'A wondrous Cornishman, who is carrying all before him! He is
Caravaggio and Velasquez in one!'--_Sir Joshua Reynolds to Northcote.
(Redgrave's 'Century of Painters.'_)
Cornwall--so far as I am aware--has contributed only two members to
the Royal Academy of Arts, since its foundation on 10th December,
1768.[112] Henry Bone, of Truro, and John Opie,[113] born in May, 1761,
at Harmony Cot (once known as Blowing House[114]), near the hamlet of
Mithian, in the out-of-the-way parish of St. Agnes. The bleak desolate
moors, saturated by frequent hissing rain-storms, and scarred with
mine-heaps, the jagged cliff-coast, and the dark rolling Atlantic
waves of the neighbouring sea, have a savage grandeur of their own
which cannot have been without its effect on the youthful mind of the
future professor of painting. For, though he rose to the high position
of a Royal Academician when only about twenty-seven years of age, we
shall seek, I think, in vain amongst his works for that delicate, airy
grace of many of his more courtly contemporaries, which no one admired
more than himself; and we shall find instead an original, broad, and
manly, though somewhat grim and sombre style, which may well have been
inspired by the wildness and gloom of his surroundings when a child
on this remote 'bench of the world-school.' Allan Cunningham says
well of him that he was not 'the servile _follower_ of any man, or of
any school;' and, as a matter of fact, his self-reliance early showed
itself. On seeing a butterfly painted by one Mark Oates, an officer
of Marines, an amateur artist of some merit (whose portrait Opie
afterwards painted),--Jan Oppie (as his name was sometimes pronounced)
exclaimed: '_I_ can paint it as well as Mark Oates.'
Opie's father, Edward Opie, who died while John was quite young, and
his grandfather were both of them carpenters and builders, though a
writer in the _Fine Arts Magazine_ has striven to show that the family
was really of old and gentle descent. _Tonkin_ (who, as a St. Agnes
man, ought to have known) says the Opies came from Ennis, or De
Insula, in St. Erme.
Jno. Opie, sr. (lived here temp. Eliz.).
|
Robt. Opie=Jane, daur. of Agnes Jago.
|
Robt. (sold the Barton to Jago).
(? descended from the Opies of Pawton, in St. Breock.)
Arms: Sa. on a chev. between three garbs or, as many hurtleberries
proper.
Other authorities also say the Opies originally came from St. Breock.
One thing, at least, from the genealogical point of view, is clear:
namely, that the genius for painting still remains in the family of
Opie: for 'the great nephew of a great uncle'--as Mr. Edward Opie
is pleasantly called in the recently published memoirs of Caroline
Fox--has for many years past been a highly successful portrait and
genre-painter in the West-country, and a constant exhibitor at the
Royal Academy for more than a quarter of a century.
Whatever may have been the origin of the family, John's father was
considered an unusually skilful craftsman; and his son was apprenticed
to him. His mother, a woman of very high principle and singularly sweet
disposition, was forty-eight when the son of her old age was born; and
she lived till she was ninety-two, dying in May, 1805. Her maiden name
was Mary Tonkin, of Trevaunance, near St. Agnes Porth; a family whom
Polwhele classes amongst his 'little gentry' of Cornwall. While on this
point, it may be well to state that Oppy, a Cornish artist with whom
the subject of this memoir has frequently been confused, was a member
of another and quite distinct family.
The fire of genius having been kindled by the butterfly episode, was
soon fanned into a flame by the intense and daring spirit of the boy.
Going with his father to carry out some repairs to the house of Mr. B.
Nankivell, at Mithian, the boy discovered that in one of the rooms hung
a painting of a farmplace. What its merits were it would be difficult
now to say, for the accounts of it are conflicting; but the picture
excited the most ardent admiration of young Opie, and he made more than
one furtive visit to the room in order to gaze upon the object of his
emulation, of which he was endeavouring to make a copy from memory, as
he feared to ask permission to inspect. Being detected, however, on one
of these occasions, the boon of a loan of the picture was granted, in
order that it might serve him as a model. His delight knew no bounds;
the much-wished-for copy was made, and was sold to a Mrs. Walker[115]
(whose son was Vicar of St. Winnow, on the banks of the Fowey) for five
shillings--a sum the magnitude of which so astonished the youngster
that he ran about the house shouting: 'I'm set up for life! I'm set up
for life!' Upon this his father is said to have cynically observed:
'That boy'll come to hanging, as sure as a gun;'--in fact, the father
did all in his power to keep the son close to a handicraft which for
two generations had been a sure, if small, means of support.
John's temperament seems to have always been excitable. Another
instance of his exuberant joy at an early success was when he returned
with twenty or thirty guineas in his pocket (which he presented to his
mother) from painting some of the Prideaux portraits, still preserved
at Place House, near Padstow; he threw the glittering coins on the
floor, and himself upon them, twisting about in his fine new coat, lace
ruffles, and silk stockings, and exclaiming with humorous glee, 'See!
see! I'm walving [wallowing] in gold!' But he was as easily depressed.
He used to tell how he once went to the neighbouring town of Redruth,
with half-a-crown in his pocket, to buy himself some colours, but was
so attracted by the gilded gingerbreads and other delights of the
fair that in a very short time his money was all wasted, and he had
to trudge his weary way homewards without the painting materials, and
so overcome by the miserable plight to which his thoughtlessness had
reduced him that he said he seriously meditated suicide by the way.
