Complete Works of Wilkie Collins (2136 page)

“You know the excellent drawings our friend Roberts has made of various scenes in this place: there have also been some German and French artists here; among others Horace Vernet, but who, I am told, did not make any drawings. But knowing the curiosity all of them will awaken in the European public, it becomes important to consider what the powers of our Art, if properly directed, may be able to supply for its gratification. There are those, who probably think that language and printing are everything; and that now, when every one can read and write, no other mode of information is wanted. Whoever is here, and walks around these ancient streets, and stones and rocks, will be convinced that here are objects neither language nor printing can convey. Here are innumerable situations, as to distances, heights, and relative positions, which the reader of Scripture cannot help guessing at; but which our Art alone can help him to imagine rightly. In this view, Art, instead of supplying the mere fancied illustration, may give what this place so thoroughly supplies — a collateral evidence of the truth of the sacred writings, as well as fresh proof of the correctness of the sacred narrators, in what they knew, by showing their accuracy in what we know they must have seen.

“The traveller here must be surprised to find that the great mass of Italian Scripture Art is, in backgrounds, costumes, and characters, so purely imaginary, or so completely Italian, that Evangelical Syria is completely unrepresented, and, like a neglected constituency, seems to clamour for a fresh enfranchisement to modern Art. And if there are such pictures as the Entombment, the Crowning of Thorns (of Titian), various of the figures of Paul Veronese, Giorgione, and Sebastian del Piombo (who, being Venetians, had most intercourse with Levantine manners), that do remind you of Syria — and if the splendid conceptions of Raphael, Michael Angelo, and Correggio, accord with the finest generalised Nature in all countries — yet, with respect to the great crowd of Scriptural representations by which, with a sort of glut, all future modern Art must be overwhelmed, I need not say a Martin Luther in painting is as much called for as in theology, to sweep away the abuses by which our divine pursuit is encumbered.

“Among the learned monks and clergy of Jerusalem — and, I might add, among the learned Rabbis of Mount Zion — a number of curious questions arose regarding the fidelity of European Art in her representations of Scripture manners. These, indeed, would upset more than is wanted, and leave nothing behind. It must not be our purpose to detract from what Art has done, but to add. Every discussion and new information must do good, since it must draw the attention of the world upon our Art, as a means for the great and useful purpose of the study and comprehension of the Holy Scriptures.

“But there is another application of Art. If difficult to show what Syria was in the Prophetic and Apostolic times, there may yet be the greatest interest in showing what Syria is now. Roberts, you know, has done much; but I almost wish he had done it more, and had been here longer. For a landscape-painter, the road from Jericho (as you come ‘nigh to Jerusalem,’ and after you pass ‘the village right over against you,’ and begin ‘ to descend by the Mount of Olives,’) displays a view which, in its time of greatness, drew forth the sympathetic monologue of our Saviour — which now combines a scene that Claude Lorraine and the Poussins would have delighted in — and which, by the Jew in his desolate Zion, by the Mussulman in his declining power, and by the Christian in his daily contention for right and privilege in the Holy Sepulchre, seems by all acknowledged as the place on earth yet reserved for some great accomplishment of the Divine will.

“Sacred as this place is, yet here the rain rains and the sun shines much as it does at home; and Woodburn, (who desires his best remembrances to you,) will often talk of a
‘Collins sky,’
behind the Mount of Olives, the same as if he saw it behind Hampstead, which this Mount of the Ascension, though greatly higher, much resembles. Here would be a rich treat and subject for your Art; but this journey, for you, is not to be thought of. Singular! we find other countries, Austria and France, sending their artists here; but for poor old England, the artists must come of themselves! Our journey, interesting as it is, and useful as I hope it will be, has found its chief impediment in the thwarting measures of war engaged in by our own country. Three months’ delay at Constantinople, and the derangement since of all usual conveyances, on account of war, has lost us nearly another month; and since we seek neither political nor commercial results, our errand for a mere purpose of Art may perhaps be not over-appreciated. Still, withal, we have met with remarkable circumstances; and if even nothing should accrue to Art, I think it is for the honour of our Art and our nation that we should not be behind in the field upon the question that must now arise. With this view, I think of all you are doing. Though absent, I count the days of preparing and receiving and arranging the pictures, to an hour; and look forward to those spirit-stirring meetings that precede the opening of our labours to the view of the world at large. With best and kindest regards to Mrs. Collins, and to Charley and Willy, and all inquiring friends,

“Most faithfully and truly,

“Your obedient servant and sincere friend,

“DAVID WILKIE.”

