
 These will pass away, while Rembrandt, with all his 
 
I I 2 
 
 Dirt and Pictures Separated. 
 
 faults and disregard of ' proprieties/ will live by virtue of 
 his incomparable and inherent beauties. 
 
 Look at that small, and, at first glance, insignificant, 
 picture entitled 'Jacob's Dream.' From the rude heap, 
 on which the travel-worn son of Isaac sleeps, up through 
 the opening in the amber clouds, seems to reach away, 
 into illimitable distance, a road from earth to heaven, 
 paved with glowing gems. The sleeper is utterly 
 wanting in dignity, a mere pedlar in hobnailed boots ; 
 the angels are faintly sketched in, with ragged wings, 
 mere specks, only distinguishable from the varied shapes 
 of the clouds, which form the interminable archway 
 through the sky. A tranquil light shuts out the gloom, 
 and breathes warmth upon the brief space around the 
 wanderer's pillow, making that dreary wilderness a 
 smiling nook of rest. 
 
 Nor was Rembrandt less potent when, at his spell, the 
 calm, sunless daylight flooded his canvas with tran- 
 quillity. Witness that master work of his at the Hague. 
 The livid-pale corpse and passionless countenances of 
 the physicians, once beheld in their awful solemnity, are 
 never more forgotten. The blank stone slabs, dark with 
 the presence of the living, seem like the tomb and 
 shadowy pall of the departed. And those doctors ! 
 Life-blood sparkles in their veins ; their eyes are deep 
 and full of thought, and lustrous as the diamond's blaze. 
 The clay-cold dead is as a tablet, on which may be read 
 the sufferings of the living man. Every vein and artery, 
 in dismal hieroglyphics, proclaims a history of sorrow 
 and of anguish. 
 
 Turning to a more homely scene. Here, on the 
 banks of the Skeldt, a solitary hut is reared, protected 
 
Dirt and Pictures Separated. i r 3 
 
 by a few stunted, weather-beaten trees. Daylight yet 
 lingers on the quaint and friendless home, mingling 
 with the glowing warmth which issues from the half- 
 open door, and glistens on the clean threshold and on 
 the porch. A venerable dame, with wrinkled face, is 
 there. You almost hear her footfall as she moves 
 over the crisp, dry sand. Drearily and forebodingly 
 she comes to steal a last furtive glance over the scene, 
 prior to shutting out the night. As the eye tracks its 
 way along the cheerless shore, broad, massive clouds 
 of luminous, pitchy blackness are visible, gathering all 
 around, and one long streak of lightning rends the 
 gloom, which shrouds the murky sky, and quivers on 
 the sullen waters, unbroken by dot, or speck, or sign of 
 living thing. 
 
 Sometimes he reminds us of the sombre and tragic 
 genius of Christopher Marlowe. The light from the 
 horizon is withdrawn ; the robbers, equipped and abroad, 
 are ready for their prey. The flicker of the traveller's 
 torch, an unconscious traitor, betrays its bearer to the 
 eye of the chief, who awaits, in gloomy patience, his 
 victim's approach. This is the moment the painter has 
 seized. The scowling crew, in all the mummery of 
 antique garb, savage gesture, and implements of death, 
 stand out in terrible relief. The tall chief, with grizzly 
 beard, keenly parted lips, and lowering eye, overshadowed 
 by ample brim and dusky plume, plants his gaunt figure 
 in the front ; the rest, in straggling groups, fall into the 
 background, and gather into dark and threatening 
 clusters — the more remote like jagged rocks, which the 
 imagination shapes into demons. A lurid vapour closes 
 in the spot, half revealing a narrow gorge the eye seeks 
 
 VOL. I, I 
 
1 14 Dirt and Pictures Separated. 
 
 to penetrate in vain. There seems no limit to the scene, 
 which, like the Valley of the Shadow of Death, is full of 
 horrors. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 AN IDEAL PROCESS OF PAINTING. 
 
 Suppose for a moment we have the privilege of observ- 
 ing a superior artist at his work. A vase of flowers just 
 brought in from the garden, with all the freshness of the 
 morning on the buds, leaves, and blossoms — roses, white 
 and red ; hyacinths, white, purple, and pink ; soft, rich, 
 deep-tinted African marigolds ; and tall tulips, pure 
 white, and striped with crimson and scarlet, and petals 
 dusted with gold. Children sporting with a goat are 
 delicately sculptured on the vase. The painter has 
 completed his outline. The lines are faintly indicated, 
 so as to be just perceptible, being first drawn on a sheet 
 of thin paper, and traced through with a needle on to a 
 panel as smooth and white as the paper itself. 
 
 Spreading his palette with pure white and lamp 
 black, finely ground, and selecting a few good sable 
 pencils, the painter proceeds to relieve by shadows the 
 vase, slab, and flowers, from the flat surface. He 
 accomplishes this with great nicety by the admixture 
 of black and white ; realising in form and texture 
 every fine distinction of character which the various 
 subjects present, and so effectively that even the 
 practised eye could scarcely detect an oversight or in- 
 accuracy in the transcript. If it were possible to meta- 
 
Dirt and Pictures Separated. 1 1 5 
 
 morphose the realities of the variegated flowers, marble 
 slab, and antique vase into forms of driven snow, then 
 would the representation bear strict resemblance to the 
 original objects ; soft, delicate shadows, and every grace- 
 ful and various quality having been rendered in perfect 
 unison. Satisfied with his work thus far, the artist next 
 arranges his light from the window of the studio, so as 
 to let a sunbeam fall upon the prominent objects of the 
 group. The change in the light makes it necessary to 
 pass a tender shadow across the picture, so as to leave 
 those parts on which the sunbeam falls the lighter by 
 comparison. This management of the shadows is a 
 refinement which may be pursued to a very intricate 
 degree, but in this instance the track of sunlight would 
 produce an effect simple to imagine. We observe some 
 flowers in splendour, and others quiet, cool, and retired. 
 The vase of flowers is placed just within the opening of 
 a second chamber, which has only so much cool light 
 diffused over it as serves to make the darkness visible, 
 and this space forms a very effective and soft back- 
 ground, an even contrast, neither too abrupt nor too 
 dark. By this arrangement the whole group is relieved 
 with great force and distinctness. The warm light 
 searches the inmost depths of the open flowers, and peers 
 through every little crevice, filling some with radiance, 
 and fringing others with gold. Swarms of insects are 
 seen sporting about, with fiery coats and wings of various 
 hues, from the fierce and gorgeous dragon-fly to the 
 minute ant ; and fresh, pearly drops of dew, fresh as if 
 just fallen from the sky to disappear with the opening 
 day, hang here and there, nestle in the bosom of the 
 rose, glide down the satin surface of the tulip, and drop 
 
1 1 6 Dirt and Pictures Separated. 
 
 on the cool, polished marble below, mingling with the 
 mingled colours reflected from above. Each water drop 
 is a little mirror, imaging in little something that is near 
 it ; each flower, borrowing a tint from its neighbour, 
 yields its own tint in return ; the white rose looks more 
 tender and more intense beside the hyacinth's deep 
 blue, and the rich rose reflects its crimson blushes all 
 around. 
 
 The painter has succeeded in denoting the various 
 forms composing his subject, in black and white. As 
 at the commencement of the work he devoted his atten- 
 tion to the distinguishing characteristics of each particular 
 form, so now, in the same methodical manner, he pro- 
 ceeds to particularise each colour and its variations. 
 Thus the rose has three or six shades of colour in its 
 blossoms, from the whitish divisions of the young buds 
 to the deep clefts of the mature flowers. The same 
 transparent lake or carmine serves for all ; for he com- 
 mences with the faintest blush, and then deepens each 
 tint in succession down to the darkest crimson. This 
 process is repeated for every flower and object in the 
 picture. The most subtle tint is thus obtained, whether 
 of blue, yellow, green, or red, including the reflected 
 hues. The treatment which serves for the rose, serves 
 also for the hyacinth, marigold, tulip, and even the 
 smallest leaf or stalk. Thus the utmost purity, fresh- 
 ness, richness, depth, brightness, transparency, and truth 
 are ensured. The painter, having first secured the true 
 colour of each object — that is, its colour before receiving 
 reflections — reserves the reflected hues for after considera- 
 tion. The purple which the rose attracts from the 
 hyacinth at its side, is obtained by a faint wash of blue, 
 
Dirt and Pictures Separated. 
 
 117 
 
 thus changing the tint, with every hue throughout. 
 When the local colours and accidental tints are com- 
 pleted, the pointing is proceeded with. The borders of 
 the flowers and edges of the leaves are tipped with sun- 
 light, which also sparkles on the insects, and gives a 
 central light to the smooth stalks. Those parts which 
 are of a heavy dead texture, not reflecting light, require 
 retouching with opaque colour to distinguish them from 
 the transparent. 
 
 All these beautiful and various effects John Van 
 Huysum could imitate so closely that the imitation 
 seemed to have * motion and life, and almost an odour.' 
 Whoever feels a pleasure (and who does not ?) in gazing 
 at Nature's loveliest and most innocent creations — i a 
 group of beautiful flowers — will readily allow that to 
 "look on a picture by John- Van Huysum is the next 
 best thing.' There is a feeling so happy in his concep- 
 tions of flowers, selected and disposed with the nicest 
 susceptibility to their gentlest influences ! He gives to 
 each particular flower, bud, and plant its peculiar cha- 
 racter, unruffled by accident. With profusion there is no 
 repletion ; grace and simplicity are everywhere. 
 
 It may be said that the process of painting a picture 
 after the method particularised has never been pursued 
 — that neither Van Huysum, Mignon, De Heem, nor 
 Baptiste, in fact, pursued such a process ; nay, that 
 these painters worked to perfection by means quite 
 different — that their works are more natural, solid, and 
 durable than they would have been if so painted. The 
 writer has seen a picture by Van Huysum in a half- 
 effaced condition, painted on a white ground, in which 
 the tulips and roses were first perfectly formed in white 
 
Tl8 
 
 Dirt and Pictures Separated. 
 
 and black. The more elaborate works of Van Huysum 
 were thus worked up. Pictures painted in this manner 
 are very susceptible of injury, owing to the extreme 
 delicacy and thinness of the finishing transparent colours. 
 For this reason it has been thought that a thorough 
 acquaintance with the nature of a picture so hazardous 
 to treat would be the best standard to fix in the mind. 
 There would be risk of destroying every beauty in a 
 picture by Van Huysum by use of solvents which might 
 be safely employed in restoring a picture by Baptiste. 
 In a flower-piece by Van Huysum, the faint and 
 scarcely perceptible blush on the rose is almost as tran- 
 sient as a reflected hue. It is the sensitive eye alone 
 that would be conscious of its presence, and only the 
 delicatest handling that could venture on its surface. 
 In a similar subject by Baptiste, the corresponding tints 
 would not, as in Van Huysum, be produced by a trans- 
 parent wash, but by opaque colour, which the ordinary 
 eye could not resist, nor the ordinary handling en- 
 danger. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 IDIOSYNCRASIES OF PICTURE PROPRIETORS. 
 
 PICTURE criticisms, by so many deemed matters of 
 capricious taste, might become instructive, if definite 
 rules once aided the judgment ; for art is no exception 
 to the law, that interest, appreciation, and refinement, 
 come with the understanding. Compare the remarks of 
 three or four bystanders on any given picture. If the 
 
Dirt and Pictures Separated. 
 
 119 
 
 observers are ignorant of the theory and practice of 
 painting, they will exhibit great and perplexing contra- 
 dictions of opinion ; but, in proportion as they happen to 
 be informed of the means and method by which the 
 picture was produced, and of the peculiarities of the 
 master's school, the darkness clears up, principles begin 
 to appear, criticism grows intelligent, and common 
 agreements are manifested. Thus it is with all ordinary 
 questions of science and art, and thus it will be with the 
 art of painting, when the value of right rules and princi- 
 ples shall be properly regarded. 
 
 The lines of Pope are specially applicable to those 
 who judge lightly of the character and works of an old 
 painter : — 
 
 ' Religion, country, genius of his age — 
 Without all these at once before your eyes, 
 Cavil you may, but never criticise.' 
 
 The pedantic condemn pictures for such anachron- 
 isms as that of the painter having put fire-arms into the 
 hands of historical personages who lived a few centuries 
 before the invention of gunpowder — a kind of fault 
 frequently found in the best executed pictures. Ana- 
 tomists set aside those productions of the pencil which, in 
 the markings of the muscles, would ill serve the purposes 
 of the medical student. Picture possessors, sensitive 
 with respect to colours, pronounce one picture too blue, 
 another too yellow, a third too red ; others have a diffi- 
 culty in seeing anything distinctly, and consequently, 
 condemn three pictures out of four as too black, and 
 admire the worst performances solely for their glaring 
 intelligibility. Some, who happen to be near-sighted, 
 prefer small cabinet pieces on account of their minute- 
 
1 20 
 
 Dirt and Pictures Separated. 
 
 ness. Others favour only broad generalities, and care 
 for nothing in particular. Some note each separate 
 flower in the hedge-row, and stoop to take the number 
 of blades of grass. Others take things in the mass, and 
 see and feel but the presence of mountain, flood, and 
 valley. There are some who see vulgarity in bright 
 colours, and others give the preference to brown, quiet 
 pictures. Others revel in sunshine, purple and gold, and 
 turn from sombre objects with instinctive dislike. There 
 is every conceivable difference in the liking and disliking 
 of subjects. Some have all their sympathies with 
 animals, others (at various periods) with still life, fish, 
 flesh, fowl, or fruit, flowers, insects, and shells. Some 
 delight in marine pictures, others in the march of armies. 
 Some are disposed to reflect on religious pictures, and 
 others rejoice in festive scenes. Here one consults the 
 canvas for historic truths, and values the commonplace 
 and the actual ; there one ponders over the mysterious 
 allegory, which delights him the more because it is 
 obscure. Another cause of dislike, or indifference, to 
 some pictures, is the disposition on the part of many 
 collectors to determine upon ideals of face and form : 
 making no allowance for the national, religious, or moral 
 bias of the painter, they find fault with all works which 
 do not answer to their preconceived notions. Thus the 
 glowing groups of Venetian masters yield infinitely more 
 satisfaction to some than the simple and graceful beings 
 of Raphael, or the severe and energetic forms of Angelo. 
 In these latter times, there is a great demand for mere 
 prettiness. This is carried so far that the lines of divine 
 intelligence in woman's countenance (so foppery wills it) 
 challenge disrespect rather than admiration, and the 
 
Dirt and Pictures Separated. 
 
 I 2 I 
 
 Sibyls themselves scarcely escape contempt. Whereas 
 there are a select few whose predilections favour the ugly 
 and monstrous ; and with them every conceivable abor- 
 tion comes, very consistently, under the head of the 
 graphic or picturesque. Pursuing this theory, it has 
 even been urged in print that faces on which the small- 
 pox has left its indelible marks are more delightful than 
 those which rival in texture the smoothest alabaster. 
 Then there is that feeling of virtuous indignation levelled 
 against pictures conceived to have an immoral tendency. 
 These find no sympathy with those who renounce the 
 flesh in the thorough-going fashion. Cumberland relates 
 how famous pictures of this order have been prized or 
 condemned by turns, as the fit was on, in the Spanish 
 dominions. A pious princess once caused several 
 pictures of this class to be cut in pieces. Heine relates 
 that a Quaker, having taken fright at a work by Giulio 
 Romano, spent a fortune in its purchase, in order to 
 have the pleasure of burning it. This fanaticism exists 
 to a dangerous extent. Yet even in this delicate 
 department of connoisseurship, we meet with a discrim- 
 inating liberality which tolerates the class of pictures 
 referred to, and admires the artist when it cannot justify 
 the man. 
 
 There is a class of people to whom the old masters of 
 painting are as nought — for whom the walls of the 
 Vatican have no sort of interest — for whom the gorgeous 
 hues of Venice offer no allurements — those who can 
 regard, unmoved, the women and children of Murillo 
 — to whom the courtly women of Vandyke appear 
 cold and meaningless. Vandyke (writes a famous Ameri- 
 can authoress) ' awakens no emotion ' ; and of the great 
 
12 2 Dirt and Pictures Separated. 
 
 Flemish artist, Rubens, the same amiable lady exclaims, 
 ' his pictures I detest with all the energy of my soul.' 
 
 Whole galleries of fine pictures have perished of 
 neglect, arising from an utter indifference to their 
 beauties and ignorance of their worth. It is easier to 
 understand such a state of things in private families, 
 than in public bodies. Pictures bought by and for the 
 public for daily contemplation, ought to be made an ex- 
 ample of precaution, which private owners and collectors 
 might follow. For it is too true that here and there the 
 sense of responsibility is dead as regards the preserva- 
 tion of the works of genius, which are in their royal nature 
 a legacy to the nation in which they exist, and to the 
 inhabitants of successive ages. 
 
 All these differences of judgment and feeling, with 
 respect to pictures, exist, and owners of pictures so 
 variously disposed may be commonly met with. The 
 fact is, people come to possess pictures through acci- 
 dental circumstances ; and it is an equally contingent 
 circumstance if they happen to understand them, care 
 for them, or know how to treat them. These eccentri- 
 cities and intolerances will always militate against art 
 until a catholic spirit, the true sentiment of art, becomes 
 universal. 
 
Dirt and Pictures Separated. 123 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 PROFESSIONAL ADVISERS. 
 
 The connoisseur should never be compelled to follow, 
 unconditionally, the dictum of others respecting the 
 requirements of his pictures. If he consult a number of 
 eminent painters, as to the condition of his pictures, they 
 will probably indulge in vague generalities about art, 
 with very insufficient reference to the peculiarities of the 
 pictures in question. Painters, for the most part, are 
 too much taken up with their own productions, to enter 
 into a minute particularisation of the works of others. 
 Indeed, it could be shown, by a general reference to the 
 best pictures of the English school, that even the ablest 
 of its masters have paid little or no attention to pictures 
 with respect to their preservation and durability. All 
 lovers of art regret the present condition of the chief 
 works of Sir Joshua Reynolds, to which may be added 
 many of Romney's, nearly the whole of Hoppner's, and 
 even some of the best portraits by Sir Thomas Lawrence. 
 The contempt of chemical laws in the founders of the 
 English school is much to be wondered at ; but the con- 
 tinued neglect by most living artists of a study so 
 eminently called for is without excuse. Painters of the 
 present day seem to vie with each other in a reckless use 
 of materials which cannot be expected to last more than 
 a few years. Moreover, painters strictly confine them- 
 selves to favourite styles. Paletteknife, for instance, 
 plasters on the colour in heaps. He has an extra- 
 
124 
 
 Dirt and Pictures Separated. 
 
 ordinary liking for the picturesque — such as dark lanes, 
 ruined edifices, and wild, barren, deserted places. He 
 has no rival in the art of rendering ragged and jagged 
 appearances of nature. He most delights in the dis- 
 ordered and unaccountable ; and the choice of subject 
 seems to have dictated to him the choice of style, and to 
 have made it necessary for him to employ a trowel 
 where artists of the old schools used pencils. Paletteknife's 
 peculiar taste, moreover, induces him to look with 
 contempt on the works of those old painters who 
 delighted in rendering common objects in a common- 
 place manner. He thinks those four pictures by Greemer 
 representing the ' Seasons ' very absurd productions. 
 The churches, cottages, and trees, in which you may 
 count every brick, stone, tile, and leaf, together with the 
 crowds of people, dressed as they were in Greemer's time, 
 and occupied according to their respective stations in 
 life, and in such matters as the particular season or time 
 of day would seem to call for, he gazes at as minor 
 details, insignificant facts, unworthy the notice of an 
 artist and a poet. Then what interest can there possibly 
 be found in those stark-stiff saints by Albert Diirer ? 
 On the other hand (to show that there is not always 
 unanimity of feeling in artists), Camelhair is in down- 
 right ecstasies with painstaking, plodding Greemer, and 
 begs of the fortunate owner the liberty to make a copy 
 of the German masterpiece, vowing he never contem- 
 plated so rare a specimen before. Paletteknife can only 
 attribute the choice of pictures made by his friend to 
 sheer affectation. Camelhair, in return, bestows a look 
 of despair on his reckless brother, who, despising the 
 examples of the early masters of painting, has struck 
 
Dirt and Pictures Separated. 
 
 125 
 
 out an entirely new walk of art, expressly for him- 
 self. 
 
 Surely the connoisseur, consulting two painters of 
 such opposite tendencies, with the desire of obtaining 
 information upon the condition of a mixed collection of 
 pictures, would be disappointed. One produces a score 
 of sheep with as many evolutions of the elbow, and 
 trusts to accidental splashes of colour for the rest ; the 
 other bestows a month in the elaboration of a wisp of 
 hay, and thinks Gerard Dow must have laboured under 
 excitement when he painted the handle of a besom in 
 four days. Therefore it is that they never agree about 
 anything in connection with art, though in most other 
 matters they seldom differ. Then there is our famous 
 colourist, who, on being consulted about anything con- 
 nected with old paintings, immediately commences a 
 rhapsody about those famous masters, Giorgione and 
 Titian, interspersed with praises of the great Fleming. 
 Colour, especially a Venetian colour, is our modern 
 Tintoretto's forte ; he has a passion for colour ; his hap- 
 piest thoughts are all in Venice, whose painters are the 
 sources of his inspiration. All other cities, and all other 
 painters (excepting the great Fleming) are to him of no 
 consideration. Even when his favourite masters are at 
 stake, he is somewhat too vague, and his observations 
 seldom have that closeness necessary for practical 
 purposes. Should the lover of the old masters consult 
 the great modern landscape painter, the 'prophet of 
 Nature,' as he has been termed, one can hardly conceive 
 it possible that he would condescend to answer trifling 
 questions about damaged pictures of low Dutch, 
 German, Flemish, and Italian schools. Nor is it too 
 
126 
 
 Dirt and Pictures Separated. 
 
 much to say that the old schools of painting are in- 
 significant facts to which he rarely descends. The con- 
 dition-of-pictures question hardly ever once entered his 
 mind. His own pictures decay almost as soon as they 
 are painted, and he never takes cognisance of the fact : 
 intent upon immortality, the contingent decay, even in 
 his own pictures, strangely enough, is a matter of indif- 
 ference. 
 
 Long after this passage was written, the writer met, 
 in a number of the 'Art Journal' for 1853, with the 
 following statement relative to the condition of some 
 pictures bequeathed by J. W. M. Turner to the National 
 Gallery : — ' It is tolerably well known to those who, 
 of late years, have had access to Turner's dwelling- 
 house, that the pictures he has bequeathed to the 
 country are in such a state as to require the immediate 
 attention of the " restorer " ; and if something be not soon 
 done, they will in a very short time be comparatively 
 worthless as works of art. We believe that Turner, 
 during his* 5 lifetime, applied to Mr. John Seguier to 
 undertake the task, but was alarmed at the price named 
 by the latter.' 
 
 It may indeed be questioned whether the painter is 
 ever the fit person to restore his own pictures. If 
 Guido had been asked (an instance is on record) to 
 revive one of the faded works of his own hand, he in 
 all probability would have preferred repainting to the 
 tedious process of cleaning and repairing. What 
 could Reynolds have done with the countless cracks 
 and faded tints which characterised the chief of his 
 portraits not many years after they were painted ? 
 Would he have possessed the patience to stipple, like a 
 
Dirt and Pictures Separated. 
 
 127 
 
 small miniature, the various disfigurements presented ? 
 Doubtless he would have taken the liberty to repaint, 
 and then what would have become of the resemblances ? 
 It was easy to perceive that a portrait by Etty, in the 
 Society of Arts' Exhibition, had been in part repainted 
 by its author. The beautiful production had become 
 much cracked, and the impetuous artist had repainted 
 portions, instead of following the course of each par- 
 ticular crack. The effect was incongruous enough, com- 
 bining in one frame the early, modest, quiet style, with 
 the florid and extravagant manner of the painter's latter 
 years. 
 
 Turner was wise, who, on discovering some of his best 
 works were decaying, sent for a professed restorer. He 
 would not risk his own capricious pencil in the matter-of- 
 fact task of reparation, though the injuries were in his 
 own favourite pictures. 
 
 The most famous of collectors of the works of the old 
 masters have not attended Academies for the information 
 to guide them ; and, indeed, would not find it there if 
 they did. The spirit breathed within the walls of Acad- 
 emies, devoted to particular ends, if not deficient in 
 liberality, usually wants the comprehensiveness of the 
 accomplished connoisseur. Students in painting are 
 mostly uneducated, and professors of painting have 
 mostly strong prejudices. A reference to the biographies 
 of a large number of painters will leave no question that 
 they are, as a class, remarkable for extreme notions, con- 
 trarieties, and eccentricities. Level, solid judgment, based 
 upon careful education, ought to constitute the liberal 
 judge of art. Prejudice and true connoisseurship can 
 scarcely well exist together. That distinct individualism 
 
128 
 
 Dirt and Pictures Separated. 
 
 which lends variety and interest to the painters must 
 ever seem like illiberality in the connoisseur, blinding 
 him to the just claims of all those artists whose modes 
 of thinking and working differ from a peculiar choice. 
 It might be right, and necessary, for a painter to devote 
 his life to particular ends ; but he is just the reverse of a 
 comprehensive lover of the arts, who is exclusive in his 
 admiration of particular artists, leaving unnoticed others 
 equally meritorious. It is not to the taste, the desire, 
 nor the interest, of rising painters, bent upon securing an 
 immortal reputation for themselves, to trouble overmuch 
 about the works of others. Your Lawrences are as much 
 opposed to your Holbeins, and your Turners to your 
 Claudes, as night to day. A gentleman may interest 
 himself in pictures, whose bad drawing, or inharmonious 
 colouring, might have a pernicious influence on the prac- 
 titioner, who would run the risk of imbibing a hard, crude 
 outline from one, and, it might be, ' a dirty tint ' from 
 another. What is food for the connoisseur may be poison 
 to the painter. The collector consults illustrious artists in 
 vain ; and he is eventually convinced (to use the words 
 of Daniel Webb) * that nothing is a greater hindrance 
 to his acquiring an intimate acquaintance with the old 
 masters than entertaining too high an opinion of the 
 judgment of professors in painting.' He, with some 
 exceptions, ' finds each artist an implicit admirer of 
 some particular school, or a slave to some particular 
 manner.' And seldom indeed does it occur to the suc- 
 cessful painter that the works of the old masters re- 
 quire his friendly aid. Neglect scatters her dust like 
 a dark veil over all, the excellent and the worthless ; 
 but the too self-conscious genius of to-day, blinded by 
 
D irt and Pictures Separated. 
 
 129 
 
 the splendour of his own course, heeds not the far-off 
 dying lamps which flicker in the past, and one by one 
 go out. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 PICTURE DESTROYERS. 
 
 PlCTURE-FRAME makers, house painters, and decorators, 
 are seldom deterred by any scruples from writing them- 
 selves up proficients in the art of restoring the pictures 
 of the old masters. One possesses a famous compound, 
 a newly invented preparation ; another, an extraordinary 
 elixir, concocted from a very old recipe, which never fails 
 to renew the colours of old paintings, however faded 
 they may have become through lapse of centuries or 
 modern ill-usage ; a third is possessed of a secret for 
 making a varnish, which beats glass out of the market 
 for clearness and durability — it is warranted * neither to 
 discolour, bloom, nor crack,' so that those pictures which 
 are so fortunate as to get a few coatings of the said 
 varnish will be astonishingly improved in all respects, 
 and in all probability last for ever. 
 
 The well-informed, however, are seldom induced by 
 pretensions of this order to intrust their pictures to 
 hands guiltless of art-principles, and to operators who 
 have no explanation to give of the special treatment 
 each particular picture, or class of pictures, seems to 
 require. The judicious collector rather dreads the 
 cleverness of quacks, who would make one common 
 
 VOL. I. K 
 
1 30 Dirt and Pictures Separated. 
 
 recipe suffice for all the productions of genius, so mani- 
 fold and infinitely various in their nature as works of 
 genius ever are. The professors of picture-restoration 
 are very numerous in London, familiarly known by the 
 sign hung out at their doors : generally an old portrait, 
 one half clean, the other half dirty, as a specimen to 
 convince the unwary connoisseur that the proprietor of 
 the shop can restore pictures. The mere fact of hanging 
 out a specimen of picture-cleaning to attract the atten- 
 tion of passers-by is perhaps not necessarily a proof of 
 the shopkeeper's inability to equal his professions ; but 
 there is a something in this fashion of advertising which 
 makes the prudent connoisseur question the spirit and 
 artistic faculty of the proprietor : and reflection usually 
 leads to the conclusion that the show-picture is a sign 
 of the shopkeeper's incapacity. Many who have had 
 the guardianship of pictures have preferred to leave 
 them to the ordinary decay arising from neglect, to 
 risking their utter destruction by what seemed to them 
 the uncertain process of cleaning. Instances, on the 
 other hand, are not wanting of those who, with un- 
 pardonable haste, have called in the common enemy, in 
 the person of one of these picture-owners, whose opera- 
 tions (saving a miracle) were conducted at the expense 
 of the picture itself ; not intentionally nor malignantly 
 no doubt, for where there is neither the faculty to dis- 
 tinguish, nor the taste to appreciate, there can be no 
 accountability for injury, and the excuse is ignorance. 
 
 Let it not be thought, however, that all the fine 
 pictures injured by cleaning suffer exclusively at the 
 hands of the class of persons referred to. Gentlemen 
 picture cleaners abound who will destroy more on a fine 
 
Dirt and Pictures Separated. 131 
 
 morning before breakfast than one of your advertisers 
 in a whole year. As parents are supposed best to under- 
 stand the necessities of their own children, so many 
 collectors assume to know best how to treat the require- 
 ments of their pictures. De Burtin, writing on picture 
 cleaning, uses some plausible reasons to induce owners 
 of pictures to dabble in solvents. Extreme love for the 
 gem he thinks the best guarantee for its safety when 
 under the operation of cleaning. De Burtin also thinks 
 that reading De Burtin on ' Picture Cleaning 1 (that is, 
 his own book), with a little practice, is all that is required 
 to make a man of fortune a successful operator. If 
 gentlemen collectors were disposed to devote their time 
 and fortunes to that one sole object, advantage to art 
 might possibly, in some instances, be the result. A 
 little leisure and a little practice, with no matter how 
 much affection, will fail to produce a competent professor 
 of picture restoration, whatever De Burtin has said to 
 the contrary. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE RESTORER. 
 
 In contemplating a face, or number of faces, success- 
 fully exhibiting delicate sentiments and deep passions, 
 we are struck with the story they tell, or the moral they 
 combine to represent, and we marvel at the skill of the 
 artist who could, so to speak, create anew the life, by 
 the aid of simple lines and colours. We should marvel 
 more did our reflections lead us to consider each par- 
 
132 
 
 Dirt and Pictures Separated. 
 
 ticular part of the process by which the life-like forms 
 came fashioned from the painter's hand. It were in- 
 structive to contemplate the process, from the laying of 
 the first broad general grounds of colour, to the critical 
 and final retouchings, by which the niceties of expression 
 were arrived at, and which were the finish of the work 
 and the evidence of mastery. It is these finishing 
 touches, the ' glazings/ ' scumblings,' ' blendings,' and 
 'pointings,' whether considered as mere texture, or as 
 intellectual refinements, which tax the restorer's art and 
 claim his vigilance. The sculptor wastes away the rude 
 block till he has accomplished the desired form. Not 
 so the painter. He builds up his forms from a blank 
 surface, and hides, as he progresses, all the preliminary 
 layers upon which the external colours depend for dura- 
 bility and lustre. And hence, not only the meaning 
 and spirit of the work must be understood ; the restorer 
 must also be familiar with the nature of the materials 
 and the manner of their employment. 
 