There was nothing enervating in the way in which young Opie was
reared. Not only was his fare frugal and his clothing and lodging
of very simple sort, but his religion and morals were doubtless
very strictly looked after by his parents, who seem to have been of
the old Puritanical school. But the spirit of the artist broke out
one summer Sunday afternoon, when Opie--then eleven years old--was
left in the cottage with his father, whilst old Mrs. Opie went to
church, or meeting-house. The old man had fallen fast asleep, and
his hopeful offspring seized the golden opportunity of painting
his portrait, hitherto a forbidden operation;--the way in which the
'Sabbath-breaking' young rogue was reviled by his progenitors may be
imagined better than I can describe it. Yet the likeness was so good,
and the motive so affectionate, that the offence was condoned, and
the portrait exhibited to all the neighbours with parental pride,
notwithstanding the boy's having irritated his father during the
progress of the work by awakening him from his nap in order to 'get
his eyes lightened up.' One of his uncles, however, is said to have
fostered John's talents, both as a mathematician and as an artist; at
any rate his love of art was not to be quenched, and the cottage-walls
were ere long decorated with portraits of most of his relations and
playfellows, painted with singular force and brilliancy for so young
and untaught an artist. Wolcot says that Opie used often to get up at
three in the morning to go to work on his painting.
From his thraldom in Mithian, Jan Opie was no doubt glad to get the
chance of escaping, when it was offered to him by Dr. Wolcot ('Peter
Pindar'), then living at Truro; a man who added to a strong satiric
vein of poetry a considerable amount of artistic taste, sufficient at
any rate to recognise that his _protégé_ was no common lad. It has
been said that Wolcot employed 'Jan' in some menial capacity about
his house on the Green; but this is not the case. He certainly did
give Opie the opportunity of copying his pictures, some of which were
very good; adding the sound advice to study hard from the life. It was
perhaps also whilst under the old doctor's roof that he continued his
mathematical studies with such success that he is said to have mastered
his Euclid when only twelve years old. William Sandby, in his 'History
of the Royal Academy,' says that Opie had a very good knowledge of
Euclid when only ten years of age; and that, about this time, spending
his scanty pocket-money in candles and writing materials, he set up an
evening school at St. Agnes, in which most of his pupils were twice as
old as himself. His uncle loved to call him 'little Sir Isaac.'
Dr. Wolcot did his best to get the rising young artist commissions
from his patients and acquaintances, and Opie's services were soon in
great request as a local portrait-painter. Many an old Cornish house
still possesses specimens of his early skill, as may be seen from the
long and elaborate account of his works prepared by the late Mr. J.
Jope Rogers. Sir Rose Price, of Trengwainton, had a portrait of an old
beggar by Opie, which was considered at the time a _chef-d'œuvre_; and
the Truro families of Daniell and Vivian, who were liberal patrons of
his skill, also had some of the best examples of his rapid, vigorous
brush. Viscount Bateman, who was for some time quartered at Pendennis
Castle, Falmouth, with his regiment, the Hereford Militia, was another
of his early patrons, and gave Opie several commissions to paint
beggars, old men, and similar subjects. His usual price for a portrait,
when he was sixteen years of age, was seven shillings and sixpence.
But John Opie was getting a little too big for his remote native
county; and, instigated by 'Peter Pindar,' resolved on trying his
fortunes in London. The story goes--and it is not without some sort of
foundation--that the doctor (who had met with some pecuniary losses)
and his _protégé_ (or _pupil_, as Wolcot preferred calling him) were
to share profits; but that this arrangement only lasted for a year.
However that may be, either in 1780 or 1781 they both came to Town,
when 'the Cornish wonder' was forthwith introduced to Sir Joshua
Reynolds, then President of the Royal Academy; and in 1782, Opie, now
twenty-one years of age, exhibited (for the first time) on the walls of
that institution pictures of an old man's head, an old woman, and three
portraits.[116]
He now, with Wolcot, took apartments, which he himself furnished out of
the thirty or forty guineas which formed his capital, in Orange Court,
Leicester Fields--near Sir Joshua Reynolds' studio. The court itself is
demolished, but it stood at the back of the present National Gallery,
on the site of St. George's Barracks. Here John soon got to work
with his painting--copying the old masters, and studying diligently
the best English authors, whose wit and wisdom his powerful mind and
retentive memory enabled him to easily assimilate and retain. Milton,
Shakespeare, Dryden, Pope, Gray, Cowper, Butler (Hudibras), Burke, and
Dr. Johnson seem to have been his special favourites. The last-named
he idolized, and painted his portrait twice. He now also added French,
Italian, and a little Latin to his attainments. Sitters gradually
thronged round him; he 'trembled at his terrific popularity' and his
many flatterers; and, having been introduced to the King and Queen, his
fame spread like wild-fire, and he used merrily to say that he thought
of keeping a loaded cannon at his door to frighten off the crowds by
whom he was besieged. Wolcot says that Jan answered 'George' with St.
Agnes intrepidity, that the King bought some of his pictures, and
wished Opie every success.
