Complete Works of Wilkie Collins (2134 page)

The solitary exception to the general welcome that the Italian pictures received, was in their reception by the Press. A few critics, here and there, who saw no reason why a man who had pleased the public in one branch of Art should be incapacitated to please them in another, spoke in terms of high praise of the painter’s new efforts; but the majority disparaged them, either as more English than Italian in character, or as a misapplication of his genius, which might have been better devoted to those native scenes, by the representation of which his station in his profession had been won. To neither of these opinions is it necessary to demur in this place. The pictures to which they refer remain to vindicate abundantly their own intrinsic merits under any impartial observation; while of their extrinsic value, the most satisfactory evidence will be found in the fact, (to be detailed a few pages hence,) that the only one of them sold at public auction during my father’s lifetime, realized a larger price than he had estimated it at himself, when completing it on commission.

Having partly anticipated remonstrance against his change of subject, from his recollection of Wilkie’s experience under similar circumstances, the painter was not surprised at the critical objections offered to his new works. Well knowing that he had not abandoned all further illustration of English scenery, and well satisfied that the encouragement his Italian pictures had met with from the profession and the patrons, would justify their continuation, he determined to proceed un discouraged with the series of foreign subjects which he had designed, and to present them to the public under a newer form even than he had yet essayed. This resolution proceeded from no disregard of criticism on Art, as contained in the leading public journals. His own conviction of their importance to the cause of painting was plainly testified in his strong reprobation of the illiberal exclusion, by the Royal Academy, of the gentlemen connected with the Press, from the privileges justly conferred on them by all other intellectual institutions; but in pursuing the course that he now adopted he felt convinced that he was right; and when this was the case, neither opposition nor remonstrance ever turned him aside from the purpose he had formed.

At the outset, however, of his studies for the next Exhibition, he was afflicted with one of the most incapacitating maladies that a painter can suffer — inflammation of the eyes. His medical attendant, on examining him, declared that the remains of the rheumatic disorder, from which he had suffered in Italy, were still lurking in his constitution. His case, it was added, was one that required unusual caution in the minutest matters — even the clay soil on which his house was built was suspected of having some connection with the malady of which he complained; and he was strongly recommended to take another abode, on dry gravel ground. While this advice was under consideration, he repaired to Brighton, to try the effect of the sea air. This was found to be most salutary; and he returned to London, to all appearance perfectly cured. Later in the year, however, the inflammatory symptoms returned with all their former severity, with the pleasant accompaniment, soon afterwards, of a report generally credited — and inserted, I believe, in some of the newspapers — that the painter was seized with utter blindness.

One main condition, on which Mr. Collins’s medical attendant was able to alleviate his symptoms, was, that his eyes should be as much relieved from any minute employment as possible. Incapable of suffering the privation of entirely discontinuing his labours on his new pictures, he could only submit himself to the doctor’s orders by resigning, for a time, his other occupations. Reading, writing, and exposure to the night-air, he abstained from as completely as was required. This course of action, while it benefited his disease, rendered the events of his life, in the year 1839, unusually monotonous. Society, he was obliged almost wholly to avoid — neither journals nor letters emanated from his pen during this period — his pictures only occupied his attention, and to his pictures, therefore, the present passages in his career must necessarily, though abruptly, proceed.

Generally viewed only, the three works he completed for the Exhibition of 1840, were perfectly calculated to prove that his illness had not affected the usual value and number of his productions, — one of them, however, in particular, excited perhaps greater astonishment than any picture he had ever painted. He had already startled the attention of the world of Art, on more than one occasion, by variety in subject and treatment, but this year he put the finish to the surprise of painters, patrons, and critics, by exhibiting an historical picture, drawn from the highest of all sources, the history of our Saviour.

This work was entitled, “Our Saviour with the Doctors in the Temple.” The desire to paint from a Scripture subject was no recent ambition of my father’s. Among the MS. notes of contemplated pictures, scattered through his papers of early dates, are several plans for illustrating passages in the Old and New Testaments — here and there expanded into a rough sketch. His journey to Italy did not, therefore, prompt his present experiment, though it assuredly tended to hasten its trial, and to increase its chances of success. The model for the face of our Saviour, in the picture now under review, was the beautiful Italian boy, mentioned in the notices of Mr. Collins’s first sojourn at Rome. Although the expression of his countenance is refined and elevated from the original, in the painter’s work, the features retain the resemblance to the first study from Nature — thus mingling, in the personation of Christ, the human with the Divine, in a singularly eloquent and attractive manner. Luxuriant dark brown hair, parted back over his pure open forehead, falls on each side of the Saviour’s neck. His face — serious, inquiring, holy — retains its loveliness of perfect youth, under its higher aspect of Divine elevation. A mysterious purple halo of celestial glory encircles his head, as he sits at the centre of a table, round which the doctors are grouped. These figures are painted with a dramatic energy of action, and vigour of expression, which contrasts them nobly with the calm dignity of the inspired disputant. Among them are the haughty, sneering Pharisee, openly expressing his scorn; the juster and wiser doctor, listening with candour and patience; the old man, of less vigorous intellect, lost in astonishment at the Divine question he has just heard; and the subtler philosopher, consulting with his companion for the triumphant answer that no one has yet framed. In the background, entering a door, are seen the figures of the Virgin and St. Joseph, pausing to listen to the wisdom that is dropping from the Saviour’s lips. The composition of the whole picture is exceedingly simple and grand; void of the slightest affectation of mediaeval formality or modern exaggeration; and testifying throughout, that the painter’s convictions of the methods of study adopted by the old masters, from the Nature around them, have presided over his work. The tone of colour is rich, varied, and solemn; the drawing, vigorous and correct. “As a first effort in a new path,” observes the “Art-Journal,” criticising the picture, “its effect is startling. It is such a work only, as a man of unquestionable genius could produce.”