 The restorer should also be deeply read in those 
 established principles which test the truth and goodness 
 of pictorial representations. He should understand 
 linear perspective, that he may know where its laws 
 have been adhered to, and where ignored. He should 
 be acquainted with aerial perspective, that he may in 
 certain works appreciate its many and various beauties. 
 He should be master of anatomy, that he may be care- 
 ful not to injure the works of those artists which exhibit 
 an accurate acquaintance of the human figure. He 
 should understand the principles of colouring, so far as 
 they have been ascertained, that he may be free from 
 the danger of injuring beauties founded on principles, 
 
Dirt and Pictures Separated. 
 
 133 
 
 and, at the same time, be in a position to understand, 
 and respect, if not to admire, works painted without any- 
 definite knowledge of colours. The practical restorer 
 should study to the end, that his mind may become, as 
 it were, an index of the various styles of painting prac- 
 tised by the masters whose works are his care. Be the 
 style of a painter simple or complex, graceful or un- 
 graceful, it should be registered in its place. The 
 restorer, like the physician, should have no bias. It is 
 for him to trace with untiring industry, and unerring 
 precision, the many fine distinctions in each particular 
 work he may have to treat. He ought to comprehend, 
 not only the meaning and spirit of each work, but be 
 able to trace, bit by bit, with microscopic exactness, the 
 means and the method which the artist employed to 
 accomplish it. It is not enough for the restorer to know 
 the results, he must also penetrate their causes — that 
 the effects may not suffer. It would seem that nothing 
 less than a master mind could achieve the successful 
 treatment of a master work, but it comes out in the end, 
 that a restorer of inferior power, profiting by the crea- 
 tions of the artist, may be able to appreciate their ex- 
 cellences though unable to produce them : just as the 
 critic discovers in another the qualities he could never 
 have invented himself. In a word, the restorer has 
 wholly to devote himself to the study of pictures, until 
 he has made himself as familiar with the productions of 
 many pencils as the ambitious painter does with a few 
 select examples. 
 
 It is quite possible to conceive an accomplished re- 
 storer, fulfilling the high functions of conserver to the 
 arts, content in that capacity, and devoting all his ener- 
 
'34 
 
 Dirt and Pictures Separated. 
 
 gies, with frank good will and hearty self-respect, to the 
 preservation of the works of others — willing to forego 
 any reputation he might himself achieve as a painter for 
 the general good of art — content to be the servant and 
 the friend of painters, not their rival. He should be 
 favourable to the growth and exchange of congenial 
 sympathies, and he might well become an adviser to 
 them in some minor practical difficulties often ex- 
 perienced by creative genius. The painter not unfre- 
 quently works in ignorance of the mechanical department 
 of his art. Through the neglect of what he is too apt to 
 think unworthy of his attention, the rationale of his 
 materials and their uses, he often labours in vain, and 
 grasps at last but that transient reputation which only 
 lives, like the actor's and the musician's, in the breath 
 of memory, and by the tongue of report. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 DEVOTION OF THE RESTORER. 
 
 Let it not be thought that the man who earnestly 
 devotes his life to the service of art in the capacity of 
 restorer is necessarily destitute of the mature aspirations 
 of the painter. It is possible to be as mindful, and to 
 display as much care for the preservation of an author's 
 productions, as the author himself could desire. True, a 
 sincere love and appreciation are essential ; and who 
 doubts the existence of profound interest and affection 
 for the works of great poets and painters ? Critics may 
 
Dirt and Pictures Separated. 135 
 
 be found devoting their best energies in the purification 
 of a poet's text ; and why may not others display equal 
 zeal over the lines and colours of the artist ? We can 
 realise the annotator, by long study, acquiring some- 
 thing of the dramatist's way of thinking, and the power 
 to re-state passages accidentally become obscure, and to 
 re-render vague conjunctions of words into delicate ex- 
 pressions of sentiment and animated descriptions. So 
 with injured or obscured works of the old painters — 
 similar intelligence and devotion will enable the restorer 
 to perform like services to the picture art. 
 
 Often do we see men unceasing in their application 
 after less important concerns. An entomologist will 
 beat the dark copse through the long night, in order 
 that he may add one more variegated moth to his case ; 
 he will traverse the swamp, that an insignificant gnat 
 may be represented in his collection, and watch a whole 
 season to capture a rare butterfly. So with the botanist 
 and his plants, the conchologist with his shells, and the 
 antiquary with his relics. No trouble is too great for 
 these faithful students. The restorer, too, who is duly 
 impressed with the importance of his object, with the 
 same disregard of exertion, collects everything relating 
 to his craft in the form of drawing, print, or etching, 
 bearing the stamp of the master's hand. He seeks after 
 the obsolete, pores over old books, gleaning here and 
 there particular facts. In ancient mansion, gallery, or 
 cathedral, wherever the old painters have left the impress 
 of genius on the walls — in dim ancestral portraits or 
 nobler visions of creative thought — there the restorer 
 makes his study and his home. His well-taught eye 
 detects the slow decay which lurks beneath the surface 
 
136 Dirt and Pictures Separated. 
 
 of resplendent colours. An atom of dust betrays to 
 him the presence of the insidious worm ; he watches 
 the subtle film, left by the moist air, and baked by the 
 sun or fire, as day by day its presence obscures each 
 tender tint and softened hue. Whatever tends to injure 
 the objects of his care arrests his attention, and ordinary 
 decay, the consequence of neglect, or the effects of 
 malice, he labours to repair. Bending before the sacred 
 ruin, he regards it with no less awe than if he were 
 conscious that the author of the work still lingered near. 
 Harbouring no mercenary thoughts, he rises to his task 
 with just and conscious pride, feeling that the last will 
 and testament of a great artist is in his hands, himself 
 the chosen minister to carry out the last behest. 
 
 Thus cheerfully, with light and gentle touch, he day by 
 day reveals some portion of the buried treasure — some 
 gleaming fragment of poetic thought. As old monastic 
 sculptors, by faith and genius inspired, laboured until 
 the quarry of shapeless stones became impressed with 
 the light fantastic form and character of the woodland 
 bower, so in patience and endurance the work of the 
 restorer proceeds, until at last, the dark, unmeaning 
 space presents a paradise of splendour peopled with 
 groups of life-like, breathing forms. Immured in the 
 solitude of the vaulted church, he engages in the long 
 and gracious task of restoring these relics of bygone 
 ages, in the generous love of art itself, and with the hope 
 of perpetuating the great creations of the past. He 
 pictures to himself the authors of those faded images 
 toiling for long years with the zeal of martyrs, philosophic 
 patience, and godlike power of hand, to win for them- 
 selves immortal crowns. But as no miracle happened 
 
Dirt and Pictures Separated. 137 
 
 to aid them in their work, either in the drawing of lines 
 or mixing of tints, so no miracle saved these from the 
 ordinary casualties of — decay. The fissure in the wall, 
 the gap in the high roof, damp mists from open doors 
 and casements, and the smoke of censer, taper, and 
 lamp, are active agents of destruction — to say nothing 
 of the bigot's fury and the soldier's rage. And looking 
 back through the long, dreary, troubled night of dis- 
 respect and cold indifference, shrouding like a dim pall 
 the works of the great painters, far from wondering that 
 their glory has somewhat diminished, we might ofttimes 
 well regard it as miraculous indeed that a vestige 
 remains to tell where beauty and gracefulness once 
 mutely reigned and won their silent victory over the 
 proud heart. 
 
SELECTIONS FROM OCCASIONAL WRITINGS 
 
REMBRANDT. 
 
 PICTURE dealers, in spite of prejudice against them as 
 a body, would appear to be indispensable agents in the 
 upward progress of the art-student. The miscellaneous 
 hardware dealer, who buys small daubs at two shillings 
 apiece to hang among his rusty files and hinges — the 
 affluent pawnbroker, who flatters himself that he can 
 distinguish a work of promise and genius from a got-up 
 ' furniture picture ' — and the higher order of dealer, who 
 will venture to buy what he is pleased to designate 
 ' little bits of colour/ — are perhaps each and all essen- 
 tial, as things go, in a monster city like London. In 
 ten cases out of twelve, young painters, on their outset 
 in life, are necessitated to do business with these men ; 
 and it would save them a vast amount of mortification 
 if they learned to look at that fact in an ordinary busi- 
 ness light, instead of regarding each descent into this 
 picture market as a degradation. The ambitious student 
 arrives in the metropolis hot with enthusiasm, never 
 doubting that the doors of the wealthy and titled will 
 be opened to receive him ; the only question is, whether 
 he will condescend to enter. Alas ! he has to wait, and 
 work, and starve, it may be, for twenty years, and then 
 comes to think himself fortunate indeed if he finds him- 
 self a really welcome guest at the snug fireside of some 
 
142 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 kind-hearted merchant. He must live through long 
 years before he will have occasion to visit the banker 
 with that magical slip of paper denominated a cheque — 
 receiving meanwhile his wages in shillings dropped 
 reluctantly one by one from the dealer's hand, as if they 
 were drops of blood from the heart, before he can com- 
 mand a just and substantial recognition of his abilities 
 in whole shovelfuls of gold at the bankers'. 
 
 The ordinary picture dealer is an ogre to the 
 student. It is seldom we hear of a young painter 
 coming from a picture dealer in high glee at the amount 
 of encouragement he has received. There is, however, 
 one instance of the kind upon record, and that refer- 
 ring to the subject of our sketch. Rembrandt Van 
 Ryn, by a judicious friend's advice, carried his first 
 performance to the city of the Hague, and, much to 
 his astonishment, found a dealer who bought it for a 
 hundred florins. What the subject of this early pro- 
 duction was we know not ; but, judging from the fact 
 that our young limner practised his hand, morning, 
 noon, and night, upon the peasants about his father's 
 mill, we should conclude that it was of a rural character, 
 and probably well painted. Now we undertake to say, 
 that if young English painters went direct to Nature, 
 and painted from the life with the same earnestness as 
 this Dutch miller's son is known to have done, and pos- 
 sessed modesty and talent in the same proportions, they 
 too, like him, might sometimes be astonished at the 
 large prices which their efforts would realise. Sickly, 
 morbid productions of London attics are what the dealer 
 refuses to speculate upon, and finds no great difficulty 
 in steeling his heart against. If he has no real fondness 
 
Rembrandt. 
 
 143 
 
 for art, he is at least usually far too shrewd to turn 
 away a young Rembrandt from his door. 
 
 It will be said that Rembrandt was no ordinary 
 genius— that he was the wonder of an age ; but still 
 humbler capacities may learn a lesson from him — for 
 the most extraordinary thing in Rembrandt was his 
 ordinary good sense. Having sold his picture for a 
 much higher price than he had anticipated, and to a 
 dealer familiar with the picture market and the public 
 taste, he came to the conclusion that he might venture 
 to go into business on his own account, which he 
 speedily did, making choice of Amsterdam for his home, 
 at the same time selecting a careful country girl for his 
 wife. Here, then, we find our great and original painter 
 settled down, at the age of twenty-four, in one of the 
 narrow, busy, thriving thoroughfares of a Dutch city. 
 It was now his object to make the acquaintance of his 
 neighbours — the wealthy merchants who passed the 
 greater part of their time on the shaded quays inspect- 
 ing the merchandise brought to their doors from all 
 parts of the world. 
 
 The idea of advertising, to a modern young painter, 
 would appear the height of vulgarity. He learns « to 
 labour and to wait/ in a useless sense. He does not 
 consult the public ; he expects the public to consult 
 him. This is false pride, for if the young man has 
 any genius, the sensible connoisseur would be only too 
 proud of his friendship. Rembrandt sought and em- 
 ployed every means of gaining publicity. In fact, like 
 tradesmen of the present day, he reduced advertising to 
 a system. Among the ingenious modes he adopted 
 one instance is worthy of relating. Dutch servants, for 
 
144 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 the reason that they spend a considerable portion of 
 each morning in scrubbing the door-steps, and in washing 
 down the fronts of their master's mansions, come to be 
 well known. Rembrandt had one of these inestimable 
 treasures, who, among other failings, was accustomed to 
 dissipate a few hours daily at the casement. The painter, 
 it may be, felt the inconvenience of this indolent habit on 
 the part of his domestic, and it suggested itself to him 
 that possibly a picture might be a more economical 
 mode of decorating the front of his house, and serve at 
 the same time to make known his skill as a painter. 
 Henceforth the portrait of his interesting maid-servant 
 appeared at the window in lieu of the original. So great 
 was the painter's skill that it was some time before the 
 cheat was discovered ; and the expedient answered. To 
 surprise and excite a Dutch audience required a mas- 
 terstroke. Zeuxis had a much easier task in deceiving 
 the birds of the air with his painted fruit. The thing 
 took, and the painter, by this means and others, became 
 known to the citizens of Amsterdam, and to the polite 
 inhabitants of every other city in Holland. Certain 
 writers, whose delight is in disenchanting mankind, would 
 suggest that this story of the servant-girl at the window 
 is nothing more than a pretty device of the biographers ; 
 but besides being truly Rembrandtish, it happens also 
 to be very well authenticated. 
 
 Whatever means were adopted to arouse the atten- 
 tion of the 'old Amsterdammers,' certain it is that 
 they took up with young Rembrandt heartily, and not 
 only bought his pictures, but even looked up the 
 brightest of their sons to enliven the painter's studio in 
 the character of pupils. He obtained good prices for 
 
Rembrandt. 
 
 H5 
 
 his pictures, and large premiums with the lads. This 
 looked like business. Rembrandt's boyhood had cost 
 the ancient miller, his father, something considerable. 
 He was not taught by those three masters, Swanenburgh, 
 Lastman, and Pinas, for a few florins. The time ar- 
 rived when there was no urgent necessity for advertising 
 from the window, and, among others, the sign-picture 
 was sold to an eminent collector for a good round sum. 
 It was not only a great feat to excite the attention of 
 a Dutch audience, but it required almost supernatural 
 powers to keep up their interest from day to day and 
 from year to year. We have seen a Dutch crowd settle 
 down in a theatre and sit out tragedy and comedy 
 without being tickled in the smallest degree — paying 
 the entrance fee, as it would appear, for the privilege of 
 resting their limbs after the exertions of the day ; and, 
 certainly, Rembrandt must have displayed uncommon 
 tact in keeping up an excitement among a public com- 
 monly so stolid and impassible. 
 
 Able politicians and members of the learned profes- 
 sions found it worth their while to maintain an intimacy 
 with the miller's son. Burgomasters sought his com- 
 pany, and ladies of rank and fashion and beauty gos- 
 siped in the atelier of the so-called ill-bred painter, and 
 even the niggard money-lenders of the day, Jew and 
 Gentile alike, came to purchase the life and immortality 
 which the genius of Rembrandt could impart on the 
 receipt of a specified number of florins. He made the 
 friendship of the leading connoisseurs, and, moreover, 
 became a princely collector himself. No painter took 
 greater delight in his profession. His ample means 
 enabled him to buy up rare and costly antiquities, and 
 
 VOL. I. L 
 
146 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 his studio came to present the aspect of a museum of 
 curiosities, each of which in its turn did duty in mani- 
 fold designs. He studied the finest works of Italian 
 masters, in order to make himself a more excellent 
 Dutch painter, and he succeeded. It may have been 
 that the very stolidity of his employers helped to de- 
 velop the more potent characteristics of our artist's 
 compositions. 
 
 Seldom do we find Rembrandt dwelling in the 
 calm sunless daylight. He revelled like an adept in the 
 shadows of the night, peered wistfully into the solemn 
 darkness, and drew order and system out of the por- 
 tentous chaos. By the blaze of a torch, or wavering 
 embers, he saw in the profound gloom immensity of 
 space, and he learned to give tangible existence to the 
 fleeting hues and transient effects of light and darkness 
 with as much ease as ordinary Dutch painters trans- 
 cribed the appearances of fixed objects. 
 
 Nor was there less of daring than of originality 
 in the invention and introduction of this new style. 
 Rembrandt's early pictures are instances of minute and 
 careful manipulation. He did what few painters have 
 the wisdom to do. He reserved the privilege of adopt- 
 ing a new style until he had enslaved his patrons to his 
 will. For a time only his own particular friends came 
 from his pencil invested with glories before unheard of 
 in the world of art. In these exceptional cases he 
 sported with gorgeous sunbeams and lonesome shadows, 
 and carried the mind of the beholder spellbound, as far 
 removed from everyday life as heaven is from earth. 
 Meanwhile the wizard himself kept far removed from 
 the sphere of these influences. He could traffic with 
 
Rembrandt. 
 
 147 
 
 the most experienced collectors in Holland. He knew 
 every device of the market, and could drive a bargain 
 with a keenness and relish which would have stamped 
 him for a great merchant if he had not been a great 
 painter. His industry was surprising. In addition to 
 numberless works in oil, he etched, at intervals, nearly 
 four hundred plates, and supplied the folios of half the 
 connoisseurs of Europe. His execution, whether on 
 copper or on canvas, was as rapid as it was bewildering 
 in its effects. He found no competitor either in painting 
 or in engraving. The money which poured into the lap 
 of the penniless woman whose good fortune it was to 
 become his wife would have supported a dukedom. 
 
 The progress of such a man was of course sometimes 
 clogged by envy and detraction, but certainly his life 
 was not embittered by the malice of rivals, for rivals he 
 had none. Of his meanness and cupidity much has 
 been written, but we do not believe the half of it. That 
 his wife was thrifty is certain, and moderate thrift is no 
 crime. As we said, Rembrandt resorted to tricks of 
 trade, but they were of such a kind as most traffickers 
 in the fine arts continue to practise. For the exorbitant 
 sums he is said to have exacted from the admirers of his 
 productions, he might be defended on the plea that 
 posterity has confirmed, and in some instances doubled, 
 the estimate he entertained of his own worth. Of the 
 charge respecting his fondness for low company, it may 
 be answered, that in this he was only consistent, having 
 himself derived his existence from a source not re- 
 markable for extreme refinement, and having, in obe- 
 dience to the dictates of his heart, married a homely 
 country girl. Yet, notwithstanding that he found high 
 
148 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 life irksome in the extreme, we do find him often sur- 
 rounded by some of the most fastidious men and 
 women of his day. The assertions of his miserly in- 
 stincts were baseless, for no sooner had the woman 
 who had shared with him his successful career left him 
 in the world alone, than the accumulation of long years 
 of unremitting toil — the heaps of gold stowed away in 
 antique chest and cabinet, passed into other hands — 
 we know not how. At his wife's death, as we learn 
 from recent discoveries, his savings were estimated at 
 40,750 florins. Some twenty years later he sank into 
 the grave a bankrupt. He could hardly be a miser, for 
 he supplied his professional wants with a reckless pro- 
 fusion, and left the world almost a beggar. He might 
 have died a millionaire ; and, as it turned out, he almost 
 neglected to save fifteen florins to meet the expenses of 
 his funeral. 
 
 Our object has been to do simple justice to one 
 who laboured long and well for the glory of his art, 
 and that, for the greater period of his life, with a good 
 sense not often vouchsafed to genius. 
 
Paul Brill. 
 
 149 
 
 PAUL BRILL. 
 
 SOME eminent critics have recently assailed the reputa- 
 tions of certain venerated old landscape painters with 
 much severity. Claude Lorraine, Gaspar Poussin, and 
 Salvator Rosa, have each in turn been brought to the 
 bar of public criticism and condemned. It is alleged 
 that the world-wide fame of these painters has been 
 kept up by the force of habit — that successive genera- 
 tions, out of indolence, have taken it for granted that 
 they were great painters. It is now discovered that 
 Salvator Rosa dashed in his rocks without the fear of 
 the geologist before his eyes ; that the 1 gentle Claude ' 
 painted without much knowing what he was about. He 
 saw certain very delightful effects in nature, and copied 
 them pretty closely, but he often betrayed great ignor- 
 ance of artistic qualities, which happened to be undis- 
 covered at the period in which he lived. Gaspar 
 Poussin's trees are found to be conventional. The 
 leaves do not depend from the twigs properly. He is, 
 moreover, too black in his shadows, and on the whole 
 exceedingly culpable. Yet, notwithstanding these re- 
 cent objections urged against the three great favourites 
 of the last two centuries, people continue perversely to 
 take pleasure in 
 
 * Whate'er Lorraine light-touched with softening hue, 
 Or savage Rosa dashed, or learned Poussin drew. ' 
 
 For our part, we always feel happy in the presence of a 
 Claude. The wild glen and robber-haunted pass of 
 
150 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 Salvator fill us with less agreeable emotions. With 
 respect to Gaspar, he does not strike us with terror nor 
 soothe us into that state of happy forgetfulness we ex- 
 perience in looking at Lorraine ; the effect of Gaspar's 
 expansive scenes, with their clear blue skies and fleecy 
 clouds, tend rather to arouse the reflective mind to a 
 keen and healthful enjoyment of life. Doubtless the 
 moderns have improved in some important respects 
 upon these elder landscape painters. The wide world 
 has been opened to our artists ; and wherever the foot 
 of the traveller has penetrated, there the painter has 
 followed with his pencil. Mighty rivers and trackless 
 continents have been explored, and rolled up, as it were, 
 in interminable panoramas. The mountain, crowned 
 with everlasting snows, has been measured and modelled. 
 Mont Blanc, in its sublimity, is now shown and ex- 
 plained for a shilling ; and laudable attempts have even 
 been made to reduce the great globe itself to a con- 
 venient scale. These exhibitions of mechanical genius, 
 no less than the annual Exhibitions of modern pictures, 
 make one thing apparent — to wit, that facilities of tra- 
 velling and extended civilisation have opened up a 
 wider field and increased the materials for the exercise 
 of the pencil a thousandfold. 
 
 Paul Brill, the subject of this article (who flourished 
 between 1556 and 1626), might be considered the 
 Turner of his day. Of humble origin, we find him in 
 Antwerp getting a precarious livelihood by painting 
 small pictures on musical instruments. It was the 
 wish of his parents that he should remain with them in 
 the city of Antwerp ; but, as we see every day in life 
 the lovely and affectionate leaving father, mother, home, 
 
Paul Brill. 
 
 151 
 
 and friends, to follow the fortunes of husbands of whom 
 they know comparatively little, so Paul Brill, urged 
 onward by some impulse hardly less potent than love 
 itself, must needs leave his native city. Antwerp is not 
 large enough to contain him. He wants more breathing 
 room. More, there is a secret in the case. He has a 
 brother, Matthew, beyond the Alps, who, as an artist, 
 is making a name. If he could but get to Rome, what 
 might he not accomplish ! A mere mechanic in his 
 native place, without honour and without means, he 
 might get both but for those huge mountains which 
 separate him from ' Matthew.' He cannot rest. His 
 friends want him to remain. They would rather he 
 subsisted in an obscurity (they do not feel) than that he 
 should risk his precious life in a perilous journey to 
 Italy. 
 
 But in spite of parental misgiving and remonstrance, 
 the brothers Brill at length met. Paul secretly left 
 Antwerp in about his twentieth year. It is said that he 
 found some employment in Lyons before crossing the 
 Alps. Of this we know little ; but it is certain that he 
 eventually arrived at the Eternal City, and took rank as 
 an assistant under Matthew Brill, in carrying out some 
 important commissions in the Vatican. Poor Paul 
 had travelled all the way on foot. We can fancy the 
 delight he experienced on finding his relative in the 
 receipt of wealth and honours. His struggles over, 
 weary and footsore, he found at once a home, friends, 
 and employment. Nor was the young wanderer un- 
 welcome to that elder brother, toiling lonely and wearily 
 in the Vatican. The youthful artist brought with him 
 heart and hope, and a folio of sketches fresh from the 
 
152 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 forests and mountains over which he had passed. He 
 had often lingered by the way to jot down the strange 
 forms of rugged rock and frowning castle as they burst 
 upon his sight. Often had he been necessitated to part 
 with his sketches for the bread which sustained him in 
 his wanderings ; but in the storehouse of his mind he 
 had treasured up impressions of the picturesque scenery 
 through which he had passed — impressions vivid and 
 faithful as only young and ardent natures are able to 
 receive and cherish. 
 
 The dream of his youth is fulfilled ! Paul and Mat- 
 thew work side by side. He has pensions, distinctions, 
 and ample scope for display. Popes and cardinals are 
 his patrons and admirers. He can afford to linger over 
 the miniature landscape until he has defined and elabo- 
 rated each leaf and blade of grass, as it were, and pre- 
 sented on a few square inches of panel a whole realm 
 of mountain, flood, and valley. In the larger works 
 with which he decorated the halls and staircases of his 
 princely patrons he manifested the utmost daring. 
 Placing the dense forest of gnarled oaks and black 
 towering pines at his foot, his eye wandered forth over 
 plain, lake, and valley, and ascending the Alps, passed 
 upward to the eternal snows. His mountain sides are 
 clothed in the richest verdure, here and there dark in 
 the sombre shadow of the frowning promontory, or re- 
 splendent with the light of the morning. Sometimes he 
 grows romantic, and carries us to dark caverns and hoary 
 ruins, where the tired pilgrim reposes, lulled in his slum- 
 bers by the notes of the shepherd's pipe, whose goats 
 browse among the grass, plants, and flowering shrubs 
 which thrive amid the rocks and stones that lie scattered 
 
Paul Brill. 
 
 153 
 
 about in wild disorder on the brink of the roaring 
 cataract. But whether we have cavern, ruin, or giant 
 oak entangled by a mass of creeping parasites, there 
 is that never-to-be-forgotten burst of Alpine scenery 
 for the distance. Those Alps which inspired the wan- 
 dering boy continued in their grandeur the favourite 
 theme of the old man's pencil. 
 
 As Le Clerc, the eminent engraver and designer, 
 could group an army of twenty thousand men in ad- 
 mirable order on a few inches of copper, so Paul Brill, 
 with equal tact in composition, would transcribe on to 
 a small piece of canvas thirty miles of picturesque 
 country, without confusion in any part. He understood 
 and appreciated those subtle and varied colours which 
 extremely remote objects present, as they are more or 
 less influenced by what Gilpin calls the 'ether-tinge.' 
 He blended his air-tints with so much care and delicacy 
 that a few specks of light will often indicate the far-off 
 island, with its haven, shipping, and forts. His dis- 
 tances are commonly of a bluish cast (to which critics 
 have never been wholly reconciled), approximating to 
 green, more or less tender as they approach the eye of 
 the observer. Sometimes he loved to linger among 
 vine-clad hills, and then the purple hue takes the place of 
 the cool, green glades of less cultivated scenes. There 
 is to our mind something very beautiful in the career 
 of Paul Brill, for ever dwelling as it were apart from 
 the world, yearning after the beauties and sublimities of 
 Nature, — for ever watching with loving eye the changeful 
 hues of those vast silent realms of forest and mountain. 
 
 He might be termed the founder of the school of land- 
 scape painters in Italy. He was not directly the in- 
 
154 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 structor of Claude Lorraine ; but it is not difficult to 
 trace his influence in the formation of that master's 
 hand. Matthew Brill introduced to the elite of Roman 
 society the elegant taste of embellishing the walls of 
 their palaces with landscapes ; but Paul perfected what 
 his brother, in a poor crude way, merely initiated. Paul 
 not only won the favour of the nobles and dignitaries 
 of the Church, the leading artists of the day also gathered 
 around him, no less fascinated by the magic of his 
 pencil. Annibale Carracci himself laboured to em- 
 bellish the classic scenes of the Fleming with appro- 
 priate groups from Grecian mythology or Scripture 
 history, so that among the many charms which distin- 
 guish the works of Paul Brill, we must not overlook 
 the well-proportioned figures which sometimes enliven 
 their foregrounds. These are often confined to lonely 
 travellers journeying on mules up rocky ways, or to 
 shepherds tending sheep and goats on sunny hill-sides, 
 and are chiefly by Brill's own hand ; but, in more im- 
 portant instances, the figures dispute for supremacy 
 with the landscape itself. Thus, in one picture, Diana 
 and her train rivet the attention. 
 
 HANS HOLBEIN IN ENGLAND. 
 
 WHEN Sir Thomas More was Chancellor to King 
 Henry the Eighth, the famous painter Hans Holbein 
 arrived at his door with an introduction from no less 
 a personage than Erasmus. The introduction consisted 
 
Hans Holbein in England. 155 
 
 of a terse Latin epistle, and a portrait of the writer 
 painted by the bearer, forming an ingenious mode of re- 
 commendation which Sir Thomas could hardly resist. 
 Two reasons are assigned for Hans leaving his native 
 city, to wit, an empty purse and a termagant wife, each 
 sufficient in its way, but we are inclined to believe that 
 the former was the real motive, for the painter was 
 wellnigh necessitated to beg his way to England. We 
 all know how common it is for a genius to lie neglected 
 in the place of his nativity. It was with young Holbein 
 as it is with the young Smiths and Joneses who happen 
 to evince tokens of genius in our own cities ; as we 
 have been reminded an indefinite number of times, the 
 prophet is without honour in his own country. 
 
 It was a good thing for Holbein that he got admit- 
 tance to, and won the good graces of, Sir Thomas 
 More. The family of the Chancellor at once sat to the 
 painter ; and when as many pictures were completed 
 as the minister needed for his own palace he managed 
 to let the king his master into the secret. Either by 
 accident or design, his majesty came in, and cast his 
 eyes along the gallery, living as it were by the forms 
 and visages of persons familiar to him. We can fancy 
 his burst of astonishment. The minister, with all due 
 subjection, laid the entire collection at the king's feet, 
 for him to pick and choose ; but the wily monarch, at 
 once surmising that the bird which had laid the golden 
 eggs was not far off, immediately inquired for the artist, 
 and without ceremony installed him court painter, with 
 a pension, exclaiming, with characteristic sagacity, that 
 since he had got the painter, Sir Thomas might keep 
 
156 Selections from Occasional Writings, 
 
 the pictures ! Here was good fortune bursting upon 
 Holbein like a gleam of sunlight. 
 
 We find no reason to suppose that Hans had any 
 difficulty in adapting himself or his pencil to the taste 
 of his new employer. He was one of those bluff, jovial 
 fellows this king could appreciate, and who could make 
 himself very accommodating. Trivial anecdotes of his 
 early career are remembered, which, as Walpole remarks, 
 are not so important in themselves as to bear repeating, 
 but which are very descriptive of the esteem in which 
 the man came to be held of whom such anecdotes could 
 be thought worth preserving. Illustrating a work by 
 Erasmus, Hans rudely enough wrote under the figure 
 of an old student the name of Erasmus the author ; and 
 the author, with very little of the spirit of repartee, 
 wrote under a fellow drinking the name of Holbein the 
 painter. Certainly the author's repartee had most 
 force, for the young limner was not altogether free of 
 the vice indicated by the rebuke. Indeed, the whole 
 career of Holbein, up to the period of his arrival in 
 England, must have prepared him for the presence of a 
 monarch whose sentiments were never known to err on 
 the side of delicacy and refinement. 
 
 Holbein's business was chiefly to paint the portraits 
 of people about the court, and he certainly succeeded, 
 for every person of note, from the king to his jester, 
 came from the court studio bearing the stamp of truth 
 and genius. 
 
 Of the portraits in the Exhibition at Old Trafford, 
 some wear an air of mournful interest in the eyes of 
 those who, for the first time, gaze on the features of the 
 victims of the huge nuptial tyrant. What the painter's 
 
Hans Holbein in England. 157 
 
 feelings were as he parted with queen after queen, and 
 with the great men who had honoured his pencil, we 
 know not ; we only know that he continued to employ 
 his skill in delineating each new favourite selected to 
 fill up the blank which the executioner had made. 
 Callous, perhaps, like his master, he continued to paint 
 on, immortalising those whom beauty and learning 
 could not save from the block. He recorded facts. 
 We only know the people of that eventful period 
 through Holbein's pencil ; and, doubtless, we know them 
 well. 
 
