Complete Works of Wilkie Collins (2102 page)

Further extracts from my father’s notes on the subject of his friend, will be found to assist interestingly in the delineation of Wilkie’s character. They are to the following effect:

“His friends relate of him, that he could draw before he could write. He recollected this himself, and spoke to me of an old woman, who had in her cottage near his father’s manse a clean-scoured wooden stool, on which she used to allow him to draw with a coarse carpenter’s pencil, and then scrub it out to be ready for another day. Showing so decided a fondness for drawing, he was sent to Edinburgh to study at a drawing academy there, and great was his despondency at what appeared to him the wonderful dexterity among the students. From the specimens that he sent home to his friends, their fears were so great that he would not succeed as an artist, that they seriously proposed making him a writer to the signet. However, it was finally determined that he should try his fortune in London. Some years afterwards, the change of life, anxious study, and confinement, produced a long and severe illness, about the period when he painted ‘The Village Festival.’ He went, during this illness, to Sir George Beaumont’s; who, to the time of his death, continued to show the most strong interest and attachment to him. Sir George and Lady Beaumont used, by turns, to read to him. Upon one occasion, during the reading of Fielding’s ‘Amelia,’ the wickedness of one of the characters so affected him, that he begged no more might be read. Sir George used to say that he often watched him while he was painting, when so intense was his labour that he did not appear to breathe.”

“The theme on which he most delighted to talk with his friends, was painting. One day, at his house, we had been some time conversing on this fruitful subject — the mysteries of the Art — before the uninitiated, when his excellent mother thought she ought to apologize to a certain Captain present; which she did in these terms:- ‘You must e’en excuse them, puir bodies — they canna help it!’ The delicacy with which he always abstained from boasting of the notice shown him by the nobility, was very remarkable. He was especially careful never to mention any engagement he might have to dine with great people — but, if his engagement was with an humble friend, the name was always ready; unless, indeed, he had reason to think you were not of the party. The way in which he spoke of the works of contemporaries, without compromising that sincerity which was part and parcel of the man, was truly Christian; and the extreme pains he took in giving his most invaluable advice, showed an entire absence of rivalry. He never had any secrets — his own practice was told at once. His fears, when his pictures were well placed at the Exhibition, that others not so well off might feel uncomfortable, gave him real and unaffected pain. His own low estimate of his works was, to a student in human nature, marvellous. The very small sums he required for his pictures are an evidence of his innate modesty. Four hundred guineas for ‘Reading the Will,’ which occupied seven months of the year in which it was produced, and was afterwards sold for twelve hundred, in a country where that sum will go as far as double that amount in England, is a proof. Many others might be mentioned — as ‘The Rent Day,’ painted for two hundred guineas: sold for seven hundred and fifty — ’Card-Players,’ a hundred guineas: sold for six hundred. It must be recollected that these sales took place during the lifetime of the painter — a most unusual circumstance. When Lord Mulgrave’s pictures were sold at Christie’s, Wilkie waited in the neighbourhood, whilst I attended the sale. It was quite refreshing to see his joy when I returned with a list of the prices. The sketches produced more than five hundred per cent the pictures three hundred. I recollect one — a small, early picture, called ‘Sunday Morning’ — I asked Wilkie what he thought of its fetching, as it did, a hundred and ten pounds, and whether Lord Mulgrave had not got it cheap enough? — ’Why, he gave me fifteen pounds for it!’ — When I expressed my surprise that he should have given so small a sum, for so clever a work; Wilkie, defending him, said: ‘Ah, but consider, as I was not known at that time,
it was a great risk!’“

