Art in England

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Of course he was cruelly mortified, deeply incensed; of course he swore
in his wrath that he would wreak a terrible vengeance upon his enemies.
But what could he do? He could privately abuse the academicians
corporately and severally wherever he went; and publicly he would paint
them down. He would demonstrate their imbecility and his own greatness
by his works. He took to large historical paintings--'Bolingbroke's
Entry into London' and 'The Quarrel between Queen Elizabeth and the Earl
of Essex.' Unfortunately the merits of these achievements were not
sufficient to carry dismay into the hearts of his oppressors. And what
was even worse, no purchaser came for these ambitious works. He was
driven to portrait painting again. He was dexterous in delineating
character, was rapid in execution, had a respectable appreciation of
colour. His first exhibited portrait was one of his mother; she lived to
see him, in a great measure, successful, and died when he was twenty-two
years old. A deep affection seems to have subsisted between the mother
and the son. He was greatly moved at her death, and always mentioned her
name with tenderness. He had soon no lack of sitters. He was recognised
as being, in a certain style of portraiture, second to Lawrence only.
And he next achieved a considerable success in a higher order of art.
His 'Arthur and Hubert' was highly applauded by the public. It was
painted for Mr. Leader, at the price of one hundred guineas. The patron,
however, was less pleased with the vigour and glow of colour of the
work than were the critics, and was not sorry to exchange the picture
for portraits of his children. This was sufficiently galling to the
painter's pride, but he was not rich enough to resent such conduct. He
could not afford to close all dealing with his patron, as he would
greatly have preferred to do.

The next picture--and the one by which of all his works he is the most
popularly known--was that combination of historical art and portraiture
known as the 'Trial of Queen Katherine.' The work was commissioned by
Mr. Welsh the professor of music. It was commenced during the progress
of the artist's portrait of Fuseli, who, examining the first drawing of
the picture, said:--'I do not disapprove of the general arrangement of
your work, and I see you will give it a powerful effect of light and
shade. But you have here a composition of more than twenty figures, or,
I should rather say, parts of figures, because you have not shown one
leg or foot, which makes it very defective. If you do not know how to
draw feet and legs, I will show you.' And with a crayon he made drawings
on the wainscot of the room.

However inclined Harlow may have been to neglect counsel, given in
rather an imperious tone, he did not hesitate to profit by Fuseli's
comments, and accordingly he re-arranged the grouping in the foreground
of his picture. On a subsequent visit Fuseli remarked the change: 'So
far you have done well,' he said, 'but now you have not introduced a
back-figure to throw the eye of the spectator into the picture.' And he
then proceeded to point out by what means this might be managed.
Accordingly, we learn, Harlow introduced the two boys who are taking up
the cushion; the one with his back turned is altogether due to Fuseli,
and is, no doubt, the best drawn figure in the whole picture.

Fuseli was afterwards desirous that the drawing of the arms of the
principal object--Queen Katherine--should be amended, but this it seems
was not accomplished. 'After having witnessed many ineffectual attempts
of the painter to accomplish this, I remarked, "It is a pity that you
never attended the antique academy."' It was only Fuseli who would have
presumed to address such an observation to Harlow; while it was only
from Fuseli that it would have been received with even the commonest
patience.

The Kemble family are represented in this picture; and it is probable
that the painter was more anxious for the correctness of their
portraits, and an accurate representation of the scene, as it was
enacted at Covent Garden Theatre, than for any of the higher
characteristics of historical art. Mrs. Siddons is the _Katherine_; John
Kemble is _Wolsey_; Charles Kemble, _Cromwell_; while Stephen Kemble,
who was reputed to be fat enough to appear as _Falstaff_, 'without
stuffing,' here represents the _King_. These are all admirable
portraits of a strikingly handsome family, firmly and grandly painted,
and full of expression. Perhaps the best of all is Mrs. Siddons', and
the next Charles Kemble's. The whole picture is a highly commendable
work of art, and enjoyed during many years an extraordinary popularity.