The possessor of this, the first of Mr. Collins’s historical productions, is the Marquis of Lansdowne, for whom it was painted, and in whose collection, at Bowood, it is now placed.

In the second picture of the year, “Ave Maria,” the soft brief twilight of Italy falls over every object in the composition, in which the mountains of Tivoli form the distance. The foreground is a bank of wild flowers, overshadowed by pine trees: on it is seated a beautiful girl, playing the evening service to the Virgin, on her mandolin; while a lovely little boy reclines on the ground by her side, his head resting on her lap, and his face expressing the rapt attention with which he is listening to her music. The refined sentiment of these two figures, seated alone in the pure twilight solitude — the still, religious, evening tranquillity of the scene around them — the ineffable tenderness and softness reigning over the whole composition, it is impossible to convey in words. Few pictures were ever produced, appealing more directly to the heart, and less to the colder critical faculties, than this work. It was painted for the late Sir Thomas Baring.

The third picture, “The Passing Welcome,” was painted for Mr. James Marshall, and belonged to a perfectly different class from either of its companions. It depicted an episode in an Italian “Festa.” Two handsome gaily-attired peasant girls, leaning over the balcony of a vine-dresser’s cottage, and offering a bunch of grapes to a young fellow stopping to talk to them, as he passes on horseback to the “Festa,” along the road beneath — made the incident of the picture, which was brightened and enlivened by the warm sunshine pouring down on every object in it — on the gay dresses of the two girls, on the vine-leaves waving above the balcony, on the gaudy accoutrements of the young peasant’s horse, and on the glimpses of distant landscape, visible behind him. “Both works,” remarks the “Art-Journal,” of this and the “Ave Maria,” “are exquisite in conception, and admirable in all their details.”

During the latter part of the progress of these works, and after they had been sent to the Exhibition, the painter’s health continued to be indifferent, and his eyes remained subject, at times, to the inflammatory symptoms from which he had already suffered so much. These evidences of the unfavourable effect of the situation he inhabited on his constitution, at length induced him to prepare for the speedy change of residence to a drier soil, which his medical attendant had recommended the year before. While this removal was under consideration, he joined a pleasant travelling party — among whom were his friends Mrs. and Miss Otter — on a trip to the baths of Schwalbach, in Nassau. Of the pleasure ensured for him throughout this excursion, by the agreeable qualities of his travelling companions, and of the general route they followed, some account is given in the following letter:

“To MRS. COLLINS.

“Schwalbach, 8th July, 1840.

“I received your letter on Saturday last, and much did it relieve and console me; for I had longed so much to hear from dear home, that I was beginning to lament that I had not made some arrangement — difficult as it would have been — to hear from you at some place on our route. However, everything is, as it always is, for the best; and most thankful I am to find all is so well in London.

“Nothing can be more pleasant and agreeable than the party I am with. Their virtues and tempers are beyond all praise; selfishness is a word none of them know anything about. You will say, then, why should I be in want of consolation? simply because I have here only one-fourth of myself. That the other three-fourths are well at home, and that I can send you a good report of the remaining quarter, is a cause of the greatest thankfulness.

“We have all had slight colds, but never anything to interrupt our cheerfulness; and although I do not think the waters here have much to do with health such as mine, (which, I am more convinced every day, depends on air, exercise, and plain and wholesome diet,) still I think of trying those of Ems — for which place we propose setting out to-morrow. We have had lately rather broken weather — indeed, some very rainy days — and on our journey, much such weather as you seem to have had in London.

“When you write again — which I hope you will do the day after you receive this — you had better address to,
poste restante,
Frankfort-on-the-Maine; where I shall hope to meet a letter, which I fear will be the last — as, after a day or two there, we shall make for dear home without delay. We are now just setting off for Nassau, and to-morrow we hope to be at Ems. Let me know how Landseer is, and also whether Stanfield is better. Tell Wilkie I hope to return in time for the dinner at the Royal Academy.

“Yours affectionately,

“WILLIAM COLLINS.”

On returning from Germany in July, Mr. Collins had the gratification of finding that he had been appointed Librarian of the Royal Academy — an office for which he had become a candidate on its vacation by the gentleman who had last held it, Mr. Jones, R.A. The duties of this situation require the Academician who fills it to superintend the researches of the students among the prints, and other works connected with Art, placed there to be consulted by them — as well as to undertake the charge of recommending the increase and insuring the preservation of the large collection that is placed under his care. For this office, which required his attendance on one day and two evenings in each week, Mr. Collins’s character well fitted him. His habitual kindness and attention to all young men consulting him on matters of Art, was here constantly exhibited in his readiness to assist the students; and his industry and love of method were most usefully called forth for the branch of the Academy over which he now presided, in the careful revision of the Library Catalogue, on which he immediately and anxiously employed himself.

In the summer of this year my father removed to a new house at Oxford-terrace, Hyde-park, — a situation to which he was recommended, as one of the driest and healthiest in London. In the month of August, soon after his change of residence, occurred an event of great personal interest to him, and of no small importance to the world of Art, — the departure of Sir David Wilkie for the Holy Land.