 In the Gallery of Ancient Masters will be found a 
 few of the finest and most elaborate examples of Hol- 
 bein's art. The portrait of Henry the Eighth is a triumph 
 of portrait painting under difficulties. The over-gorged 
 king, big too with conceit, leers on the passer-by just 
 as he might have done in life. In the same depart- 
 ment we have a worthy companion in the equally 
 elaborate portrait of Francis the First. In both these 
 pictures the painter aspires to an equality with the 
 works of Leonardo da Vinci himself. There are points 
 of excellence, of sublimity, in the works of Leonardo 
 which perhaps no other painter ever reached ; nor had 
 the German any of those lofty aspirations which in- 
 fluenced the Italian ; but in painstaking care, and in 
 skilful elaboration of details, he had few rivals. Of 
 this the two pictures cited are instances in proof. Nor 
 was he frequently defective in drawing. The features 
 are articulated with a precision, and the muscles and 
 bones indicated with a nicety, which always denotes the 
 consummate master. These remarks will be further 
 established by an appeal to several other examples 
 
158 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 placed in the British Portrait Gallery. 'Queen 
 Catherine Parr,' in whole-length, and the whole-length 
 of the 'Earl of Surrey/ are examples of his larger 
 works. Some discussion has taken place respecting the 
 genuineness of the Surrey picture ; but the visitor may 
 rest assured that it is genuine. The doubt arose from 
 the fact of the colouring having been a little impover- 
 ished and altered in tone by cleaning, — no uncommon 
 thing with old paintings, as formerly most people thought 
 themselves competent to the critical task of cleaning 
 pictures. 
 
 The portrait of 'Queen Jane Seymour' is another 
 interesting work by Holbein. 'The Father of Sir 
 Thomas More ' possesses great force of expression, and 
 may be taken as a masterpiece. To these may be added, 
 ' William Warham, Archbishop of Canterbury ' and ' Sir 
 Thomas Gresham,' founder of the Royal Exchange. 
 Others may also be pointed out as not to be overlooked. 
 The celebrated specimen of ' Viscount Falkland ' is 
 specially deserving of study ; as are also the ' Duke of 
 Monmouth,' the ' Earl of Clarendon,' ' Lady Jane Grey,' 
 4 Sir Henry Guildford,' and several others. As it is 
 more than improbable that such another assemblage of 
 Holbein's works will again be got together, it may not be 
 out of place here to suggest to the visitor the advantage 
 of paying a marked attention to these interesting relics 
 of the past. 
 
 Perhaps no artist entertained fewer thoughts of the 
 future than Holbein, and no man furnished more themes 
 for discussion to the antiquary, or better illustrations 
 to the student in history. His industry and versatility 
 were alike remarkable. He monopolised all the sitters 
 
Hans Holbein in England. 159 
 
 of his time whose faces were worth rendering on canvas ; 
 and when we regard the labour bestowed upon those 
 pictures, whose authenticity admits of no manner of 
 doubt, we are amazed that any one pencil could have 
 produced such a multitude of works, all so ably and 
 so conscientiously finished. No wonder that a monarch 
 so shrewd as Henry the Eighth should have awarded 
 his protection to a worker and artist whose untiring 
 zeal and ability in his profession commanded the respect 
 of every beholder, and distanced every competitor ; and 
 we can readily understand the reception which the en- 
 raged nobleman received who demanded the life of the 
 painter as the price of an insult. 'Out of seven pea- 
 sants,' said the king, ' I can make seven lords, but not 
 one Holbein ! ' 
 
 It is to be regretted that the Exhibition does not 
 possess one work of the master's illustrative of his skill 
 in composition. Notwithstanding that his merit in this 
 respect was very small, still such a picture as that be- 
 longing to the Surgeon-Barbers' Company would have 
 formed a centre of attraction ; and one would have 
 thought that a few months of exhilarating sunshine 
 would have tended to improve the tints of a picture 
 which for centuries has hung mouldering in the murky 
 atmosphere of the City of London. Still we must per- 
 mit of some degree of anxiety for a gem which time 
 has rendered so precious. As a mark of the esteem in 
 which this picture has been held, we may relate the 
 report that the late Sir Robert Peel (an accomplished 
 connoisseur) paid an annual visit to the hall of the 
 Barbers' Company for no other purpose than to inspect 
 this one treasure. 
 
ibo Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 Of all the old masters Holbein at least has found 
 adequate publicity. His works have been multiplied 
 by the graver, and sown broadcast over Europe. So 
 early as the reign of Charles the First, the careful 
 Hollar etched a vast number of his subjects, consisting 
 of historical pieces, * The Dance of Death/ plans for 
 buildings, and elegant designs for the handles of swords 
 and daggers. Everybody seems to have consulted the 
 ingenious Hans. We find carvers and gilders appealing 
 to him ; his fancy is called into play to furnish patterns 
 for jewellers and goldsmiths ; and even the bookbinders 
 and clockmakers could not get on without his assist- 
 ance. 
 
 Of the books which have received embellishments 
 from the same source we may mention the large 
 number inserted by Lodge in his series of Portraits ; 
 and also those which adorn ' Birch's Lives ' ; while 
 Tindal and Rapin were no less indebted to Holbein for 
 illustrations. In the reign of George the Second, Virtue 
 brought out prints of the chief subjects of our painter, 
 including that of ' Edward the Sixth granting the Charter 
 to the Bridewell Hospital,' and one representing the 
 family of Henry the Eighth. Chamberlaine, in the time 
 of George the Fourth, published two distinct series of 
 portraits of the artist's chief sitters. Indeed, the prints 
 engraved after Holbein may be numbered by thousands. 
 Of 1 The Dance of Death ' there exist more than 
 twenty editions ; of the ' Picture Alphabet ' there have 
 been not less than twenty-four separate issues ; while 
 the illustrations to Erasmus's ' Panegyric on Folly' have 
 multiplied in a corresponding degree. Time has had 
 the effect of increasing rather than of diminishing the 
 
Hans Holbein in England. 161 
 
 interest attached to the productions of the man who 
 came poverty-stricken to our shores ; and we may say 
 that the life and fame of Hans Holbein present to the 
 young and aspiring student an encouraging instance 
 of success consequent upon hearty and well-directed 
 exertions. 
 
 Of the style of Holbein we have little to say, nor 
 have we any comparison to offer from among the pic- 
 tures of the present time. His clear, pure, even tones 
 of colour are quite opposed to the careless, muddled 
 complexity of tints we too frequently observe in the 
 works of modern masters. Although not overladen 
 with paint, Holbein's pictures are never poor and washy, 
 but possess a firm texture and wholesome hue. Orna- 
 mental robes, studded with jewels and decorated with 
 embroidery of silver and gold, are rendered crisp, spark- 
 ling, and like the realities. The backgrounds are com- 
 monly of a bluish cast, sometimes green, and always 
 with the hard, firm look of enamel. The fastidious 
 worker is everywhere apparent. In the selection and 
 preparation of the panels even, and in the grinding of 
 the pigments, we trace the careful supervision of an 
 experienced eye. Of the allurements which may be 
 woven out of deep sombre shadows and sudden flashes 
 of light he lived in utter ignorance ; yet he was often 
 forcible, without exaggeration ; and if he failed to flatter 
 the vain, or to approach the supreme loveliness of some 
 of his fair models, he at least rendered them comely 
 to our eyes (apart from the quaint habiliments by 
 which they are so often disfigured) by a delicate and 
 fastidious manipulation. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 M 
 
1 62 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 DIETRICH. 
 
 Had there never been imitators of the old painters, 
 picture collecting would still be fraught with difficulties 
 enough. The number and variety of true pictures alone 
 offer a wide field for the exercise of the connoisseur's 
 discrimination. Long and patient study is necessary 
 to master those peculiarities of style by which the 
 several masters are distinguished the one from the 
 other. To the eye of the novice certain masters and 
 scholars bear a mutual resemblance so strong that the 
 distinction between them is seemingly almost without 
 a difference. Of course the eye of the experienced 
 collector soon discovers the country and period to which 
 a work belongs, and is not necessitated to ask whether 
 ic be Spanish, Flemish, or Italian. He will, moreover, 
 readily point out the school from which a picture pro- 
 ceeded. He soon decides upon such broad differences 
 by the general features of the picture ; but when it be- 
 comes a question as to the actual handwriting — that is, 
 as to who painted the picture — then the quality of the 
 work alone can be appealed to with safety. 
 
 There never has been more than one Titian, one 
 Raphael, and one Rembrandt. The best pupils of 
 these great men fell far short of the high standard 
 which their masters set up ; and it follows, therefore, 
 that with an intelligent appreciation of the works of 
 the supreme head of a school, the lesser constellations 
 may, by comparison, be easily detected in their bor- 
 rowed lustre. What are called school copies may, for 
 
Didtrich. 
 
 163 
 
 the most part, be readily distinguished by their want 
 of force. Sometimes, it is true, the master was assisted 
 in his labours by illustrious scholars ; but in such cases 
 the master claimed the entire credit of the joint pro- 
 duction, and properly so, because the assistance thus 
 obtained was commonly confined to mere mechanical 
 portions, the design and final finish being the master's 
 share and responsibility. There are rare instances of 
 imitations which deceive the best judges ; nay, painters 
 themselves have been deceived by copies, and have mis- 
 taken the works of others for their own, as in a case of 
 a painting of the ' Holy Family,' by Andrea del Sarto, 
 which Giulio Romano insisted was painted by himself 
 and Raphael. 
 
 Where men of genius have made it their deliberate 
 aim to deceive, they have sometimes succeeded. David 
 Teniers would counterfeit a whole gallery of painters and 
 produce almost fac-similes of the styles of the various 
 schools from the same palette, so that none but the very 
 learned in such matters would think of disputing their 
 authenticity. But perhaps the greatest of all deceivers 
 in this way was Christian William Ernest Dietrich, who 
 was born at Weimar in 17 1 2, and died at Dresden in 
 1774. The whole career of this painter was devoted to 
 deception. We are doing an injustice to Ostade by 
 calling our illustration after Dietrich, but there is no 
 help for it. It would hardly be possible to select an 
 example from the pencil of this German which might 
 not be justly claimed by some other German, Dutchman, 
 Italian, or Frenchman, among his illustrious predecessors. 
 
 Gainsborough, painting the portraits of Garrick and 
 Foote, complained that they wore everybody's face but 
 
 M J, 
 
164 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 their own ; and of Dietrich it may be said that he painted 
 in everybody's manner but his own. He did more to 
 confound picture collectors than all other imitators put 
 together. Hundreds of his imitations of the various 
 masters have been sold to second-rate amateurs for 
 original productions. If there arises any doubt about 
 the paternity of a suspicious-looking Rembrandt, it is 
 the common practice of dealers to place it to the account 
 of Dietrich. If a waterfall turns up which will not 
 pass muster for Ruysdael or Everdingen, it is ascribed 
 to the wily German. It is the same with a disputed 
 Claude. That ' Sunrise among Ruined Temples,' so like 
 Lorraine, is a freak of Dietrich's. That 1 Den of Bandits/ 
 resembling Salvator, is from the same spurious source. 
 He could so vary his pencil as to descend from the 
 rugged rocks of Rosa into the smiling meadows of 
 Polemberg, where nymphs with fair, round, polished 
 limbs disported themselves in the cool streamlets of the 
 valley. Others made copying their betters an occasional 
 pursuit, for the purpose of improving their hands, or to 
 comply with the wishes of their patrons ; but Dietrich 
 delighted only to parade himself in the stolen garments 
 of other men. Proteus-like, he was ever appearing in 
 new and strange disguises, and ever in the extremes 
 of fashion, so that no one could count upon him, and 
 it is just possible that he could not count upon him- 
 self. 
 
 Yet while he copied so much and at first sight so 
 faithfully, upon critical examination we discover that his 
 productions are really not copies at all. Such was his 
 caprice that he even invented a style of pictures which 
 were as far removed from copies as they were from being 
 
Didtrich, 
 
 165 
 
 originals. He was one continued uncertainty. You 
 cannot speak of him without laying yourself open to the 
 charge of inconsistency, just as you cannot assert the 
 hue of the chamelion without having your judgment set 
 aside by the next observer. We are not quite sure how 
 his name should be spelt, for he made a desperate at- 
 tempt to alter its spelling. The y, which sometimes 
 appears at the end of it instead of the h, was an altera- 
 tion for which he might not have been able to have given 
 satisfactory reasons. Perhaps there is no disputing that 
 he was himself an original, although in his works he 
 resembled everybody but himself. If he carried his 
 eccentricities into other matters, as he did in matters of 
 art, his acquaintance could hardly have been worth the 
 trouble of its maintenance. 
 
 One very natural consequence of all this deception 
 was an utter absence in his productions of the finer 
 characteristics of the great men whom he affected to 
 represent. His pictures lack sentiment. In him the 
 lightning flash of genius but tips the more prominent 
 features of the scene ; it does not illumine the cavernous 
 gloom where the eagle glance of the true artist pene- 
 trates. His pictures prove shallow upon acquaintance. 
 Beside the great original masterpieces they hide their 
 diminished heads. They want what the Americans 
 term the 'true grit.' They are not chargeable with 
 tameness ; but instead of being spirited, they are often 
 flippant. As in a second the practised ear detects the 
 base coin by its discordant music, so the learned eye 
 at once turns indignantly from the counterfeit by Dietrich, 
 which the uninitiated or unscrupulous dealer would foist 
 upon him as a genuine example of some other painter. 
 
1 66 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 GERARD DOW. 
 
 With the ancients a work of art was a matter in which 
 every citizen took an interest. A Grecian god or 
 goddess in some instances went far, in its creation, to 
 exhaust the coffers of the state. It was necessary to 
 slaughter whole herds of elephants before an Olympian 
 Jupiter could be encased in ivory, to say nothing of the 
 precious metals and rare stones employed in the orna- 
 mentation of the said Jupiter. The genius of a Phidias 
 would be equally apparent to the connoisseur if ex- 
 hibited in the humbler medium of potter's clay ; but we 
 do not question that the Athenians were wise in per- 
 mitting that great creative artist to work in marble and 
 gold. There was an inducement on the part of the 
 sculptor to do justice to materials so costly which would 
 not have existed had merely perishable earths been the 
 only media at his command. Not only men of the 
 highest culture, but the multitude are attracted and in- 
 fluenced by the ornate, the rare, and the valuable ; and 
 no doubt the lofty standard of taste to which the Athenian 
 public attained was fostered by the high regard and the 
 profuse liberality which the government of Pericles 
 manifested for the fine arts in the erection and adorn- 
 ment of public edifices. This is an example, true in all 
 times, of the lustre that may be elicited from genius 
 when the highest conditions for its exercise are afforded. 
 Furnish dainty materials, and public applause, imperial 
 honours, and the prospective renown of future ages, and 
 what will not genius accomplish ! Indeed, the power of 
 
Gerard Dow. 
 
 i6 7 
 
 intellect can never be ascertained in any people until the 
 highest conditions of its development are supplied ! 
 
 Among the Italian painters we find instances of a 
 thorough appreciation of those art-conditions which the 
 ancients so well understood, and made so many sacrifices 
 to obtain. Leonardo da Vinci, who bestowed years of 
 labour upon each work, and was never satisfied with the 
 results of all his pains, was equally remarkable for the 
 great care he displayed in the preparation of his 
 materials, with a view to their durability and per- 
 fect and consistent suitableness to the work in hand. 
 He accomplished little ; but in the pictures which pro- 
 ceeded from his pencil he left examples of exactness, 
 of perfection in colouring, of light, shade, and expres- 
 sion, which are admitted to have advanced art cen- 
 turies beyond the condition in which he found it : 
 examples which furnished, on their completion, instruc- 
 tive studies to Raphael, the prince of painters, himself. 
 
 Thus Phidias and Da Vinci, the representatives of 
 ancient and modern artistic greatness, equally exhibit a 
 cardinal truth, far from sufficiently appreciated in our 
 time, that too much attention cannot be paid to the 
 perfection of the instruments with which Art perpetuates 
 its creations. Art requires that provident forethought 
 which calculates the means to the end. When Leo the 
 Tenth found Da Vinci preparing the varnish for his 
 pictures previous to making their outlines, and con- 
 temptuously remarked, that ' nothing could be expected 
 from a man who thought of finishing his works before 
 he had begun them,' he displayed at once his ignorance 
 and impatience. The pontiff did not know that it was 
 necessary to varnish over certain colours as fast as they 
 
1 68 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 were laid on, and that varnish required some age before 
 being eligible for use. It has been said of the ancients 
 that they lived as though they were not to live a day, 
 and executed works as though they were to last for 
 ever. We have lived to see the time in which this order 
 of things has suffered a violent reversion in a variety of 
 ways. 
 
 But to confine ourselves to the Art-question, we 
 might point to the indifference of many English painters 
 to the quality of the colours and canvases they employ, 
 and which, owing to this indifference, are commonly 
 of the most worthless description. In consequence of 
 the neglect to which we allude, a large proportion of the 
 works of our Reynoldses, Romneys, Hoppners, Opies, 
 Gainsboroughs, and even Turners, have long worn the 
 aspect of decrepid age ; while at the same time one 
 might point to a score of the old Dutch masters whose 
 pictures retain all the freshness and lustre of youth, and 
 among these we should class the works of Rembrandt's 
 most illustrious scholar, Gerard Dow. Unlike his great 
 master, Gerard Dow never, during his life, trusted to 
 a chance stroke or the force of genius for anything. 
 The enraged Greek painter, throwing his brush at the 
 canvas, accidentally produced an effect which he 
 wanted, and which patience and assiduity had failed to 
 realise for him. Our Dutch artist would have discarded 
 such a result as illegitimate. He besieged a beauty in 
 nature by slow and measured approaches. With him 
 a picture was a thing of orderly progression, even as 
 the flowers of spring gradually unfold their leaves and 
 buds and blossoms to the sun. He hurried his work 
 for no man, but moved with a princely ease, as much as 
 
Gerard Dow. 
 
 169 
 
 to say to the world, * Other men may hurry as they 
 please, from necessity or excitement ; but Gerard Dow 
 at least chooses to think, and to perfect his works until 
 he has satisfied himself.' The wife of the wealthy 
 burgomaster paid the penalty of possessing a fair white 
 hand by having to sit five long days while the painter 
 transferred it to canvas. 
 
 Nor did this artist confine his fastidious manipulation 
 to beautiful objects alone. He spent as much time in 
 imitating an indentation on a copper stewpan as he 
 devoted to a dimple in the refulgent cheek of beauty. 
 Some visitors expressed astonishment at the amount of 
 labour which the painter had bestowed upon the handle 
 of a besom, and were coolly informed that the represen- 
 tation of that humble domestic instrument would require 
 several more days to complete it. Sitters grew weary 
 of sitting, but the artist never hastened his speed. Had 
 his patrons come into the world for no other purpose 
 than to serve Gerard Dow he could not have dissipated 
 their time with greater indifference to its value. The 
 cheek of his fair model would grow pale with hunger 
 and fatigue while he was rounding a pearl on her neck. 
 Flowers withered in the vase, and the ripe fruit rotted 
 on the dish, before he had well prepared his palette. 
 He was often compelled to seek objects for his pencil 
 of a less perishable nature, such as carpets, elaborate 
 table-covers, pictured tapestries, and even surgical and 
 musical instruments came not amiss. His Cremona 
 fiddles seemed bursting with sweet sounds, and his knives 
 as if they were dangerous to approach. In that picture 
 of a robust serving maid cleansing a brass pot, you 
 fancy that you see and hear the very grit as it cuts into 
 
1 70 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 the yellow metal. He is so real that to look into his 
 ' Dentist's Shop ' is as bad as having a tooth drawn. If 
 he depicts an invalid, you might guess the state of her 
 pulse and predict how long she has to live. Each object 
 he transcribes is sharp or dull, transparent or opaque, 
 rounded or squared, as it ought to be. The texture is 
 always given with exactness, even to the minute threads 
 in a costly robe. The string on a violin has three 
 degrees of shadow, and not even the dust of the resin 
 is omitted. He paints goblets of wine which would 
 tempt an ascetic. His gentlemen smoke such deli- 
 cately moulded clay pipes with so much serenity that 
 smoking in his pictures is invested with all the grace of 
 an accomplishment. 
 
 He carried his neatness and love of order into every 
 department of his household, his studio, in particular, 
 being above all criticism. Other painters were content 
 to sit at an easel of plain deal — Gerard Dow must have 
 one of ebony, inlaid with mother-o'-pearl. He locked 
 up his colours in a costly cabinet as if they had been 
 rubies, emeralds, and brilliants of the first water. He 
 observed a ceremony on entering the sacred precincts 
 of his atelier^ just as the Mussulman does as he ap- 
 proaches the shrine of the Prophet. On arriving in 
 front of the easel, he is said to have paused for a few 
 moments to allow the dust to settle before he uncovered 
 the picture. He would risk dying of suffocation rather 
 than open his casement and incur the liability of ad- 
 mitting an insect to disturb his arrangements ; that is, 
 unless he wanted one to paint from, and then he might 
 prefer, from security, to borrow one from some neigh- 
 bouring entomologist. 
 
Gerard Dow. 
 
 171 
 
 We, however, are far from presenting our minute, 
 painstaking, and fastidious artist as a model to be fol- 
 lowed without reservation or discretion. Dow was a 
 man of singularly healthy mind. His peculiarities were 
 neither morbidity nor exaggerations. He possessed a 
 wholesome though extreme sentiment of care. But 
 others, instead of borrowing patient inspiration from his 
 perfect taste, might fall into the absurdity of persecuting 
 dirt and prosecuting delay. Shelley's passion for botan- 
 ising and fondness for minutiae became so exaggerated 
 at one period of his life that he could not look at a 
 tuft of grass without being compelled, against his will, 
 to count each separate blade. We counsel that study 
 of a great example which distinguishes its merits without 
 caricaturing its peculiarities. There is all the difference 
 in the world between mannerism and conscientious 
 originality. 
 
 THE PICTURES IN THE INTERNATIONAL 
 EXHIBITION. 
 
 Henry the Eighth retained foreign painters in his pay, 
 of whom Holbein was chief in importance ; Charles the 
 First followed the example, selecting Rubens and Van- 
 dyke as the greatest masters of the period. Charles the 
 Second continued the practice, and bestowed his royal 
 patronage on Verrio the Neapolitan, and Laguerre the 
 Frenchman, as painters of history, and on Kneller and 
 Lely, as portrait-painters. It was not until Hogarth 
 
172 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 appeared that England could well lay claim to a dis- 
 tinguished painter of pure national growth. But Hogarth 
 was a host in himself. With Hogarth the pencil took 
 rank with the pen as a teacher of morality. As a man 
 this our first painter was also deserving of admiration. 
 His pictures afford the best proof that he was neither 
 to be bribed by the gold nor overawed by the terrors 
 of the great ; nor was he in any way unequal to the 
 great cause of reformation which he espoused. The 
 fascinations of high life could not turn him aside ; 
 neither was he discouraged by the unmitigated vices 
 which he found to prevail among the poor, the ignorant, 
 and the brutal. 
 
 Engravings after this master's works have circulated 
 to an extent scarcely conceivable, and by this means 
 people have become familiar with the nature of his genius. 
 But these engravings for the most part afford but a poor 
 idea of the beauties of the paintings from which they 
 are taken ; and in no instance do they rival the fine 
 qualities of the original etchings. Hence the great value 
 of the present gathering together of the painter's works 
 at Kensington, where more than thirty of his best com- 
 positions are to be seen. Critics may now perceive that 
 our artist could portray not only folly, vice, and crime, 
 in their ugliness and deformity, but that, moreover, he 
 had an eye for a good comely countenance, and a ready 
 pencil to transcribe it to canvas honestly, that is, without 
 flattery. 
 
 Haply this fine opportunity for studying this great 
 delineator of life and manners may not be lost upon 
 living painters. Some of his immortal productions will 
 be found to contain more matter than an entire col- 
 
Pictures in the International Exhibition. 1 73 
 
 lection of modern pictures. This must be our excuse 
 for not attempting the difficult labour of an elaborate 
 description. Nor is it necessary that we should do so, 
 seeing that the pictures speak plainly enough for them- 
 selves — some may surmise a little too plainly for the 
 credit of mankind in general, and for the English branch 
 of the human family in particular. A score and a half 
 of Hogarth's pictures might furnish food for a lifetime of 
 reflection. He would seem to have taken in hand all the 
 wrongs, vices, follies, and crimes of the corrupt time in 
 which he lived. The wonder is, that he did not break 
 down under the huge self-imposed task, and our wonder 
 is still greater when we reflect that he pursued the good 
 work so goodnaturedly — a model for all patriots to come. 
 
 Hogarth's pictures would tell best in a small quiet 
 gallery by themselves, where they could be brought close 
 up to the light, where their unique excellences could 
 be calmly considered. They certainly do not show to 
 advantage in their present position. Owing to their re- 
 moteness from the light they wear a hue far more sombre 
 (notwithstanding the grave nature of some of the themes 
 depicted), than really belongs to the master, who infused 
 his own genial spirit into all that he did. The characters 
 and details in these picture-dramas are infinite, the 
 expression of each character indefinitely varied, as it 
 appears under varying circumstances, and it is only by 
 strict attention to these nicer points that we come to 
 understand how vast was the knowledge, experience of 
 the world, activity, and unbounded powers of invention 
 which the master possessed. Hogarth came upon the 
 scene at the right moment. The refinement of those 
 days was of a most selfish description. Lords and ladies 
 
174- Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 cultivated dainty airs and pleasing manners, but troubled 
 very little about poor people. They left matters of 
 great moment to take care of themselves. Every kind 
 of infamy prevailed ; and it was thought too vulgar to 
 trouble about such places as gambling-houses, prisons, 
 brothels, and bedlams, and the state of the army. What 
 do we not owe to the man by whose industry and genius 
 so many wicked wrongs and contemptible and degrading 
 follies were exposed to the light of day ! High-life 
 stood aghast, fascinated, spell-bound as it were, by the 
 revelations made in those terrible pictures. Lords and 
 ladies had so long been flattered by the Knellers and 
 Lelys and Jervases, that they were hardly prepared to 
 see the whole truth, all at once, with no sort of covering 
 to partially hide, to mitigate in some degree, the hideous 
 aspect of the objects exposed to their gaze for the first 
 time in the pictures of Hogarth.. 
 
 Enlightened people in these our times labour, as a 
 matter of course, to abate those evils with which our 
 painter, in his day, battled almost single-handed. Thus 
 the pictures describing ' The Stages of Cruelty,' those 
 entitled ' The Cock Pit,' ' Bedlam,' < The Fleet Prison,' 
 'The Harlot's Progress,' and 'Gin Lane,' might have 
 suggested existing Societies, since established, to put 
 down the very evils which those productions of the 
 pencil so vividly depicted, so forcibly exposed. Towards 
 mitigating the evils of ill-assorted marriages, made known 
 in ' Marriage a la Mode,' something has lately been 
 attempted. In 'The Election' plates, Hogarth laid bare 
 the system of foul bribery and corruption which even 
 now our legislators are still discussing how they shall 
 put down ; and so with the Societies for the suppression 
 
Pictures in the International Exhibition. 175 
 
 of vice and cruelty to animals, their necessity was first 
 indicated by the pencil of Hogarth, who always laboured 
 with a good purpose in view, and to prove how powerful 
 an instrument the pencil may become when properly 
 directed. 
 
 It may be interesting to some of our readers to learn 
 the nature of the many themes, from the pencil of 
 Hogarth, now to be seen at the International Exhibition. 
 They are thus described in the Catalogue : — ' Portrait of 
 Hogarth at his Easel ' ; two pictures from 1 The Harlot's 
 Progress ' ; a scene from the ' Beggar's Opera ' ; a view 
 of ' The Mall,' and the celebrated picture of ' The March 
 to Finchley.' After these we have * The Election,' in 
 four pictures, representing the * Election Entertainment,' 
 < Canvassing for Votes,' ' Polling at the Hustings,' and 
 the ' Chairing of the Successful Member.' Then follows 
 the portrait of ' Mrs. Hogarth,' succeeded by a series of 
 paintings illustrating ' The Rake's Progress,' which are 
 thus enumerated : — ' The Inheritance,' ' The Rake's 
 Levee,' ' The Orgie,' ' The Arrest,' 1 The Marriage,' ' The 
 Gaming House,' 1 The Fleet Prison,' and ' Bedlam.' 
 The ' Marriage a la Mode ' series is thus divided : — ' The 
 Marriage Contract,' ' Shortly after the Marriage/ * The 
 Visit to the Quack Doctor,' ' The Countess's Dressing- 
 room,' 'The Duel and Death of the Earl,' and lastly, 
 ' The Death of the Countess.' 
 
 In addition, the collection is further enriched by 
 the paintings of ' Southwark Fair,' ' A Conversation,' 1 A 
 Conversation at Wanstead House,' and 'The Strolling 
 Actresses ' ; together with portraits of ' Captain Coram,' 
 ' Mrs. Robinson as " Fenella," ' ' Lavinia Fenton as " Polly 
 Peachum," ' ' A Head,' and a sketch of 1 The Shrimp Girl.' 
 
176 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 After Hogarth English painters again became more 
 courtly and complacent, and dipped their pencils in 
 milder, softer hues. 
 
 Sir Joshua Reynolds, the intellectual, polite First 
 President of the Royal Academy, saw only in the sitters 
 who thronged his studio the better side of human nature, 
 and those whose lineaments he transferred to canvas 
 appear wanting in no outward sign of virtue and intelli- 
 gence. In representing his patrons thus amiable, the 
 artist may have aspired, by emulation, to make those of 
 them amiable who displayed a leaning in the opposite 
 direction, so that, in the end, they might become worthy 
 of their pictures. Certain it is that he blended roses 
 and pearls on the cheeks of his women of rank and 
 fortune with a prodigality before unheard of. Pope, in 
 some flattering verses to the painter Jervas, thus alludes 
 to that indifferent limner's productions : — 
 
 • Beauty, frail flower, which every season fears, 
 Blooms in thy colours for a thousand years.' 
 
 This lengthened immortality did not belong to the 
 colours of Reynolds. The pearliness remains, but in 
 too many instances the rose tints have faded from lip and 
 cheek, so that many of those whom he sought to im- 
 mortalise appear to us now only as the ghosts of what 
 they were, to all appearance still in the flesh, but, as an 
 eminent critic has remarked, 'somewhere between the 
 living and the dead.' At Kensington is the famous 
 portrait of Nelly O'Brian. She sits in her bower of 
 rich, dark shrubs, pallid, but not with grief, for the 
 gentlest of hearts sends lustre to her soft grey eyes. 
 Old Time never did a crueller wrong than when he thus 
 
Pictures in the International Exhibition, 177 
 
 ruthlessly snatched the roses from the cheeks of Nelly 
 O'Brian. 
 
 Judging from a few pictures by Reynolds, which have 
 come down to us with a small degree of their youthful 
 freshness still remaining, we might venture to affirm, 
 what indeed has often been urged, that out of Venice 
 Sir Joshua had no rival as a colourist. His forms are 
 always grand and imposing, though frequently dispro- 
 portionate, and, great as was his familiarity with the 
 human countenance, we have seen instances in which the 
 features were sadly awry. It is not to Sir Joshua that 
 we must look for faultless contours, for his forms can 
 hardly be said to have any ; but if we look to him for 
 character, sentiment, and dignity, we shall not be disap- 
 pointed. 
 