It was with John Kemble, however, that the artist had his greatest
difficulty, and it was here that Sir Thomas Lawrence rendered assistance
to Harlow. Kemble steadily refused to sit, and great was the distress of
the painter. At last Sir Thomas advised his pupil to go to the front row
of the pit of the theatre (there were no stalls in those days, it should
be remembered), four or five times successively, and sketch the great
actor's countenance, and thus make out such a likeness as he could
introduce into the painting. This expedient was adopted, and not only
was a very good likeness secured, but the artist was successful in
obtaining the expression of the _Cardinal_ at the exact point of his
surprise and anger at the defiance of the _Queen_. Had Mr. Kemble sat
for his portrait, Harlow would probably have experienced the difficulty
Northcote complained of:--

'When Kemble sat to me for _Richard III_., meeting the children, he lent
me no assistance whatever in the expression I wished to give, but
remained quite immoveable, as if he were sitting for an ordinary
portrait. As Boaden said, this was his way. He never put himself to any
exertion except in his professional character. If any one wanted to know
his idea of a part, or of a particular passage, his reply always was,
"You must come and see me do it."'

Harlow had much of that talent for painting eyes which was so lauded in
the case of his master Lawrence. A critic has described the eyes in
certain of Lawrence's portraits as 'starting from their spheres.' The
opinion is rather more extravagant than complimentary, or true. There is
a winning sparkle about them which may occasionally be carried to
excess, but, as a rule, they are singularly life-like.

Sir Joshua had laid it down as a fixed principle that, to create the
beautiful, the eyes ought always to be in mezzotint. To this rule Sir
Thomas did not adhere very rigorously, and indeed, by a departure from
it, frequently arrived at the effect he contemplated.

Ambitious at one time of exhibiting his learning, Harlow thought proper
to express surprise at a scholar like Fuseli permitting the engravers to
place translations under his classical subjects.

'Educated at Westminster school,' he said, rather affectedly, 'I should
prefer to see the quotations given in the original language;' and he was
rash enough to instance the print from the death of OEdipus, as a case
in point. The unfortunate part of this was, that, on the plate in
question, the passage was really engraved in Greek characters under the
mezzotint. Fuseli heard of this criticism: 'I will soon bring his
knowledge to the test,' he said.

On the next occasion of his sitting to Harlow he wrote with chalk in
large letters, on the wainscot, a passage from Sophocles: 'Read that,'
he said to Harlow. It soon became evident that Mr. Harlow was quite
unable to do this. Fuseli thought the occasion a worthy one for
administering a rebuke. 'That is the Greek quotation inscribed under the
OEdipus, which you believed to be absent from the plate, and a word of
which you are unable to read. You are a good portrait-painter; in some
ways you stand unrivalled. Don't then pretend to be what you are not,
and, probably, from your avocations, never can be,--a scholar.'

Mr. Fuseli was inclined to be censorious, but possibly his severity was,
in a great measure, deserved in the case of poor, vain, pretentious
Harlow.

In June 1818, in his thirty-first year, Harlow set out for Italy, bent
on study and self-improvement. An interesting and characteristic account
of his life in Rome is contained in his letter dated the 23d November,
addressed to Mr. Tomkisson, the pianoforte-maker of Dean Street, Soho,
who was in several ways connected with artists, and interested in art.