The following is a letter to his mother on the memorable occasion of
his reception at the Palace. The MS., much tattered and torn, was
communicated to the Rev. Richard Polwhele by the present Mr. Edward
Opie:
'DEAR MOTHER,
'I received my brother's two last letters, and am exceedingly sorry
to hear that my father is so poorly; don't let him work any more, I
hope he will be better before this arrives. I have all the prospect
of success that is possible, having much more business than I can
possibly do. I have been with the King and Queen, who were highly
pleased with my work, and took two of my pictures, and they are hung
up in the King's collection at the Queen's palace. As to the £200
business, it is entirely false, for I was but paid my price and no
more. I could have had more money for the pictures if I had sold them
to several noblemen.... There is no work stirring at this time, and
it is a very improper time to see the town, as it is cold and very
dirty, and so full of smoak and fog that you can hardly see the length
of your nose, and I should not be able to stir anywhere out by day
nor keep them company indoors, by reason of the quantity of business.
I would advise them to come up in June, when they may see everything
in fine weather, and probably I shall not be so busy then as I am
now, because most of the quality go out of town at that time, and
then also they may see all the great houses, &c., but now the familys
are in town, they'd not be able to see one. As to my stay here, it
will depend on circumstances, as the continuation of employ and the
encouragement I may meet with. If I have time and money I shall
certainly come down in the summer.... Many have been in town, years,
and have had nothing to do, whilst I, who have been here but two or
three months, am known and talked of by everybody. To be known, is the
great thing in London. A man may do ever so well, if nobody knows it,
it will signify nothing; and among so many thousand and ten thousand
people, it is no easy matter to get known. I cannot think what gave
rise to the report which you heard, as I have never had a present from
anybody in my life. Money is very scarce among everybody, and I only
desire to get paid for what I do. I have a new method, and make them
all, or most of them, pay half as soon as I begin the pictures, which
is a very good method. Brother E. and his wife are very well and will
be very glad to see Brother and Betty up at the time I mentioned; they
join in their duty to you and Father, and love to Uncle, Brother and
sisters, &c., with your affectionate son,
'J. OPIE.
'Direct to me at Mr. Riccard's, Orange Court, Leicester Fields, London.
'March 11, 1782.'
In the following year he removed to Great Queen Street, Lincoln's Inn
Fields; and somewhere about this time became infatuated with the black
eyes and arch smiles of a City solicitor's daughter, one Mary Bunn, of
St. Botolph's, Aldgate, who brought him some money on his marriage with
her at St. Martin's-in-the-Fields, 4th December, 1782. It was a foolish
union--she, pretty and giddy, and her husband a blunt, strong-minded,
hard-working artist. He tried to gloss over her follies, being placable
to a degree; but in vain. She at last crowned her faithless career by
eloping with a Mr. John Edwards in 1795, and an Act of divorce left
Opie a free and a happier man. It was _à propos_ of this miserable
affair that Opie once uttered the following grim _bon-mot_. He was
passing the above-named church one day with his quondam friend Godwin,
who was an infidel, when Godwin exclaimed: 'Ah! I was christened at
that church.' 'And I was married in it,' replied Opie; 'they make
unsure work there, for it neither holds in wedlock nor in baptism.'
But at length the crowds of sitters and callers who used to annoy both
Opie and his neighbours began to dwindle away, as the novelty of seeing
that 'nine days' wonder'--a great artist--in
'The Cornish boy in tin-mines bred
Whose genius, like his native diamonds, shone
In secret, till chance gave them to the sun,'
began to wear off; and gave Opie the much-desired opportunity of
pursuing the higher branches of his art. Henceforth he painted less
portraits and more historical compositions; but amongst the former,
even up to the end of his career, we still find some notable subjects,
such as a whole-length of Charles James Fox (which West thought his
best), William Siddons (the husband of the great actress), Fuseli,
Southey, the Poet Laureate,[117] and many others. In 1784 he exhibited
his 'School,' of which Horace Walpole remarked that it was 'Great
nature--the best of his works yet.'
His first great work of the 'historical' school, and one of his very
best, 'The Assassination of James I. of Scotland,' was produced in
1786; as to which a writer in the _Quarterly Review_ for 1866 tells
the following amusing story of Northcote's jealousy of Opie. When the
latter was engaged at Hampstead on this picture (the story is, by the
way, also told of the Rizzio picture), Northcote became alarmed at the
reports which reached him of its extraordinary merit, and accordingly
he paid a visit to Opie's studio in order to judge for himself. 'When
I entered the room,' he said, 'I was astounded. The picture had the
finest effect I ever witnessed; the light on the figures gleamed up
from a trap-door by which the murderers were entering the King's
chamber. "Oh!" said I to myself; "go home, go home; it is all over with
you!" I did go home, and brooded over what I had seen. I could think
of nothing else; it perfectly haunted me. I could not work on my own
pictures for thinking of his. At last, unable to bear it any longer, I
determined to go there again, and when I entered the room I saw, to my
great comfort, that Opie had rubbed all the fine effect out.'
In the following year his next great work, 'The Assassination of David
Rizzio,'[118] was painted, and Opie's claim to be elected an Associate
of the Royal Academy was established, the full honours being accorded
to him the year after. His diploma picture, 'Age and Infancy,' still
hangs on the Academy's walls.
Amongst his other more important works may be named, 'The Presentation
in the Temple,' 'Jephthah's Vow,' 'Young Arthur taken Prisoner,'
'Arthur with Hubert,' 'Belisarius,' 'Juliet in the Garden,' 'The Escape
of Gil Blas' (his last historical work), and 'Musidora.' A very large
proportion of these, and others of Opie's paintings have been engraved.