 He was particularly happy in his pictures of chil- 
 dren, as some examples in the present collection will 
 prove. It is a vulgar saying, that ' babies are all alike.' 
 Mothers know their own notwithstanding, and Sir Joshua 
 knew how to distinguish nice differences in the infantine 
 state. In a number of children, some of them mere 
 infants, now exhibited, we have as many different 
 characters in the bud, and it is impossible not to feel 
 that those several infants will grow up into so many men 
 and women, differing alike in character as in outward 
 form. No man, not even Lavater himself, possessed a 
 profounder knowledge of human nature as found in the 
 saloons of high life than Reynolds. Among the many 
 examples in the gallery we must not overlook one lent 
 by her Majesty — the portrait of the infant Princess 
 Sophia Matilda of Gloucester, who is represented play- 
 ing on the ground with a rough terrier. This picture 
 
 VOL. I. N 
 
1 78 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 will bear out our remarks touching the painter's intimacy 
 with the inmates of the nursery. Again, in further proof 
 of this, we might point to the life-like portraits of 
 Georgiana Spencer, Duchess of Devonshire, and her infant 
 daughter. There are by far too few titled mothers like 
 this duchess, who engages in the pleasing duties of a 
 mother with a zest and an energy quite natural. In 
 little Miss Boothby we have quaintness and innocence 
 combined. The droll creature appears before us in a 
 mob-cap, playing at Grandmamma. In another instance 
 pretty Miss Price is seen in a quiet grove in the character 
 of Little Bo-peep, followed by her pet lambs. The old 
 bachelor-painter's love for the juvenile world must have 
 been intense, or he never could have put their innocent 
 faces and endearing ways upon canvas in a manner so 
 resistless. After all, it is by no means certain whether 
 those who have children know them better or love them 
 better than those who have them not. Old unmarried 
 aunts and uncles are unquestionably the best customers 
 to the toymakers, and may often be seen making stealthy 
 purchases at the confectioners'. 
 
 Thomas Gainsborough was a gentleman of retiring 
 manners, attached to his home, passionately fond of 
 music, and a hater of Reynolds. As a painter he had a 
 lighter, freer hand than perhaps any other painter, ancient 
 or modern. The ttite of the saloon and the humble 
 rustic maiden were equally precious in his eyes. His 
 girl at the spring, without shoes and sparely clad, and 
 the aristocratic boy, majestic in satin robes, in their 
 extremes, attest his power. Gainsborough imparted to 
 his forms an ideal grace all his own. His trees even 
 bow their heads gracefully as if in obedience to the 
 
Pictures in the International Exhibition. 179 
 
 gentlest of zephyrs, beneath skies serene as the painter's 
 own heart. It were well for us all could we see the earth 
 and its inhabitants as bright and good as Thomas Gains- 
 borough saw and painted them. It is not possible to see 
 the world as he painted it without feeling disposed to be 
 at peace with mankind, high and low, for high and low 
 appear equally engaging in his pictures. 
 
 He was happy in all that he did. His pastoral scenes 
 are all smiles, his valleys all happy valleys. The people 
 whom he painted are people to be trusted — people to 
 love. Who having beheld his Mrs. Graham could repine 
 at not having seen a veritable angel ? Where is the 
 maiden, having once cast eyes upon, could ever after 
 forget, the noble youth in blue satin ? Gainsborough's 
 very cows wind down the hill as if they moved to 
 some gentle air ; his pigs are more comely and engaging 
 than other people's pigs, eating their food with a clean- 
 liness, as if they had a reputation for nice breeding, 
 and were anxious not to lose it. Was ever beheld such 
 a farmer's daughter as Gainsborough's ? Seated on an 
 old grey horse, and smiling all over, she carries sunlight 
 into the shady lane, surrounded like a queen by her body- 
 guard of ploughmen and carters, all ready to do battle 
 for her, and mortally vexed that no opportunity will 
 present itself to enable them to test their loyalty. We 
 regret that this picture is not in the present collection. 
 But we are consoled by the presence in one picture of 
 Mrs. Sheridan and Mrs. Tickell, seated on a primrose 
 bank. One is never tired of looking at these two 
 ladies — they look so happy in each other's society. 
 What fortunate men the husbands of such women must 
 have been ! One of the ladies, Mrs. Tickell or Mrs. 
 
 N 2 
 
i8o Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 Sheridan, we know not which, holds a music-book. She 
 would seem to have been singing, and truly she has 
 a merry, singing face, and we should surmise a joyous, 
 ringing voice. Her companion is also possessed of a 
 sweet, open countenance. They are all intelligence and 
 vivacity, with eyes alike bright and piercing, and cal- 
 culated to do almost any amount of mischief. 
 
 But we must not forget ' The Girl with the Pitcher/ 
 whom everybody has seen in prints of all sizes, not one 
 of them doing anything like justice to the original paint - 
 ing. This picture reminds one not of canvas and colour 
 in the least. If memory does not deceive us, in that 
 same girl with the pitcher we recognise an old acquaint- 
 ance. Where could it have been ? In some out-of- 
 the-way place we have met. The day had barely dawned 
 as we passed by the little cottage among the trees, as 
 a little maiden, like the one before us, with a fine oval 
 face, without shoes — it were a pity to hide such exquisite 
 feet — came down to the spring for water. What brings 
 the matter more forcibly to mind is the dog which she 
 hugs so closely to her side, and without which it would 
 appear she never goes abroad on any account ; her rea- 
 sons being, in the first place, that she is very much 
 attached to the mute companion of her many lonely 
 hours (there are no other children thereabouts) ; and 
 further, she has a vague suspicion that some one might 
 steal her pet, her only treasure in the world. Not that 
 she is conscious of poverty ; she drinks of the spring, 
 and feeds on brown bread steeped in fresh milk, which 
 her father, the hedger and ditcher, earns by the sweat of 
 his brow. In summer she lives in sun or shade, as her 
 fancy leads her ; in winter, she nestles in the chimney- 
 
Pictures in the International Exhibition. 1 8 1 
 
 corner, a comfortable nook, where the father, who loves 
 her, smokes his evening pipe, and where the mother 
 smiles on both. Happy family, untroubled by extremes ! 
 Careless and calm, because they are guiltless of wrong ! 
 Without guile, fearing none, hating none, with nothing 
 to lose and nothing to gain, living from hand to mouth ; 
 the sun rises and finds them penniless, and the sun sets 
 and leaves them no richer. 
 
 One would like to give that rustic maiden a handful 
 of money (we know not how it is, but Gainsborough's 
 pictures always make one feel generous), and yet, too, 
 there is something makes one hesitate to offer alms to 
 the poorest of Gainsborough's people. They have all 
 naturally a certain polite bearing, as though they came 
 of a good stock and were not acquainted with the fact : 
 which is well, otherwise they might have got high no- 
 tions and have taken to repining, like the heroines of so 
 many modern pictures and dramas, and then they would 
 have been fit for nothing, and we should have had nothing 
 to say about them. We are before another of Gains- 
 borough's pictures, called 'The Cottage Door.' The 
 cottage is in the very heart of a dense wood, shut on 
 from all the world, and well-nigh from the light of day. 
 The rustic mother stands at the door, among her rosy 
 children — a large young family to provide for, but made 
 easy by the squire, one of Gainsborough's squires, and 
 of course a gentleman, who lets them have the cottage 
 rent free, and as much milk for the fetching as they can 
 all drink, which is no small quantity. 
 
 Richard Wilson, whose landscapes are now placed 
 among the chief glories of the English school of paint- 
 
1 82 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 ing, was a contemporary of Reynolds and Gains- 
 borough. 
 
 The remains of ancient temples and tombs, lakes and 
 waterfalls, overhung by frowning rocks, were the materials 
 of which Wilson composed his pictures. Others made 
 cold, formal compositions out of similar objects, but 
 Wilson contemplated those relics of the past with a poet's 
 eye. He sought, not second-hand, as others had done, 
 but among the ruins themselves, for the inspiration which 
 animated his pencil. He had the powers to realise the 
 great, nay almost the sublimity of an extensive prospect, 
 by a few strokes of the crayon. Of this fact, a published 
 volume, engraved in imitation of original sketches which 
 the artist made in Italy, furnishes a striking proof. With 
 his brush well laden with colour, he would dash in broad 
 masses of country, revelling in earth, water, and air, with 
 a confidence and a power that belongs not to these our 
 times. Looking at his representations, the spectator is 
 hurried out of the ordinary daily life of things into other 
 lands where, in the remote past, the plains bristled with 
 the spears of heroes, immortalised by epic poets : and to 
 sylvan haunts, where of old altars were raised to Pan. 
 
 Wilson sometimes sought to people his landscapes with 
 Pagan deities to illustrate the fabulous stories of classic 
 lands. In this he failed. He had high authority for 
 making the attempt, notwithstanding. Italian painters 
 of renown had enlivened similar scenes with what they 
 doubtless considered appropriate figures, suggested by 
 ancient poetry and fragments of antique sculpture. Of 
 this class of pictures by Wilson, one in the present col- 
 lection, representing the ' Destruction of Niobe's Children,' 
 is not more to our liking than it was to the taste of 
 
Pictures in the International Exhibition. 1 8 x 
 
 Reynolds, who, if we remember rightly, condemned this 
 work in one of his Lectures delivered at the Royal 
 Academy. Apart from the nature of the theme, the 
 composition is grand ; the storm-clouds which cover a 
 large portion of the canvas sublime. In the companion 
 picture, a view of' Maecenas' Villa,' we perceive how grand 
 and yet how simple a treatment he could bestow upon 
 subjects of an elevated character. Another large ' land- 
 scape ' in the gallery displays the artist in all his strength. 
 A clump of tall trees, a ruined frieze and some rustic 
 figures for foreground, relieved against a soft balmy sky, 
 remote city and plains beyond, make up the scene. The 
 trees start up out of the earth, and stretch forth their 
 arms over the valley as if to stay the winds in their 
 course. 
 
 Wilson was not coldly classical. He pored with 
 rapture over the beauties of his own native mountains of 
 Wales. He could become familiar, and he was ever 
 genial. A bright morning scene on the bank of ' The 
 River Dee/ now present, might almost work a miracle 
 and restore animation to a corpse. Yet Wilson was a 
 neglected man, and those who knew his worth made few 
 efforts to save him from want. He might have starved, 
 had not a relation bequeathed him a small estate when 
 he was too old to enjoy it. He returned to the home of 
 his fathers, and found death at the porch to bid him 
 welcome ; and it were well, for the stricken painter 
 nourished in his heart only bitter remembrances of hopes 
 deferred, of burning aspirations stifled by neglect, not to 
 say by disrespect and contempt. Wilson's pictures were 
 of a refined nature, and not calculated to attract the 
 vulgar of his day ; but we are entirely at a loss to account 
 
184 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 for the treatment which he experienced at the hands of 
 the enlightened few to whom his genius was manifest as 
 the sun at noon-day. 
 
 George Morland has, very properly, not been forgotten 
 by the Fine Art Commissioners. The Exhibition con- 
 tains several of his pictures, before which thousands will 
 halt. They are, doubtless, true pictures of rural life in 
 England nearly a century ago. A very few strokes of 
 Morland's pencil made the canvas glow. Country squires, 
 farmers, gipsies, smugglers, innkeepers, agricultural 
 labourers, and domestic animals, were his delight, and 
 fully appreciated by him. He was known on the coast, 
 he was at home in the cottage, and welcome at the hall ; 
 he lingered about lanes, and he encamped upon commons ; 
 he might have dwelt with the gentry, but his peculiar 
 taste led him to prefer an alehouse and the company of 
 stable boys. In one picture at the International Exhi- 
 bition, called 1 The Reckoning,' we have a capital stable 
 scene. A vigorous old farmer having done business at 
 market, has called at a wayside inn to rest his horse and 
 to indulge himself in a dozen whirls of tobacco. For 
 these accommodations he is about to tender payment, 
 and hence the title of the picture. In the stable are 
 some dogs — a spaniel, mastiff, and terrier, painted to the 
 life. The old horse, in particular, is inimitable. 
 
 Although Morland's scenes are not of a kind in which 
 one would expect refinement, yet he is never vulgar. In 
 spite of his intemperate habits, he must after all have 
 been by nature a gentleman. The other paintings by 
 this master are ' A Seashore — Wild Fowl Shooting ' ; 
 ' Sheep/ and two others respectively entitled ' The 
 Gipsies.' In the latter pictures we are introduced to a 
 
Pictures in the International Exhibition. 185 
 
 couple of squires of very opposite natures. In one a 
 testy old gentleman emerges suddenly from a bypath 
 in a wood, vowing vengeance on those strolling vagabonds 
 — the gipsies. In the other a warm-hearted squire reins 
 in his horse, and gives some people of the same class a 
 shilling with which to drink his health. The characters 
 of the two men are finely contrasted. 
 
 We have shown that Hogarth, Reynolds, and Gains- 
 borough are well represented. Some might, nay will, 
 object that Reynolds might have been seen to better 
 advantage ; but what will be said for George Romney, 
 who, after having painted so many pictures in close rivalry 
 with Reynolds, is now seen in one picture only, the 
 portrait of ' Admiral Hardy ' ? James Barry, the painter 
 of the series of pictures at the rooms of the Society of 
 Arts, is made known to strangers by a portrait of his 
 mother, and the composition of Adam and Eve from 
 the Adelphi. Opie is beheld in a forcible portrait 
 of himself, by himself, 'The Blind Beggar and his 
 Daughter,' and by an energetic but vulgar large work, 
 entitled 'Rizzio.' 
 
 After Hogarth, Reynolds, Gainsborough, and Wilson, 
 we go wandering down the gallery seeking for another 
 great master to talk about. For the ice-cold efforts of 
 Sir Benjamin West we care little and have little to say. 
 His best picture, 1 The Death of General Wolfe,' is present, 
 and worth attention. Formal classical productions like 
 'The Oath of Annibal/ and 'The Departure of Re- 
 gulus,' will not attract much notice, and do not de- 
 serve it. 
 
 Lord Lyndhurst sends two fine works, by his father, 
 John Singleton Copley, which are remarkable for power- 
 
1 86 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 ful grouping and vigorous touch. In the picture of ' The 
 Death of Major Pierson at Jersey, in 1780,' we have 
 unquestionably a great historical work. Copley was not 
 over sentimental, and his pictures do not harrow up the 
 feelings to a painful degree ; but he laid on his colours 
 to good purpose. The group of figures attending Major 
 Pierson, more especially the single figure of the tall 
 negro who is about to fire his musket, are all we could 
 desire them to be. The ' Family Group/ by the same 
 artist, represents the painter's own family ; and the fine 
 rosy-cheeked boy whom the mother is caressing is 
 none other than the Lord Lyndhurst who is now 
 verging on his ninetieth year. The other pictures by 
 Copley are the ' Portraits of the Princesses Amelia, 
 Sophia, and Augusta ' — a picture only inferior to 
 Reynolds in colour ; and a smaller production, known as 
 i The Boy and the Squirrel,' being the first picture exhi- 
 bited by Copley in this country. The Americans claim 
 Copley for their own, and as a matter of course are not 
 a little proud of him. In proof of this, a few years ago, 
 the people of Boston went so far as to give a large price 
 for an example of his pencil to hang in the gallery of 
 the painter's native city of Boston. 
 
 Hilton's immense ' Crucifixion ' exhibits some good 
 and bold modelling, particularly in the figures of the 
 Roman soldiers. There are also present this artist's ex- 
 pressive picture of ' The Murder of the Innocents,' and 
 the large commonplace group of ' The Angel delivering 
 St. Peter from Prison.' 
 
 Patrick Nasmyth was another unfortunate painter of 
 landscapes, which were not understood and appreciated 
 until the artist had been some time in his grave. We 
 
Pictures in the International Exhibition. 187 
 
 are more surprised at the want of encouragement which 
 Nasmyth experienced, seeing that his landscapes have 
 all the qualities of popular pictures. He painted woods, 
 roads, and lanes, made pleasant to the eye by oak trees, 
 weeds, wild flowers, and sunny skies reflected in pools 
 of clear water. The connoisseur will sometimes object 
 that Patrick Nasmyth's colours are opaque to a fault, 
 and this will be evident to those who pay particular at- 
 tention to the artist's example, entitled ' A Pond with 
 Burdocks.' The broken foreground and water, with its 
 margin of sedge, thatched cottages, and oak trees, gently 
 agitated by the breeze, together with the bed of huge 
 burdocks (a plant to which the painter was most partial), 
 are really rendered in a very pleasant manner. There 
 are two other pictures in the collection by the same 
 master. 
 
 A little later we come to Old Crome, of Norwich, 
 whose landscapes have a mellowness of colour and quiet 
 power which might have done credit to Reynolds himself. 
 Crome, like Wilson and Gainsborough, was an enthusi- 
 astic lover of the woods. Among other pictures from his 
 hand is one called, ' The Great Oak Tree.' The monarch 
 of the wood throws his myriad of gnarled and twisted 
 arms over a quiet pool, and two or three cows repose in 
 an open glade beyond. Of such a scene Ruysdael would 
 have made a masterpiece of finish, but we doubt if that 
 able Dutchman would have invested his tree with all the 
 picturesque and venerable attributes of old age as Crome 
 has done. In a view of ' Mousehold Heath ' we have a 
 study of a sandbank, on which a plentiful assortment 
 of thistles and other weeds have taken root. No in- 
 novations, no attempts at softening and improving are 
 
1 88 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 attempted upon the rugged truth. The stuff of which this 
 picture is composed is of the most familiar kind ; the 
 fields beyond the sandbank wear a barren aspect. There 
 might seem little to attract in such a place as Mousehold 
 Heath, but Crome saw beauty in the blossoming 
 thistles crowning that barren locality. It is said that 
 the painter Weenix never painted a picture which did not 
 contain a thistle (a fancy not easily explained). Crome 
 only painted thistles when they were peculiar to the 
 scene ; his pictures are always consistent. K e delighted 
 in double hedgerows, and leafy, grassy nooks, where the 
 wild rose and elder grew, and solitary lanes protected by 
 banks of white loam, steep, crumbling, and irregular ; 
 where thatched cottages with gloomy uncouth gables 
 overhung the way. Norfolk was his home, his delight ; 
 he never seems to have gone beyond it even in thought. 
 There he was born, there he painted. At Norwich he 
 founded a small school of art, which has since exercised 
 a fine influence over the whole country. We wonder the 
 people there do not put up a statue to this painter in 
 return for the good which he bestowed upon them, by 
 creating among them a love and taste for art. ' Are you 
 a judge of paintings ? ' asked a lady of a gentleman one 
 day in our presence. The gentleman deliberately replied 
 in the affirmative, and modestly qualifying his answer, 
 he 1 thus continued in a manner, quite natural, ' and I 
 ought to be, for am I not a native of Norwich, the birth- 
 place of old Crome ? ' 
 
 Sir Thomas Lawrence (of whom we have next to 
 speak), if we are to judge by his pictures, painted only 
 people possessing high intelligence and superior personal 
 attractions. He began to draw as an infant almost : at 
 
Pictures in the International Exhibition. 189 
 
 sixteen he was a proficient delineator of the human 
 countenance, in fact, a great prodigy. Nature made him 
 an artist before his time, and the Royal Academy were 
 compelled to elect him one of their number at an earlier 
 age than they ever elected anyone else before or since. 
 Nine of his more mature portraits are in the International 
 Exhibition. Lawrence's pictures have an artificial grace 
 bordering upon affectation ; many of them are somewhat 
 flimsy in substance ; and, notwithstanding occasional fine 
 contrasts, his colouring, always intended to be cheerful, 
 is nearly always inclined to be heavy and opaque. We 
 are in no way surprised that everybody sat to him. He 
 had all the qualities of which popular painters are 
 composed ; he was essentially a court painter, and a 
 good one. The portrait of the 1 Earl of Eldon,' now in 
 the gallery, is a fine example. The earl has a cold grey 
 eye, silvery hair and eyebrows, and, spite of the painter's 
 efforts, anything but a benevolent look. The colour in 
 this picture, although heavy, as usual, is pure, crisp, and 
 firm in texture. A more characteristic work is the group 
 of portraits of the graceful * Countess Grey and her 
 young Daughters,' who are represented seated on a 
 terrace, from whence the eye wanders on through a grove 
 of tall trees. But the greatest favourite of this artist's 
 pictures is present in a circular composition, called 
 f Nature,' a picture known far and wide by engravings. 
 The painter has depicted two beautiful and healthful 
 young girls, all smiles and dimples, entwined in each 
 other's arms, with an ease and grace that Correggio 
 might have despaired of surpassing. The other examples 
 now exhibited by Sir Thomas are the portraits of ' Pope 
 Pius the Seventh,' 1 Sir Humphry Davy,' of the * Earl 
 
190 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 of Liverpool ' (very excellent), ' Mr. R. Davis,' ' Lady 
 Bentinck,' the ' Countess of Shaftesbury ' (when a child), 
 and 1 Mr. James Spedding.' 
 
 Sir David Wilkie is known best as a painter of English 
 and Scottish life and manners among the humbler classes. 
 For many years the windows of the chief print-shops 
 were monopolised by fine line engravings after his works, 
 and are thus familiar to all but the rising generation. 
 Of late years we have missed the 'Greenwich Pensioners,' 
 1 The Rent Day,' 'The Penny Wedding,' « Blind Man's 
 Buff/ 'Distraining for Rent/ and many other subjects 
 which in their day served to detain and to amuse, not to 
 say instruct and improve, the passengers in our great 
 thoroughfares. Flemish pictures of the Teniers and 
 Ostade class may have suggested to Wilkie the frame- 
 work of the class of compositions to which he chiefly 
 devoted his genius ; but the ideas, the incidents depicted 
 by him, were all his own, and he was in the strictest 
 sense an original painter. Late in life Spain furnished 
 him with subjects, some of which were also engraved. 
 
 In the present collection an opportunity is afforded of 
 forming a true estimate of this master. Among others 
 ' The Parish Beadle ' and ' The Penny Wedding ' will 
 serve to mark his early manner, while the ' Confessional ! 
 and the ' Maid of Saragossa ' will indicate his later, 
 broader, and firmer style of treatment. It seems to have 
 been the rule with most great painters to elaborate much 
 at first, as if feeling their way, making sure as it were, 
 and eventually to divide their pictures into larger, broader 
 masses, and to make fewer strokes of the pencil produce 
 the effects they desired ; but we know of no painter 
 whose mode of painting underwent all at once so great 
 
Pictures in the International Exhibition, r 9 r 
 
 a change as Sir David's. His domestic scenes lack the 
 decision, crispness of touch, and silvery purity of Teniers 
 the younger. His scenes in Spain, while graphic, are in 
 the main dull and heavy in tone. Yet he could be forcible. 
 In ' The Parish Beadle ' the characters are varied and 
 strongly marked, and the modelling firm. He could be 
 pathetic, as witness his 'Distraining for Rent,' unfor- 
 tunately absent on the present occasion. 'The Penny 
 Wedding' and 'Blind Man's Buff' show how heartily, 
 how cheerfully, and how naturally he could sympathise 
 with the lot of the poor. Faed alone in these times 
 might lay claim to Wilkie's title of the poor man's painter, 
 but Faed lacks the cheerfulness and ease which belonged 
 to his famous countryman. A sunny, summer-like atmo- 
 sphere harmonised with the simple genius of Wilkie. 
 He peopled his cottages with healthful, honest, trusty, 
 light-hearted folks. With him sentiment never degene- 
 rated into morbidity. His heroes and heroines are not 
 of the kind to require looking after. The idea of hang- 
 ing or drowning would never occur to any one of them 
 through a century of misfortune. He is never coarse, 
 frivolous, or vulgar, and certainly he is never sublime. 
 
 Gilbert Stewart Newton came young from America 
 and settled in England. The works of this master are 
 not calculated to enlist the attention of the multitude so 
 readily as Wilkie's ; yet they are more refined, quite as 
 forcible, and no less true. Newton's illustrations of fine 
 passages from English poetry nearly always do justice to 
 the poets. He was particularly happy in transcribing to 
 canvas the beauties of Goldsmith and Sterne. Examples 
 of his fine appreciation of those two authors will be 
 found in the gallery. Looking at his pictures, the 
 
392 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 spectator is often not well decided whether to laugh or 
 weep, and sometimes compromises the matter and per- 
 forms both operations at once. The authors of the 
 * Sentimental Journey,' and the ' Vicar of Wakefield,' 
 prescribed gravity and gaiety in about the same propor- 
 tions as Newton combined them in his pictures. Take, 
 for instance, the composition of the ' Vicar of Wakefield' 
 endeavouring to reconcile his wife to Olivia Primrose. 
 The penitent girl, all pale and trembling, leans for sup- 
 port on the shoulders of her forgiving father, and turns 
 away her face from the forbidding, wrathful mother. 
 We almost hear the words of that amiable man, Dr. 
 Primrose, when, addressing his obdurate wife, he exclaims, 
 with all the gravity of father and pastor combined : 1 1 
 entreat, woman, that my words may now be marked once 
 for all : I have here brought you back a poor deluded 
 wanderer ; her return to duty demands the revival of our 
 tenderness ; the real hardships of life are now coming 
 fast upon us ; let us not, therefore, increase them by dis- 
 sensions among each other ; if we live harmoniously 
 together, we may yet be contented, as there are enough 
 of us to shut out the censuring world, and keep each 
 other in countenance.' Mark the swelling throat, and 
 rigid face of the proud woman to whom these words are 
 addressed. The gallery contains nothing finer. 
 
 Again in * Yorick and the Grisette ' we have great 
 variety of expression. Sterne, in describing the scene 
 which Newton has painted, observes that there are certain 
 combined looks of simple subtlety — where whim and sense, 
 and seriousness and nonsense, are so blended that all the 
 languages of Babel let loose together could not express 
 them. Whether the painter has overcome the whole 
 
Pictures in the International Exhibition. 193 
 
 difficulty here set forth by the author of the ' Sentimental 
 Journey/ we care not to ask ; we feel that Newton's 
 ' Yorick and the Grisette ' is a picture such as Yorick 
 himself might have produced had he been a painter, and 
 treated the subject in his happiest manner. The subject 
 of ' Shylock and Jessica,' often attempted, was never 
 more prettily treated than by Newton. 1 Captain Mac- 
 heath upbraided by Polly and Lucy ' preserves a fine dis- 
 tinction in the character of the two young ladies who 
 figure in the ' Beggar's Opera.' These are the chief 
 works of Newton now present at Kensington. 
 
 William Collins was a gentle painter, not unworthy 
 of the good company of Wilkie, Constable, and Newton, 
 where we find him. His delight was to paint coast and 
 lane scenes, in which the figures play a prominent part. 
 His 'Bird-catchers' are a number of boys assembled at 
 early morning on a common, with decoy-birds and nets. 
 The whole picture is animated and true to the life. 
 ' Happy as a King ' represents a number of children 
 swinging on a gate. The bigger boy on the topmost rail 
 enjoys himself amazingly. This picture is far more skil- 
 fully finished than the ' Bird-catchers.' The rosy-cheeked 
 village children seem to rend the air and make the woods 
 echo with their clamour. They are buoyant without 
 rudeness. The lane beyond is extremely well painted. 
 ' The Stray Kitten ' is a particular favourite with the 
 public, to whom, like the last-mentioned picture, it is well 
 known by a fine line engraving. There are other pictures 
 by Collins in the gallery, namely, ' The Skittle Players,' 
 ' A Frost Scene,' ' Rustic Civility,' ' Minnow Catchers,' 
 ' A Scene on the Coast of Norfolk,' 'The Morning Bath' 
 and ' The Shrimpers,' all of which are in their way fault- 
 VOL. I. O 
 
194 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 less. Collins had few pretensions, but he succeeded in 
 all that he attempted. His coast scenes are bright and 
 sunny, his lanes shady, cool, and inviting, and both are 
 rendered doubly agreeable by the presence of happy faces. 
 
 Richard Parkes Bonington, a little known artist, died 
 young and full of promise in 1828, having spent little of 
 his professional life in this country. Many will make 
 acquaintance with his works for the first time at the 
 International Exhibition. A picture of ' Venice ' will 
 inform competent judges that England lost a promising 
 painter in Bonington. ' Venice,' though painted by such 
 a young artist, has the breadth and force of a master. 
 Another view in Venice, with a procession of monks, is 
 more laboured, but almost as firm in style as a picture 
 from the pencil of Tintoretto. We imagine that this 
 picture has been seriously injured ; otherwise we cannot 
 account for its want of atmosphere, particularly in the 
 sky. ' Francis I. and his Sister,' 1 A Turk,' ' A French 
 Coast Scene,' and a ' View of the Coast of Normandy,' 
 are four other good specimens by Bonington. 
 
 John Constable's admirers, and they are many, will 
 not complain that the painter of ' The Lock ' and * The 
 Cornfield ' has been neglected. In the Exhibition his 
 finest pictures abound. One might well spend an entire 
 visit in their enjoyment. We forget we are looking at 
 pictures ; we follow the waggon across the ford ; we look 
 for the haymakers in the meadow beyond ; we track the 
 fleeting clouds, note their changing hues, and pause in 
 anticipation of a gentle shower. Rainbows span richly- 
 wooded and well-watered plains, where elder flowers light 
 up shadowy groves of oak and ash, where the dark earth 
 teems with all manner of luxuriant weeds and flowers* 
 
Pictures in the International Exhibition. 195 
 
 grouped, contrasted, massed, woven into harmony as if 
 by Nature's own hand. 
 
 Constable, like Crome, loved to linger about certain 
 favoured localities, and there will be found throughout 
 his pictures a sameness of character which, however, 
 never becomes wearisome. He follows nature closely, 
 and nature never wearies. How closely he followed 
 nature we may perceive in his pictures called ' The Hay- 
 wain,' and in 'The Dell in Helmingham Park.' Where 
 his trees overhang the streamlet in accessible spots they 
 have moss-covered bark and symmetrical luxuriant 
 branches ; in places where cattle browse, the trunks of 
 the trees are worn bare, the lower branches irregular, 
 broken, and stunted ; the earth uneven and scanty of 
 vegetation. If he painted water you may almost guess 
 what kind of animate objects the water should contain. 
 In a much frequented spot only a few blades of coarse 
 grass and a common weed or two remain. Rare herbs 
 and flowers love seclusion. These things our painter 
 faithfully observed and followed, and as we love the 
 truth, so we are always glad to welcome it no less upon 
 canvas than in type. The pencil should no more outrage 
 truth than the tongue or the pen. Yet how many land- 
 scapes are mere inventions, or, at the best, mere combina- 
 tions of odd studies made on various occasions and 
 brought together without regard to truth or propriety ! 
 Men ' who never swept dew from lawn ' aspire to paint 
 the fields, and fail as a matter of course. The fields, 
 as Peter Pindar observes, do not resemble ' green baize ' , 
 ' a rushlight ' is a poor substitute for the sun ; and, in a 
 word — 
 
 'There's very little landscape in a garret.' 
 
196 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 Charles Robert Leslie was another genial painter, 
 who could be tenderly pathetic without becoming feeble 
 and morbid, and intensely humorous without degener- 
 ating into coarseness. His pencil found a way to the 
 hearts of all. He chose for his themes the choicest 
 passages of our literature, and peopled his canvases with 
 the creations of our greatest poets and prose writers ; and, 
 as if a field so vast did not content him, he helped Dr. 
 Smollett to bring home to the English mind the adven- 
 tures of the renowned Don Quixote. The picture of 
 ' Sancho in the apartments of the Duchess,' apart from 
 the droll Sancho himself, is one of the most beautiful 
 interiors in the world. In the embellishment of the 
 apartment the most fastidious taste has been consulted ; 
 but the crowning effort, spite of the fascinations of the 
 duchess and her maids, centres in Sancho, who, having 
 examined the apartment, exclaims, 'Now, my lady 
 duchess, I am assured there is no skulker listening, and 
 that we are not overheard by any but this good company, 
 I will, without fear or trembling, answer all the questions 
 of your grace ; and, first and foremost, I will own that 
 I look upon my master, Don Quixote, as an incurable 
 madman,' &c. On the canvas of Leslie, Sancho seems 
 to speak the very words of Cervantes. 
 
