Complete Works of Wilkie Collins (2106 page)

In noticing “The Cherry-Seller,” it should have been mentioned that the original study of the figures of “Old Odell” and his donkey, as introduced in that picture, was purchased by Sir Robert Peel, and afterwards repeated for Mr. Marshall. The work belonging to the first-named of these gentlemen was one among the pictures exhibited at the British Institution after the painter’s death. It may also be observed that, in addition to the works above enumerated, my father produced this year two small sea-pieces, not exhibited.

On the birth of his first son, at the beginning of this year, the painter requested Sir David Wilkie to become one of the sponsors for his child. The great artist’s first criticism on his future godson is worth recording, from its originality. Sir David, whose studies of human nature extended to everything but
infant
human nature, had evidently been refreshing his faculties for the occasion, by taxing his boyish recollections of puppies and kittens; for, after looking intently into the child’s eyes, as it was held up for his inspection, he exclaimed to the father, with serious astonishment and satisfaction, “He
sees!”

A gratifying occurrence of my father’s professional life was this year presented by the receipt of a commission from His Majesty, George the Fourth, fo another picture by his hand. The subject chosen for the King was a Hastings Coast Scene; and the wish to give the picture the most immediate and particular study, was one of the main reasons that induced the painter soon afterwards to fix his summer residence at Hastings. The work itself will be noticed at the period of its completion, the year 1825.

On his return from Hastings, Mr. Collins wrote thus to his wife, during a second visit to his friends at Turvey Abbey:

“To MRS. WILLIAM COLLINS.

“Turvey Abbey, Aug. 27th, 1824.

“Your letter gave me the greatest pleasure, and I write as you desire, in order that you may receive my communication to-morrow. You will be surprised (I am disposed to believe agreeably so) to hear that I purpose returning to London from this place; and that I have given up the idea of visiting Leamington. You will think me a whimsical fellow, but you know odd people do odd things. * * * My friends are very desirous to prolong my stay here beyond the original engagement, but I think I shall carry my point and reach New Cavendish-street on Monday next. * * * You desired me to be idle during my stay at Turvey. I can assure you I have been so, and heartily tired I am of the
employment.
You know, as well as myself, that it is much more difficult to be idle than busy; and that accounts, I suppose, for your having set me the task. * * * I shall bring some Turvey lace with me; and I have an apple for my mother, gathered from a tree planted by Cowper in the garden of the house he lived in here. * * *

“Yours affectionately,

“WILLIAM COLLINS.”

In the autumn of this year my father again visited the late Mr. Wells, at Redleaf. On the attractions of his sojourn there, in a house filled with fine pictures, standing in lovely grounds, and surrounded by picturesque scenery, the painter thus expresses himself in a letter to his wife:

“The place and the figures and my most excellent host are all, everything I could wish. I cannot be in better hands than in Mr. Wells’s, whose readiness to get me subjects, and whose kindness in every way, has much impressed me in his favour. To the poor he is a most invaluable friend.”

It was during one of these visits to Mr. Wells that Mr. Collins wrote the subjoined epigram, which, as the production of a painter, may perhaps claim insertion among the curiosities of Art. One of his host’s gamekeepers, named Martin, was confined to his bed in the shooting season by an accident. The disappointment of the man at his untimely confinement was extreme; and Mr. Wells, with his usual good- nature, proposed to the painter to pay him a visit of condolence. On being interrogated as to the state of his spirits and health, Martin replied that he got through his nights pretty well, as he had then “a knack at sleeping:” but complained that his “ days were wretchedly black.” When Mr. Wells and Mr. Collins returned from their expedition, the latter thus versified Martin’s answer in his own words:

“Says Martin, — ’My life seems so drear,
My days appear
wretchedly black,
It is not the nights that I fear,
As
at sleeping I then have a knack.’
Oh, Martin, how silly is all that you say!
Of science how much you must lack!
Is it strange that an union of
Martin
and
Day
Should a mixture produce that is
black?”