It may be here mentioned, as an illustration of the prices which
some of Opie's best works fetch, that at the sale of Mr. Jesse Watts
Russell's pictures, at Christie and Manson's, in July, 1875, 'The
Schoolmistress,' from the collection of Mr. Watson Taylor, a large and
important work of several figures--an old lady schoolmistress and her
pupils--painted in emulation of Rembrandt, fetched £787 10s.
Pursuing his career at the Royal Academy, in 1789, on the expulsion
of Barry, the Professor of Painting, on account of his impertinent
remarks upon his brother Academicians, and his generally unsatisfactory
conduct, Opie preferred his claims; but was induced to waive them in
favour of the elder artist, Fuseli. The latter, however, resigned in
1805, and the indisputable claims of Opie to the post were at once
fully and honourably recognised.
Before, however, that event took place, one which had still greater
and happier influence on our artist's professional career and domestic
happiness occurred: in 1798 he had the good fortune to fall in love
at first sight, and, after much coy reluctance on the lady's part, to
secure the heart and hand of the amiable, sprightly, and accomplished
Amelia Alderson, the only child of a Norwich physician, and a relative
of H. P. Briggs, R.A. They were married on the 8th of May ('Flora Day,'
as it is called in Cornwall), she being then twenty-nine years of age,
and her husband thirty-seven. She was much courted in the fashionable
circles of London for her literary and conversational talents, and
numbered Sir Walter Scott, Sir James Mackintosh, Wordsworth and Sydney
Smith among her friends and acquaintances.
When she became a Quakeress (and I fancy that at heart she was always
more or less of one) in 1825, she endeavoured to recall her novels;
but copies of them are still to be met with in many of our libraries.
Indeed, she tells us that she would never have published at all had it
not been for the strong wish of her husband that she should do so.
As regards her novels, or tales, as they should rather be called,
'She can do nothing well,' says Jeffrey, 'that requires to be done
with formality, and therefore has not succeeded in copying either the
concentrated force of weighty and deliberate reason, or the severe
and solemn dignity of majestic virtue. To make amends, however, she
represents admirably everything that is amiable, generous and gentle.'
Of her poetic vein, the following specimen may perhaps be admitted
here:--
LINES WRITTEN IN 1799, BY MRS. OPIE TO HER HUSBAND, ON HIS HAVING
PAINTED THE PORTRAIT OF HER FRIEND, MRS. TWISS.
'Hail to thy pencil! well its glowing art
Has traced those features painted on my heart;
Now, though in distant scenes she soon will rove,
Still shall I here behold the friend I love--
Still see that smile, "endearing, artless, kind,"
The eye's mild beam that speaks the candid mind,
Which sportive oft, yet fearful to offend,
By humour charms, but never wounds a friend.
'But in my breast contending feelings rise,
While this loved semblance fascinates my eyes;
Now, pleased I mark the painter's skilful line,
And now, rejoice the skill I mark is _thine_:
And while I prize the gift by thee bestow'd,
My heart proclaims, I'm of the giver proud.
Thus pride and friendship war with equal strife,
And now the _friend_ exults, and now the WIFE.'
She died on the 2nd December, 1853, eighty-four years of age
(forty-seven years after her husband's death), and was buried in the
same grave with her father, in the Friends' burial-ground, at the
Gilden Croft, Norwich. Her life has been written by her friend, Miss
Brightwell; and a portrait of 'la charmante Madame Opie' (as she was
called in Paris), in her Quakeress's cap and with uplifted eyes full of
gentle ardour, after a medallion by David, is prefixed to that work.
Haydon also (who, by the way, was indebted to Opie for much sound
practical advice in his art) painted her, in her tall black Quakeress's
bonnet, in his great group of the 'Anti-Slavery Convention,' now in the
National Portrait Gallery; and her husband painted her portrait more
than once: an engraving after one of these portraits is prefixed to a
later edition of Miss Brightwell's 'Life.'
To her more refined taste were said to be due not only a superior
delicacy and grace sometimes thought to be found in the female
portraits painted after Opie's second marriage, but also some of the
finer touches in his lectures as Professor of Painting, to which
reference will presently be made. But Mrs. Opie disclaimed the latter
suggestion with all the energy and indignation of which her tranquil
spirit was capable, observing that 'the slight texture of muslin could
as easily assume the consistency of velvet.' About half of Opie's
sitters were ladies; and one of his best early works is a portrait of
Mrs. Delany,[119] now at Hampton Court; it used formerly to hang in the
Royal bedchamber at Windsor. The following contemporary criticism by a
Cornish lady on Opie's work will be interesting to at least some of my
readers:
_The Hon^{ble}. Mrs. Boscawen to Mrs. Delany._
'26th Sept., 1782.
* * * * *
'Your favoured Opie is still in raptures at the thoughts of Bulstrode
(the residence of the Duke of Portland). His portrait of Lady
Jerningham did not _quite_ satisfy me, for I concluded it wou'd be
perfect, and her _person_, _hands_, _posture_, _spinning-wheel_, all
_are so_; but the face (or rather countenance) does not _quite_ please
me.'