It is now time to notice the five pictures exhibited by Mr. Collins in the season of 1841 the third year since his return from the Continent. None of these showed any departure from the new range of Art that he had chosen. One was historical; the remaining four were Italian subjects. They were thus entitled: “The Two Disciples at Emmaus;” “The Peace-maker;” “Lazzaroni — Naples;” “Scene taken from the Caves of Ulysses, at Sorrento, the Birthplace of Tasso,” and “Ischia — Bay of Naples.”

In the second of the painter’s Scripture subjects — the “Disciples at Emmaus,” the moment chosen is that immediately following the supernatural disappearance of our Saviour. The two disciples are still sitting at the table, fronting the spectator, but one of them is evidently about to start to his feet. Eager wonder flashes from his eyes — all his features express the violent and sudden agitation that possesses his mind. His companion’s action and expression are far different. He sits motionless, his countenance impressed with a solemn adoration — a devout, awful conviction of the Divine nature of the Being who has just vanished from his sight. Behind the disciples, seen far in the distance, rises a glimpse of mountain scenery, dimly lit by the furtive gleams of the departing sun. A solemn and supernatural tone — a deep light, mingled with transparent darkness, reigns over the whole of the picture, and, combined with the pure and forcible painting of the two figures in it, renders it impressive and Scriptural in no ordinary degree. It was painted for the late Mr. George Knott.

“The Peace-maker,” was perhaps the most attentively remarked of any of Mr. Collins’s Italian works of this year. The subject of the picture was thus indicated: — Against the low wall of a vine terrace, overlooking the Bay of Naples, is seated a brawny Neapolitan fisherman; his arms are crossed doggedly over his bare swarthy breast; his sulky face expresses a temporary and ungracious submissiveness; his heavy brows are knit with a sinister lowering expression — he is the sort of man, of whom any woman would declare at once, that he would “make a bad husband:” and a bad husband he is; as the suffering, forlorn expression of his wife’s countenance, turned imploringly on his averted face, evidently shows. She is standing, silent, downcast, and wretched, at a little distance from him, holding her baby in her arms, while her eldest girl stands by her side, already old enough to sympathize with her mother, and to discourage the ill-timed playfulness of a younger child, crawling towards her on hands and knees. Between the refractory husband and the ill-used wife, stands the Peace-maker — a bare-headed monk, (mediator in all family disputes, like the rest of his fraternity,) indignantly reproving the offender, with both his hands raised in such thoroughly Italian energy of gesticulation, that you seem to hear the torrent of admonitory phrases rushing from his lips. The contrast of the figures in this picture, is eminently successful. The brutal respect in the countenance of the husband, as he submits to the all-powerful moral ascendancy of his “spiritual pastor and master;” the energetic determination to succeed as a peace-maker, in the expression of the monk; and the meek apprehension and sorrowful humility in the face of the poor wife, as she shrinks behind her reverend advocate, tell the story with amazing truth and distinctness. The accessories of the scene — the vine-leaves waving over the terrace, and the sky and sea beyond — are painted with that peculiar brilliancy and softness, which alone conveys an adequate idea of the bright warmth of a southern summer. In every respect the picture is a thoroughly faithful reflection of Italian life and landscape. It was painted for the same gentleman who had commissioned “The Disciples at Emmaus,” the late Mr. George Knott. At the sale of his collection, it produced two hundred and sixty guineas — Mr. Collins having demanded and received for it, when its valuation rested with him, two hundred guineas. A more satisfactory proof of the public success of his Italian subjects could not have been desired.