Next in difficulty, perhaps, to making a proper selection of pictures for the Academy Exhibition, is the task of managing a good choice of the guests who are invited to the private annual dinner to patrons of Art and remarkable men which precedes it. In both cases, as numbers are necessarily limited, there is danger that a good picture, or an important guest, may in the confusion of the moment be inadvertently excluded: for, in arranging the invitations for the dinner, after the royal dukes, the cabinet ministers, men of high rank or fame, patrons of great celebrity, and others obviously eligible have been invited, there still remains a large list to canvas, whose claims, though not perhaps equally conspicuous, are yet often equally just. Of some of these difficulties, and of the methods of meeting them, an idea may be gathered from the following letter from Mr. Collins to Sir William Elford, — an amateur artist and patron himself, and an early friend of the painter’s:

“To SIR WILLIAM ELFORD, BART.

“London, 1824.

“Dear Sir, — I shall feel great pleasure in receiving your picture for the Exhibition as usual. With respect to the other subject, I perfectly recollect that at the time you had the misfortune to break your arm, the Council, concluding you could not attend the dinner of that season, and finding, as they always do, the greatest difficulty in accommodating all those who have claims upon the attention of the Royal Academy, took that opportunity of passing over your name for that year; the Council not having the power to make any second issue of tickets, to fill the places of those who, being already invited, may send excuses.

“As I was not upon the Council last year, and as ballotting for invitations is a part of their business with which the body at large never interferes, I can only suppose that, as new patrons increase the difficulties become greater, and some must be left out for a time. Chantrey has not been on the Council for three or four years, and consequently has no more power than any other member out of office.

“As I had with regret missed you at the dinner of last year, I had, before I received your letter, resolved to see Sir Thomas Lawrence upon the subject; and, as I hope to meet him on Wednesday, I shall not fail to do as I had purposed. As the invitations will not be issued for at least six weeks, I shall be able to write to you again.

“Yours obediently and faithfully,

“WILLIAM COLLINS.”

A curious instance of misapprehension of the motives that guide the Royal Academy in issuing the invitations to their dinner occurred some years since. A certain Lord Mayor, who, as Lord Mayor only, had been one of the guests, found himself, of course, on the recurrence of the next year’s dinner, unincluded in the list of invitations. Accordingly he wrote an angry letter of remonstrance to the Royal Academy, desiring to know the reason of his exclusion. For some time everybody was puzzled to discover who Alderman — - was, and how he could

possibly have attended the last year’s dinner. At length, one of the Council suggested that their quondam guest might be the deposed Lord Mayor. His hypothesis was discovered to be correct, and the Secretary was charged with the disagreeable duty of informing the reclaimant that he had only been asked as first representative of the City of London, and that now that he had relapsed into plain
Alderman,
the invitation had necessarily been forwarded to his successor in the civic throne.

Besides the commission from His Majesty, my father was engaged to paint two more sea-pieces this year — one for the Duke of Bedford, and one for Sir Robert Peel. A visit in November to Lord Liverpool, at Walmer Castle, enabled him to continue those studies for his next year’s efforts, which he had already begun in the summer, at Hastings.

CHAPTER IV.

1824-1827.

Pictures of 1825 — Practice in etching — Death of Owen, the portrait-painter — Letter from Mr. Collins to Lord Liverpool, on the establishment of the National Gallery — Summer residence and studies at Hendon — Parties at Coleridge’s — Edward Irving, &c. — Liberal commission from Sir Robert Peel — Completion of His Majesty’s picture — Description of the work, and reference to the Painter’s interview with the King — Sir Jeffery Wyattville — Letters from and to Wilkie — Pictures of 1826 — Removal of residence to Hampstead — Researches with friends amid the scenery of his new abode — Extract from Diary, and from letter to a friend — Anecdote connected with the progress of Sir Robert Peel’s new picture — Letter to Mrs. William Collins.