To his wife Opie was indebted for the graceful and affectionate
memoir--her 'dearest and last duty'--which was prefixed to his
'Lectures,' which she edited after his death, in 1809. It is said
that he used always to keep in his studio an unfinished portrait of
his wife, with her abundant waves of auburn hair, constantly working
on it in order to obtain that power of delineation of female delicacy
and beauty in which he thought himself deficient. Opie was devotedly
attached to her, and they were most happy in each other's love; the
only point of difference between them being her liking for a gayer
social existence than suited her husband's tastes. Yet he was always
fond of a dinner-party when there was _good talk_, and many such
noteworthy gatherings are described in Holcroft's 'Memoirs.' They had
a memorable trip to Paris together in 1802; the only occasion on which
Opie ever left England, except once before, in 1786, for a short trip
to the picture-galleries in Belgium and Holland. Mrs. Opie was very
fond of sketching in profile all her friends' portraits, of which she
made a large collection, and was altogether a lady of refined tastes as
well as of the most active benevolence. Southey has sketched her in his
'Colloquies,' vol. ii., p. 322; and her friend and biographer has told
us that 'her cheerful heart shone through her bright face, and brought
comfort and pleasure into every house she entered.' Miss Thackeray
(Mrs. Richmond Ritchie) has also included Amelia Opie in her recent
'Book of Sibyls;' and Harriet Martineau has admirably described her in
the 'Biographical Sketches.'
In 1791 Opie had moved to the house in which he resided for the last
sixteen years of his life, No. 8, Berners Street, Oxford Street;[120]
and here he passed what was probably his serenest and happiest days,
overshadowed with only one cloud, and that was one which scarcely
disturbed him, for he attributed it to causes over which he had no
control. I mean his decreasing popularity, which for a short time
waned; but, as we shall see, was at length recovered. Public caprice
no doubt had, as Opie thought, much to do with this; but the novelty
had gone off, and the London world is always on the look-out for new
wonders. His pencil was, notwithstanding, as ever, busy. Alderman
Boydell had formed the idea of a Shakespeare Gallery--a collection of
pictures which should illustrate the works of our greatest dramatist.
Now Shakespeare was, as we have seen, a favourite author with Opie; and
the painter accordingly set to work with a will, adding five pictures
to the series, to which many other eminent artists also contributed.
Amongst them are the following:
Juliet on her Bed Romeo and Juliet.
Antigonus sworn to destroy Perdita Winter's Tale.
Talbot and the Countess of Auvergne} Henry VI.
The Incantation Scene }
Timon with Phryne and Timandra Timon of Athens.
To Macklin's 'British Poets and Bible,' and to Bowyer's 'Hume's History
of England,' he also contributed largely. 'The Death of Sapphira' is a
remarkable example of his artistic power.
About this period he must have written the following letter to his
sister, which is perhaps worth inserting--being, as it were, a peep
behind the scenes, affording us a glimpse of his rough, affectionate
nature:
'Nov. 20, 1800.
'DEAR BETT,[121]
'What the devil is the reason that thou art in such a fright, indeed
what should make thee suspect the contrary? My not having written is
the very thing that ought to have kept thee quiet, for if any accident
had happened to me thou certainly wouldst have heard of it by me and
by many others, henceforth I desire thou wilt remember the old saying
"no news is good news," and not fret thyself because I am lazy and
don't like to write when I have nothing to say.
'My dearest Amelia was not so fortunate in coming to town as myself;
she was overturned in the mail about 30 miles from town, and so
bruised as to cause her to be lame for a fortnight or three weeks
after, but she is now I hope perfectly recovered: she desires me to
give her kindest love to you and mother, and to thank you for your
presents.... Keep up Mother's spirits and tell her I am very well and
hope to see her again next summer, and my wife hopes the same. Give my
love to Mary James,[122] &c., &c., and believe me ever
'Affectionately yours,
'JOHN OPIE.
'Let brother's picture be sent off as soon as possible, and I will
take care the other shall be sent down as soon as I have time to paint
one of Amelia to go with it.'
But it is time to speak of his literary talents. Charles James
Fox,[123] Horne Tooke, and Sir James Mackintosh had the highest opinion
of his mental powers. Horne Tooke (whose portrait also Opie painted)
says of him that he spoke in axioms worthy to be remembered; and
Mackintosh observed: 'Had Mr. Opie turned his powers of mind to the
study of philosophy, he would have been one of the first philosophers
of the age. I was never more struck than with his original manner of
thinking and expressing himself in conversation; had he written on the
subject he would probably have thrown more light on the philosophy of
his art than any man living.'
There is a capital short 'Life of Sir Joshua Reynolds' by Opie, written
for Pilkington's 'Dictionary of Painters;' and the accompanying extract
from a letter which he addressed to one of the periodicals on the
subject of a grand national memorial to the triumphs of the British
fleet, may serve as a specimen of his powerful, glowing style. Opie
proposed a huge building in which everything connected with the subject
might be displayed--including statues of our naval heroes, surrounded
by pictorial representations of their achievements.
'What an effect,' he says, 'might a design like this, happily planned
and executed, produce! How magnificent, how instructive it might be
made! How entertaining to trace down from the earliest records of our
history the gradual increase of our navy! to remark the different
stages of its growth from a few simple canoes, in its infancy, to the
stupendous magnitude of a hundred first-rate men-of-war, miracles of
the mechanic arts, proudly bearing Britain's thunder! the bulwarks of
England! the glory of Englishmen, and the terror and admiration of the
world! How flattering to the imagination to anticipate the pleasure of
walking round such an edifice, and surveying the different subjects
depicted on its walls! Battles under all varied circumstances of day,
night, moonlight, storm, and calm!--the effects of fire, water, wind
and smoke mingled in terrific confusion. In the midst, British Valour
triumphantly bearing down all opposition, accompanied by Humanity,
equally daring and ready to succour the vanquished foe! Discoveries, in
which we see delineated the strange figures and still stranger costume
of nations till then unknown, and where the face of Nature herself is
exhibited under a new and surprising aspect. Then to turn and behold
the statues and portraits of the enterprising commanders and leaders
in the expeditions recorded, and compare their different countenances:
here a Drake and an Anson! there a Blake, a Hawke, a Boscawen, and a
Cook!'