'The major part of my labours are now at an end, having since my arrival
made an entire copy of the Transfiguration; the next was a composition
of my own, of fifteen figures which created no small sensation here.
Canova requested to have the picture at his house for a few days, which
was accordingly sent, and, on the 10th November, upwards of five hundred
persons saw it; it was then removed to the academy of St. Luke's, and
publicly exhibited. They unanimously elected me an Academician, and I
have received the diploma. There are many things which have made this
election very honourable to me, of which you shall hear in England. You
must understand that there are two degrees in our academy--one of merit,
the other of honour; mine is of merit, being one of the body of the
academy. The same night of my election the King of Naples received his
honorary degree (being then in Rome on a visit to the Pope) in common
with all the other sovereigns of Europe, and I am happy to find the Duke
of Wellington is one also. West, Fuseli, Lawrence, Flaxman, and myself,
are the _only_ British artists belonging to St. Luke's as academicians.
This institution is upwards of three hundred years standing. Raffaelle,
the Caracci, Poussin, Guido, Titian, and every great master that we
esteem, were members. I had the high gratification to see my name
enrolled in the list of these illustrious characters. Now, my dear
friend, as this fortunate affair has taken place, I should wish it added
to the print of Katherine's Trial: you will perhaps have the kindness to
call on Mr. Cribb, the publisher, in Tavistock Street, Covent Garden,
and have it worded thus: _Member of the Academy of St. Luke's at
Rome_.' (This, of course, was by way of reproach to the Royal Academy of
Great Britain.) 'I mention this as it is a grand plate, and indeed ought
to be added. I expect to be in England by Christmas-Day or near it. I
shall have an immensity to talk over. I was much pleased with Naples;
stayed ten days; went over to Portici; Herculaneum and Pompeii, and
ascended Mount Vesuvius: this was a spectacle--the most awful and grand
that I had ever witnessed--the fire bursting every two minutes, and the
noise with it like thunder: red-hot ashes came tumbling down continually
where I stood sketching, many of which I brought away, and different
pieces of the old lava which I hope to show you. The eruption took place
a week or two after I left. But Pompeii exhibits now the most
extraordinary remains of antiquity in the world; a whole city laid open
to view; the habitations are unroofed, but, in other respects, are quite
perfect. The house of Sallust, the Roman historian, was particularly
gratifying to me, unaltered in every respect, except the furniture
(which I believe is now in Portici), the same as it was eighteen hundred
and fifty years ago when inhabited by him. There are many shops; in one
the amphorae which held the wine are curious, and marks of the cups they
used upon the slabs are distinctly seen: a milkshop with the sign of a
goat is perfectly preserved with the vessels, and also several other
shops in the same perfect state. Rome has been a scene of the utmost
gaiety lately, during the stay of the King of Naples. I was at three
splendid balls given at the different palaces. We were obliged to appear
in court-dresses, and the cardinals added very much to the richness and
grandeur of the party. The ladies looked peculiarly striking, but they
did not wear hoops as in the English court. We had French and English
dances, etc., and the fireworks surpassed all my expectations. Upon the
whole, the entertainments were very novel and very delightful. I am to
be presented to the Pope either on the 2d or 3d of next month. Cardinal
Gonsalvi will let me know when the day is fixed, and I leave Rome
directly after; perhaps the next day--a day that I most sincerely
dread--for I have become so attached to the place and the people that I
expect a great struggle with myself. I should be the most ungrateful of
human beings if I did not acknowledge the endless favours they have
bestowed on me. It is the place of all others for an artist, as he is
sure to be highly appreciated if he has any talent; and I shall speak of
the country to the end of my days with the most fervent admiration. The
Transfiguration, I think, will make a stare in England!'

It was of this same copy of the Transfiguration that Canova had spoken
so applaudingly: 'This, sir, seems rather the work of eighteen weeks
than of eighteen days.'

He gave a picture of 'The Presentation of the Cardinal's Hat to Wolsey
in Westminster Abbey' to the Academy of St. Luke's at Rome, and his own
portrait to the Academy of Florence, in acknowledgment of having been
elected a member. He embarked for England in January 1819. Lord
Burghersh, the English ambassador at Florence, had paid him marked
attentions. Lord Liverpool gave instructions that the painter's packages
should be passed at the Custom House. He established himself in a house,
No. 83 Dean Street, Soho. Everything seemed to promise to him a happy
and prosperous future, when suddenly he sickened with the disease, known
popularly as the mumps. He died on the 4th February 1819, and was buried
under the altar of St. James's Church, Piccadilly. In the churchyard had
been buried, a year or two previously, an artist of less merit,--James
Gillray, the caricaturist.

It is not possible to lay great stress upon the early failings of
Harlow; errors, after all, rather of manners than of morals. Had he
lived, it is likely that a successful career would have almost effaced
the recollection of these, while it would certainly have contradicted
them as evidences of character. As Lawrence said of his dead pupil,
generously yet truthfully, 'he was the most promising of all our
painters.' There was the material for a great artist in Harlow. He died
too young for his fame, and for his art. A proof engraving of one of his
best works (a portrait of Northcote) was brought to Lawrence to touch
upon:--

'Harlow had faults,' he said, 'but we must not remember the faults of
one who so greatly improved himself in his art. It shall never be said
that the finest work from so great a man went into the world without
such assistance as I can give.'

TURNER AND RUSKIN.