 The next picture out of ten in the gallery which will 
 best serve to mark the greatness of this painter, is that 
 which brings before our eyes ' The Dinner at Page's 
 House.' ' Sweet Ann Page ' never looked more bewitch- 
 ing, nor Slender more silly, nor FalstarT more capti- 
 vating, in his own opinion. Contrasted with the bright, 
 intelligent face of Ann Page is the dull, leaden physiog- 
 nomy of poor Simple. A ray of light strikes on the 
 
Pictures in the International Exhibition. 197 
 
 vacant eye of the poor serving-man. Slender has just 
 asked him for the ' Book of Riddles/ and he is trying 
 to collect what little sense he has, and to satisfy him- 
 self that memory had not deceived him when he told his 
 master that he had lent the said book ' to Alice Short- 
 cake upon Allhallowmas last, a fortnight before Michael- 
 mas.' In a picture of ' Sir Roger de Coverley going to 
 Church,' Leslie lights up a page of Addison. Sir Roger 
 appears among his humble friends in the old churchyard 
 on a cairn Sunday morning, and blesses the widow and 
 the orphans on his way to prayer. We return to the 
 reign of Queen Elizabeth. It is 1 May Day,' and all the 
 folks of the village and lords and ladies gay are assembled 
 on the green to enjoy the homely sports of the times. 
 Bright streamers from maypole and tent wave in the 
 breeze, and tall elms spread a canopy of green drapery 
 over the lawn. But while Leslie is so happy in the 
 accessories of his compositions, it is to the character and 
 sentiment with which his pictures abound that we must 
 look for evidence of the thinker and artist. He at- 
 tempted and mastered the most difficult themes. He 
 could be humorous, pathetic, and solemn. The pictures 
 by Leslie in the gallery not directly referred to in these 
 remarks are entitled, ' Queen Catherine,' ' Children 
 Playing at Horses,' 'Fairlop Fair,' 'A Head — Perdita,' 
 ' Don Quixote in the Sierra Morena, deceived by the 
 Curate, Barber, and Dorothea,' and 1 The Queen receiv- 
 ing the Sacrament after her Coronation.' 
 
 Barry, Haydon, and Cross, are names of mournful 
 interest in the history of the English school of painting. 
 We need not repeat at length the story of James Barry, 
 who, when his brother historical painters refused, under- 
 
198 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 took to decorate the great room in the Adelphi, where 
 the Society for the Encouragement of Arts held their 
 meetings. He was so great an enthusiast that he not 
 only undertook the work, but at the same time, with 
 characteristic generosity, disdained all mention of remu- 
 neration. He began those large pictures representing 
 ' The Progress of Civilisation,' so it is recorded, with a 
 capital of only 16s. Of course the work soon came to 
 a standstill for want of materials. Then we find him 
 petitioning in vain for an income of only 100/. a year to 
 enable him to proceed, and this sum he promised to 
 repay — by an exhibition of the work when completed. 
 He received fifty guineas by instalments from the Society 
 at the time, and a donation of two hundred guineas and 
 a gold medal after the labour was ended — a mere trifle 
 when we reflect that the task occupied seven years. We 
 have said enough to show the kind of man the art public 
 had to deal with in James Barry. He might, at a small 
 cost in money, and a large amount of forbearance, have 
 been moulded into a great painter. As it was, his dis- 
 appointments made him irritable and sarcastic, and the 
 Council of the Royal Academy got rid of him altogether. 
 In the eyes of those Academicians the six large noble 
 pictures in the Adelphi painted under circumstances so 
 romantic went for little or nothing. We regret that a 
 couple of those very pictures are not present at the 
 International Exhibition. Perhaps there were difficulties 
 in the way of removal. They are compositions calculated 
 to win the admiration of continental critics, who would 
 know better than Englishmen how to appreciate such 
 lofty aspirations in a painter. Barry died of neglect and 
 despair in 1806. 
 
Pictures in the International Exhibition. 199 
 
 In 1846 Benjamin Robert Haydon, after having 
 lingered out a similar career, painting large canvases and 
 battling with obscure distress and haughty Academicians, 
 ended his life in a manner still more to be regretted. 
 Later, only the other day, as it were, John Cross died 
 without a murmur, a martyr to high art. There might 
 have been some excuse for the neglect of those intract- 
 able men, Barry and Haydon, but the case of John Cross 
 offers no redeeming features. It was known and believed 
 full well that had this young painter been afforded a fair 
 opportunity he would not have abused it, but would, in 
 all probability, have arrived at distinction in historical 
 painting, and yet he was left to teach school-girls to draw 
 at a salary of 40/. a year. 
 
 Haydon has two compositions in the gallery, namely, 
 ' The Mock Election ' and the * Judgment of Solomon.' 
 From the latter work we are best enabled to understand 
 the artist's genius. Haydon was one of those impetuous 
 energetic men who would, had he been permitted, have 
 covered with pictures the walls of half the public build- 
 ings in London. Fortunately in this respect he was not 
 allowed too much licence. A want of refinement is 
 manifest in nearly all that he did. Much as he talked 
 of the ancients, he profited very little by the remains of 
 the old Grecian sculptors. He had the courage to 
 attempt themes the most difficult, such as might have 
 daunted Michael Angelo himself. The 'Judgment of 
 Solomon,' by Haydon, now in the Exhibition, is a picture 
 not without force ; but the people who take part in the 
 scriptural drama are without dignity. The action of the 
 young king is very pretty, almost descending to burlesque. 
 The elders at the throne are common to vulgarity, and 
 
200 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 too much of a family pattern and complexion. The 
 picture has other faults. Apart from a certain daring in 
 the drawing, the quality of the execution is very inferior. 
 The touch is careless and coarse, and the colouring 
 utterly wanting in tenderness and beauty. 
 
 We have more pliable stuff in the work entitled 
 ' Richard Cceur de Lion forgiving Bertrand de Gourdon,' 
 by John Cross. Every inch of this large composition is 
 evidence of that carefulness which is an attribute of 
 modest worth in an artist trying to deserve the praise of 
 enlightened men. Here no attempt has been made to 
 snatch at public honours. All the talent, skill, and 
 patience which the youthful painter could command, and 
 every shilling he possessed he put into this work, in order 
 that it might be an honour to the master who taught him, 
 and to the country of his birth. Little he cared for him- 
 self ; he became famous through the real worth that was 
 in him. He was a skilful mechanic, for in his necessity 
 he made link by link the chain armour from which he 
 painted the armour in the group of which we are speak- 
 ing. He was so humble, that no man was so astonished 
 as himself when the verdict was declared in his favour, 
 and the purchase of his ' Richard Cceur de Lion ' by the 
 Government was made known. 
 
 We have touched upon the subject of victims to high 
 art, believing that their sad fate may help to account for 
 the paucity of historical pictures of a distinctive character 
 in the English gallery. When in a short period we come 
 to treat of the contributions of our continental neighbours, 
 we may have to admit that these matters are managed 
 more satisfactorily in France, Belgium, Germany, and 
 even in Spain. 
 
Pictures in the International Exhibition. 201 
 
 If we want to discover the poverty in Haydon's colour, 
 we have only to contrast his 'Judgment of Solomon 1 
 with the productions of his contemporary, William Etty, 
 whose series of large compositions illustrating the story 
 of Judith are near at hand. The scene wherein Judith 
 stands by the couch of the slumbering Holofernes, 
 and raising her sword on high, exclaims, ' Strengthen me, 
 O Lord God of Israel, this day ! ' is very effective. The 
 painter has selected a lofty type of womankind for his 
 heroine, and robed her with becoming splendour ; while 
 the spacious tent of the invader is crowded with many 
 spoils, vessels in silver and gold glimmering in the light 
 of the dimly burning lamp, or half concealed in the 
 darksome recesses of massive draperies. In the picture 
 where the maid is represented seated among the weary 
 nodding guards, the artist has depicted to intensity the 
 feeling of agonising suspense ; but all interest centres 
 in the closing act of the tragedy, where mistress and 
 maid are engaged concealing the head in a sack. Haydon 
 would have made a sad affair of such a direful theme. 
 Etty relies throughout mostly upon his powers as a 
 colourist, and the spectator is held captive, spell-bound 
 by the blandishments of the palette, from which there is 
 no escape into the daylight of reality and unmitigated 
 horrors. 
 
 To conclude in a few words our estimate of these 
 four painters, we should say that the productions of Barry 
 and Haydon, while abounding in talent, are deficient in 
 natural warmth. Barry sometimes pleases, because his 
 forms, though cold, are chaste and correct. Haydon 
 astonishes by his hurried, wrathful, reckless manner, but 
 he never charms the eye nor soothes the heart. Etty 
 
202 Selections from Occasional Writings, 
 
 would allure us to distraction by the voluptuousness of 
 his forms, only that those forms possess no sort of in- 
 dividuality. He could seem to have consulted nature 
 for the tints, and cold plaster casts for the limbs of his 
 everlasting nymphs. Colour was his delight, and Titian 
 his deity. John Cross's successful works are the result 
 rather of untiring patience and severe study than genius. 
 He was in a very small degree poetical, but he possessed 
 so much ingenuity as enabled him to render the human 
 form with greater correctness than perhaps any other 
 English painter has done. His figures always explain 
 themselves by appropriate gesture. The very hands and 
 feet may be said to talk. Nor are Cross's compositions 
 wanting in dignity. His own earnest soul is impressed 
 on those huge canvases which filled all his thoughts and 
 wasted away all his strength. 
 
 We thought it advisable to treat at length of the 
 peculiar merits of the founders of the English school of 
 painting and their more celebrated successors. The 
 works of departed painters become scarce and difficult 
 of access, and it is only on rare occasions like the present 
 that we may gladden our eyes with the works of men 
 like Gainsborough, Reynolds, Hogarth, and Wilson. 
 Anon, at the fall of the leaf, they will disappear from 
 their present temporary home, to discolour and decay in 
 the mansions of their several owners, scattered over the 
 length and breadth of the land, whither we may not 
 follow them. For like reasons we intend shortly to make 
 our remarks on some of the many fine pictures which 
 Continental painters have been good enough to lend our 
 Fine Art Commissioners for exhibition. So excellent an 
 opportunity for acquiring a knowledge of living foreign 
 
Pictures in the International Exhibition. 203 
 
 masters may never occur again in our time. Under 
 these circumstances many living English painters of great 
 celebrity can only receive a passing notice at our hands, 
 at least for the present. Public galleries, private col- 
 lections, and annual exhibitions of modern pictures 
 abound, and vast multitudes may, and do, now contem- 
 plate and appreciate the beauties of living English 
 artists ; and, moreover, public criticism has become a 
 necessary feature in every newspaper of character, so 
 that the painter of any pretensions to distinction is in 
 less danger of being overlooked than formerly. Of the 
 works of living painters the more remarkable examples 
 have been selected. In most instances we should pre- 
 sume that the painter himself made the selection. 
 
 Sir Edwin Landseer has seven pictures in the gallery 
 ■ — an exhibition in itself. Among others is the well- 
 known composition of ' Bolton Abbey in the Olden 
 Time ' — a picture which attracts only the more attention, 
 because it has become familiar to the public through 
 the medium of engravings. ' The Combat,' and ' The 
 Defeat' (in which stags are the combatants), are two 
 other characteristic examples of the master's extraordi- 
 nary powers in the delineation of animals. 
 
 Sir Charles Eastlake sends three of his tenderly 
 elaborated productions — 'The Escape of Francesco 
 Carrara,' ' Greek Fugitives from Scio,' and ' Christ 
 Blessing Little Children.' 
 
 Mr„ Mulready is strong in domestic scenes ; nor has 
 his exquisite gem called 1 The Bathers' been forgotten, 
 and for which we are thankful, inasmuch as the French 
 gallery abounds in pictures of undraped figures of a 
 similar description, among which ' The Bathers,' in the 
 
204 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 matter of fine proportion, roundness, and glow of colour, 
 would have nothing to dread. 
 
 Mr. Maclise will not complain of inadequate repre- 
 sentation, for, apart from his last great work in the House 
 of Parliament, he could hardly show finer specimens of 
 his powers than those of ' Caxton Exhibiting a Proof- 
 sheet to Edward IV.' and ' The Banquet Scene in Mac- 
 beth,' around which crowds linger daily. Mr. Millais is 
 no less fortunate in the fact of the Commissioners having 
 procured the loan of his four pictures — ' Autumn Leaves/ 
 ' The Vale of Rest,' the ' Return of the Dove to the Ark/ 
 and 'Apple Blossoms.' 
 
 Mr. Leighton among others is happy in adding to the 
 interest of the collection by the presence of his first and 
 very successful work of ' Cimabue's Madonna carried 
 through Florence.' Gorgeous interiors of continental 
 churches and scenes in the East are present, and bear 
 witness to Mr. Roberts's great facility in rendering 
 architectural subjects ; while Mr. Stanfield's fine deline- 
 ations of ocean life abound. Mr. Witherington's modest 
 transcripts of the fields and summer weather have not 
 been overlooked. The elder Linnell exhibits a number 
 of his best landscapes, while the sons of the same artist 
 send some of their more recent productions. Mr. Redgrave 
 has several examples — namely, ' Quentin Matsys, the 
 Blacksmith of Antwerp/ ' The young Lady Bountiful/ 
 and ' Griselde.' Mr. T. Webster, whose pictures lately 
 received a notice at our hands in a review of his works 
 at the Royal Academy, will be found to sustain his 
 reputation at the International Exhibition. 
 
 Mr. Cope, whose chief works are to be found on the 
 walls of the Houses of Parliament, has contributed three 
 
Pictures in the International Exhibition. 205 
 
 compositions with which many will not be unfamiliar. 
 They are, 'The Death of the Princess Elizabeth, daughter 
 of Charles I.,' ' Lear and Cordelia,' and ' The Sisters.' 
 The stormy coasts and shady lanes, painted by Mr. Lee, 
 attract by their freshness and vigour ; and Mr. Creswick's 
 lightly-pencilled foliage reminds the visitor of the plea- 
 sant spring-time. Mr. T. Faed's ' Illustrations of Cottage 
 Life ' meet with, and will continue to meet with, the 
 appreciation due to their earnest character and skilful 
 execution. Compositions by Mr. Horsley, illustrating 
 passages from Milton and Cervantes, will afford much 
 pleasure. Numerous and serious works by Mr. E. M. 
 Ward will be found in the gallery, having for subjects 
 stirring events in English and French history. Among 
 others, 'The Ante-chamber at Whitehall during the Dying 
 Moments of Charles II.,' 1 Charlotte Corday going to 
 Execution,' and ' The Fall of Clarendon.' Mr. Herbert 
 has three characteristic works — two pictures of 'The 
 Magdalen,' and one entitled 1 The Outcast of the 
 People.' 
 
 There are as many as five specimens of Mr. Frith's 
 popular talent, including the well-known picture of 
 * Ramsgate Sands,' ' A Scene from Kenilworth,' and 
 4 Merrymaking in the Olden Times.' Nor must we 
 overlook the spirited composition, by Mr. S. F. Watts, of 
 ' Alfred Encouraging the Saxons to Resist the Danish 
 Invader.' The portrait of Alfred Tennyson by the same 
 painter will also prove of interest to many visitors. 
 Mr. Hook's fine sea-piece, entitled ' Luff Boy,' so much 
 admired at the Royal Academy last season, and another 
 called 1 The Brook,' will bear further inspection. There 
 are, moreover, sea-pieces by Cook, pretty subject pictures 
 
2o6 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 by Sant, landscapes by Anthony, Spanish scenes by 
 Phillip, and contributions by Hart, Dyce, Holman Hunt, 
 and Egg. Few artists of any distinction are unrepre- 
 sented. The entire collection of English oil pictures 
 number 790. The gallery is sprinkled with fine specimens 
 of portraiture by living painters of whom we have 
 recently spoken. 
 
 In treating of the works of deceased painters the 
 name of our greatest landscape painter was omitted. Of 
 late enough has been said and written about Turner and 
 his works to last for some time to come. It is only 
 necessary for us to say that the best landscapes in the 
 present Exhibition are by that master, and that they have 
 been judiciously selected. 
 
 The smaller gallery devoted to paintings in water 
 colour contains more than 600 specimens, affording a 
 complete exposition of the progress of the art, from the 
 productions of Girtin and Sandby, in neutral tint, down 
 to the more refined instances of elaboration and colour 
 of the present time. In this department, at least, 
 English artists will prove a match for their continental 
 rivals. 
 
 For those who take an interest in the progress of 
 Architecture there is a large and varied collection of 
 designs on paper, and in the form of models. Rare 
 prints and etchings, by English engravers, are numerous, 
 as are also art-designs for manufactures. 
 
 On leaving the English Gallery, after a lengthened 
 stay, we should be wanting in public spirit if we failed 
 to record our impressions of the general state of Art in 
 England as made known by the present gathering of the 
 
Picttires in the International Exhibition. 207 
 
 chief works of our best masters. James Barry, whose 
 sad career formed the subject of some remarks, wrote 
 an argumentative essay, in which he felt himself 
 called upon to seriously refute numerous continental 
 philosophers and critics, who boldly and persistently 
 maintained that the English had no genius for the 
 cultivation of the fine arts — nay, they even went so 
 far as to aver that all attempts on our part towards the 
 promotion of painting and sculpture would necessarily 
 prove fruitless and only end in despair. Should any 
 doubts of British capacity still linger in the brain of any 
 one foreign critic (and some of them hold strange notions 
 of us even now), surely a sight of our art-productions at 
 the International Exhibition will set those doubts at rest 
 at once and for ever. Yet, because our painters have 
 proceeded so far as to remove all doubt as to their 
 capacity to do great things on canvas and in marble, 
 would it not be a fair question to ask whether they have 
 acquitted themselves in a manner worthy of the country 
 of Chaucer, Shakespeare, and Milton ? We have no 
 hesitation in answering the question in the negative. In 
 all that pertains to the higher walks of Art we have much 
 to do ; for lofty themes, where sentiment and passion 
 prevail, we have as yet found no hand to wield the pencil 
 or the chisel triumphantly. 
 
 In 1824 Hazlitt thus expressed himself on the subject 
 of French pictures : — * There is, however, one exception 
 to the catholic language of painting, which is in French 
 pictures. They are national fixtures, and ought not to 
 be removed from the soil in which they grow.' The 
 probability is, that had this writer on the fine arts lived 
 a little later he would have found reasons to modify his 
 
2o8 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 extreme opinions. We have seen a gallery in the centre 
 of London set apart for the annual exhibition of the 
 pictures of eminent Frenchmen which are not wanting in 
 fine touches of nature to render them appreciable and 
 instructive everywhere. The present collection at the 
 International Exhibition contains a number of cabinet 
 gems illustrative of the domestic life of our continental 
 neighbours, more especially of domestic life among the 
 poorer classes, which appeal to our sympathies readily 
 and forcibly enough. There are, on the contrary, many 
 paintings in the French Gallery for which we have no 
 particular liking. Lurid fires of past revolutions glare 
 on many a canvas ; and there are some illustrations of 
 war and carnage, delineated with a literalness that leaves 
 no single horror untold. One would imagine that the 
 painters of those vast battle-fields were born to wield the 
 swcrd as well as the pencil, and that they would be no 
 less formidable in a charge than they are in the studio. 
 The ease with which they deal with large bodies of men 
 is absolutely amazing. 
 
 In their treatment of domestic subjects, our neigh- 
 bours certainly lack the buoyant and cheerful spirit 
 which our own painters infuse into themes of a like de- 
 scription. Yet, while in strokes of humour we have 
 the advantage over them, in touches of pathos they 
 carry off the palm. We yield to them superiority 
 in that dramatic power which fills the eye with tears 
 and moves the sensitive heart to make the misfortunes of 
 others its own. When a French painter displaces the 
 side of a cabin to show us its inner life, we behold bare 
 blank walls and anxious faces shrouded in mystery and 
 gloom : the English artist, on the contrary, usually gilds 
 
Pictures in the International Exhibition. 209 
 
 the rafters of the cottage with sunlight, and paints the 
 rounded cheeks of the cotters in imitation of ripe pears 
 and peaches. The one goes straight to the reality, not 
 caring for the results, caring little whether his pictures 
 prove pleasing and saleable or not : the other has learned 
 not to shock the sensibilities of his patrons, the shrewd 
 picture-dealers, who will intimate that while gentlemen 
 of fortune have no objection to tales of distress in books 
 and sermons, they prefer something different on the walls 
 of their saloons, and that agreeable themes, agreeably 
 coloured, are the best speculations. Thus it is that in 
 England pictures of conventional peasant maidens with- 
 out shoes and stockings, standing near or seated on stiles, 
 going to fountains for water, crossing pebbly brooks, or 
 gleaning, as the case may be, employ the pencils of 
 many painters. We need hardly observe that the lay- 
 figure suggests the form, and that the costumier supplies 
 the clothes of which these specimens of native beauty 
 and talent are composed, and that a more vicious system 
 or study could not be followed. The case has been the 
 reverse with our landscape painters. They have worked 
 well and hard. No artist of any pretensions to celebrity 
 would now think of foisting upon the public imaginary 
 fields, trees, rivers, bridges, and setting suns. Our land- 
 scapes are painted to a large extent from nature. The 
 consequence, is that we have arrived at distinction in this 
 delightful branch of painting. If other countries are at 
 all fairly represented in landscape there cannot exist a 
 doubt but that in landscape England is immeasurably 
 superior to them all. But there is also another class of 
 pictures in which the French excel, and in which, as far 
 as the subjects are concerned, we have no desire that our 
 vol. 1. p 
 
2 1 o Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 own artists should attempt to rival them. The themes 
 to which we refer are suggested by antique sculpture and 
 the mythology of the ancients. Some examples of this 
 kind in the French Gallery, indicate that in the treat- 
 ment of the human form our neighbours are certainly 
 accomplished artists. To their Ledas, nymphs, and 
 Venuses, we could only oppose the works of one living 
 English artist, the sculptor, Gibson, whose Venus, Cupid, 
 and Pandora in the court below, would nobly sustain the 
 comparison. 
 
 We have a great admiration for the works of many 
 French painters. The majority of them very properly 
 view their profession in a serious light, like people who 
 have a mission. This feeling may sometimes carry them 
 to extremes, but will, nevertheless, always command 
 our respect. Our own school is in danger of becoming 
 powerless for lack of enthusiasm. For instance, Faed 
 alone of all our painters does full justice to the lowly 
 virtues of the poor and the children of the poor — to those 
 whom Edouard Frere and Duverger understand and 
 love so well, and paint with so much truth and affec- 
 tionate regard. But if this earnestness is necessary 
 to sustain the painter who contents himself with lowly 
 themes, how much more important must it become when 
 some great story has to be impressed upon the vacant 
 wall ? The poor hind, in a mud cabin, surrounded by 
 his hungry, ill-clad offspring, bends his head to invoke a 
 blessing ere he touches the frugal fare ; and the painter 
 who fails to note how brightly the eye of that poor man 
 is lit up by the faith that is in him, may paint pots, and 
 pans, and rags, and rafters in vain, for these are only 
 accessories : the gleaming jewel, the soul's light, is in the 
 
Pictures in the International Exhibition. 2 1 1 
 
 eye— it is the poor man's faith that is sacred. There is 
 but one step from the hut of the pious hind to the shrine 
 of the saint, and the pencil of a Delaroche or a Scheffer 
 might not unworthily be employed where Edouard Frere 
 labours with so much zeal : all three painters are equally 
 devout — all three derived their inspiration from the same 
 source. 
 
 The ' Sisters of Charity attending a Sick Child/ by 
 Mdme. Henriette Brown, is one of those pictures in the 
 French Gallery which speaks the language of all nations. 
 One Sister holds in her lap a little child with parched 
 lips and writhing with pain (the mother is absent — in her 
 grave it may be) ; the other and more experienced 
 Sister prepares a soothing medicine for the sufferer. 
 They may be angels in disguise. Their huge snow-white 
 caps tell us they are nuns, but they are heart and soul 
 one with our own Florence Nightingale, who carried 
 relief to the wounded and dying on the battle-fields of 
 the Crimea. Now, a painter does well who, like 
 Henriette Brown, immortalises acts of gentleness and 
 devotion like that of which we are speaking. Nor must 
 we omit to say that the treatment is worthy of the 
 subject. We have seen few pictures more skilfully 
 executed and fewer still more eloquent ; its effect is 
 instantaneous, and its influence enduring and complete. 
 
 The public taste, no less than the critic's duty, calls 
 for the continuance of notices of the French Gallery — 
 indeed, the whole continental collection proves to have 
 an interest far greater than was anticipated. Art always 
 had the power to attract, but the power of painting over 
 the people was never before tested on so grand a scale 
 as at this International Exhibition ; and the remarkable 
 
2 r 2 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 success of the experiment not only demonstrates the 
 existence of higher qualities in the populace than they 
 were before given credit for, but opens up new specula- 
 tion as to the future aims of Art in our own land. The 
 continental galleries are always densely packed. This 
 fact proves the existence of something more than mere 
 curiosity in the people. Our visitors have, doubtless, to 
 a large extent, passed beyond the early stage of mere 
 picture-love to that of comparative study of what other 
 nations are doing. 
 
 The French, German, and Spanish schools have 
 special attractions for the masses. No doubt this is some- 
 what due to the fact, which the Exhibition enables the 
 public to discern, that the artists of neighbouring coun- 
 tries possess a peculiar aptitude for telling a story upon 
 canvas. They would seem, moreover, to select dramatic 
 incidents ; and if they often border on the horrible, the 
 painter is not discouraged. Indeed, some of the painters 
 approach so near to the verge of the horrible that only 
 great genius saves the subjects from becoming absolutely 
 revolting. Scarcely a picture in the Spanish Gallery but 
 tells of some agonising episode in the past history of 
 that tragical nation and her provinces. We will, how- 
 ever, for the present, resume our studies in the galleries, 
 as indicated, continuing our remarks on the leading pic- 
 tures of the French masters. R. Fleury introduces us to 
 the presence of Louis XIV. while his Majesty is engaged 
 with one of his Ministers, or possibly some eminent 
 author, who reads from a manuscript, to which the King 
 pays great attention. The secretary sits, pen in hand, 
 a little in the rear. The apartment is lofty and stately ; 
 its furniture extremely beautiful. Masses of deep blue 
 
Pictures in the International Exhibition. 2 1 3 
 
 drapery, with fleur-de-lis embossed in gold ; tall portals 
 and richly carved panels, every detail indicating the taste 
 of the period, are characteristics of this picture, and are 
 not without interest. As a work of art it is r in its way, 
 perfect. It is one of the most interesting examples 
 of those pictures called ' conversation pieces ' which 
 we remember to have seen. Antoine Emile Plassan's 
 1 Morning Prayer,' in which a young and graceful girl 
 kneels at her bedside, is treated with a tenderness 
 and a delicacy which make ample amends for the 
 painter's intrusion into the sanctuary of innocence and 
 beauty. 
 
 Jean Louis Ernest Meissonier, in a small work, called 
 'The Bravoes,' furnishes one of the most remarkable 
 specimens of high finish in the best sense. With swords 
 drawn, the hireling murderers keep watch at a door from 
 which their intended victim is expected to emerge. 
 They are clad in the picturesque garb of Salvator Rosa's 
 bandits. The instant of death is near. The miscreants 
 hear approaching footsteps, and every muscle and tendon 
 is strained ; nay, the very folds and creases of the clothes 
 worn by the villains seem wrought upon by the excite- 
 ment of the moment, and prepared to take part in the 
 deadly work. 
 
 Meissonier has five pictures in the collection, among 
 them small interiors elaborated to perfection. Delacroix 
 has only one picture in the collection, but that one 
 might have been conceived and painted by Rembrandt 
 himself. We behold a vast hall, dark and gloomy, save 
 where the uncertain light of the blazing torch reveals 
 an assemblage of men armed to the teeth, seated at a 
 table covered with various viands and massive plate. 
 
214 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 It might be a feast of a thousand boisterous brigands, 
 met to celebrate a great victory in the castle of some 
 feudal monarch, who has fallen into their murderous 
 hands. In the foreground a mob of men are congre- 
 gated in fierce commotion. In their midst we distinguish 
 an old man borne to and fro like a wreck by the angry, 
 deafening waves of the sea, and who is being stripped 
 of his habiliments, like a venerable tree buffeted and 
 shorn by the blast. The old man is the Bishop of Liege, 
 a prisoner in his own palace, which has been subdued 
 and taken possession of by William De la Marck, called 
 the ' Wild Boar of Ardennes.' The company assembled 
 is composed chiefly of mercenary soldiers and treacherous 
 citizens of Liege. The time chosen by the painter is 
 just previous to the bishop's murder. The painter, like 
 Sir Walter Scott in his romance of * Quentin Durward,' 
 vividly brings before the spectator a scene from those 
 dark and detestable times when noblemen and gentle- 
 men, throwing off the restraints of chivalry and honour, 
 became mere plunderers, over whom beauty exercised no 
 softening influence, to whom wisdom and grey hairs were 
 no passport to respect and veneration. As a work of 
 art, this composition of the * Bishop of Liege ' is chiefly 
 remarkable for the invention displayed by the painter 
 in the arrangement of so great a number of figures, 
 which he has broken up into picturesque groups bring- 
 ing out the tragic incident of the bishop's death without 
 resorting to melodramatic artifice, trusting rather to 
 contrast of character. It may be observed that the 
 colours are laid on with a vigorous pencil, and serve to 
 describe the very stuff and texture of which the wild 
 throng is composed. The colouring partakes of that 
 
Pictures in the International Exhibition. 215 
 
 brown complexion which, according to the old poet, is 
 indicative of approaching horrors. 
 
 The fine large work of Paul Delaroche, of ' Marie 
 Antoinette leaving the Chamber of the National Con- 
 vention,' is an honour to the French school. The Queen's 
 way lies past a gallery where a number of women 
 are congregated. Old and ugly toothless hags mock 
 and scoff, the young and comely sympathise and shed 
 tears. The fallen Queen proudly and slowly passes on, 
 her fine physiognomy and noble bearing contrasting 
 strongly with the meaner types of humanity around 
 her. Beyond, by the lurid glare of dimly burning lamps, 
 we recognise her ferocious judges. The painter has ren- 
 dered every other object subservient to the Queen's 
 person and dignity. Eyes of fire and blood glare on her 
 out of the darkness which obscures her step from the 
 noisy chamber of the Convention to her prison in the 
 Temple. She seems to glide rather than to walk, as if 
 borne along by supernatural means — rigid, pallid, un- 
 bending, like Majesty transformed to marble. The painter 
 set himself to create sympathy for the fallen Queen, and 
 to invoke indignation on her enemies, the National 
 Assembly, and the rabble audience. To this end he 
 brought all his genius into play. Everything else is 
 sunk in order to secure this main purpose. The Queen's 
 face, in particular, is a wonderful instance of complete- 
 ness ; everywhere carefully and thoughtfully modelled in 
 detail; nothing omitted, yet on the whole nothing to 
 spare. It was thus ancient sculptors lingered over their 
 impressive works, and all who aim at distinction in the 
 delineation of human character and sentiment must follow 
 their example. 
 
2 1 6 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 Paul Delaroche has six pictures in all, four of which 
 are of an intensely devout character. Among our own 
 painters, Herbert alone has produced works of a religious 
 character which might, in spirit, rank with those of 
 this eminent Frenchman. 'The Virgin in Contempla- 
 tion before the Crown of Thorns,' ' Good Friday,' and 
 ' The Return from Calvary,' are three small works by 
 Delaroche of a quality so refined, so utterly without spot 
 or blemish, that one might hardly place the point of a 
 needle on any part, and say this particle might admit 
 of reconsideration and improvement. Another inspired 
 work by this master, which startles the crowd and fixes 
 the gaze of the multitude, is that of 'A Martyr in the 
 Reign of Diocletian.' A fisherman and his wife, who 
 arise at early dawn, are attracted by a floating light on 
 the surface of the waters. It is the halo which encircles 
 the head of a fair girl, who floats saint-like down the 
 stream, to which she has been consigned by the per- 
 secutors of her faith. The very waves, as if conscious 
 of a precious freight, caress the beautiful form com- 
 mitted to their charge, mingling with the golden tresses 
 and chaste raiment, so that one in imagination might 
 shape those bright sparkling billows into a soft, peace- 
 ful couch, and fancy that the maiden was not dead, but 
 only slept, dreaming of innocent joys, were it not for the 
 presence of cruel cords which bind and lacerate her 
 wrists. 
 
