Complete Works of Wilkie Collins (2126 page)

In sketching excursions and sight-seeing, in planning already new pictures, and in contemplating day by day different schemes for extending his travels, the six weeks of the painter’s sojourn at Nice passed rapidly away. At the expiration of that period, he gained intelligence from a friend, to whom the best sources of information were open, that the reports of the spread of the cholera through Florence and Rome, and of the continuance of the quarantine restrictions, were groundless, and that a fair opportunity offered, at length, of proceeding southward without risk, not only for himself but for his family as well. These instructions at once decided him, and on the 14th of December he and his travelling companions were once more journeying onward, their next place of destination being Genoa, through the sublime scenery of the Cornice road.

The wild torrents, — the mighty precipices, — the cloud-topped mountains, — the little fishing-towns, perched among stupendous rocks, — the lovely glimpses of coast-view, — all the noble characteristics of the great track he was now following, in my father’s own words, nearly “drove him mad.” Now he leant out of the carriage-window, endeavouring to sketch the outline of a turn in the view, as he passed it by; now he half determined to stop the carriage, and settle himself for weeks amid the scenery that he longed to paint; but still the remembrance that Florence, Rome, and Naples were yet unseen, and might remain so if he delayed any longer on the road at that advanced season, sufficed to urge him onward. On arriving at Genoa, and repairing to the palaces, churches, and galleries of that splendid city, he found in their gorgeous architecture and beautiful pictures a noble earnest of the still brighter treasures of Art which, further southward, were yet in store for his eye. Among the great works he saw here during his short stay, the pictures by Paul Veronese, and the glorious “Durazzo” portraits by Vandyke — the latter impressing him as the finest efforts of the master that he had ever seen — principally excited his admiration. Still anxious, however, to reach Rome with the least possible delay, on the fourth evening of his sojourn at Genoa, Mr. Collins embarked with his family in a steamer for Leghorn. A night’s voyage by moonlight on the smooth Mediterranean, and a few hours’ ride inland the next day, brought him to Pisa. After devoting a day to the main objects of attraction in that desolately beautiful town — among which, the extraordinary frescoes in the Campo Santo particularly delighted and astonished him, — he departed for Florence, and arrived there on the evening of the next day. The snow was almost knee-deep in the streets, immense icicles hung from the water-spouts at the house-tops, the wind was piercingly cold, — nothing could be less inviting than the appearance of the Tuscan capital as he and his companions entered it on Christmas Eve.

As the public holidays incidental to the season prevented the painter from seeing the picture-galleries until two or three days after his arrival at Florence, he first occupied himself in visiting the different churches in the city. Among these noble edifices, the gorgeous interior of “Santa Croce,” the chapel of the Medici, the tombs of two of the members of that family, by Michael Angelo, in the church of St. Lawrence, and the exquisite bronze gates of the Baptistery, were some of the principal objects of his admiration. The fine architecture of Florence, — its unique bridge, the “Ponte della Trinita,” its noble statues, exposed to the view of all, under the
“loggia”
of the palace, while they led him to deplore the absence of such adornments in the cities of his own country, delighted him by the beauty and novelty of their effect. When at length the picture-galleries were once more opened, he, like the rest of the world, hastened to pay his first homage to the statue on which the praise of all Europe has been inexhaustibly lavished. Though profoundly penetrated by the divine loveliness of parts of the Venus de Medici, he was not so dazzled by her beauties as to be blind to the defects wrought on her by modern repairs; among which, her arms especially impressed him as being too long. A picture of Venus, by Titian, in the same room as the Venus de Medici, he beheld with admiration; and the first sight of the Niobe, he declared, affected him like a sudden enchantment. To the Pitti palace he made repeated visits, studying with eager attention the wonders of Art there laid before him. Of the famous gem of the collection, the “Madonna della Seggiola,” it was his opinion that, as a picture of a beautiful woman and child, it was perfection; but that as a representation of the diviner outward attributes of the Virgin, it was surpassed by other similar creations of Raphael’s mind. Every day at Florence was now occupied by him in fresh pilgrimages among great pictures, and fresh enjoyment and appreciation of their noble qualities until the 2nd of January; when, finding that the unusual severity of the weather precluded all possibility of sketching, or even of seeing the beauties of the neighbourhood of Florence, he determined to start for Rome, leaving the scenery of Tuscany for the chances of a more genial season on his homeward route. The journey was made by way of Sienna, over the frost-bound Apennines, at the rate of a road-wagon, and occupied no less a time than six days! All the privations, disappointments, and delays of the route were, however, forgotten when the cupola of St. Peter’s first rose into view; and the painter felt that he had at last reached the shrine of his pilgrimage, and begun a new era in his study of the Art.

