Complete Works of Wilkie Collins (2113 page)

“Spain herself is deficient in picturesque beauty. From Bayonne to Seville there is but little to interest — too much of the extended waste and sandy plain. The Sierra Morena, famous for the penance of Don Quixote, is however a true haunt for the imagination: it resembles much the
Trosachs,
which we both saw once, and I twice, under such unfavourable circumstances. They have been celebrated alike, as the retreat of beauty and chivalry, by the genius of Cervantes and of Scott; whose imitators in the Italian opera and the English melodrama, have familiarised their rugged eminences to us, upon the stage.

“I return highly satisfied with my journey. The seven months and ten days passed in Spain, I may reckon as the best employed to me of my professional life — the only part of my residence abroad for which I may be fairly envied by my professional brethren. To be all eye, all ear, and all recollection, has been my object; yet after all I could note down, or bring away, much must still be trusted to the memory. Spain is the wild, unpoached, game-preserve of Europe, in which I have had some months’ pursuit and sport, all to myself. In returning among you all again, I must guard myself against attributing to the merit of the teller, that interest which belongs exclusively to the story to be told.

“I hope to be with you before the close of the Exhibition. I know already how it looks. You have got some beautiful things in it — Sir Thomas has got all the ladies of fashion, and Turner is as violent as ever. I have some doubt if Danby will do often — quantity and multitude are not legitimate. I shall have to refresh my memory, however, in the extraordinary styles of the English school, and to know what disposition of Crome, Lake, and Ultra-marine colour is the
go
for the next season among the Exhibitors.

“I am happy to hear good accounts of your thriving family. Give my best regards to Mrs. Collins; and for the young ones and yourself, accept my best wishes.

“I am, my dear Sir,

“Yours most faithfully,

“
(The homeward bound)
DAVID WILKIE.”

At the Royal Academy Exhibition of 1828, Mr. Collins’s pictures were four in number, and were thus entitled:- “Scene in Freshwater Bay” (painted for the Duke of Norfolk;) “Scene at Folkestone,” (painted for Lord Charles Townshend;) “Doubtful Weather,” (painted for Mr. T. C. Higgins;) and “Taking out a Thorn,” (painted for Mr. J. Delafield.) “Freshwater Bay” was a small, light, delicate picture: the lustrous blue sea — the clear sunshine — the tranquil day-light sky, being all imbued with the same softness and purity. Near the foreground, a little girl, with a beautiful child by her side, sits with her arms clasping her knees, looking upward; while some younger children, paddling about the wet sands, diversify agreeably this principal group. The picture reflected from all its parts the same tender tranquillity, and was finely opposed by the Scene at Folkestone, whose broad, flat beach, far distant sea, brilliant sky, and animated group of fishermen and boys, gave it the different characteristics of simple vastness in the landscape, and stirring activity in the figures. In “Doubtful Weather,” a boat lies close in the foreground; a boy in it, is occupied in preparing it for sea, while a fisherman stands near him, fronting the spectator, shading his eyes with his hand, and looking up steadfastly to a lowering cloud, immediately above him; through which a gleam of sunlight and blue sky is breaking quaintly. The atmosphere near the horizon is clear, while the ocean under it, in the background, tosses briskly beneath a fresh gale. The bold originality of the fisherman’s position, and the striking contrasts of the whole landscape behind and above him, made this one of the most remarkable and powerful pictures of its class that the painter had exhibited. “Taking out a Thorn,” was his only inland scene of the year. The locality of this picture is on Hampstead Heath; the point of view, the clump of fir-trees, near the inn called “The Spaniards,” looking across towards “North End.” On a bank sits an old furze-cutter, extracting a thorn from the finger of a chubby urchin, who rubs his eyes dolefully with the corner of his pinafore during the operation, which is compassionately and curiously observed by the unlucky patient’s companions. The rich, soft colouring; the simple rustic incident; the vigorous truth and nature of this picture, rendered it immediately and widely popular. Among other connoisseurs, by whom the possession of it was desired, was the King; who expressed a wish, if it was not already sold, to add it to the two sea-pieces by the painter, which he already possessed. But the picture had been a commission; and its owner, very naturally, prized it too highly to be able to prevail on himself, under any circumstances, to forego his prior right to his valuable possession.

In the June of this year, Wilkie returned. The topics that had been but slightly touched in his letters to his friend, were now fully discussed; and the recollections and observations that had, as yet, been only casually noticed, were now carefully reviewed and circumstantially described. Throughout all these conversations on his past experiences, the anxiety of Sir David to set Mr. Collins forth on the journey to Italy, to urge him to gain the advantages of studying the works of the Italian school, and to fire him with the ambition to seek for new pictorial triumphs in Italian landscape, was ever uppermost. It was an opinion of Wilkie’s, and — within certain restrictions — a true one, that variety of achievement is an essential ingredient in the success of all intellectual pursuits, and that the man, whether author or artist, who continues to turn the public channel of his labours in one direction, beyond a certain time, is risking the danger of the satiety of the public taste, or the degredation of indifference in the public attention. Believing sincerely in the various capabilities of his friend, Sir David was not easily wearied of disclosing to him all the temptations to attempt fresh successes presented by the land, from which Claude and Wilson had drawn their inspiration before him. But several reasons, connected with those family ties which were ever a moving principle in the painter’s actions, then induced Mr. Collins — and, until eight more years had elapsed, continued to induce him — to decline following the advice thus given to him, and to remain satisfied with the subjects which the landscapes of his own country presented to his eye. To a less extended and important journey than that recommended by Wilkie, he was not however averse; and, in resigning for the present all prospect of communication with Italian Art, his long-cherished desire to study the works of the Dutch school, on the soil that had produced and still retained them, recurred with double energy. In a postscript to his latest letter to his friend, the reader may have observed an expression of his wish to see them in Wilkie’s company. This plan, however, in consequence of Sir David’s long previous absence, and many home engagements, was temporarily impracticable; and, giving up the pleasing idea of securing him for a companion, Mr. Collins, accompanied by another friend, took advantage of his spare time in the autumn of this year to pay the visit to Holland and Belgium, which he had so long proposed.