The difficulty the vulgar have experienced in comprehending that kings
and queens, and generally persons high in authority, are simply men and
women after all--their ordinary appearance, dress, manners, and habits
not greatly different from those of the rest of mankind--has been a
frequent subject of remark and ridicule. Years back, at the American
theatres, spectators in the pit were often gravely asking each other,
whether the sovereign of England was really accustomed to appear in the
London streets, wearing a similar wonderful costume to that in which Mr.
Lucius Junius Booth was then strutting and ranting as Richard the Third;
the fact of the Drury Lane copies of the dresses worn at the coronation
of George IV. having been taken to the other side of the Atlantic, and
_The Coronation_ performed at most of the chief cities, supplying,
perhaps, an apology for the reasoning which prompted the inquiry. But
the popular notion, that a monarch habitually walks about carrying on
his head a jewelled crown of enormous value and weight, finds a
reflection in higher stages of culture and intelligence. An analogous
delusion is traceable amongst people occupying very reputable rounds
upon the social ladder. A state of confusion between a man and his
office, or his works, is by no means confined to those whom it is the
fashion to designate as 'the masses.' Are we not continually meeting
ladies and gentlemen, of otherwise commendable intellectual endowments,
bent upon bewildering themselves with the notion, that the sentimental
novelist is necessarily a creature of sentiment--that the comic actor,
out of his part and off his stage, is still laughable and amusing--that
the writer of poetry, as a consequence, lives poetry, and the career of
the painter is inevitably picturesque?

How mistaken is this kind of opinion we have hardly need to point out.
How prosaic may be a poet's life our readers will probably not care to
question. And if any doubt haloed the artist with an unreal interest and
charm, the biography of the late Mr. Turner[23] will pretty well
disperse anything of the kind. A statement of the plain facts of the
matter clears away all mirage of fancy and romance, and,--as in cruelly
restored pictures, the beautiful glazing well scoured off,--we come then
to the mere raw paint, and coarse canvas, unattractiveness, even
ugliness.

[23] In 1861 was published _The Life of J.M.W. Turner, R.A._, founded on
letters and papers furnished by his friends and Fellow Academicians; by
Walter Thornbury. In a more recent work, _Haunted London_ (1865), Mr.
Thornbury has himself passed judgment upon his _Life of Turner_,
pronouncing it to be 'a careless book, but still containing much
curious, authentic, and original anecdote.'

In truth, the sunshine pictures of Turner were evolved from a life as
dingy and uncomely as could well be. It is difficult to conceive any
correspondence, any _rapport_ between workmanship so exquisite, and a
workman in every way so unattractive, so little estimable. But just as
from the small dusky insect in the hedges at night proceeds a
phosphorescent flame of great power and beauty--just as from a
miserable-looking, coarse, common flint are emitted sparks of superb
brilliance,--so from the hands of this strange, sordid, shambling man
came art-achievements almost without precedent in the history of
painting.

Joseph Mallord William Turner was born on the 23d April (St. George's
day) 1775, in a house (recently pulled down and reconstructed) opposite
what used to be called the Cider Cellars in Maiden Lane, Covent Garden.
Through a narrow arched passage, closed by an iron gate, was formerly
obtained, by a narrow door on the left-hand side, access to the small
but respectable shop of William Turner, barber, the father of the
painter. The trade could hardly have been an unprosperous one in those
days of perukes and powder and pomatumed edifices of hair, and when,
moreover, 'the Garden' was a not unfashionable locality. The new-born
was baptized on the 14th May following, in the parish church of St.
Paul's, where also, it may be said, his father had been married (by
license) to Mary Marshall, also of the same parish, on the 29th August
1773. The registers recording these important events are still extant.

The barber's position was plebeian, though there are no indications of
its having been one of poverty. He came originally from Devonshire.
Inquiry as to the descent of the artist's mother is balked by the widely
differing stories that present themselves. From one account we learn
that she was a native of Islington; from another that she came of a good
Nottinghamshire family living at Shelford Manor-house, while yet we
learn in another direction that her brother was a butcher at Brentford.
We are involved in doubt at last as to whether, after all, her name was
not _Mallord_ rather than Marshall, and hence the second Christian name
of her son, which else there seems no way of accounting for. All this is
obscure enough. Certainly, in the latter part of her life, the poor
woman was insane and in confinement. Turner was uncommunicative upon
most subjects; but in regard to his mother and her family he preserved a
reticence of unusual severity.

