1823: AGED FORTY-EIGHT
'THE BAY OF BAIÆ': A CRITIC IS CRITICAL, AND A PAINTER IS ENTHUSIASTIC
'Waft me to sunny Baiæ's shore' wrote Turner in the _Fallacies of
Hope_, one of the simple lines, a line that it was quite permissible
to print in the catalogue of the Academy of 1823 against his much
discussed, much criticised, and much loved 'Bay of Baiæ.' The picture
indeed wafts us to Baiæ, one of the most beautiful spots in Italy, and
we are content with its beauty if we neglect the pines, their heavy
shadows, and the figures of Apollo and the Cumæan Sibyl posing in the
shade. But could anything be lovelier than the blue sea rippling on the
yellow sand, the subtle hills and the fairy building, a kind of Claude
'Enchanted Castle' that has passed into a golden dream.
Turner, as I have said before, has his admirers and detractors, and
those who adore part of his achievement and are critical of the rest;
few, if any, admire him all in all. Let me here quote two authorities
on 'The Bay of Baiæ'--Mr. Finberg, a critic who has devoted years
of his life to Turner, and Mr. Wyllie, a painter who has written an
admirable book on the master. The reader can decide which form of
criticism or commentary he prefers: the cold objectivity of the critic
or the glowing subjectivity of the painter. Here is Mr. Finberg on 'The
Bay of Baiæ,' extracted from the admirable Extra Number of _The Studio_
on the 'Water Colours of Turner':--
'It is conceded on all hands that Turner's artistic work went all
to pieces as a result of his Italian experiences. "The Bay of Baiæ"
contains faults altogether new in his completed works. Even the
feeblest of his earlier works had been animated by some central idea
or emotion to which all the parts were subordinated, and which infused
into them whatever of life or significance they possessed. In "The Bay
of Baiæ" the artist has an unusual quantity of material on his hands,
but he can neither find nor invent a pictorial idea to give coherence
to his disconnected observations. The picture is made up of bits of
visual experiences elaborately dovetailed into one another but which
absolutely refuse to combine into any kind of conceptional unity.'
And here is Mr. Wyllie on 'that wonderful work' 'The Bay of Baiæ':--
'Only eight years before, the "Crossing the Brook" was painted in
little more than black, brown, and palest blue, and now Turner has
thrown aside the inky shadows as cold, grey skies and has burst out a
perfect blaze of splendid colour. Years ago when I was a student at
the old Academy schools in Trafalgar Square I used to stroll out at
the luncheon hour or after closing time, to have a look at the Old
Masters in the National Gallery next door. Somehow my feet always
seemed to carry me to this my favourite picture at that time.
'I think the blue sea breaking gently on the sandy shore is one of
the most perfect of Turner's visions of Italy. The little jetty, the
fishing boats, the castle, and the volcanic hill thickly wooded and
piled ridge beyond ridge as they pale into the haze are all most
splendidly painted; the ruins half hidden in vines and long trailing
creepers are well done and take their places in the scheme. There are
thin rich glazes and strong yellows in the foreground and two very
conventional stone pines, which throw a mos unnatural dark shadow
right across the foreground. The Sibyl holding up the cryptic handful
of sand to Apollo as a request for many years of life is painted quite
carelessly; indeed one would almost fancy that the whole of the near
objects were formed up in that rich, juicy fashion merely to drive
back the delicate middle distance and enhance its beauty. There is
no doubt that it does produce that effect, for if you shut out that
part of the composition with your hand the rest of the picture suffers
though the foreground is nothing by itself.'
Turner's contemporaries made the usual remark that the real locality
had been rather freely treated, or, as Thornbury puts it, half
the scene was sheer invention. As a matter of fact 'Baiæ' is more
accurate, from a topographical point of view, than most of Turner's
pictures. Jones wrote across the frame with a piece of chalk the words
'_Splendide Mendaæ._' Turner laughed; he did not even take the trouble
to rub out the chalk. For years the marks remained on the frame.
Here is a pen picture of Turner at this time. David Roberts, who became
one of Turner's most intimate friends, decribes how he first met him at
a meeting of the Artists' Benevolent Fund, one of Turner's pet schemes
which he helped to found and to carry out. It was characteristic of
Turner that he was in favour of hoarding its funds and distributing but
a small sum each year in charity.
Of this meeting of the Artists's Benevolent Fund at the Crown and
Anchor in the Strand, Roberts wrote:--
'Being seated round a table covered with green baize--of course with
the exception of my friend whom I accompainied, John Wilson, all to me
were strangers--a little square built man came in, to whom all paid
respect; the business having begun, he joined in the conversation,
and made some weak attempts at wit--at least I thought so, for no one
seemed to laugh at his jokes but himself! So I asked who this very
facetious little man was, and my astonishment on being told that it
was the 'Great Turner' almost, without meaning a pun, turned my head.'
Turner was not the first great man, and he will not be the last little
man, at whose jokes no one laughs but himself.