To me these enthusiastic sentences have something of the ring of a
sea-song of Dibdin's; and it is pleasant to think that the idea has
been carried out in the Painted Hall at Greenwich Hospital.
His Lectures before the Royal Academy (prepared with a severity of
labour which probably shortened his life), are, however, the works by
which his literary fame will be handed down to posterity. Sandby tells
us that Opie had, shortly before his appointment to his Professorship,
delivered some lectures on Art at the Royal Institution; but though
they were generally thought good, and were numerously and fashionably
attended (that sour critic, Allan Cunningham, by the way, calls
them 'confused, abrupt, and unmethodical'), Opie was himself much
dissatisfied with them, and would not complete the intended course. He
was also concerned in a scheme, in conjunction with West and Flaxman,
for establishing a 'Gallery of Honour,' under the sanction of the Royal
Academy, for the encouragement and reward of all those who contributed
to the higher walks of art. And he is further said to have projected a
colossal statue of Britannia, to be erected in some prominent position
in the Isle of Wight, as an alternative mode of commemorating the naval
victories of Great Britain. Northcote, again (whom, it may be observed,
Wolcot, as Opie's patron, much abused), was associated with Opie in 'a
project of getting paintings into St. Paul's,' which they hoped 'would
tend to raise the drooping head, or rather the almost expiring art, of
painting;' and to this project the Bishop of London gave his assent.
Opie's 'Discourses on Painting' were delivered before the Royal Academy
in 1807.[124] His scheme included six: four on the practical aspect of
the subject, viz., 'Design or Drawing,' 'Colouring,' 'Chiaroscuro,' and
'Composition;' and two on the intellectual side, viz. 'Invention' and
'Expression.' The last of the series in each division, viz. those on
'Composition' and 'Expression,' he did not live to complete. I propose
to give as characteristic a short specimen as I can select from each
of the four which Opie delivered,[125] merely premising that they
were enthusiastically received, and that their author was, for once,
satisfied with his work, and so elated by his success that he could not
sleep. Even Allan Cunningham admitted: 'A passage such as this would
reflect credit on any professor the Academy ever possessed.'
In his first lecture, on 'Design or Drawing,' after insisting on the
absolute necessity for hard study of anatomy, with constant practice so
as to insure accurate drawing, without which, whatever may be the other
merits of the work, 'when the tide of taste rises, and the winds of
criticism bluster and beat upon it, the showy but ill-founded edifice
must quickly be swept away, or swallowed up and forgotten for ever,' he
goes on to say:
'These remarks are the more necessary, as it must be confessed that
the strength of the English painters never lay so much as it ought in
_design_; and now perhaps, more than ever, they seem devoted to the
charms of colour and effect, and captivate by the mere penmanship of
the art--the empty legerdemain of the pencil.
'But if the English artist runs counter in this instance to the
established character of his country, and prefers the superficial to
the solid attainments in art, has he not many excuses? May it not in
great measure be attributed to the general frivolity and meanness of
the subjects he is called upon to treat? to the inordinate rage for
portrait-painting (a more respectable kind of caricature), by which
he is for ever condemned to study and copy the wretched defects, and
conform to the still more wretched prejudices, of every tasteless and
ignorant individual, however in form, features, and mind, utterly
hostile to all ideas of character, expression, or sentiment? And may
it not in part be attributed to the necessity he is under of painting
always with reference to the exhibition? In a crowd he that talks
loudest, not he that talks best, is surest of commanding attention;
and in an exhibition he that does not attract the eye does nothing.
But however plausible these excuses, it becomes the true painter to
consider that they will avail nothing before the tribunal of the
world and posterity. Keeping the true end of Art in view, he must
rise superior to the prejudices, disregard the applause, and contemn
the censure of corrupt and incompetent judges; far from aiming to be
fashionable, it must be his object to reform, and not to flatter--to
teach, and not to please--if he aspires, like Zeuxis, to paint for
eternity.'
The spirit of this passage will, I think, enable us to understand how
irksome mere portrait-painting must always have been to our professor;
and its precepts might be laid to heart even by the artists of the
close of this nineteenth century.
In the lecture on 'Invention' the following passage seems to me worthy
of being reproduced. He observed that both the poet and the painter
have 'something more to do than to illustrate, explain, or fill the
chasms of history or tradition;' they must both first penetrate
thoroughly into the subject, and then mould it anew.
'Each adopts a chain of circumstances for the most part inapplicable
in the case of the other; each avails himself of their common
privilege of "daring everything to accomplish his end," not scrupling
on some occasions to run counter, if necessary, even to matter of
fact; for though most strictly bound to the observance of truth and
probability, these are obviously very different from such as is
required in _history_; his truth is the truth of _effect_, and his
probability the perfect _harmony_ and _congruity_ of all the parts of
his story, and their fitness to bring about the intended effect--that
of striking the imagination, touching the passions, and developing in
the most forcible manner the leading sentiment of the subject.'
Much would naturally be expected from Opie when he came to treat of
'Chiaroscuro,' for it was one of his strong points. West said of him:
'He painted what he saw in the most masterly manner, and he varied
little from it. _He saw nature in one point more distinctly and
forcibly than any painter that ever lived._ The truth of colour as
conveyed to the eye through the atmosphere, by which the distance of
every object is ascertained, was never better expressed than by him.'