To the lover of the picturesque and the student of human nature, travelling in the country which Mr. Collins was now exploring, was a far more unalloyed pleasure then, than it is now. At that time the good old canal boats, with their spotless decks, glorious dinners, and discreetly Flemish rate of travelling, pursued their dreamy course, still un-threatened by the advent of the unadventurous railway. Then, the Dutchman with his mighty pipe, and the Belgian with his creamy beer, solemnly smoked and tippled the whole journey through; and the smart London shop-boy, out for a week’s holiday on the Continent, was a jarring element unknown among the windings of the peaceful route. Then, when you took to land-carriage, you lumbered slowly, it is true, along the level roads; but, on the other hand, you passed
through
the quaint old towns on your journey, and not
outside
them — you stopped to change horses in the characteristic villages, instead of perching for one brief moment before the bars of a business-like “station.” Then, it may be, that you met few waiters who could speak English, and were tempted not by the national apparition of “London stout;” but you had every chance, at the
table d’hote,
of sitting next to an unsophisticated denizen of the soil; you could see the courteous customs of the table, but little outraged by the barbarous exercise of foreign freedom. Privileges such as these — now alas to be imagined only! — were by a traveller of Mr. Collins’s order, enjoyed with the highest zest. The horses, the wagons, the farming implements that he drew, seemed the very models from which Wouvermans had drawn before him; and the old houses, many of which are now pulled, or pulling, down, were then happily intact. Ostend, Bruges, Ghent, Brussels, and as far as Dinant inland — Antwerp, the Hague, and Rotterdam — were the principal points of his journey. All that he saw the pictures, unrivalled by any foreign collections of the Dutch school; the flat, fertile country; the picturesque original people, delighted him. He was absent about six weeks. With
his
anxiety to see and to sketch everything, wherever he went, to register his opinions in a regular journal, or to describe his sensations in a series of letters, was unfortunately impracticable. Both with his family and his friends, the principal impressions of his journey were reserved for his fireside. Among his hasty letters to his wife during his absence, two however have been found of some general interest. They are subjoined:

“To MRS. WILLIAM COLLINS.

“Bruges, August 24th, 1828.

“My dear Harriet, — I write, as I promised, to let you know that our voyage thus far — for we came from Ostend by water — has been quite favourable. The day on the sea was beautifully fine, and we reached Ostend about eleven at night. Before we could get beds (and
into
them) the clock had struck one. We were called again before four, to go on board the
trackschuyt,
a voyage of only three hours and a half; and to-morrow we hope to reach Ghent. After the bad nights I have had since Friday night, (I mean bad, because I was obliged to sleep in vile beds, and be called so unusually early,) I feel really worn out, and, having the prospect of a comfortable bed, and a great appetite for sleep, I propose retiring without loss of time.

“I find myself unable to tell you, respecting the features of this country, more than that they are charming. * * * We have been this morning to an English Protestant church, and happened afterwards to go into a Romish church, where we saw a figure, full-dressed, nearly as large as life, of the Virgin; which, after being bowed down to and worshipped, was carried in procession on men’s shoulders through the church, accompanied by torches, bells, smoke, and other symbols of man’s weakness. The expression of devotion on the parts of the congregation was deep, and worthy of better teaching. * * *

“Yours affectionately,

“WILLIAM COLLINS.”

“To THE SAME.

“Dinant, Sept. 2nd, 1828.

* * * “I trust you have received the letter I wrote you on Sunday, after our arrival in Belgium; but, as I have not yet had the gratification of getting your answer, I write again. Not that I can ensure the receipt of your letters, from the irregularity of our proceedings, and what we should call in our own country the clumsiness of the postmasters and their modes of communication. The letter I suppose you to have written to Cologne, I have desired the post-master there to forward to me at Namur, where I go this afternoon; but, as I fear I shall not get it there, I must have it sent after me to Rotterdam, where I wish you to direct your next letter. If you have not already written, and neither your communication there, nor the information you have now to give, is of great importance, do not write at all, as the chances are against my receiving your letter. You can easily imagine how much I feel this suspension of all intercourse between us. I pray God, however, who only can protect and prosper us, that all is well.

“We find the land-carriage in this country so slow, and we are so much delighted with the picturesqueness of the scenery, that, in order to do anything at all in the way of sketching, we must either abridge our route, (as at first proposed,) or delay our return to London greatly beyond our first intentions. We have determined upon the former plan, and have therefore given up the Rhine altogether, contenting ourselves with the best part of the Meuse, which is very fine as far as we have seen it, and the remainder of Holland.

“We have been blessed with the most delightful weather; and this, with the novelty of everything about us, has afforded us the greatest satisfaction. We find we must depend much upon our own researches for beautiful things; and this experience we have bought, of course, as in other matters of this sort must be the case, by commencing our route at four o’clock in the morning, being shaken over twenty miles of the worst road in the world, seeing a trifle; getting a vile dinner, and bumping home again over the same road. All this, I expect, will be of great use to us; and
‘tres curieux!’
and
‘charmante!’
and other notes of admiration from the guides, will lose some of their enchantment.