THE Exhibition of 1825 contained a landscape and two sea-pieces by my father: they were, “Kitley, Devon,” (painted for Mr. Bastard, M.P.,) — a quiet, green, park-like view, treated with a pastoral serenity and repose; “Fishermen getting out their Nets,” (Sir R. Peel’s picture,) — a work of great originality and simplicity of incident, cool in tone, and pearly and delicate in colour; and “Buying Fish on the Beach,” — the largest of the three, painted for the Duke of Bedford. This picture is remarkable for the boldness and success with which a transient atmospheric effect is produced on the canvas: it is a hazy morning, but the sun is breaking through the mist with a delicate, aerial, golden light, which gives the tone to the rest of the scene. Every touch of colour is laid on with reference to every variety of light and shade that can proceed from the influence of the soft morning sky. The fishing-boats on the foreground, the figures bargaining on the beach, the smooth sea in the middle distance, are relatively shadowed by the mist, or brightened by the warm, gentle light, with consummate skill. It is a work that betrays immediately, that from its origin Nature has presided, at every point, over its treatment by Art.

In this year, animated by the example of the great painters who had gone before him, — of Rembrandt and Hogarth especially, — Mr. Collins turned his attention to that all-powerful engine of pictorial fame — the graver. The branch of engraving he selected was “etching:” a process which, consisting of a combination of bold and delicate lines, traced on copper or steel, — at once superficial yet suggestive, free yet correct, — is the most flexible medium in the painter’s hands for conveying and multiplying a graceful and striking summary of his own ideas. Of Mr. Collins’s diligence and success in this new Art, the public had a testimony in the publication, many years afterwards, towards the latter part of his life, of a series of etchings executed by him from his pictures, which obtained the critical approbation of the press, and which would have been continued but for the obstacles presented by the long and severe illness which at length terminated in his death.

It was at this period, also, that he suffered the loss of an early and attached friend — one to whose taste and kindness he had been equally indebted in early life — Mr. Owen, R. A., the celebrated portrait-painter, who died under peculiarly distressing circumstances. In the plenitude of fame and patronage, when fortune and success opened simultaneously before him, this graceful and accomplished artist had been seized with an affection of the spine, which obliged him to resign the practice of his profession entirely. After a period of protracted suffering and compelled indolence, his medical attendants at length gave him hopes of a progress towards recovery. On the evening before his death, he took, as usual, a draught of composing drops — observing, however, at the time, that its taste was different from that of his usual mixture. About midnight, the servant entered his room, and was alarmed at hearing that his master was breathing with unusual heaviness and difficulty. Assistance was immediately sent for, but it was too late — a fatal mistake had been committed in labelling the mixture he was accustomed to take, and the unfortunate man had drunk, unconsciously, a whole bottle full of
laudanum.

Under the Earl of Liverpool’s administration, the foundation of the National Gallery was begun in this year, by the purchase of Mr. Angerstein’s pictures, to form the nucleus of a collection. Such an opportunity of endeavouring, as far as lay in his own power, to procure the honourable advancement of his profession, and a liberal attention to the just claims of modern Art, was not to be lost by one so devoted to every interest and exigence of his pursuit as the subject of this Biography. Accordingly, he addressed to the Earl of Liverpool a private letter, which, written at the time of the establishment of an institution whose arrangements have since been the subject of so much angry discussion, and advocating by the strongest arguments the employment of practical artists in all the offices of a National Gallery, must be perused with curiosity and interest at least, if not with conviction and applause. In subjoining Mr. Collins’s letter, it is worthy of remark, that a principal part of his claims for his profession, therein advanced, has been ultimately recognised by Government in the successive appointment of two Royal Academicians (Mr. Eastlake, R.A., and, on his resignation, Mr. Uwins, R.A.,) to a chief position in the responsible superintendence of The National Gallery.