“In going over the pictures at Kensington with George the Fourth, he was much struck with the great knowledge His Majesty displayed, and the usefulness of his remarks to a painter. He was always most anxious to get the opinions of men of the world upon his pictures. I recollect his taking rather a cumbrous sketch in oil, for the picture of John Knox, (now Sir Robert Peel’s) all the way to Edinburgh, for Sir Walter Scott’s opinion. I was present when he showed it to him: Sir Walter was much struck with it, as a work of vast and rare power. Those who are exclusive admirers of his early style, ought not to forget this picture, and Lord Lansdowne’s ‘Monks at Confession’ — ’Columbus,’ painted for Mr. Holford — Mr. Rice’s picture of ‘Benvenuto Cellini’ — Mr. Marshall’s ‘Pope and Buonaparte’ — ’The Peep o’day Boy’s Cabin,’ at Mr. Vernon’s, and many others, upon which his claims to the character of an historical painter may well be founded. I should scruple not to maintain, that such pictures as the ‘Distraining for Rent,’ at Redleaf, with all the pathos of a Raphael; and such exquisite touches of the deepest sentiment, as are to be found in the woman squeezing her way to look at the list of the dead and wounded, in the Waterloo picture, belonging to the Duke of Wellington, are standing evidences of his fitness for the highest departments of Art; although the figures are not dressed in the toga so lavishly bestowed upon the wooden perpetrations of many a Carlo Maratti and a Vanderwerf.”

Such, briefly examined, were some of the peculiarities, moral and social, in the character of Mr. Collius’s remarkable companion, during his Scotch tour: peculiarities, which, though apparently trivial in themselves, are yet, it is hoped, not useless to aid in the elucidation of his general disposition, and to conduct to some of the more secret sources of his genius. With Sir David Wilkie then, and another accomplished brother painter — the late Mr. Geddes, A.R.A. — Mr. Collins now set forth for Edinburgh. The journey, as may be imagined, was all hilarity — Wilkie’s notice of it, in a letter to his sister is characteristic:

“We got through our journey famously, and were less fatigued than we expected. The only subject of regret was, that Geddes’s snuff-box was done, by the time we got to Berwick. I was not asked to join, but the box passed between Geddes and Collins, and from Collins to Geddes, incessantly. You will readily imagine I did not feel much for their misfortune.”

In this one particular, Wilkie remained excluded from the sympathies of his travelling-companions during all his after-intercourse with them. The tobacco-plant never put forth its kindly leaf for him. It was never his, to woo the balmy influence of companionable snuff, or to rejoice with the world-wide brotherhood of the contemplative and peace-compelling pipe!

With the advantages of reputation and excellent letters of introduction, the painters soon became involved in all the choicest dissipations of the Northern Metropolis, at that mirthful period when court gaiety and conviviality outmanoeuvred Scotch prudence, and half divested even an Edinburgh “sabbath” of its hereditary grimness and pious desolation. Wilkie forgot his discretion in a “new sky-blue coat,” and caroused innocently with the rest, when the mirthful dinner closed, in gastronomic triumph, the bustling day. At one of these parties, at Sir Walter Scott’s, Wilkie and Collins beheld the appearance of the author of Waverley in a new character. When the table was cleared after dinner, Sir Walter, in the exuberance of his loyalty and hospitality, volunteered to sing his own song — ”Carle now the King’s come.” The whole company gave the chorus, and their host, regardless alike of his lameness and his dignity, sprang up, and, calling upon everybody to join hands, made his guests dance with him round the table to the measure of the tune. The effect of this latter exercise, indulged in by a set of performers, all more or less illustrious in the world’s eye — and all, with few exceptions, of intensely anti-saltatory habits — would defy the pen of a Rabelais or the pencil of a Hogarth. It was enough, considering the nature and locality of the ceremony, to have brought back to earth the apparition of John Knox himself!

Among other favours conferred by George the Fourth upon his Scotch subjects, was the knighting of Captain Adam Ferguson and Henry Raeburn, the portrait-painter. A dinner-party was given, at the house of Chief Commissioner Adam, to celebrate the event. The company soon crowded about the new knights, to hear their description of the ceremony they had just passed through. Sir Adam Ferguson’s narrative was quite Shandean in its quaint originality and innocent Uncle-Toby-like sarcasm. “Oh!” cried the new recipient of the baptism of chivalry, “His Majesty just gave me a smart slap o’ the shouther with the back of his sword, and said, ‘Rise, Sir Adam Ferguson.’ The shouther was a wee bit bruised, but I just rubbed it wi’ a little ‘yellow basilicon,’ and its aw’ weel eneugh now!”