 Leon Francois Benouville is a French painter who 
 possesses much of the feeling of that fine old Venetian 
 master, Georgione. In a picture of ' St. Francesco 
 d'Assisi,' a number of monks are seen standing round 
 a litter, on which reclines the dying Saint. They pause 
 
Pictures in the International Exhibition. 2 t 7 
 
 on the road near the border of a wood to survey the 
 scene before them. A convent to which they direct their 
 steps lies in the peaceful valley, glowing in the calm 
 twilight of the departing day. The stately forms of 
 the monks in their sombre robes rise up darkly against 
 the broad blended bars of silver and golden clouds which 
 stretch along the remote horizon like a wall of light to 
 enclose the longed-for haven of rest. The Saint raises 
 himself up on his couch to contemplate for a moment, 
 and it may be for the last time, the old familiar belfry, 
 court-yard, and cloister. The painter has here described 
 in paint that ' solemn stillness ' which on some evenings 
 late in autumn will exercise a peculiarly grave influence 
 on sensitive and reflective natures. It is a mournful 
 elegy or saddening funeral dirge upon canvas ; and we 
 are thus taught how wide is the empire of Art, that the 
 true painter, like the true poet and the musician, can 
 sway the human heart at will. Mr. Millais, in his picture 
 of ' The Vale of Rest,' which is now in the British col- 
 lection, has done much to assert the sovereignty of the 
 pencil. 1 The Vale of Rest ' appeared something new 
 and great in the English school, but still our young 
 native painter might learn of Leon Francois Benouville 
 the difference between an impressive picture and a sen- 
 sation-creating picture. He might learn from this French 
 master that it is possible to awaken solemn feelings and 
 sublime awe without dealing minutely and literally in 
 graveyard horrors. 
 
 In resuming our notices of the French school, we 
 commence with a picture by Charles Louis Muller, 
 entitled ' Mass in the Reign of Terror.' The painter has 
 represented a number of devout Catholics secretly met 
 
2 l 8 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 to perform the solemn rites of their Church in a car- 
 penter's shop. In the small persecuted congregation, 
 the high and the low, the peer and the peasant, are 
 mingled in common. A youthful widow, with her pale 
 fatherless boy (so made by the Revolution), awaken our 
 tenderest sympathy for their misfortunes. 
 
 Among the numerous battle pieces the one by 
 Joseph Louis Hippolyte Bellange attracts great atten- 
 tion. It may be remarked that great numbers of the 
 visitors, not from indifference, but on the score of eco- 
 nomy, are not provided with catalogues. The conse- 
 quence is that many absurd notions prevail respecting 
 the subjects of the pictures. This is particularly the 
 case with the one to which we now refer, by Bellange, 
 representing a touching episode in the Crimean campaign. 
 The scene is before Sebastopol, after one of those ter- 
 rible sorties which left the ground covered with the dying 
 and the dead. French officers are going their rounds, 
 recording the havoc, consigning the wounded to the hos- 
 pital, and the dead to their graves. In their progress 
 they discover two young officers clasped in each other's 
 arms in death. As they had lived, so they had died 
 united. Such is the subject, yet people without cata- 
 logues will perversely jump to the conclusion that one of 
 the forms stretched on the ground is a surgeon with his 
 ear to the other's breast, for the purpose of ascertain- 
 ing whether life be extinct or not. This misconception 
 spoils all. 'The Two Friends, Sebastopol, 1855,' 1S tne 
 title given in the English catalogue, to which are added 
 two lines of descriptive poetry in French, and which, to 
 those who can read French, make all things intelligible 
 enough. Other battle pieces in the gallery, more espe- 
 
Pictures in the International Exhibition. 219 
 
 cially those by Adolphe Yvon, representing ' The Gorge 
 of the Malakoff,' ' The Curtain of the Malakoff,' « The 
 Attack on the Malakoff,' and ' The Battle of Solferino,' 
 will be found extremely interesting, and as works of art, 
 in their way, almost perfect. 
 
 ' The Boudoir of her Majesty the Empress of the 
 French,' by Joseph Castiglione, is an interior of the most 
 charming description — the very sanctuary of refinement. 
 How it is possible to arrange so many luxuries in one 
 room is the mystery. The Empress reclines in a corner 
 nook formed by a screen and trellis work of living, 
 odorous flowers ; another part is rendered agreeable and 
 interesting by the presence of a clump of fine plants from 
 the tropics. So much for nature. It would be quite 
 impossible to undertake an enumeration of the many 
 little elegances and rare objects of taste which every- 
 where present themselves to view. The whole is very 
 attractive, and, doubtless, a faithful picture of this 
 popular Empress in her retirement. Winterhalter's life- 
 size, and, we might add, life-like portrait of the same 
 graceful personage, also hangs near at hand. A little 
 way hence will likewise be found a whole-length portrait 
 of the French Emperor, Napoleon III., by Jean Hip- 
 polyte Flandrin, which is admirably finished, and we 
 should imagine very like what his Majesty appears at 
 the present time. Nor must we overlook the forcible, 
 animated portrait of H. I. H. Prince Jerome Napoleon, 
 also painted by Flaridrin, on the opposite side of the 
 gallery. 
 
 No collection of French pictures would be complete 
 without a sprinkling of undraped examples of human 
 gracefulness and beauty. Jean Auguste Dominique 
 
2 20 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 Ingres might feel proud of having produced upon can- 
 vas a form sufficiently attractive to rival in popularity 
 that triumph of the chisel, the ' Greek Slave,' which 
 graced the Exhibition of 185 1. 'The Spring,' by Ingres, 
 s personified by a young girl of matchless symmetry, 
 who, standing within a niche formed by a rocky cavern, 
 holds on her shoulder an earthern vase, from whence 
 descends a stream of crystal water. Never, not even in 
 the imagination of the classic poets, had streamlet or 
 river a source more poetical than the one now derived 
 from the accomplished pencil of our French master. 
 The maiden is as modest as she is beautiful. But while 
 the limbs are moulded with an elegance and fair propor- 
 tion that might almost compare with Raphael's Graces 
 themselves, yet they lack the glowing vitality of nature. 
 The colouring of the picture is heavy and opaque. 
 
 A composition, by Paul Jacques Aime Baudry, entitled 
 ' Fortune and the Little Child,' is of a type more volup- 
 tuous than the ' Spring.' Fortune in her course lights on 
 a little boy, a roguish elf with rounded cheeks, and sits 
 down on a well side to caress the urchin, with whose 
 winning ways she has suddenly become enamoured. It 
 is clear that the little fellow's lot will be a pleasant one. 
 He will not have to implore — he will command. Already 
 we see waywardness written on his brow, mingling with 
 laughing lines of light. Fortune is the slave and not the 
 mistress. Her long slender fingers toy with his chestnut 
 locks, and form dimples in his pe^tch-like cheeks, which 
 she is never tired of kissing. ' Ask what thou wilt,' she 
 seems to say, ' nothing shall be denied thee ! ' Mean- 
 while the wheel rests, the world waits and others pine, in 
 order that the lightest wish of Fortune's pet may be 
 
Pictures in the International Exhibition. 22 1 
 
 anticipated. This picture is ingenious and charming, 
 well composed, boldly relieved, and sweetly coloured. 
 
 Not equal in colour but even more beautiful in concep- 
 tion is a smaller work by Jean Louis Hamon, called ' Our 
 Sister is not at Home ! ' The painter, with singular felicity, 
 pictures to us a pleasant incident of love-making in the 
 ' rural districts ' of ancient Greece. A farmer's son of 
 some seventeen years old, with a frame promising a 
 second Hercules, is seen entering the outer enclosure of 
 a cottage, carrying in one hand a rare plant, in the other 
 two turtle-doves in a cage. These pretty trifles are in- 
 tended, as everyone plainly discovers, for the maiden 
 with blue eyes, graceful, slender, and coy as becomes her 
 fifteenth birthday, and who, instead of meeting her swain 
 with open arms, bashfully steals behind her little brother 
 and sister who stop the way, and exclaim with artless 
 childish glee, ' Our sister is not at home ! ' No picture 
 in the gallery is more readily understood, appreciated, 
 and enjoyed than this pretty thing by Jean Louis Hamon, 
 and if we might come to envy her Majesty the Empress 
 of the French the possession of any one of her many 
 fine pictures, we should be certainly inclined to select 
 the one entitled 1 Our Sister is not at Home ! ' 
 
 The picture we shall next mention is entitled ' A 
 Cottage Interior — Supper Time,' by Edouard Frere. 
 This painter must have passed his life among children. 
 We seldom get a sight of father and mother. It is 
 always some wonderful neat, clever, managing elder sister, 
 herself a child, who reigns supreme in Frere's cottage 
 homes. The way in which this elder sister handles a 
 baby is truly marvellous ; still more marvellous is the 
 order which she invariably preserves among her little 
 
222 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 brothers. It is not in the power of this interesting 
 creature to find her numerous charge in shoe leather, but 
 she evidently hits their taste to a nicety in the matter of 
 porridge. She cannot in the nature of things bedeck her 
 own pretty person with fine clothes, but she can and 
 does plait her soft brown hair in a manner which might 
 become a princess. The furniture is altogether in- 
 adequate to the household, yet they all get something to 
 sit upon. The table is always inviting, because the 
 platters and basins are clean and bright. The most 
 perfect harmony prevails, for this sister presides over all 
 with so much grace that it were impossible to rebel 
 against her authority. Since no sign of grief prevails, 
 we can hardly imagine that aught of evil has befallen 
 the parents of this happy family ; the probability is that 
 father and mother are hard-working people and much 
 from home, and the youngsters would fare badly but for 
 sister Janet, who is their loving guardian angel, ever 
 present, by day or by night, listening to their prattle, 
 settling all their little disputes. Are they sick, she is at 
 their bedside ? are they hale and abroad, she has her eyes 
 upon them to see that they meet with no harm. She 
 bears her heavy responsibility without effort, and never 
 utters a complaint all the year round. It is Janet here, 
 and Janet there, and Janet everywhere, and yet Janet is 
 never out of the way. We should have no hesitation in 
 walking ten miles to see the little girl with the plaited 
 brown hair who plays elder sister in Edouard Frere's 
 ' Rustic Home.' She has beaten the philosophers, for, 
 without resources, she is herself happy, makes others 
 happy, and keeps them so. 
 
 Swedish, Danish, and Norwegian painters have done 
 
Pictures in the International Exhibition. 223 
 
 just what we could have desired them to do : they have 
 favoured us with pictures illustrative of their home life 
 and popular manners and customs ; so that a visit to 
 their gallery is almost as good as a journey through their 
 several States. Without the danger which appears to be 
 imminent, we may almost seem to take part in their 
 terrible onslaughts on savage bears in dark pine-woods, 
 and without subjecting ourselves to a diet of blubber and 
 dried fish we may peep into the Laplander's hut. Gude 
 sends us transcripts of the mountains, forests, and 
 waterfalls of Norway ; and Tideman reveals to us the 
 religious aspect of the Norwegian people. We see how 
 they live in joy and sorrow, where they live, how they 
 die, and in what manner they are buried. We look into 
 their schools and churches, we see the pious at prayer, 
 we witness their marriage ceremonies, and processions 
 grave and gay. In addition, we have elaborate imita- 
 tions of the fruit and flowers which bless their brief 
 summers, and of the birds, beasts, and fishes which 
 inhabit their forests, rivers, and seas. We have marked 
 a few of these vigorous pictures which struck us as 
 particularly characteristic of northern genius. 
 
 Eduard Bergh, the Swede, exhibits a large picture 
 of ' An Old Mill,' with the foaming torrent and moun- 
 tains beyond. The mill, which is apparently of great 
 strength, is placed on the very verge of a chasm, where 
 the waters come tumbling down — boiling, and foaming, 
 and spending their fury on the shelving rocks below. 
 
 'The Fisherman's Hut,' in Lapland, by Johan 
 Frederick Hockert, is perhaps the finest work in the 
 three schools. The Laps make nursing a very easy 
 matter. The little chubby baby is always slung up to a 
 
224 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 rafter, lashed in a hammock along with the fish and 
 skins of beasts and birds, and thus becomes well smoked 
 and dried in early years ; meanwhile the picturesquely 
 clad mother, with her cap of red cloth and jewels and 
 modest simple face, sits at the fire with her dingy hus- 
 band, who mends his net and smokes his pipe, and 
 converses in peace, while young hopeful is being duly 
 seasoned. A cord communicates with the suspended 
 infant, which enables the fond parent to impart a gentle 
 undulating movement to the cradle, which is, no doubt, 
 very agreeable to the occupant thereof. This picture is 
 done in a masterly manner throughout. The colouring, 
 in particular, is deep, rich, and glowing. The Laplander, 
 who seems to enjoy his pipe and prepare his net with 
 so much composure at home, is wondrous brave, and 
 capable of great exertion when abroad. The wolf, the 
 bear, and the seal are his lawful spoils. 
 
 Alfred Wahlberg's picture of a 1 Bear Hunt ' (the 
 figures being inserted by J. W. Wallander) enables us 
 to perceive that hunting the bear in Sweden is no light 
 pastime. A slip on the frozen ground is but a prelude 
 to a shroud of snow and a frozen grave. Armed with 
 axe, and spear, and accompanied by dogs, these hardy 
 men are seen in deadly combat with two huge mon- 
 sters. Already one poor Lap lies sprawling, crushed 
 and bleeding, in the drift ; while, nothing daunted, his 
 companions approach the enemy, who stands on his hind 
 legs erect and defiant as becomes the grizzly monarch 
 of those vast and awful ice-bound solitudes, when fight- 
 ing for life and empire. 
 
 B. Nordenberg has a picture representing the ' Col- 
 lection of Tithes in Scania.' The people of Scania do 
 
Pictures in the International Exhibition. 225 
 
 not select the leanest calf and the most venerable 
 rooster for their minister. They evidently pay their 
 tithes with little or no reluctance. In the picture before 
 us their chief spiritual adviser, a rosy-faced, middle-aged 
 gentleman, sits with his curate in the hall of the par- 
 sonage-house smoking a large meerschaum pipe with 
 great contentment, as he receives one by one his numer- 
 ous parishioners, who arrive heavily laden with all 
 manner of good things. This is a true picture to the 
 life doubtless. The faces are very expressive, particularly 
 those of the minister's household. 
 
 Miss Amalia Lindergren's 'Evening in a Dalecar- 
 lian Cottage ' gives us a vivid picture of the agreeable 
 manner in which they sometimes, and perhaps fre- 
 quently, conclude the day in Dalecarlia. A peasant 
 amateur musician, having cleared sufficient space in the 
 cottage, indulges his rosy-faced offspring with a dance, 
 which is both graceful and spirited, the figure bearing a 
 strong resemblance to those in use among little children 
 we have seen sculptured on antique vases. The happy 
 mother sits by the fire nursing her laughing babe, and 
 with no small pride in her eye surveys the happy group 
 whirling round and round to the merry notes of her 
 husband's fiddle. We hope that Dalecarlia has many 
 such evening parties, and we could wish the same for 
 our own rural homes. Miss Lindergren is an exquisite 
 colourist, and she imparts wonderful relief to her forms — 
 to say nothing of the almost classical style of her com- 
 positions. After contemplating her charming picture, we 
 could not help thinking that men would be much 
 happier than at present if, in early life, they all learned 
 to dance and play the fiddle, so that in after time they 
 
 VOL. I. Q 
 
226 Selections from Occasional Writings, 
 
 might all fiddle and dance to their heart's content within 
 the circle of their own happy families, like the peasants 
 of Dalecarlia. 
 
 Before parting with the Swedish masters, we cannot 
 refrain from calling attention to the pleasant picture by 
 Hockert, also representing a scene in Dalecarlia. On 
 this occasion the villagers are assembled in a meadow 
 making hay. The babies are as usual hung up on pegs 
 out of harm's way ; while, clothed in bright festive gar- 
 ments, the fathers and mothers proceed with their 
 labours in the bright warm sun. The day is warm but 
 not sultry, and the process of tedding grass in Dalecarlia 
 seems a beautiful occupation, a pleasure rather than a 
 toil. 
 
 The principal place in the Danish division of the 
 Gallery is occupied by the portrait of ' His Majesty King 
 Frederick VII.' painted by J. W. Gertner, while a little 
 above is the painter's portrait of the celebrated sculptor, 
 Thorwaldsen. As pictures, these examples of portraiture 
 are slightly hard and laboured, but full of character and 
 expression. In this department will be found two very 
 interesting interiors. One, ' A Room in the Palace of 
 Rosenborg ' ; the other, ' Christian IV.'s Study in the 
 Palace of Rosenborg ' : being two of the most elaborate 
 instances of costly and profuse architectural ornamenta- 
 tion we remember to have seen. In the ceiling of these 
 apartments are gorgeous paintings, and the marble floors 
 are tesselated and polished like mirrors. The tables are 
 also of polished marble, and the chimney pieces of the 
 same material, massive and grand, relieved by figures in 
 silver and bronze. The pillars which support the roof , 
 are of oak, elaborately carved, the chairs and cabinets 
 
Pictures in the International Exhibition. 227 
 
 are of oak and ebony, furnished with coverings of rich 
 velvet, in various patterns and colours. Added to these, 
 are assembled various cavaliers and ladies in bright and 
 picturesque costumes ; the whole forming magnificent 
 pictures, bearing evidence alike to the luxury and fine 
 taste of the Royal line of Denmark. 
 
 The Danes also send a few good landscapes. One 
 in particular, by Skovgaard, would strike the spectator 
 as a faithful representation of a beech-wood on the 
 margin of a transparent lake. The painter has happily 
 introduced a farmer's wife in charge of some cows in 
 the foreground, which is luxuriant with wild roses and 
 various other blossoming plants and weeds. The same 
 painter has also 'A Scene in Jagersborg Deer Park. 
 Evening. August.' We like this method of stating 
 the particular month when the landscape was painted. 
 These landscapes are so truthful that one is enabled to 
 discover the time of the year, and almost the hour of the 
 day, they are meant to represent. 
 
 ' The Danish artists paint fruit to perfection. One 
 example, entitled ' Field and Garden Fruit under a Tree/ 
 by W. Hanmer, from the Royal Gallery of Copenhagen, 
 is an instance of perfection in imitation. In all that 
 pertains to their own lands we repeat that these Nor- 
 wegians, Swedish, and Danish painters, greatly instruct 
 and charm the English visitor. Some of the Northern 
 painters leave their native mountains and valleys for the 
 sunnier lands of France and Italy, where they become 
 ardent students in the schools of eminent masters, and 
 strive to possess themselves of the taste and feeling of 
 the ancients, and end in becoming pedantic. For some 
 reason or other, we prefer their pictures of home — where 
 
 Q 2 
 
228 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 the old people are honoured like the patriarchs of yore ; 
 where blonde beauties in gay clothes are betrothed and 
 given away in marriage, with much ceremony and merry- 
 making, to honest worthy youths, who have industry to 
 support their wives, and courage to defend them from 
 danger. In the life of the people among whom they dwell 
 those Northern painters will ever find an unfailing source 
 of inspiration and themes interesting to the far-off 
 stranger, no less than to their own countrymen and 
 women, because painting speaks in a language which is 
 common to all mankind, and because works which treat 
 of home, and sentiment, and passion, appeal, and not in 
 vain, to the common human heart. 
 
 ' Rapine, Plunder, and Conflagration ' is the title given 
 to a small picture in the Belgian gallery, by J. Lies. 
 The scene is laid in the Netherlands, on the outskirts of 
 an ancient Burgh. The conquerors, a band of mercenary 
 soldiers, who have set fire to the houses and churches, 
 are retiring in the darkness of the night with their 
 prisoners and spoils. Some are laden with the relics of 
 the altar and the rich vestments of the priests ; others 
 have contented themselves with plundering the hen-roost 
 and wine cellar. As they wind their disorderly way up 
 the hill from which we view the burning city, reflecting 
 its lurid horrors in the dark waters beneath, we contem- 
 plate the nearer groups. A delicate lady of rank, in 
 white satin robes, has fallen to the lot of a stalwart, 
 callous, coarse ruffian, who loses not the opportunity to 
 insult the victim of his fury in the hearing of her power- 
 less husband. Onward they go, pell mell ; youth and 
 old age, fair women, noble youths, venerable citizens, 
 bound and driven like beasts of burden over the broken 
 
Pictures in the International Exhibition. 229 
 
 ground, and through dismal swamps, mingling their sighs 
 with the vile gibes and mocking laughter of their captors. 
 Such is war, rapine, and conflagration as rendered, with 
 uncommon force, by the Belgian painter, and, we fear, 
 with too much truth. 
 
 In the Belgian gallery, the works of H. Leys also 
 awaken much interest. The largest example, represent- 
 ing 'The Institution of the Golden Fleece in 1429/ con- 
 tains a great number of figures habited in the costumes 
 of the period. This picture might at first sight be 
 mistaken for an early Flemish production, so strictly 
 in every sense has the painter reproduced the ugliness, 
 austere manners, and quaint garb to be seen in pictures 
 by John Van Eyck and his contemporaries. So again 
 in the work entitled 1 Margaret of Austria receiving the 
 Oaths of the Archers of Antwerp.' The very paving 
 stones in the court- yard tell of bygone times, as in other 
 pictures by the master do the narrow streets, gloomy 
 gateways, corridors and cloisters. We can understand 
 how the painter got at the true character of the people, 
 for many of them are preserved with more than photo- 
 graphic fidelity on the old panels of Flemish painters 
 of celebrity, while the garments and jewellery, books and 
 furniture, are carefully conserved in the museums and 
 libraries of the curious and learned in such rare objects. 
 Moreover, the true Fleming of to-day is but little dif- 
 ferent from the old race. So far all seems clear sailing 
 for the artist ; but Leys does not merely people the 
 streets, churches, and cloisters of his country ; he re- 
 stores to us the old and robust energy and noble bearing 
 of his forefathers : as witness his fine historical picture 
 of the ' Publication of the Edict of Charles V. in 1550, 
 
230 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 introducing the Inquisition into the Netherlands.' Do 
 they not receive the insult like men and women who 
 are determined to be free ? Mark their stern and thought- 
 ful br©ws ! Fain, when the gaudy trumpeter proclaims 
 silence, for the value of a stiver would they beat the 
 trumpet about the coxcomb's head and trample his 
 master's edict in the mire. We have said that in his 
 largest work Leys has excelled in ugliness, but this is 
 not always his rule. In this picture, in which the herald 
 of Charles V. appears with his hateful message, beautiful 
 women mingle with the throng, and help by their pre- 
 sence to mitigate the severe aspect of the sturdy 
 Burghers. In a picture representing ' Young Luther 
 singing Hymns in the Streets of Eisenach,' there is a 
 most sweet girl seated near the cloister intently listening 
 to the strains of the chorister boys. 
 
 Leys' pictures may be considered as the most literally 
 truthful examples of pictorial art produced in modern 
 times ; and yet with all their literalness they want not 
 in fancy. His groups are not composed of forms dim 
 and shadowy, pitiful ghosts of departed humanity ; on 
 the contrary, they appear before us bravely, as in the 
 flesh, with fire in their eyes and determination written 
 on their honest faces. They come not as a tawdry 
 pageant, to amuse like mummers on a winter's night, 
 but rather like a living admonition to the present gene- 
 ration of men and women ; and it is not impossible but 
 that those citizens and staid wives and daughters of the 
 old Netherlands might have much to say for themselves, 
 and on the present state of things, not undeserving of 
 respectful attention. Anyhow, we heartily thank H: 
 Leys for the pleasure and instruction afforded us in his 
 
Pictures in the International Exhibition. 23 l 
 
 bright, and gloomy, and life-like portraiture of Gothic 
 times and Gothic manners. 
 
 Those who desire to contemplate a work distinguished 
 by every fine quality of painting will be gratified by a 
 sight of M. Gaillait's picture, entitled 1 Delilah.' The 
 beautiful but treacherous woman has given up Samson 
 for a sum of gold, which lies at her feet. Samson, 
 bound, is borne off by the Philistines, and his betrayer 
 is left alone to her remorse and shame. She listens to 
 the tramp of the retreating captors, whose shouts as they 
 triumph over the hero she has given into their hands are 
 as daggers to her heart. With so much intensity are 
 these feelings expressed that we expect no less than to 
 see the woman start up in frenzy or dash herself on the 
 ground in the very agony of overwhelming confusion. 
 And though this woman-Judas is beautiful to behold, 
 and by turns as gentle as the fawn, yet she can be furious 
 as the panther, and by-and-by, when she can no longer 
 ensnare and enslave, she will lose all her softness, and 
 her dark eyes will only burn with rage and hate. Such 
 is the being our artist has painted for Delilah. 
 
 M. Gaillait's picture dramas, of which the collection 
 contains eight, are marked with a vigour and force which 
 call to mind passages from our own early tragic writers : 
 as witness his picture of * The Last Honours paid to 
 Counts Egmont and Horn.' The ghastly lineaments of 
 the two counts, as rendered by M. Gaillait, will not easily 
 become effaced from the memories of the thousands who 
 behold them lying in state, surrounded by the archers of 
 Brussels. With face of bronze the relentless Duke of 
 Alva stands near the victims of his vengeance, while a 
 priest prepares to light the tapers ; meanwhile over the 
 
232 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 chamber the pale marble hue of death prevails, contrast- 
 ing with the ruddy glow of life and manly vigour in the 
 old and faithful city archer guards. And there is the 
 delicate lawn winding-sheet, with its violet-tinted folds 
 and indentations spotted with blood, and there is the 
 shadowy pall with which they would fain conceal the 
 source of those purple and crimson streams from the eyes 
 of the mute tearful gazers assembled round the bier. 
 The painter had a stern subject to deal with, and he 
 did not shrink from the task. One picture alone of 
 all the pictures that we can call to mind, or rather of 
 those we cannot forget, has greater power, and that one 
 is the 'Lecture on Anatomy/ by Rembrandt, at the 
 Hague. In the contrast between the living and the 
 dead, in the corpse and in the surgeons who make it the 
 subject of their studies, the Dutch artist has made one 
 of the most impressive pictures of mortal man in the 
 world. 
 
 Rembrandt had not the advantage of a noble theme, 
 such as that chosen by M. Gaillait ; but Rembrandt's 
 corpse, though livid and shrunken, is still fascinating. 
 As we draw near unto it, we discern that death has not 
 wholly effaced those signs of character which, day by 
 day, sentiment and passion had engraven upon the man's 
 outward form and crust. The blood has ceased to course 
 through vein and artery, the fire has burnt out, but even 
 yet may be traced on the folds and in the creases of 
 that shrunken shape of white and grey the story of a 
 life. The corpse thinks all over. The man is blanched, 
 and mute, and fixed, and still, laid bare as an eloquent 
 scroll spread open to the living eye. M. Gaillait has 
 painted a picture which it is impossible to pass, but 
 
Pictures in the International Exhibition. 233 
 
 Rembrandt painted a picture it is almost impossible to 
 leave. Gaillait depicts death as it haunts the slumbers 
 of the sick and morbid in chambers of horror, broad, 
 massive, ghastly, and repugnant, but the mighty limner 
 of the Rhine, like an affectionate friend, and with an 
 instinctive refinement, drops a soft, light, delicate veil 
 over the coarse and staring lineaments of mortality, and 
 soothes and caresses the mind of the spectator into a 
 state of tranquillity, so that we contemplate and are not 
 startled. The worst is before us, our sympathy is 
 awakened, but we feel no dread. 
 
 Some writers of handbooks to picture galleries have 
 lately been laying down laws for their own guidance, 
 which, being faithfully followed, would render art criti- 
 cisms very harmless and useless, and at the same time 
 very tiresome. It is certain that one ought to exercise 
 infinite caution in dealing with the reputation of the 
 painters and sculptors who labour to adorn the walls of 
 our galleries. But, while condemning precipitation of 
 judgment, we should be sorry to subscribe to the dictum 
 of those who would reduce the critic to a mere cipher. 
 We trust that we are not so blind but that we can detect 
 an inequality in the human form, whether on canvas or 
 in stone, and, detecting it, that criticism would be false 
 which did not indicate it. The meanest capacity will 
 detect disproportion in the living man, and why may the 
 critic not do the same with the counterfeit in paint? 
 One of the lecturers of the Royal Academy (Fuseli, we 
 believe), has referred to the fact that the very porters in 
 the street will characterise each other with aptness 
 enough, in terms such as 1 Hawknosed,' ' Knock-kneed ' 
 — terms by no means flattering, but no less true. If the 
 
234 Selections f}'om Occasional Writings. 
 
 unlearned can venture thus successfully to pronounce 
 judgment on the unavoidable shortcomings of their 
 fellows, surely a critic may be excused pointing out 
 similar infirmities in pictures and statues set up in high 
 places for the special enlightenment of the public. And 
 what is obvious in respect to the mere just division of 
 parts in the human frame is no less clear in respect to 
 passion and sentiment as expressed in face and form by 
 manifold variations and play of muscle. The lights and 
 shades of human passion and sentiment are so clearly 
 articulated on the countenance, that the very infant at 
 the breast is not altogether ignorant of the import of a 
 smile or a frown. 
 
 Then we come to speak of colour. All the world 
 has agreed that Titian and Rubens are good colourists, 
 and that Poussin and Le Brun are the reverse. The 
 reason why the preference is awarded to the Fleming 
 and the Venetian is not difficult to decide. The colours 
 of Titian and Rubens are in strict harmony with Nature, 
 while those of Le Brun and Poussin are not. To confine 
 ourselves to the painting of flesh. We know that the 
 tender hue of the rose makes a nearer approach to the 
 tints on the cheeks of a beautiful woman than a dull, 
 hot, staring red brick. Notwithstanding this evident 
 fact, Poussin and Le Brun gave the preference to the 
 brick, so that the pervading colour of their pictures is 
 neither tender nor beautiful, but, on the contrary, 
 vulgar and coarse. Time has done something to mitigate 
 the vulgarity of the pictures of these two painters ; but 
 the original defects will always be apparent while a grain 
 of the colour remains. Another instance of brick-red 
 flesh will be found on the grand staircase at Hampton 
 
Pictures in the International Exhibition. 235 
 
 Court Palace, in the allegorical compositions of Verrio 
 and Laguerre. 
 
 If memory does not deceive us Sir Joshua Reynolds 
 recommends the young painter, when painting flesh, to 
 think of pearls and ripe peaches. The poet is under 
 the necessity of making comparisons in order to convey 
 his precious meaning truly and fully to the reader. It 
 was a happy thought of Sir John Suckling to compare 
 the bride's cheeks to the white and red of the daisy, 
 and to those intense streaks of carmine on the sunny 
 side of a Catherine pear. The lips of Cupid are com- 
 pared by John Lyly to coral, his cheeks to a rose. 
 The Earl of Stirling blends coral, roses, and snow, in 
 order to give a just idea of his mistress's complexion. 
 Richard Alison confines himself to roses, white lilies, 
 orient pearls, and snow. ' Claret and cream commingled ' 
 is suggested to Robert Herrick when he contemplates 
 returning health to Julia's cheek and her lips to ' beams 
 of coral.' All those poets who made human beauty the 
 subject of their songs seem to have agreed as to the 
 colour of flesh and blood. The great painters would 
 have dissolved pearls, distilled roses, crushed lilies, and 
 ground coral, in order to realise upon canvas their high 
 appreciation of human loveliness. Guido said that 
 Rubens might have mixed his colours with blood. 
 