Mr. Ruskin has amused himself with a fanciful contrast between the
boyhood of Giorgione at Venice, and of Turner in Covent Garden. There is
no reason to believe that any disadvantage accrued to Turner from his
somewhat uncheerful birthplace. It is hardly the Venetians who are the
most alive to the beauties of Venice. But Mr. Ruskin is fond of mounting
a richly-caparisoned charger of the imagination, and caracoling round a
crotchety circus; and his feats in this respect are so elegantly and
admirably fantastic, that we almost forbear to smile, out of deference
to so perfect a non-perception of humour, when we find him tracing the
painter back to _Covent Garden Market_ in all his paintings. Mr. Ruskin
detects in the corners of Turner's foregrounds 'always a succulent
cluster or two of green-grocery!' The artist's _Hesperides_ gleam with
Covent Garden oranges; in his _Shipwrecks_ chests of them are flung upon
the waters; and in his _St. Gothard_ a litter of stones reflects Covent
Garden wreck after the market! What wonder Mr. Turner was tempted to
exclaim now and then about his arch-critic--'He knows a great deal more
about my pictures than I do. He puts things into my head, and points out
meanings in them that I never intended.'

A silver salver, engraved with heraldic devices, seen at the house of
Mr. Tomkisson, the famous piano-forte-maker, is said to have first
inspired the boy Turner with a love for art. He commenced to imitate the
drawing of a certain rampant lion that especially took his fancy. Very
soon after this the father announced that his son William was going to
be a painter. The reader will note that the early ambitions of the boy
were at once humoured. There would seem to have been no attempt usual
with poor parents anxious for the commercial success of a child, to
thrust the boy into a trade or employment which, though distasteful,
would have been profitable to him. Old Mr. Turner probably knew little
enough of art, and could have had but a poor opinion, in a pecuniary
sense, of the profession to which his son was desirous of attaching
himself. But no obstacles were thrown in his path; he was soon placed
with Mr. Thomas Malton, a perspective draughtsman, who kept a school in
Longacre, and was the son of the author of a practical book on _Geometry
and Perspective_. Certainly his poverty and low birth in no way hindered
the painter; had he been born to rank and wealth, he could only have had
his will: and he had it without these.

The little education he ever received was obtained at a school at
Brentford; but he could never write or spell correctly. It is probable
that his passion for art absorbed his every thought. Not that he
succeeded with his perspective studies, however, for Mr. Malton brought
the boy back to his father as a pupil quite beyond all hope. Yet the
real talent of the young painter was already developing itself. Some of
his drawings exhibited in the Maiden Lane shop found purchasers among
his father's customers. An engraver employed him to colour prints. Two
or three architects engaged him to fill in skies and backgrounds to
their plans. Soon he had entered the office of Mr. Hardwick, the
architect, who regularly employed him.

It is curious to learn that, later in life, Turner, pointing admiringly
to a green mezzotinto of a Vandevelde--a large vessel bearing up against
the waves--would exclaim, '_That_ made me a painter!' Yet he stood
before the work of one of those 'Van-somethings and Back-somethings,'
who, Mr. Ruskin tells us, have 'more especially and malignantly libelled
the sea.' 'I feel utterly hopeless in addressing the admirers of these
men, because I do not know what it is in their works which is supposed
to be like nature.' It seems that Turner was more catholic in his tastes
than his panegyrist.

In 1789, following the advice of Mr. Hardwick, Turner became a student
of the Royal Academy. In the same year Reynolds ceased to paint, owing
to the failure of his sight. That Turner, who had been admitted to the
President's studio to copy portraits, was present when the great painter
laid aside his brush with the solemn words, 'I know all things on earth
must come to an end, and now I am come to mine,' is one of those
suppositions in which biographers are prone to indulge, but which few
readers will be found to credit. In these days Turner's drawing was in
advance of his colour: an order of things which was afterwards reversed.

In 1790 he first exhibited at Somerset House: the picture being 'Lambeth
Palace.' From that time, down to 1850 inclusive, hardly a season being
missed, Turner's name appears in the catalogues of the Academy. In all,
two hundred and fifty-seven pictures by Turner were hung on the walls
of the Academy exhibitions, while nearly twenty more were to be seen at
the British Institution. He relinquished all idea of becoming a
portrait-painter about the time of the death of Reynolds. His own
portrait in the National Gallery was painted when he was seventeen. It
is executed with skill, although without any charm of colour. It
represents a young man of large heavy features, but of a not
unattractive appearance altogether.

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