And the following fine description of Opie's idea of this recondite
branch of art accordingly seems to me worthy of the painter and writer:
'Light and shade must be allowed to be the creator of body and space.
In addition to this, if properly managed, it contributes infinitely to
expression and sentiment; it lulls by breadth and gentle gradation,
strikes by contrast, and rouses by abrupt transition. All that is
grave, impressive, awful, mysterious, sublime, or dreadful in nature,
is really connected with IT. All poetic scenery, real or imaginary,
"of forests and enchantments drear," where more is meant than is
expressed; all the effects of solemn twilight and visionary obscurity
that flings half an image on the aching sight; all the terrors
of storm and the horrors of conflagration are indebted to IT for
representation on canvas; IT is the medium of enchanting softness and
repose in the works of some painters, and the vehicle by which others
have risen to sublimity in spite of the want of almost every other
excellence.'
We now come to his last lecture, that on 'Colour,' and in it note this
felicitous, nay poetic, passage:
'Colour, the peculiar object of the most delightful of our senses, is
associated in our minds with all that is rare, precious, delicate,
and magnificent in nature. A fine complexion, in the language of
the poet, is the dye of love, and the hint of something celestial;
the ruby, the rose, the diamond, the youthful blush, the orient
morning, and the variegated splendour of the setting sun, consist
of, or owe their charms principally to, _colour_. To the sight it
is the index of gaiety, richness, warmth, and animation; and should
the most experienced artist, by design alone, attempt to represent
the tender freshness of spring, the fervid vivacity of summer, or
the mellow abundance of autumn, what must be his success? _Colouring
is the sunshine of art_, that clothes poverty in smiles, rendering
the prospect of barrenness itself agreeable, while it heightens the
interest and doubles the charms of beauty.'
The next extract which I shall make will be the best answer to some
cavillers who used to aver that Opie was unwilling to admit excellence
in the works of other artists:
'Like Michael Angelo in design, Titian in colouring may be regarded
as the father of modern art. He first discovered and unfolded all its
charms, saw the true end of imitation, showed what to aim at, when
to labour, and where to stop; and united breadth and softness to the
proper degree of finish. He first dared all its depths, contrasted
all its oppositions, and taught COLOUR to glow and palpitate with all
the warmth and tenderness of real life: free from tiresome detail
or disgusting minutiæ, he rendered the roses and lilies of youth,
the more ensanguined brown of manhood, and the pallid coldness of
age with truth and precision; and to every material object, hard or
soft, rough or smooth, bright or obscure, opaque or transparent, his
pencil imparted its true quality and appearance to the eye, with all
the force of harmony and light, shade, middle tint and reflection; by
which he so relieved, rounded, and connected the whole, that we are
almost irresistibly tempted to apply the test of another sense, and
exclaim
'"Art thou not, pleasing vision! sensible
To feeling as to sight?"'
But the too industrious artist's health was already beginning to break
down. Exactly one calendar month passed away, and there
'Came the blind Fury with abhorred shears
And slit the thin-spun life--'
the lecturer was silent after the delivery of the foregoing lecture;
and his busy pencil at length idle. John Opie died, childless, in the
house in Berners Street where he had lived for sixteen years, in
the forty-sixth year of his age. He had loving nurses in his devoted
wife and a most affectionate sister; he had also the advantage of no
less than six medical attendants, who saw him daily--frequently three
or four times a day. But the exact nature of his illness seems not
to have been quite understood,[126] and all was in vain; he lingered
awhile, and died, as he had lived, a painter. His friend and pupil,
Henry Thomson, R.A.,[127] had been called in to complete the background
and robes of one of Opie's finest portraits, for the forthcoming
Exhibition. It was a likeness of the Duke of Gloucester. 'It wants
more colour in the background,' said Opie, in the intervals of his
deathbed delirium. More was added, but he continued to express himself
dissatisfied:--the delirium returned; and he continued (in imagination)
at his easel, until he breathed his last on the 9th April, 1807.
And his prophecy as to his place of burial was fulfilled: 'Aye, girl,'
he once said to his sister, 'I, too, shall be buried at St. Paul's.'
There he was laid on the 20th April (close to Barry), in the crypt, by
the side of a yet more illustrious artist from the West-country,--Sir
Joshua Reynolds. Benjamin West's remains followed in 1820. Vandyke had
long before been buried near the same spot. Fuseli, and Lawrence, and
Turner, followed them. Amongst the distinguished men who were his
pall-bearers were two eminent Cornishmen, Lord De Dunstanville and Sir
John St. Aubyn, his friends, and (the former especially) his patrons.
We have seen something of Opie's career as an artist, and of his grasp
as a writer: it remains to say something of his private character. The
predominant features of it seem to me to be a lofty, unselfish ambition
for excellence, a deep earnestness and stern truthfulness combined
with a most affectionate placable disposition, a generous heart, and
no inconsiderable sense of humour. He was never idle for a moment, his
wife says--he painted all day long, and grudged himself the shortest
holiday; but he never made sufficient progress to satisfy himself, and
would sometimes exclaim: 'I shall never, never make a painter.' As in
his youth, so in his manhood, he was liable to fits of depression,
from one of which he especially suffered during a gloomy three months
at the end of the year 1802, when commissions for a short while came
in slowly. He recovered his spirits, however, at the beginning of the
following year, when more work came to him, and from that time to the
very last he was full of commissions. The last work he finished was a
head of Miranda, and it was one of his best.