One of his earliest occupations on his arrival at Rome, was briefly to unburden his mind of its first impressions of Raphael and Michael Angelo, to his friend Wilkie, in the following letter:

“To SIR DAVID WILKIE, R.A.

“Rome, January 14, 1837.

“Dear Wilkie, — Mr. Russell’s kindness affords me an opportunity of writing a few lines, which I am happy to avail myself of, to tell you that we are all well, and that we arrived here in safety on Saturday evening last. After I wrote to you, all the
‘cordons’
were removed; and we took the earliest moment to put our original plans into execution. We are now comfortably settled in a neighbourhood you are well acquainted with, not five minutes’ walk from the Trinita del Monte. Of course, I lost no time in getting to
pictorial head quarters;
and strange to say which I suppose proves that I am not a
great man
— the Raffaelles in the Vatican, and the frescoes of Michael Angelo, so far from disappointing me, surpassed, not only all I have ever seen, but all I had ever conceived, of these truly inspired men. The ‘Transfiguration,’ and indeed all the oil pictures I have seen since, appear to me hard and mechanical, and only saved by the wonderful expression in some of the faces and figures, which, to be sure, in the ‘Transfiguration,’ is most striking. Of these and other matters, I hope,
when I come to my senses,
to write more at large — but, obliged as I now am to make great haste, I must be brief.

“I trust your brother has entirely recovered — pray let us know; and, if you can find time to write, tell us as much about yourselves as possible. I long to hear, too, about the Academy. Have you taken possession of the new building? What are the prospects of our artists? Has Dr. Bowring extinguished our candle? — he has been busy against us here.

“Gibson was with us last night; we talked about you, and longed to have you with us. He, as well as Severn, Penry Williams, and Kirkup, at Florence, desire to be kindly remembered.

“Yours obliged and faithfully,

“WILLIAM COLLINS.”

“To WILLIAM COLLINS, ESQ., R.A.

“Kensington, February 6th, 1837.

“Dear Collins, — Your most welcome letter has given us all great pleasure, and enables me to write to report all that is doing. First, then, Reynolds requested me to look over his engraving (which I did, twice, with chalk) from your ‘Sunday Morning.’ He has made a very good mezzotinto plate of it, and has done his best. The figures are extremely good — the landscape well; the chief defect is, the showing too much of the etched lines on the ground and stems of trees. This could not be rectified; but the general effect is as near as possible.* The proof was presented to the Queen, at Brighton, for leave to dedicate it to Her Majesty. This was announced in the ‘Court Circular.’

* The above criticism on the print from “Sunday Morning,” may be contrasted so unfavourably, for the Author, with that appended by him to the notice of the picture itself, at the time of its exhibition, that he thinks it necessary to state, that he did not venture to express a different opinion from Sir David Wilkie on a matter of Art, from his own convictions, but from what he knew to be the unfavourable impression of Mr. Collins himself, on the subject of the print in question.

It may be also necessary to remark in this place, that the letters of Sir D. Wilkie to my father, during his tour on the Continent, which are here inserted with some omissions, are only deprived of those passages, which, having no connection with his journey or himself, and containing no remarks of immediate biographical or local interest, might interfere with the progress of the present part of the narrative of his life.