 Vulgarity in colours may be brought about by an 
 over-earnest desire to reach the force and vivacity of 
 nature. Little venture, and you will have little influence. 
 Opposing colours must be placed side by side — the warm 
 and the cool be mingled together in peace. The loudest 
 music must not degenerate into noise, nor the brightest 
 colours be permitted to stare. The sweetest modulations 
 
236 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 and most delicate transitions are employed alike by the 
 great composer and the great painter, not only in order 
 that the eye and the ear may escape outrage, but also in 
 order that each may receive exquisite delight. A colour 
 is capable of as many variations as a sound. It is in 
 colour that the unlearned are most apt to be misled. 
 We have shown that the unlearned are capable of dis- 
 cerning inequalities, disproportions in form. The faculty 
 of colour is not perhaps so common, but the capacity 
 exists, and may be cultivated by training, by example, 
 and by judicious public criticism. At all events, it is for 
 the public critic to point out what is symmetrical in form 
 and harmonious in colour. 
 
 Time was that painters were accustomed to place the 
 figures of their compositions all on a row, and put expla- 
 natory labels in their mouths ; but attempts are now 
 made, and with great success, to arrange groups in 
 natural order, and to make the figures say what they 
 ought to say by unmistakable look and gesture. The 
 old Dutch and Venetian painters almost invariably made 
 up backgrounds for their Scripture pieces from the con- 
 temporary streets and squares in their native cities, and 
 outraged propriety in many ways, putting time and place 
 out of all consideration. Such improprieties were ex- 
 cusable in a period of general ignorance. Similar ana- 
 chronisms would not be tolerated now. No amount of 
 genius would or ought now to exempt a painter from 
 censure who would venture to outrage the visitors of the 
 Royal Academy by anachronisms so gross as those per- 
 petrated by Bassano and Veronese, and even by Titian 
 himself. 
 
 So of the human form. The bones, muscles, flesh, 
 
Pictures in the International Exhibition. 237 
 
 veins, and integuments require much study. The con- 
 summate painter, as Leonardo da Vinci observes, does 
 not make the trunk of a man resemble a ' bag of nuts,' 
 nor the human hand like a ' bunch of radishes.' Some 
 living painters, who with much complacency attempt to 
 delineate the human form, are guilty of errors of which 
 the critic is bound to take notice. To detect beauties 
 that pass unobserved by the common eye is no doubt 
 the most gracious office of criticism, yet it is no less a 
 salutary function to guard against the worship of faults. 
 We have to insist on the neglected question of the 
 truth of colour, and enforce the possibility of the popular 
 cultivation of a taste for colour. To some of the con- 
 tinental pictures in the International Exhibition we shall 
 next proceed to notice the principles we have indicated 
 will have many applications. For instance, the pictures 
 from Prussia, Bavaria, Wurtemberg, Frankfort-on-the- 
 Main, Hesse, Saxony, and Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, united 
 under the head of Germany, will, we believe, be found 
 by candid critics to be almost destitute of examples of 
 fine colouring. 
 
 It was found impossible to adequately represent 
 German art in- the International Exhibition, for the 
 simple reason that the more important pictures of that 
 school are painted directly upon walls. Very few of those 
 present are by the chief painters. With this very neces- 
 sary remark we proceed to notice a few of the more in- 
 teresting examples in the principal gallery. Foremost 
 ;n importance, and of huge dimensions, is a picture of 
 ' Nero after the Burning of Rome,' painted by Carl 
 Piloty, of Bavaria. Dressed as a woman, and crowned 
 with roses, the Emperor, accompanied by his guards and 
 
238 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 slaves, goes in mock procession to witness and enjoy the 
 havoc he has made. Everywhere the once beautiful city 
 presents a picture of desolation. The stones, still bear- 
 ing the impress of genius in mutilated crumbling 
 examples of ornamentation and architectural beauty, lie 
 in confused heaps among smouldering beams and rafters. 
 The principal group consists of some Christians tied to 
 a stake. Father, mother, and little daughter are dis- 
 covered dead among the ruins. They have perished 
 of suffocation or starvation. Beyond, another party of 
 Christians, victims of persecution, lie strewn here and 
 there among the de'bris, while their children wander 
 frantically about. This work creates a sensation among 
 the visitors only second in intensity to the influence 
 exercised by the painting of the ' Counts Egmont and 
 Horn,' in the Belgian Gallery. Viewed as a whole, this 
 picture by Piloty is deserving of great commendation. 
 Only great enthusiasm could have sustained the artist in 
 an undertaking so vast and so imposing. It may be 
 objected that as a composition no very great genius has 
 been displayed : that the colouring is opaque and strong, 
 and altogether wanting in sweetness, but it is impossible 
 to deny to the work a certain force, directness of purpose, 
 power and majesty, qualities to which few productions 
 in the collection can lay claim. 
 
 Another large composition, by Theodore Schlcepcke, 
 of Mecklenburg-Schwerin, represents ' The Death of 
 Niclot, King of the Obotrites.' This work is cold in 
 tone and feebly pencilled, without variety of colour, and 
 deficient in general force, but at the same time the 
 artist has evinced great knowledge of the structure of 
 the horse. ' The Raising of J aims' Daughter,' by the 
 
Pictures in the International Exhibition. 239 
 
 Prussian painter, Gustav Richter, is a large, coarse, un- 
 imaginative work, redeemed only by one figure, that of 
 the daughter, a figure in every way contrasting with the 
 others by its exceeding delicacy. A 1 Deposition from 
 the Cross/ by E. Jacobs, of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, is to 
 our mind conventional and affected : faults rendered the 
 more evident and objectionable by reason of the large 
 dimensions of the canvas which they are made to cover. 
 Julius Schrader's 1 Lady Macbeth Walking in her Sleep ' 
 is possibly the great failure of the collection. It would 
 have been agreeable to ourselves to have avoided some 
 of the German pictures, this one of ' Lady Macbeth ' 
 more especially, but there was no getting out of its way. 
 We doubt not but that the author of this production 
 is a capable painter. Lady Macbeth appears very much 
 like a pictorial blunder of a clever man, who has in 
 this instance taken the unfortunate one step from the 
 sublime. 
 
 We observe that the bulk of the German collection 
 is made up by contributions direct from the artists them- 
 selves, and in all probability the pictures thus set before 
 us, if the actual property of German collectors and con- 
 noisseurs, are not much valued by their respective 
 owners. At all events, we are far from being flattered 
 by the choice which the committee have made for us. 
 The authors of the works no doubt conceived a good 
 opinion of their efforts, and so far we have nothing to 
 urge against the painters ; but those entrusted with the 
 task of selection might surely have sent better examples 
 of native genius than those which now represent the 
 German School at the International Exhibition. 
 
 1 The Last Remnant of a Protestant Community in 
 
240 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 the Religious Wars of the 17th Century/ by August 
 Kreling, of Bavaria, depicts a party of nobles with their 
 families assembled round the altar of a Protestant 
 church, where women and children have vainly sought 
 protection within the sanctuary, for the soldiers of the 
 cross beat down the doors, and in spite of a brave resis- 
 tance enter the chancel. There is no longer any hope. 
 The priest has just time to give the sacrament to a 
 wounded gentleman in the presence of his despairing 
 wife and children. The painter has displayed dramatic 
 power in the disposition of the several groups. The 
 soldier coming leisurely towards the altar after having 
 fired his last shot, and having fully decided that he has 
 no longer anything to detain him in the world, is an in- 
 stance of good painting. Less of that frenzy of despair 
 exhibited by the principal figures would better have 
 declared the moral of the incident, but would at the 
 same time have ignored the more striking and terrible 
 manifestations of human passion to which the painter 
 has given full licence. 
 
 'Luther entering Worms, April 16, 1521,' is a com- 
 position of numerous figures, by Frederic Martersteig, 
 of the Grand-Duchy of Saxony. In the matter of 
 colour this is one of the most unpleasant pictures 
 possible to conceive. Many of the faces wear an ap- 
 propriate expression, while some border upon carica- 
 ture. The Reformer and his friends form the prin- 
 cipal group. Luther himself has performed the journey 
 in a very humble carriage of wicker-work. His arrival 
 creates no small curiosity among the ruling powers. 
 His dauntless look, the calm bearing of his friends, and 
 the sympathy of many in the throng might, however, 
 
Pictures in the International Exhibition. 241 
 
 have been sufficient to create no inconsiderable dread 
 in the hearts of the priests and nobles who look down 
 from casement and balcony on that dust-stained cortege 
 in the courtyard of Worms on April 16, 1521. 
 
 4 The Birthday Fete of a Country Parson ' is the 
 title of an agreeable and very popular picture by J. 
 Grund, of Baden. The door of the cure's house is beset 
 betimes in the morning by village children, who come 
 with birthday offerings, which include many kinds of pro- 
 vender, varying in quantity and kind according to the 
 means of the contributors. Those who come with much 
 expect much notice, and step boldly forward, while 
 those who have little to give manage their mission 
 unobtrusively. Some of the leaner boys appear only 
 with scrolls of paper in their hands, which, we suppose, 
 are complimentary odes written for the occasion. The 
 cure', with his ruby, glistening face, comes forth smiling 
 into the porch to receive the gifts of his parishioners, 
 and first and foremost he pays his respects to a tiny 
 little maiden with a large nosegay. The poets will pro- 
 bably come in at the termination of the ceremony. The 
 confident behaviour of a roughish lad with a thumping 
 goose is in marked contrast to a poor lad with a few 
 cucumbers. The work is only marred by the usual 
 yellowish, greenish glaze, so common to the school to 
 which it belongs. 
 
 The two children, in the picture by Frederic Boser, of 
 Prussia, called 'The Poor-Box, ' is agreeable alike in 
 colour and expression. 
 
 i The Emigrants* Farewell,' by the Prussian painter, 
 Carl Hiibner, abounds in beautiful feeling. The poor 
 family assembled round the old churchyard awaken 
 
 VOL. 1. R 
 
242 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 interest and sympathy. The crumbling stones and ruined 
 condition of the very burial ground, to say nothing of 
 the woe-begone aspect of the villagers themselves, say, 
 and that only too plainly, that it is time to be gone. 
 The curse of poverty is on the place. We have nothing 
 to urge against this picture, saving that it has been more 
 than half spoiled by the yellow varnish put upon it, 
 which is alike opposed to the freshness and variety of 
 nature. 
 
 ' The Funeral in the Forest/ by Ludwig Knaus, of 
 Prussia, is a picture possessing all the fine qualities of 
 4 The Emigrants' Farewell,' together with the same yel- 
 lowish opaque quality of colour which, like a blight, 
 seems to infect more than half the German Gallery. 
 By mere chance a gendarme, having charge of a pri- 
 soner, has drawn up on the side of a lane, dark with 
 overhanging trees. The stern minister of justice re- 
 moves his meerschaum from his mouth, and the poor 
 criminal, with gyves upon his wrists, manages to take off 
 his hat as the solemn pageant approaches. The coffin 
 and the followers are shrouded in the forest gloom, but, 
 emerging from the darkness, are chorister boys, bearing 
 symbols and chanting hymns, and a fair girl, with blue 
 eyes and flaxen hair, walks in their midst like a spirit 
 of light to guide the steps of the grief-stricken mourners. 
 It has been said the painter intended the funeral to be 
 that of the criminal's parent, whose grey hairs his crimes 
 have brought down with sorrow to the grave. There are 
 two ways — one to the prison, the other to the church- 
 yard ; and haply the man with the hard heart, who has 
 had the grace to cease smoking while the procession 
 passes, will permit his prisoner to follow in the wake of 
 
Pictures in the International Exhibition. 243 
 
 that mournful procession. The hindrance would be little, 
 while the good results of a little kindness shown the 
 conscience-stricken man in such a moment might be 
 infinite. 
 
 Holland contributes some cabinet pictures of good 
 quality, not indeed to compare with the works of the 
 great old masters of the Dutch school in brilliancy of 
 execution, but showing considerable advance in point of 
 morality. The interiors of David Bles, in the present 
 collection, are of a character infinitely more to the 
 honour of the nationality which they represent at the 
 International Exhibition than any works of the old 
 Dutch painters could have been. The ladies in the 
 pictures of Mieris and Netscher, in white satin robes, are 
 beautiful to behold ; but theirs is not the beauty of the 
 soul. The people who figure on the panels of Brouwer, 
 Teniers, Ostade, and Jan Steen, are all coarse and vulgar. 
 We make it no objection to those painters of two hundred 
 years back that they happened to live in a period when 
 people were not so generally refined and intellectually 
 disposed as at present, or that they made feasting, merry- 
 makings, and brawls themes for their pencils. It was 
 their misfortune to live at a time when the manners and 
 customs of society were unworthy of their great talents. 
 The evil is that now, having discovered themes which 
 deserve to be well painted and immortalised, no great 
 limner is forthcoming to take advantage of the discovery ; 
 so that the more delicate, the chaster beauties of modern 
 home life and manners fail to meet justice at the painter's 
 hands. 
 
 One almost regrets that those old masters should 
 have wasted their time on themes so contemptible. 
 
244 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 Adrian Ostade flooded his very barns and roadside inns 
 with the star-shining twilight of the heavens ; Teniers 
 filled the pothouse of the boor with light serene and 
 pure as the diamond's blaze ; Albert Cuyp made his 
 rivers and woods rich in hues of amber, saffron, silver, 
 and gold ; and even the sunless daylight of those early 
 painters seems to wear a tranquillity as far removed from 
 cold and garish poverty as the mild radiance of the 
 costly pearl. The absence of this fine feeling for colour 
 is painfully apparent in the modern Dutch school, 
 although in a far less degree than in the German pictures 
 on the other side of the gallery. Redeeming features, 
 as we have said, abound in the modern Dutch works ; 
 but we may be permitted to mourn for the loss of those 
 gem-like qualities which distinguish the older produc- 
 tions of Holland, and which justly render them still the 
 pride of almost every palace in Europe. 
 
 One picture in the present collection would have 
 done honour to the best old Dutch master who ever 
 lived. We allude to the one entitled * The Shipwrecked,' 
 by Jacob Israels. With all their wealth of genius those 
 old masters of whom we are speaking commonly failed 
 to reach the human heart in the way Jacob Israels has 
 done. The earlier efforts of the school lack that per- 
 suasive power which speaks from the canvas to the 
 gazer even as an eloquent discourse. They delight, 
 astonish, and amuse, but they do not make their admirers 
 better ; they confer happiness, but they do not instil 
 virtue. The tongue, the pen, and the pencil are well 
 employed when they plead for the poor and awaken 
 universal sympathy for their misfortunes, as Israels has 
 done in his painted tragedy in humble life. A fisher- 
 
Pictures in the International Exhibition. 245 
 
 man's bark, stripped of every vestige of sail, mast broken, 
 and without rudder, is fast drifting towards the fatal 
 shore where its owner has already arrived a corpse. 
 Hardy comrades carry home the body, the widows and 
 orphans lead the way to the cottage up among the rocks. 
 There, in that out-of-the-way spot, where in sad music 
 the waves for ever surge along the shore, who will hear 
 of the widow's and orphan's grief ? Haply some tender- 
 hearted bard will master their sad story, and repeat it 
 to the listening sympathising world, or possibly some 
 gifted painter will stand the orphan's and the widow's 
 friend ; and such, indeed, is the author of the picture 
 called 1 The Shipwrecked,' before which crowds daily 
 linger in the Dutch gallery of the International Exhi- 
 bition. 
 
 Again, who does not feel for 1 The Sand Merchant of 
 Brussels,' whose misfortunes are so graphically put upon 
 canvas by H. Romer ? The old man's best and almost 
 only friend in the world, the huge mastiff, who for so 
 many years has drawn the sand-cart through the streets 
 of Brussels, has just fallen dead in harness by the way. 
 The merchant is utterly undone. One sees this at a 
 glance. Had the noble brute only lasted out another 
 season matters might not have been so bad, for then a 
 promising pup forming part of the group might have 
 become sufficiently well knit about the joints to have 
 filled up the blank occasioned by the old dog's retire- 
 ment. As it is, the merchant's occupation is clearly 
 gone, and the housewives of Brussels must look else- 
 where for their sand — that is, unless some good citizen 
 should chance to buy the poor man another dog, and 
 which, after witnessing his distress or contemplating 
 
246 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 Romer's touching picture, would almost follow as a 
 matter of course. Again, hard must be the heart which 
 could survey unmoved the picture of desolation, painted 
 by G. H. L. De Haas, entitled ' After the Inundation.' 
 One of those floods which not unfrequently carry misery 
 and despair into the villages and homesteads of North 
 Holland is here depicted in all its horrors. In the midst 
 of the wild waste of waters, carcases of horses and a 
 few howling dogs have been left high and dry on a 
 narrow strip of land, cut off from all the world. Peering 
 out of the waves, stunted willows raise their drooping 
 heads, as if in mockery to mark the site of the smiling 
 pastoral meadows of yesterday. 
 
 Turning from scenes of misfortune to others calcu- 
 lated to awaken only pleasure, we find one, by A. 
 Mollinger, called ' A Landscape after a Shower.' The 
 scene is on the banks of a broad, flat, shallow river. 
 The eye looks over a level, treeless, shrubless, tract of 
 rich pasture land, everywhere dotted with cattle. A 
 man riding a horse and driving two mules before him 
 occupies the middle distance. These are strongly 
 marked, and stand out in full relief against the soft, low 
 light and extremely remote horizon. The near fore- 
 ground, a morass, frequented only by ducks, lies in deep 
 shade cast from an overhanging raincloud. The atmo- 
 sphere looks moist and fresh, and the whole picture very 
 real. Such a prospect Paul Potter would have revelled 
 in, but we question if even he could have painted it 
 more truthfully than A. Mollinger has done. Among 
 other landscapes, we may commend one by W. Koelofs, 
 entitled ' A Dutch Meadow.' The limited space, a mere 
 acre of bright, sparkling grass, is enclosed by dykes and 
 
Pictures in the International Exhibition. 247 
 
 ditches, with here and there a straggling green willow. 
 A few cows graze in peace within the watery enclosure, 
 beneath a canopy of bright soft clouds. M. Kugten- 
 broumen has two good specimens of landscape-painting 
 — one rich in the mellow tints of autumn, the trunks of 
 ancient trees covered with silver moss, the glade carpeted 
 with dried fern or strewn with bright crisp leaves. 
 
 The old love of Dutch painters for pictures of dead 
 game, flowers, vegetables, and fruit still survives ; and 
 there are in the present collection a number of good 
 pieces of still life, but none equal to the works of Weenix 
 and Van Huysum. There are also a number of candle- 
 light pictures, of which the old school furnished so many 
 instances. Altogether the Dutch gallery may be con- 
 sidered as tolerably interesting. The subjects of the 
 compositions are varied, although chiefly of a domestic 
 order, such as one might expect from a people so cir- 
 cumscribed in their homes, and consequently so domes- 
 ticated as the people of North Holland necessarily are. 
 
 In what has been already said on the pictures 
 in the International Exhibition it has been our desire 
 not to overlook the best examples in the several 
 schools represented. The extraordinary number and 
 variety of pictures of which the united collection 
 is composed must, however, necessarily prevent the 
 complete fulfilment of our wish to do full justice to all. 
 We have so far proceeded with our contemplated task 
 that it only remains for us to notice a few paintings of 
 interest in the schools of Spain, Italy, Austria, Switzer- 
 land, and Russia. 
 
 We could hope that the painters of Italy are very 
 imperfectly represented in the gallery at the Interna- 
 
248 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 tional Exhibition, for we are of opinion that Italy's best 
 friends would be puzzled to light upon more than five or 
 six really fine paintings in the gallery, and certainly the 
 collection does not contain more than two first-class 
 pictures. A large work, by Gamba, which hangs near 
 the stairs leading up to the Foreign Picture Galleries, 
 is among the more complete examples present. The 
 treatment which the artist has conferred upon the solemn 
 theme of ' The Funeral of Titian ' displays much sensi- 
 bility and refinement. The dead painter lying in state, 
 and thexhief mourners in the grand barge of the centre 
 of the picture are nobly rendered ; but the good effect 
 which the artist has obtained in the principal group he 
 has marred by the introduction of horrible details, which 
 are opposed to all propriety. Moreover, the colouring of 
 the picture is unnatural — the colour of the water, in par- 
 ticular, being unlike the colour of any water we have 
 ever seen, under any circumstances. Canaletto never 
 painted his canals of the violet-green here so offensive. 
 The buildings, too, are wax-like in texture, and the 
 whole tone of the picture is sickly and morbid. The 
 figures are all elegant and expressive, in an uncommon 
 degree, and we can imagine Signor Gamba to be a most 
 accomplished draughtsman, with an indifferent feeling 
 for colour, notwithstanding the fact that he has chosen 
 to paint the funeral of the finest colourist who has 
 appeared for a thousand years. 
 
 In the same vicinity the visitor will find the his- 
 torical composition of 'The Expulsion of the Duke of 
 Athens,' painted by Ussi. The painter, doubtless, was 
 led to represent this incident in the just termination of 
 a tyrant's career by an earnest desire to contribute 
 
Picttires in the International Exhibition. 249 
 
 towards the downfall of that tyranny to which his own 
 native land had so long been doomed. It was a bold 
 lesson on canvas not likely to be appreciated by the 
 Austrians. Apart from its moral value, this contribution 
 of Ussi's is extremely well and powerfully painted, and 
 not unworthy of a place of honour in one of those 
 palaces in which Italy is so rich, and where the Austrian 
 is no longer lord and master. We must not compare 
 the composition of 'The Taking of Jerusalem,' by Fran- 
 cesco Hayez, with the old Florentine masters in design, 
 nor with the old Venetians in colour ; but it is just to 
 admit that among the many figures of which the picture 
 is composed a few are marked by forcible and correct 
 action, and some of the groups of women, in particular, 
 who have vainly sought refuge within the precincts of 
 the temple, are eloquently expressive. Again, in the 
 large, and on that account feeble, painting representing 
 ' Charles Emmanuel II. Dying,' Francesco Gonin has 
 shown that he is not far removed from a good painter. 
 The crowd of citizens, who are permitted to enter the 
 chamber of death to take a last farewell of the king, 
 approach the royal presence in an order quite natural, 
 with all that awe and honest sympathy to which the place 
 and the circumstances could not fail to inspire in the 
 people's hearts, and all of which is very touching to see. 
 
 In the Roman department there is a picture by 
 Michele Ropissardi, called ' Goethe's Margaret,' which is 
 tenderly painted and sweetly expressive ; and there is 
 also the portrait of a peasant girl by G. Miiller which is 
 delightfully picturesque. Domenico Morelli's picture of 
 1 The Iconoclasts ' has been much talked of, and it cer- 
 tainly possesses power, but is at the same time inclined 
 
250 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 to coarseness. The soldiers have broken into a church, 
 and are represented in the act of destroying the handi- 
 work of an early painter. This is a subject calculated 
 to inspire a young limner to achieve a high degree of 
 excellence, but we cannot admit such a result to have 
 been obtained in the present instance. Still the drapery 
 and limbs of the Vandals are broadly and boldly cast 
 and moulded, and the general features of the picture are 
 of a kind which betoken no ordinary mastery over the 
 technical department of painting. True, the colour is 
 wanting in tenderness, being over-positive and therefore 
 oppressive to the eye; yet, with some faults, 'The 
 Iconoclasts,' by Morelli, is a promising work. 
 
 A talented small picture, in a corner near the 
 ground, by Alessandro Lanfredini, depicts Passignano, the 
 painter, when a boy, in the shop of his master, a book- 
 binder, sketching the cat instead of folding the letterpress. 
 We could have welcomed more of this class of pictures. 
 Of the portraits there is little to be said. One of King 
 Victor Emmanuel is tolerably painted. One of Count 
 Cavour is only of interest on account of the subject. 
 Among the few landscapes there is a large misty morn- 
 ing scene, by Massimo d'Azeglio, in which the painter 
 has striven to combine the brilliancy of Berghem with 
 the soft radiance of Claude, and failed. 
 
 One can but admire the facility with which Italian 
 artists generally draw heads, Academy figures, drapery, 
 and the like, but it would seem as if they had well-nigh 
 lost the ability for combining these component parts 
 into soul-stirring pictures. If we had never witnessed 
 any other proof than is contained in the present Exhi- 
 bition we should have still concluded that fortune had 
 
Pictures in the International Exhibition. 25 1 
 
 been very prodigal of her gifts to the Italians, that 
 Nature had done everything possible for Italy, but that 
 she had done little for herself. Contradictory, however, 
 as it may appear, pictures from Italy manifest little 
 study, original thought, or purpose of any kind. It 
 would seem as if the painters of Italy had lived upon 
 their great old masters long enough to extinguish their 
 own individuality. They cast everything in the same 
 moulds as their ancient exemplars, so that with them 
 painting has become a thing of rule and mechanical in 
 its nature to utter monotony. Actual copies are to be 
 preferred to the mongrel class of goods made up from 
 old pictures artfully disguised. America and England 
 annually import thousands of copies from Italy, and by 
 this means many mediocre painters and students in 
 Rome and Florence are enabled to live. These copyists 
 are men of few pretensions, whose names are seldom 
 pronounced, and it is unnecessary for us to object to 
 their patient plodding mode of earning a scudi in a 
 couple of days ; but it is otherwise with the professors 
 who hang up large canvases, and who possess interest 
 and patronage in plenty. 
 
 Yet it is useless to say aught on the subjects of Art 
 to the Italians, who are, beyond question, the best critics 
 in the world, and notoriously addicted to fault-finding. 
 Indeed the painters themselves indulge so freely in verbal 
 criticism, and have so much to say about pictures that 
 they barely leave themselves time to paint any. The 
 perfect teaching which they receive in early youth quali- 
 fies them as they grow older to discourse eloquently on 
 a theme so luxurious and so favourable to a display of 
 eloquence as the fine arts. But, Corpo di Bacco! what 
 
252 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 we have to object to is that they talk when they should 
 paint. Let not Italy despair, she has already taught 
 civilisation and refinement to half Europe. Nature has 
 decreed to her the highest place among nations, and 
 she shall yet again inhabit the palaces she has built, 
 and again possess those noble monuments of genius which 
 her forefathers created, and which only Italians could 
 have created, and which only Italians have any claim to 
 possess. 
 
 Two pictures in the Austrian Gallery, by Ferdinand 
 Waldmiiller, are in some respects equal to the best 
 works of our own painter, Mulready — the subjects, like 
 the chief of that painter's, being of a homely kind. In a 
 work called 4 The Apprentice's Reception,' the artist has 
 proved himself a most successful student of mankind, and 
 a kind-hearted man who can feel for the poor. A country 
 woman has just arrived at a cooper's shop. For a long 
 time past it has been her one thought, sleeping and 
 waking, to give her first-born a trade. She has stinted 
 herself in all manner of ways to accomplish this desir- 
 able object. Well, the eventful day has arrived. The 
 journey to town is performed on foot. Mother and son 
 enter the house of the keen-witted man of tubs and 
 casks, weary and footsore, for the way was long, and the 
 journey performed barefooted. What a reception do 
 they meet with ! The mechanic, whose confident air and 
 well-fed children inform us that he is a thriving man 
 who has saved his few hundreds, puts the country boy 
 through his paces. His physiognomy undergoes an inves- 
 tigation. He is subjected to many questions of an 
 impertinent kind, in order to test his capacity. Every 
 one present laughs at the master's wit, except the country 
 
Pictures in the International Exhibition. 253 
 
 boy ; he alone sees nothing to laugh at ; the very infant 
 laughs because the others laugh, but the apprentice has 
 lost his tongue. Poor boy, who that has gone through 
 the same ordeal does not feel for thee? Thou sleptst not 
 last night we will be bound for it. Thou hast thought 
 much of the change to take place in thy young life. 
 Thou hast given up green fields for ever to toil in the 
 stranger's service for thy bread. His secrets thou shalt 
 truly keep, and protect his interest by night and by day, 
 and obey his lawful commands without murmuring. Such 
 is the language of thy indenture. In return he will 
 teach thee a good trade ; so take heart ; the seven years 
 will soon be past, and then thou wilt be thine own 
 master, and, maybe, possess a shop of thine own. The 
 picture, which contains numerous figures, is remarkable 
 for its truthful delineation of character, and for a 
 thorough knowledge of the class of people represented. 
 The colour also is good. 
 
 The second picture by Waldmiiller is equally able 
 and even more pleasing. It is ' Christmas Eve ' in a 
 thriving mechanic's home, where the children are more 
 than usually abundant. The custom for little boys and 
 girls to place their shoes outside on the window sill just 
 before retiring to bed is being put in practice, and it is 
 so arranged that those children who have been good 
 will discover that some kind hand has put an acceptable 
 present into their shoes, and, on the contrary, the shoes 
 of boys and girls of ill repute will be unnoticed ; no rosy 
 apples, toys, and ribbons will be placed for them. It is 
 amusing to watch the effect of pleasure and disappoint- 
 ment expressed on the respective faces of the little 
 ones. There appears to be only one bad boy in the 
 
254 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 household, who, utterly chapfallen, stares into the vacant 
 boot. Happily conceived, too, is the sympathising coun- 
 tenance of his fortunate sister, who clearly will not object 
 to dividing her good fortune with the scrapegrace of 
 the family. Waldmiiller is a perfect master of child life, 
 and his pictures are among the most refined and pleas- 
 ing domestic portraitures that we can call to mind. 
 Next in delicacy of feeling we should rank Ludwig 
 Neustatter's little picture of two orphan girls seated in 
 an antique room among old cabinets and family relics, 
 contemplating a portrait. Few pictures in the entire 
 collection possess more real refinement than this, and 
 its execution is in harmony with the beauty and chaste 
 spirit of its conception. 
 
 Portraits of people of rank are much sought after, 
 and therefore we may remark that the gallery is hon- 
 oured by the presence of a portrait by Edouard Ender 
 of the present Emperor of Austria in his coronation 
 robes. The face has little expression, and what little it 
 has is chiefly absorbed in the splendour, the crimson and 
 gold, of the imperial trappings. Much more agreeable 
 and expressive is the delicately soft and glowing portrait 
 of the Empress of Austria, by Fr. Schrotzberg. This is 
 a refined and pleasant countenance, to which the artist 
 has done justice. 
 
 In the Spanish gallery is a large composition which 
 has created a great sensation during the entire season, 
 and that partly by reason of the fearful nature of the 
 subject depicted, and partly because the painter had no 
 small amount of genius of a dramatic order, and a firm 
 pencil to boldly realise his conceptions of the truly 
 horrible. We need hardly say that we refer to Antonio 
 
Pictures in the International Exhibition. 255 
 
 Gisbert's picture representing ' The Execution of Padilla, 
 Bravo, and Maldonado.' Juan Bravo has already fallen 
 beneath, the axe. Padilla, who stands next in order, 
 steals a moment from the ghostly father who attends him 
 to pay a last tribute of respect to his dead friend. ' Lie 
 there, thou true gentleman ! ' he exclaims, and then 
 prepares for his own fate with fortitude. It may be 
 worth while to show to the world how nobly patriots can 
 die, but we much question the propriety or the taste of 
 some of the pictures of martyrdom in the Exhibition to 
 which we have had occasion to refer. ' Nero, after the 
 Burning of Rome,' by Piloty, and ' The Counts Egmont 
 and Horn/ by Gallait, are in their way sufficiently effec- 
 tive ; but their influence is as nothing when compared to 
 the thrilling effect produced by the scaffold scene of the 
 Spanish painter. Fuseli drew a just distinction between 
 terrors and horrors. The latter he recommends the 
 painter to avoid. Rembrandt — who, apart from his 
 mighty genius for light and shadow, truth of colour and 
 expression, is often revolting — is said, in a picture we 
 have never seen, and never wish to see, to have repre- 
 sented the Philistines gouging out Samson's eyes. 
 Martyrdoms, by Rubens, and, above all, by Spagnoletto, 
 exist, which are not fit to look upon. Plays have been 
 banished from the stage because people will not look 
 upon the image of man mutilated. But we might excuse 
 old horrors: our objection is against a fresh importation 
 of them. Apart from the propriety of the subject and 
 its treatment in matters of detail, few pictures possess, 
 we believe, more force than this one of Gisbert's ' Exe- 
 cution Scene.' The condemned, the priests, and execu- 
 tioners, stand out with life-like distinctness against the 
 
256 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 soft hazy sky and remote buildings ; and we observe also 
 that every portion of the composition is carefully, closely, 
 and correctly modelled. The forms and bearing of 
 Padilla and Maldonado are, moreover, manly and noble 
 to a high degree, and calculated to inspire moral courage 
 in a beholder who has none. This was, we believe, the 
 point chiefly aimed at by the painter. 
 