His tastes were simple, and his ambition (except as to his art) was
moderate. To save 'a certain sum,' Mrs. Opie tells us, in order that he
might keep a horse, and collect a good library which he could study at
his leisure, was the limit of his desires.
A few words may be expected as to Opie's personal appearance and
manners. As to the former, his bold, homely, melancholy features, noble
forehead and penetrating eye--the 'index' to his mind--are tolerably
familiar to us from the fact of his having several times painted his
own portrait--Mr. Rogers catalogues more than twenty. One of the best
with which I am acquainted is, I think, that engraved in mezzotint by
S. W. Reynolds, and selected by Mrs. Opie to prefix to her edition of
her husband's 'Lectures;'[128] but that presented by his widow to the
Royal Cornwall Polytechnic Society, Falmouth, is also a very fine one.
There is another portrait, painted by himself when a youth, at the
National Portrait Gallery; and there is one at Dulwich. And Opie was
caricatured, with six other R.A.'s, in Gillray's 'Titianus Redivivus,
or the Seven Wise Men consulting the Venetian Oracle.' He was always
somewhat careless of his personal appearance, and frugal in his mode
of life. For drawing-room society he had no liking or capacity; but,
as we have seen, he enjoyed a good dinner-party, where sterling
conversation went on, and to which he was able and ready to contribute
his quota--sometimes brusquely enough. But on this point his friend
Boaden should be heard:
'I know that, to some, his frank open conduct appeared uncalled for;
nay, I have even heard it termed coarse; but the coarse man is he who
says a thing in bad language, and not he who, with a noble simplicity,
comes immediately to the point, and, when he has obtained conviction,
in the plainest words delivers his judgment. If I were to attempt
to characterize him in one word (I should most certainly use that
word to the honour of our species) it would be that he was a genuine
ENGLISHMAN--for affectation he despised, and flattery he abhorred.' It
may be added that he regarded with utter indifference any attacks which
might be made on his private or professional character.
His sledge-hammer style of expression had doubtless something to do
with the cessation of intimate relations which took place between old
Wolcot and himself. Opie was not the sort of man to be _patronized_,
even by a 'Peter Pindar.'
Most of his great works live to speak for themselves. Some of the
finest examples are at Petworth; and Dr. Waagen pronounces these
almost equal to Sir Joshua's. In energy of style, breadth, purity of
colour, harmony of tone, and exquisite chiaroscuro, they stand very
high. His portraits especially were real and lifelike, but they were
not without their defects, and, as we see them now, are much marred by
his too copious use of asphaltum: Thackeray, in his 'Four Georges,'
even refers to them as 'Opie's pitchy canvases.' His historical works
are somewhat deficient in imagination; and his portraits sometimes
lack dignity as well as delicacy; whilst his style, partaking too much
of his own temperament, and even of his personal appearance, was apt
to run in a sombre vein. But a brother R.A., who knew him well--J.
Northcote, a friendly rival, and to some extent his imitator--wrote
of him: 'The toils and difficulties of his profession were by him
considered as matters of honourable and delightful contest; and it
might be said of him that _he did not so much paint to live, as live
to paint_.[129] He was studious, yet not severe; he was eminent, yet
not vain; his disposition so tranquil and forgiving that it was the
reverse of every tincture of sour or vindictive, and what to some might
seem roughness of manner, was only the effect of an honest indignation
towards that which he conceived to be error.' Northcote would often
exclaim to those whom he esteemed, 'How I wish you had known Opie!'
And his friend Sir Martin Archer Shee, a President of the Royal
Academy, paid this final tribute to his memory:
'His vigorous pencil in pursuit of art
Disdain'd to dwell on each minuter part;
Impressive force--impartial truth he sought,
And travell'd in no beaten track of thought.
Unlike the servile herd, whom we behold
Casting their drossy ore in fashion's mould;
_His_ metal by no common die is known,
The coin is sterling--and the stamp _his own_.'
It may be interesting to some readers to know where the best Opies
are now to be found in Cornwall; and for information on this point I
am indebted to the following extract from a letter from my friend Mr.
Edward Opie, of Plymouth:
'As I have mentioned where Opies are _not_ to be found, I ought to
state where they _are_--I mean in Cornwall, if not removed lately. Sir
John St. Aubyn has the greatest number--I think seven or eight. These
include two portraits of his grandfather, Sir J. St. Aubyn; one of
his grandmother; one of Captain James; one of Miss Bunn;[130] one of
Dolly Pentreath; and one--the best of all--of Mrs. Bell, housekeeper
at Clowance. This last was much admired at one of the R.A. Winter
Exhibitions. Lady Falmouth told me she had three, if not four, Opies.
Mrs. Boscawen, you know, was an early patroness of the painter, and
invited him to breakfast, when old Mr. Polwhele sent him into the
kitchen. The Hon. Mrs. Gilbert has four, including a beggar;--another
beggar is at Enys. Mrs. J. M. Williams, at Carhayes, has two, both
fancy pictures. At Scorrier, Mr. G. Williams has two. At Penrose, Mr.
Rogers's, there are two or three. At Prideaux Place, Mr. Prideaux
Brune's, there are two; one being a dog's head, the other his own
portrait. At Tregullow there are two, one being his mother with
Bible;--there are several copies of this.'