Turning from dignities and dinner-parties — preachings before the King and processions to the Castle, bonfires in the streets and balls in the houses to professional and biographical matters, it may not be uninteresting to mention, that Mr. Collins cherished the same intention as Sir David Wilkie — of painting a picture commemorative of the King’s visit to Edinburgh; but, unlike the latter, did not carry his purpose into execution. The point of time he had fixed on was the moment of the Royal landing at Leith. But although he was enabled, by the intervention of his friends in authority, to obtain an excellent view of this and all the other ceremonies and proceedings that he desired to witness, and although he carried his investigations so far as to accompany the King’s yacht on its homeward way down the Forth, (on which occasion, according to his friend’s account, he narrowly escaped being taken all the way to London by mistake,) the contemplated picture never proceeded beyond the first sketches. Nor was this to be wondered at, in the instance of Mr. Collins. After the first excitement of the Royal visit had worn off, there was little really attractive, to a mind whose accustomed employment was the study of simple Nature, in the conventional pomps of a Royal progress, or the gorgeous vanities of a Civic welcome.

Some reference to the gaieties of Edinburgh will be found in the following letters from the painter to his mother:

“To MRS. COLLINS.

“Edinburgh, August 17th, 1822.

“My dear Mother, — As you have, I trust, received from Miss Wilkie an account of our safe arrival, I have now to give you some idea of our employment since that time.

“For some days we were uncertain when the King would arrive; and, on the day when we had great reason to expect him, the weather was so rough that it was apprehended he would land at Dunbar, and perform the rest of the journey by land. On Wednesday he was in sight, and anchored in my presence, opposite Leith, about a mile and a half from the shore, but resolved not to go on shore till the following day. The sight, of course, I took care to attend, and, as I had the advantage of a boat with six men under my command, as well as a pass-ticket from the Bailies of Leith — giving me the privilege of going into any seat on shore — the conveniences were considerable.

“I am at present quite uncertain with respect to the time of my return to London, but I think it is possible I may go to Stirling, and one or two of the Lakes; and, as I may move either in that direction or towards home, about the end of next week, I am very anxious to have a letter. I conclude you have received some communication from Mr. Lambton.

“* * * The letters we took with us have introduced us to some very agreeable society. With Sir Walter Scott we dined a few days, since, at his house here, and a most delightful evening we had. I am writing this just after dinner — we (that is, Joseph, his excellent wife, and your dutiful son,) most sincerely, and with the best wishes for your happiness, drink your health.

“I am most comfortably accommodated in Joseph’s house, and want nothing but a letter from home; write, therefore, by return of post. The illuminations last night presented an appearance altogether unique. The effect from the Castle, looking down upon the old and new town, was magnificent: the Castle itself was lighted with crates on its walls, filled with burning coal. It is now so near post-time that I can only say, heaven bless you, and Frank, and all enemies and friends.

“Your affectionate Son,

“WILLIAM COLLINS.”

To THE SAME.

“Edinburgh, August 28th, 1822.

“My dear Mother, I should have written before this, could I have given you any correct views of my intended movements. As far as I am at present able to see on the subject, I may be from home some two or three weeks longer. Wilkie and your ungracious son leave this place on Saturday next for Blair Adam, a seat of the Lord Chief Commissioner’s; where we stay a few days, and then proceed to Stirling, Callander, some of the Lakes, and possibly Glasgow; and, whether we afterwards return to London by Liverpool, or return to this place, — and, should that be done, how long we stay here, — is a matter upon which I cannot, in this letter, give you any further information. Of one thing I am pretty certain — that, unless we find better weather, we shall not make many sketches.