* * * * “In the ‘Literary Gazette’ of last week, is an article on the print from your ‘ Sunday Morning,’ praising highly the subject and the point. I was much pleased with your remarks, though few, on the frescoes of Raphael; but on this subject you will write again. Look at the background of ‘The Communion of St. Jerome,’ by Domenichino. Sir George Beaumont thought it the finest landscape background in the world. May I hope to hear of what you have begun? Give my kindest regards to Gibson, to Severn, to Williams, and, if you see him, to Andrew Wilson. * * * *

“Yours most truly,

“DAVID WILKIE.”

The comfortable apartments which my father describes himself as occupying, in his letter to Wilkie, were not obtained without a great sacrifice on his part of professional enthusiasm to domestic comfort. For the sake of the practical advantages of this abode, he had resigned the high privilege of living in the house once occupied by Claude, and painting in the great master’s studio; which was pointed out to him as waiting to be let, like other ordinary apartments. This source of attraction was, however, the only one that the house possessed. The rooms were found to be so dirty, and the character of the landlord so bad, that Mr. Collins felt himself obliged to resign the idea of inhabiting the abode of Claude, with all the philosophy of which he was capable, an with a secret wish that the
“purity of tone”
distinguishing the pictures of the great landscape painter, had mysteriously communicated itself, for all after- times, to the walls of his habitation, and the character of its owners! Further down the street, of “which the house of Claude formed one of the ends, another set of apartments presented themselves, which, in comfort and accommodation, exactly suited the painter and his family. The street in which the house was situated led directly to the open Pincian Hill; the light in the rooms was perfectly adapted for painting; and they were, moreover, protected — as the good-natured landlady informed her customers — by the Virgin, whose image was placed on the outside of the house wall, and was sung to at evening by the pious of the neighbourhood. With such attractions as these, the apartments were immediately taken; and Mr. Collins lost no time in preparing his temporary painting-room, and beginning his new and welcome studies.

He was now in a place filled, not only with the mighty achievements of the old painters, but devoted to the convenience of their modern successors as well — a place where the profession of Art was as despotically pre-eminent as the profession of arms in a garrison town. In this city were to-be found rooms built expressly for painters’ studios, to be let at all varieties of prices, commensurate with the finances of all classes of painters, from the pipe-loving German student, living upon forty pounds a year, to the polished amateur, travelling to patronize Nature with his trunks full of “circular notes,” and his hands full of patent sketch-books. Here, whether you were of the medieval or the modern school; whether you were painter or sculptor; whether you wanted a cupid or a cardinal, a witch or a seraph, a patriarch or a piper, you found models of all ages, provided with all dresses and disguises, ready for all attitudes and expressions, and tenacious of their rights and privileges, down to the last farthing of their wages, and the last minute of their time. In pursuing his investigations among these ministers to the necessities of Art, Mr. Collins was most fortunate in having the experience of the English artists resident in Rome to guide him on all occasions. Some of them had known him in former years; all of them knew him by reputation; and all were willing and anxious to give him every assistance. His friends, Mr. Severn and Mr. Brigstocke, offered him the use of their studios, whenever he required a large room to paint in; and both aided him in discovering the best models that were to be had. He engaged one burly, handsome fellow to sit, who was ready to procure any dress and assume any appearance that was wanted, at a few hours’ notice; and who was painted by him, in the somewhat dissimilar characters of a cardinal in full dress, and a Roman gamekeeper a monk in his everyday robe, and a country shepherd. Another of his models was a beautiful boy, with features dazzlingly perfect, who had sat to every one for cupids, angels, and whatever else was lovely and refined; and who was in “private life” one of the most consummate rascals in Rome — a gambler, a thief, and a
“stiletto”
-wearer, at twelve years of age! A boy bag-piper from the mountains, (one of a troop who played vespers to the Virgin at Rome,) clothed in the sheepskins, conical hat, and sandals of his race; a little peasant-girl, black-haired, olive-complexioned, southern in every feature and action; and a nurse in Mr. Severn’s family, clad in her native Albano costume, were among the other models from which he now studied, either in his own lodgings, or in the more capacious rooms offered to him by his friends.