 Spain is essentially a tragical nation, and on that 
 account her painters must be permitted some licence. 
 The people who delight in bull-fights will bear more 
 %han a people who have legislated against all such san- 
 guinary pastimes. One of the most dismal pictures we 
 have ever beheld is the same painter's ' Death of Don 
 Carlos (son of Philip II.) ' This work, too, is marked by 
 strong expression. The dim lurid light shed by wax 
 tapers over the apartment serves to add to the intensity 
 of the woe manifested by those assembled round the 
 bed of the dying prince. Eduardo Cano, as a painter 
 of tragedy, will not bear comparison with Antonio 
 Gisbert, as we perceive by his large work now present 
 at the International Exhibition, representing 'The 
 Execution of D. Alvardo de Luna/ Victor Manzano, 
 in his smaller work, called ' Farewell for Ever ' — depict- 
 ing an interview between a cavalier and a nun at a con- 
 vent grating — is an instance of fine painting, and a proof 
 that Spain still possesses a painter who has a touch and 
 power of handling the pencil which calls to mind the 
 works of Spain's greatest master, Velasquez. Among 
 the minor subjects is a fine interior, 'A View of the 
 Transept, Cathedral of Toledo,' by Pablo Gonzalvo ; and 
 some fruit and flower pieces by Meusaque and Mirabent. 
 The chief of the pictures treat of gloomy themes, and 
 
Pictures in the International Exhibition. 257 
 
 are, therefore, gloomy; but even in subjects which might 
 have admitted of sunshine and cheerfulness the treat- 
 ment is the same: the same brown horror spreads itself 
 over all things, penetrates the cloister, and, like the wings 
 of the Angel of Death, overshadows mountain and 
 valley, covering the land as with a funeral pall. 
 
 It remains for us to notice a few pictures in the 
 schools of Switzerland and Russia. We remarked that 
 in the majority of instances in the German Gallery the 
 pictures had been contributed by the artists themselves, 
 leaving it open to the supposition that the pictures so 
 contributed were unsold works, and, therefore, in all 
 probability not favourable examples of the several authors, 
 Such might be the fact, but the evidence is not conclu- 
 sive. It is possible that in every instance in which the 
 painter is named as the contributor, a non-professional 
 owner has been kept in the background. Such, however, is 
 not the case with the Russian collection. There nearly 
 every example is lent by one or other distinguished 
 personage in the Russian empire, thus leaving no doubt 
 but that the ablest painters are represented in the Inter- 
 national Exhibition by their best productions. Such 
 being the fact, we take the liberty to observe that bad 
 are the best. It would have been more agreeable if con- 
 scientiously we could have said the reverse. We feel under 
 great obligations to people living in the far-off regions of 
 the earth for their putting themselves to the trouble of 
 sending contributions with the desire of increasing the 
 interest of our Exhibition, and we would not willingly 
 meet an act of courtesy in a spirit which might be mis- 
 taken for ingratitude. In most schools we trace a 
 gradual progress, a growth from crude, early efforts of 
 
 vol. 1. s 
 
258 Selections f rom Occasional Writings. 
 
 symbolical, historical, and religious, to the most perfect 
 and capable creations of the pencil. Not so in the 
 Russian collection. The periods of birth and progress 
 are wholly unmarked. There is neither beginning nor 
 end, but only a chaos of crudeness, of unsuccessful 
 attempts to design and colour. In lieu of pictures of a 
 national character, we have for the most part works 
 without purpose and without sentiment, blind efforts 
 illustrative of the fact that up to the present time no 
 artist has appeared in the great Empire of the North 
 capable of awakening an interest among the nations of 
 the earth, equal to sustain a conflict after fame with the 
 artists of more genial climes. Apart from these re- 
 marks upon the general features of the Russian pictures, 
 the visitor may find a few novelties in the North- West 
 Gallery, as in ' A Village Wedding Train/ by Nicholas 
 Swertchkof ; a very clever picture of ' Sheep Caught 
 in a Storm,' by John Aivazofsky; and also in the same 
 painter's ' Carters of New Russia.' For a curious ex- 
 ample of the manners and customs of native soldiers, 
 there is much to interest in the picture by Basil Tymm, 
 representing ' Heavy Artillery being moved over Mount 
 Toortchy-Dag, in Dagestan.' While for an instance of 
 an ambitious attempt to depict the violent passions, we 
 may point to the ' Wallenstein in Bohemia,' by Leonard 
 Straslimsky. A few of the portraits may also attract by 
 their novelty of costume ; in other respects they are far 
 from noteworthy. 
 
 There are some attractive pictures in the collection 
 from Switzerland. One called ' Die Sennerin am Hasli- 
 burg,' by Ernest Stiickelburg, is very pleasing. Two 
 life-size figures, a full-grown maiden leading her little 
 
Pictures in the International Exhibition. 259 
 
 sister by the hand down a sloping valley between over- 
 hanging trees and rocks ; two beautiful girls, sisters, in 
 the elegant and novel costume of the place, charming in 
 itself; and apart from this mere picturesqueness, we 
 plainly perceive that these children may be taken as 
 true representatives of the Alpine race. The picture 
 wears an air of truth, an individuality, a local colouring, 
 which is delightful to behold. We should never tire of 
 pictures of this kind. 
 
 The collection contains, as a matter of course, some 
 able transcripts of Alpine scenery. Among others, one 
 called ' Souvenirs of the Alps,' by Albert de Meuron : a 
 winter piece, in which the cattle and the peasants, stacks 
 of firewood, and pretty cottage in the foreground, have a 
 most pleasing effect, standing out in strong relief against 
 the snow-covered mountain beyond. Again, we have 
 grand pictures of the Alps by Charles Humbert. The 
 principal work depicts * Cattle on the Pastures in the 
 Bernese Alps.' This picture is remarkable for a strong 
 and peculiar effect of silvery light, which breaks through 
 the opening clouds, and descends in almost blending 
 splendour on a streamlet where cows and horses are as- 
 sembled ; beyond, the valley is clothed with pine trees half 
 obscured by vapours which the feeble sun has been unable 
 to disperse ; above, clothed in white, the sublime pyramid 
 of nature penetrates the clouds and pierces the skies. 
 
 Our opinion of some of the collections of pictures 
 which form the united collection of the International 
 Exhibition is, that they do not do justice to the nations 
 represented. In the case of England alone, time and 
 space and opportunity were afforded for a display at 
 once grand and imposing. France, next in importance 
 
260 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 and in opportunities, figures with effect. Belgium follows 
 in maintaining a noble position in the great display of 
 talent and genius; nor must we forget Denmark and 
 Sweden, than whose pictures of home life none will 
 linger longer in the memory. If the nations are not 
 better represented, or so well as they might have been, 
 the reason is not difficult to discover. The dangers 
 attending the packing and transit of works of art are 
 much greater than is generally supposed ; and we cannot 
 altogether call that feeling one of selfishness which 
 compels the collector to hug his pictures to himself, as 
 though their presence and their safety were necessary to 
 his very existence. A man may buy a picture because 
 he loves it, and not always as a mere speculation, but in 
 either case it is his constant care to protect it from harm. 
 Unsightly blanks have been made in many a home of 
 refinement and public gallery in order to fill the monster 
 saloons at Kensington, and if all the masterpieces in 
 Europe have not been sent, we must not forget to return 
 thanks for those which have come to hand ; we must not 
 forget those who were not unmindful of what was due in 
 courtesy to ourselves, what was due to the artists who 
 created their art treasure, and to the countries to whom 
 those artists and their works are the pride. Wandering 
 down those spacious galleries, how little do we take to 
 heart or trouble ourselves in any way about that vast 
 multitude of skilled workers who have striven often, even 
 unto death, to impress upon canvas or in stone their own 
 visions of beauty, and who, children of nature as they are, 
 wait longing for the recognition and sympathy of their 
 fellow-men, even as the parched earth longs for the 
 gentle rain. It would be to the shame of that London 
 
Pictures in the International Exhibition. 261 
 
 journal of which it could truly be urged that it had not 
 done its share in the great labour of securing publicity 
 to the works of talent and genius of which our Great 
 Exhibition is composed. And here something might be 
 said for the critic. We know full well that all attempts 
 by any one journal to do full justice to an undertaking 
 so vast must have failed ; but we trust, and not without 
 reason, that the united efforts of many pens have abun- 
 dantly feasted Fame's * millions of open mouths,' and that 
 worth hitherto neglected has in many instances, through 
 the aid of the press, received its deserts; and that 
 established names have become more honoured by be- 
 coming better known. 
 
 For years past it has been observed that the public 
 take hardly any interest in Sculpture. The picture-rooms 
 at the Royal Academy are always crowded, the place 
 where the sculpture is put always empty, and this we 
 think almost a sufficient reason for asserting that the 
 people prefer pictures to statues, paint to marble. Nor 
 is this indifference to art in stone merely owing to the 
 absence of colour: rather might we not trace the unpop- 
 ularity to the utter absence of invention or novelty of 
 any kind as the cause which for years has made the 
 Sculpture Gallery a failure? Had the Royal Academy 
 trusted to its sculptors for attractions, it is quite clear 
 that that institution would not at this time have invested 
 in good securities the large sum of 122,600/. We might 
 lay down the dictum without much fear of opposition, 
 that a sculptor should be a man addicted to the con- 
 templation of the human form in all its varieties and 
 manifold modes of expressing thought by look and 
 gesture. A sculptor walks not the street in hot haste to 
 
262 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 keep appointments with clients, to do strokes of business 
 on 'Change. On the contrary, he lingers about lanes and 
 alleys, possibly more among the lower classes of mankind 
 than the rich, to make observations, to jot down any- 
 thing striking and novel or picturesque which may look 
 well in stone. The poor charwoman returning from 
 labour at nightfall to the noisome court, snatches her 
 neglected infant to her breast and gazes into its face, and 
 eyes it with eagerness, and possibly if she be young, not 
 without some gracefulness in her bearing, and certainly 
 much energy of action. She has a thousand ways of 
 expressing her love, and all of them proper for the artist to 
 study, model, and carve, with very slight alterations in 
 the make-up. Some men, however, are not content with 
 things as they find them ; and while they go to Nature 
 for ideas, they rush to the antique for inspiration, and 
 the result is, that instead of the woman hugging baby in 
 the court, we have a Venus of faultless shape and mien 
 caressing Cupid. The same action, the same energy, the 
 same fond expression of the eyes ; only the rags, the 
 squalor, the vulgarity have given way to smooth, well- 
 turned polished limbs, and handsome face and braided 
 hair. We have no objection to the artist who is content 
 with what he finds, or to him who transforms the real 
 into the ideal: we only ask of both that the Nature 
 whom we all know and love shall be their guide — that 
 they shall not in all their works invent impossible things. 
 We will not take an imitation of green baize for a smil- 
 ing meadow, at the hands of a landscape painter, and we 
 will not receive equally absurd substitutes for the human 
 form from the sculptor. The Greek sculptors, who 
 devoted their chisels to the gods, designed all their forms 
 
Pictures in the International Exhibition. 263 
 
 from human models, and for the matter of the ideal they 
 had far less reason to draw upon the imagination than 
 the moderns, for we may infer from the remarks of some 
 ancient authors that the handsomest men among the 
 Greeks were superior in grace and dignity to the finest 
 statues ; and we well know how exact in proportion and 
 how full of character and expression those ancient statues 
 referred to must have been, for we still possess some of 
 the finest examples. It is admitted that in all matters 
 of detail, of fact, the antique in its wildest flights is 
 strictly natural and never offends probability. But the 
 sculptor has much to learn before he can hope to render 
 in marble that which he sees, and, above all, that which 
 he conceives and feels. The old man's gait differs from 
 the boy's, and the mature woman moves in a manner 
 quite unlike to the damsel in her teens. Moreover, 
 proportions vary with age and development. Yet ail 
 those variations and differences have been noticed and 
 recorded by the great masters of old for the benefit of 
 the student of to-day. There is nothing to be done 
 without nature, and yet we feel that the bulk of our 
 statues, namely, those which make up the annual Exhi- 
 bitions, and those which are put up in our streets, are 
 produced without any particular reference to nature, and 
 the consequence is that they excite neither surprise nor 
 emotion ; and this is quite right : seeing that they appear 
 4 neither to act nor think ' themselves, it would be strange 
 if they created much excitement in their beholders. 
 Nobody will charge us with a too great partiality for our 
 painters. We are too jealous of the national honour to 
 rest satisfied with the works of living painters. We 
 know that in an annual exhibition in Trafalgar Square 
 
264 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 few pictures manifest signs of real genius — that there is 
 ever a paucity of works which denote the possession of 
 strong inventive faculties in the painters ; yet we do find 
 a novelty on canvas and paper much more frequently 
 than in marble or bronze. We fear that our artists as a 
 body really take things too easy ; that they do not study ; 
 that, like the poet Thomson, they will not be charged 
 with having a motive for what they do ; and that conse- 
 quently they cannot lay claim to earnestness and to 
 the exercise of influence over their fellow-men. If they 
 master not the knowledge of the sentiments and passions, 
 and apply that knowledge to their respective arts, they 
 can hardly hope to work upon the affections and the 
 intelligence of the crowd. Those artists, more especially 
 sculptors, who would serve mankind, must make man 
 their study and delight at all times: for this they must 
 live, and, if necessary, for this they must die. The most 
 successful delineators of passion and sentiment have 
 laboured hard and long. Leonardo da Vinci, one of the 
 greatest of the great old masters, never lost an oppor- 
 tunity of seizing upon a strong expression or forcible 
 action ; and in all places among the high and the low, 
 he ever had his eyes open and his pencil pointed. No 
 wonder, therefore, if his works delighted and astonished 
 by their beauty, novelty, and force, or, as the case might 
 be, struck terror to the heart of the gazer; for on occasion 
 he would even attend public executions, and ever after, 
 fixed upon the tablet of his brain, lingered those lines of 
 agony and intolerable anguish which played in lines of 
 white and black upon the faces of the condemned. 
 There are Shakespeares in painting and sculpture ; but 
 the misfortune is that they are very scarce. 
 
 As to whether marble should be tinted or painted, or 
 
Pictures in the International Exhibition. 265 
 
 retain its natural whiteness, we care not to speak. The 
 main object is that the artist should have a good purpose 
 in view — that when he takes mallet and chisel or pencil 
 in hand he should use them with effect We want not 
 conventional draperies — forms without life, faces without 
 meaning. We want subjects which we may all feel it 
 worth our while to contemplate, and we want these so 
 treated that once beheld they shall not easily be oblite- 
 rated from the memory. We need glorious creations of 
 genius, which appeal with equal power alike to the heart 
 and to the head. Forms which are bad no painting will 
 improve, and forms which are noble require no outward 
 tinting; yet to forms which are beautiful or sublime 
 we would begrudge no cost of precious materials. The 
 genius of the artist might be equally apparent in humble 
 potter's earth, but it is better respected when displayed 
 in materials ornate and rare, for things costly have their 
 weight alike in the eyes of the learned and the unlearned, 
 the rich and the poor. But we repeat that the main 
 object with the sculptor should be to have a good and 
 wise purpose in view — a purpose calculated to awaken 
 all his sympathies, to arouse all his energies. View it in 
 whatever sense we may, the creation of a piece of sculp- 
 ture is a grave responsibility to those who have the means 
 of patronage. One's heart aches when one reflects on 
 the ordinary kind of commissions which fall to the lot of 
 our sculptors, as exhibited in the conventional busts 
 which crowd the shelves at the annual show in Trafalgar 
 Square, and in the military memorials which disfigure 
 our streets. 
 
 The creation of a piece of sculpture is a grave 
 responsibility also to the sculptor, because of the great 
 expense necessarily involved in its creation. Wages 
 
266 Selections from Occasional Writings. 
 
 of indispensable assistants, purchase of marble, and 
 lastly the lengthened period necessarily consumed in 
 the perfection of a serious work, are considerations suffi- 
 cient to deter the ablest men from undertakings, which, 
 failing of ultimate success, in a pecuniary sense, would 
 necessarily involve the worker in liabilities, bankruptcy, 
 and despair. He appeals to the public for support, and 
 is thought fortunate if he is permitted to build up an 
 effigy of the last successful general, to add one more to 
 the already too numerous repetitions of martial shapes 
 so familiarly known and chiefly distinguished by the 
 regulation cloak, ponderous sword, or cocked hat and 
 baton, as the case may be. Even allowing that a 
 nation's honour and glory are confided only to the keep- 
 ing of soldiers, and that no others saving military 
 servants have any claim to public distinctions, are there 
 no incidents associated with the battle-field which 
 deserve recognition, and honourable recognition, at the 
 hands of the State? Noble qualities are often displayed 
 amidst the calamities of war which might claim that 
 distinction which genius can give. Deeds are performed 
 in hours of strife and horror which deserve to be engraven 
 by the most delicate of chisels on the whitest of mar- 
 bles ; deeds often performed by lowly heroes to whom 
 sculptural honours are never paid — virtues like those 
 of your Florence Nightingales, for whom monuments in 
 marble and bronze are never contemplated. 
 
A STORY OF A FLOWER 
 
A STORY OF A FLOWER. 
 
 It is impossible to describe the delight which I took 
 in my first flower ; yet it was only a poor, peeky little 
 sprouting crocus. 
 
 Before I begin the story, I must in two lines make 
 known my needy state at the time when I became the 
 owner of the flower. I was in my eleventh year, meanly 
 clothed, plainly fed, and penniless : an errand-boy, in 
 receipt of one shilling and sixpence a week, which sum 
 I consumed in bread and shoe-leather. Yet I was 
 happy enough, living in a snug cottage in the suburbs of 
 Oxford, within sight of its towers, and within hearing of 
 its bells. In the back yard of my home were many 
 wonders. The gable end of a barn was mantled with 
 ivy centuries old, and sparrows made their home in its 
 leafage ; an ancient wall, old as the Norman tower at 
 the other end of the town, was rich in gilly-flowers ; a 
 wooden shed with red tiles was covered by a thriving 
 ' tea-tree ' — so we called it — which in summer was all 
 blossom, pendent, mauve-coloured blossoms. This tree 
 managed to interlace its branches among the tiles so 
 effectively as in the end to lift off the whole roof in a 
 mass, and poise it in the air. Bees came in swarms to 
 sip honey at the blossoms. I noted civilised hive bees 
 and large ones whose waxen cells were hidden in mossy 
 banks in the woods ; these had crimson and saffron 
 
A Story of a Flower. 
 
 tinted bodies, or, for variety, hairy shapes of sombre 
 green and black. I was never weary of my wall- 
 flowers, and trees, and butterflies. But, so it is — I hap- 
 pened one day to get a glimpse of a college garden about 
 the end of February or the beginning of March, when 
 its mound of venerable elms was lit up with star-like 
 yellow flowers. The dark earth was robed as with a 
 bright garment of imperial oriental splendour. It was 
 the star-shaped aconite, as I believe, but I am not sure 
 whose existence in flower is brief but glorious when 
 beheld as I beheld it in masses. Henceforth, if Old 
 Fidget, the gardener, was not at the back gate of St. 
 
 J , I peeped through the keyhole at my yellow 
 
 garden bed, which seemed flooded with sunlight, only 
 broken by patches of rich black earth, which formed 
 strange patterns, such as we see on Japanese screens of 
 lacquer and bronze, only that the flowers had a glory of 
 their own. Well, I looked through the keyhole every 
 time I passed, and that was four times daily, and always 
 with increased interest, for my flowering aconite. But, 
 oh ! trouble upon trouble, one day I found the keyhole 
 stopped, and there was an end of my daily joy and of 
 the interest which had awakened in me in a new way for 
 the wonders of nature. My love of flowers, however, 
 increased, and I found means to feed my love. 
 
 I had often observed Old Fidget, the head gardener, 
 and his mates bring out wheelbarrow-loads of refuse 
 from the shrubbery and flower-beds, and throw them in 
 a heap along the garden wall without, where a long deep 
 trench had become the well-known receptacle for rubbish. 
 Such places were common in town suburbs in those 
 days. The rubbish consisted of cuttings of shrubs and 
 
A Story of a Flower. 
 
 271 
 
 plants and rakings of flower-borders, but more bounti- 
 fully of elm leaves and the cast-off clothing of chestnut- 
 trees, which soon lay rotting in flaky masses, until I 
 happened to espy a fragment of a bulb, and then the 
 rubbish of the garden, which concealed sprouting chest- 
 nuts, knew no rest. I went one holiday and dug deep, 
 with no other implement than my hands, into this 
 matted mass. I laboured till at length, in a mass of 
 closely pressed leaves, I came upon a perfect crocus. It 
 lay like a dead elfin infant in its forest grave. I was 
 enchanted and afraid to touch it, as one would fear to 
 commit a piece of sacrilege. It lay in its green robes, 
 which seemed spun from dainty silken threads, unsoiled 
 by mortal hands. Its blossom of pale flesh-tint lay 
 concealed within a creamy opalescent film, which 
 seemed to revive and live when light penetrated the 
 darksome tomb, contrasting with the emerald robes and 
 silken, pliant roots. At length I lifted the flower from 
 its bed, and carried it to my garden-plot with breathless 
 care. My garden-plot, not much larger than a baking- 
 dish, was enclosed by broken tiles — a scrubby place, 
 unsuited to my newly discovered treasure. I broke up 
 the earth and pulverised it with my fingers ; but its 
 coarseness was incurable. I abandoned it as I thought 
 of some mole-hills in a neighbouring copse, and soon my 
 plot was filled deeply with soft, sandy soil, fit for my 
 flower. And then came the necessity of protecting it 
 from the searching March winds, which I did effectually 
 by covering it with a flower- pot, and the season wore on, 
 and soft mild days set in apace, and my flower, which 
 was ever uppermost in my thoughts, whether sleeping or 
 waking, began to show signs of life as day by day I 
 
272 
 
 A Story of a Flower. 
 
 permitted the sun to look at it, until at length, one 
 sunny, silent Sunday morning, it opened its golden, 
 glowing sacramental cup, gleaming like light from 
 heaven, dropped in a dark place, living light and fire. 
 So it seemed to my poor vision, and I called the house- 
 hold and the neighbours from their cares to share my 
 rapture. But alas ! my dream was ended ; the flower 
 had no fascination for those who came at my call. It 
 was but a yellow crocus to them ; some laughed, some 
 tittered, some jeered me, and old Dick Willis, poor man, 
 who got a crust by selling soft water by the pail, he 
 only rubbed his dim eyes, and exclaimed in pity, ' God 
 bless the poor boy ! ' 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 LONDON : PRINTED BY 
 SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE 
 AND PARLIAMENT STREET 
 
A LIST OF 
 
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THE 
 
 NINETEENTH CENTURY. 
 
 A Monthly Review. 
 Edited by JAMES KNOWLES. 
 
 Price 2S. 6d. 
 
 Vols. I. & II. price 14?. each, Vol. III. iys,, contain Contributions 
 
 BY THE FOLLOWING WRITERS : — 
 
 Rabbi Hermann Adler. 
 The Duke of Argyll. 
 Arthur Arnold. 
 Matthew Arnold. 
 
 Rev. Dr. George Percy Badger, D.C.L. 
 Rev. Canon Barry. 
 Dr. H. Charlton Bastian. 
 Sir T. Bazley, M.P. 
 Mr. Edgar Bowring. 
 Mr. Thomas Brassey, M.P. 
 Rev. J. Baldwin Brown. 
 Professor George Von Bunsen. 
 Dr. W. B. Carpenter. 
 Professor Clifford. 
 Professor Colvin. 
 Rev. R. W. Dale. 
 Mr. Edward Dicey. 
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 The Imperial Library Edition. 
 
 Complete in 7 vols, demy 8vo. price 
 
 \os. 6d. each; in Roxburgh binding, 
 
 12s. 6d. (See p. 32.) 
 Author's Edition. In Six Volumes. 
 
 Post 8vo. cloth gilt ; or half-morocco. 
 
 Roxburgh style. (See p. 32.) 
 Cabinet Edition. 12 Volumes. Each 
 
 with Frontispiece. Fcp. 8vo. price 
 
 is. 6d. each. (See p. 32. ) 
 Cabinet Edition. 12 vols. Complete 
 
 in handsome Ornamental Case. (See 
 
 P> 32). 
 
 Pocket Volume Edition. 13 vols. 
 
 in neat case, price 36s. 
 
 Ditto, ditto. Extra cloth gilt, in case, 
 
 price 42J. (See p. 32. ) 
 The Guinea Edition of the 
 
 Poetical and Dramatic Works, 
 
 complete in 12 vols, neatly bound and 
 • enclosed in box. Cloth, price 21^. ; 
 
 French morocco, price 31s. 6d. 
 
 TENA r YSON (Alfred)— coni. 
 
 Shilling Edition of the Poetical 
 Works. In 12 vols, pocket size, 
 ij-. each, sewed. 
 
 The Crown Edition. Complete in 
 I vol. strongly bound in cloth, price 
 6s. ; cloth, extra gilt leaves, price 
 Js. 6d. ; Roxburgh, half-morocco, 
 price Js. 6d. 
 *** Can also be had in a variety of other 
 bindings. 
 
 Original Editions : — 
 
 Poems. Small 8vo. price 6s. 
 
 Maud, and other Poems. Small 8vo. 
 price y. 6d. 
 
 The Princess. Small 8vo. price 3J.6V. 
 
 Idylls of the King. Small 8vo. 
 price $s. 
 
 Idylls of the King. Complete. 
 Small 8vo. price 6s. 
 
 The Holy Grail, and other Poems. 
 Small 8vo. price 4s. 6d. 
 
 Gareth and Lvnette. Small 8vo. 
 price 3s. 
 
 Enoch Arden, &c. Small 8vo. price 
 3s. 6d. 
 
 In Memoriam. Small Svo. price 4s. 
 
 Harold ; a Drama. New Edition. 
 Crown 8vo price 6s. 
 
 Queen Mary : a Drama. New Edi- 
 tion. Crown 8vo. price 6s. 
 
 Selections from the above Works. 
 Super royal i6mo. price 3s. 6d. ; cloth 
 gilt extra, price 4J. 
 
 Songs from the above Works. 
 i6mo. cloth, price 2s. 6d.\ cloth extra, 
 3s. 6d. 
 
 Tennyson's Idylls of the King, and 
 other Poems. Illustrated by Julia 
 Margaret Cameron. 2 vols, folio, 
 half-bound morocco, cloth sides, price 
 £6. 6s. each. 
 
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 The Tennyson Birthday Book. Edited 
 by Emily Shakespear. 32mo. cloth 
 limp, 2s. ; cloth extra, 3^. 
 
28 
 
 A List of 
 
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 29 
 
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30 
 
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CONTENTS OF THE VARIOUS VOLUMES 
 
 IN THE COLLECTED EDITIONS OF 
 
 MR. TENNYSON'S WORKS. 
 
 THE IMPERIAL LIBRARY EDITION, 
 
 COMPLETE IN SEVEN OCTAVO VOLUMES. 
 Cloth, price xos. 6d. per vol. ; 12s. 6d. Roxburgh binding. 
 Contents. 
 
 Vol. I.— MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 II.— MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 III.— PRINCESS, AND OTHER 
 POEMS. 
 
 Vol. IV.— IN MEMORI AM and MAUD. 
 V.— IDYLLS OF THE KING. 
 VI.— IDYLLS OF THE KING. 
 VII.— DRAMAS. 
 
 Printed in large, clear, old-faced type, with a Steel Engraved Portrait of the Author, the set complete, 
 cloth, price ,£3. 13s. 6d. ; or Roxburghe half-morocco, price ^4. ys. 6d. 
 *** The handsomest Edition published. 
 
 THE AUTHOR'S EDITION, 
 
 IN SIX VOLUMES. Bound in cloth, 3 8j. 6d. 
 Contents. 
 
 Vol. 
 
 I.— EARLY POEMS and ENGLISH 
 
 IDYLLS. 6s. 
 II.— LOCKSLEY HALL, LUCRE- 
 TIUS, and other Poems. 6s. 
 III.— THE IDYLLS OF THE KING, 
 complete. 7s. 6d. 
 
 Vol. IV.-THE PRINCESS and MAUD. 6s. 
 V.— ENOCH ARDEN and IN 
 MEMORIAM. 6s. 
 
 VI.-QUEEN MARY and HAROLD 
 
 This Edition can also be had bound in half-morocco, Roxburgh, price is. 6d. per vol. extra. 
 
 THE CABINET EDITION, 
 
 COMPLETE IN TWELVE VOLUMES. Price 2s. 6d. each. 
 
 Contents. 
 
 Vol. 
 
 I.— EARLY POEMS. Illustrated with 
 a Photographic Portrait of Mr. 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
 II.— ENGLISH IDYLLS, and other 
 POEMS. Containing an Engraving 
 of Mr. Tennyson's Residence at 
 Aldworth. 
 
 III.— LOCKSLEY HALL, and other 
 POEMS. With an Engraved 
 Picture of Farringford. 
 
 IV.-LUCRETIUS, and other POEMS. 
 
 Containing an Engraving of a Scene 
 in the Garden at Swainston. 
 
 V.-IDYLLS OF THE KING. With 
 an Autotype of the Bust of Mr. 
 Tennyson by T. Woolner, R.A. 
 
 VII.- 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Vol. VI.— IDYLLS OF THE KING. Illus- 
 trated with an Engraved Portrait of 
 ' Elaine,' from a Photographic Study 
 by Julia M. Cameron. 
 -IDYLLS OF THE KING. Con- 
 taining an Engraving of ' Arthur,' 
 from a Photographic Study by Julia 
 M. Cameron. 
 -THE PRINCESS. With an En- 
 graved Frontispiece. 
 -MAUD and ENOCH ARDEN. 
 With a Picture of 'Maud,' taken 
 from a Photographic Study by Julia 
 M. Cameron. 
 -IN MEMORIAM. With a Steel 
 Engraving of Arthur H. Hallam, 
 engraved from a picture in possession 
 of the Author, by J. C. Armytage. 
 XI.— QUEEN MARY: a Drama. With 
 Frontispiece by Walter Crane. 
 XII.— HAROLD : a Drama. With Frontis- 
 piece by Walter Crane. 
 
 IX. 
 
 X.- 
 
 These Volumes may be had separately, or the Edition complete, in a handsome ornamental 
 case, price 325-. 
 
 THE MINIATURE EDITION, 
 
 Vol. I.— POEMS. 
 II.— POEMS. 
 Ill -POEMS. 
 
 IV.— IDYLLS OF THE KING. 
 V.— IDYLLS OF THE KING. 
 VI.-IDYLLS OF THE KING. 
 
 Vol. XIII 
 
 IN THIRTEEN VOLUMES. 
 Contents. 
 
 Vol.VII.-IDYLLS OF THE KING. 
 VIII.— IN MEMORIAM. 
 IX.— PRINCESS. 
 
 X. — MAUD. 
 
 XI. — ENOCH ARDEN. 
 XII.-QUEEN MARY. 
 
 HAROLD. 
 
 Bound in imitation vellum, ornamented in gilt and gilt edges, in case, price 42^. 
 This Edition can also be had in plain binding and case, price 36*. 
 
GETTY CENTER LIBRARY 
 ol!llnn^0 7j