“Lazzaroni,” the third picture, was painted for Mr. James Marshall, and was devoted to the portrayal of some of the peculiarities of those easy-living vagabonds, who, forming a marked and original body in the population of Naples, have acquired an European reputation, as the most illustrious and genuine idlers in the ranks of “the human family” — fellows, who having earned enough by an hour’s work in the morning, to keep them in macaroni for a day or two, heroically refuse all proffers of further employment as long as their money lasts them. The attitudes of these ragged votaries of indolence, as they sleep against the corners of old houses, lounge under the porticoes of churches, or bask in the sun on the broad flagstones of the Mole, present a perfect series of studies in picturesque composition and finely-developed form, to a painter’s eye; and are most faithfully and humorously rendered by Mr. Collins, in the picture now under notice. He has taken the Lazzaroni at their favourite haunt — a church portico. They are grouped, in the composition, in all the different attitudes and degrees of sleep — one, sitting propped against the side of a door, his head drooping on his breast; another, stretched flat on his back, with his arms folded over his eyes, to shade them; some, half-falling off the church steps; some leaning against each other; and one tall fellow, an exception to the rest, awake, and drowsily eating his macaroni with his fingers. Of this graphic work, the “Art-Journal” well observes, that it is “redolent of the lazy south. The very air seems indolent, and the group, sleeping or lounging, appear incapable of exertion — even the fellow who eats his macaroni, does so as if it were a labour to move. The character is admirably rendered, and the tone of the picture natural and true.”

The “Scene from the Caves of Ulysses, at Sorrento,” was purchased by Mr. Gibbons, and was a copy, on a large scale, of the sketch noticed in the description of the painter’s sojourn at Sorrento, as having been twice repeated by him, on his return to England. His picture possessed all the attractive simplicity of subject and purity of tone, of his original study; which it will be seen, on referring back, was mentioned as a view on the Mediterranean, with Vesuvius in the horizon, and a strip of beach and promontory in the right-hand foreground — the whole being treated with remarkable airiness and transparency of effect.

The fifth picture of the season, “Ischia — Bay of Naples,” was painted for Mr. C. S. Dickins. The picturesque cottages of the Neapolitan fishermen, occupied the foreground, and led the eye agreeably to the more distant position of the Castle of Ischia, grandly situated on rocks jutting out into the sea — the whole composition being finely lighted by a glowing evening sky. It was a very brilliant work.

While the Exhibition of 1841 was yet open, while the world of Art generally was stirring with the pictorial attractions and events of the most brilliant part of the season, a new source of general expectation and excitement was opened, by the report that Sir David Wilkie might be expected daily to arrive in England, bringing with him perfectly original materials for the renewal and elevation of that Art, which he had already so remarkably contributed to adorn.

The high and various objects, with which the great painter set forth on his return to his native land, have been laid before the reader in his letter of a few pages back. They passed from mouth to mouth among all to whom the Arts were an object of anticipation and hope, and excited a warm and general interest in his return. This feeling of expectation, among his acquaintances and admirers, was, as may well be imagined, heightened, among his relatives and friends, to the most vivid anxiety for his safe progress homeward from his long and important journey. The day of his arrival was awaited by Mr. Collins and his family with a solicitude which was no faint reflection of the more eager anticipation felt in his own household. On a Sunday, early in June, the painter walked over to Kensington, fully expecting to meet Sir David; but he was disappointed — no news had yet been heard of the traveller. On the Tuesday after, Mrs. Collins went to Kensington, anxious to obtain for her husband the earliest intelligence of his friend’s return. The house, as she entered it, bore no traces of gaiety or bustle; the servants’ faces were grave and downcast; Mr. Laurie, the friend of the family, was alone present to receive her — he had arrived at the house a few minutes before — not with the welcome news of Wilkie’s return; but with the fatal intelligence of his death, and burial, at sea.