DUTCH SCHOOL (_Continued_)
“Jack and Joan they think no ill,
But loving live, and merry still;
Do their week days’ work and pray
Devoutly on the holy day.”
Rembrandt’s influence was largely felt, and it was owing to him that the
Dutch school became renowned for its striking and poetic treatment of
light. It redeemed the commonplace; it touched with something of the
ideal the household pots and pans; the implements and contents of the
larder—all the trifles that make up still life.
A group of painters, all more or less illustrious, gathered round
Rembrandt and his great precursor Frans Hals. Portraits, pictures filled
with the atmosphere of home life, marine scenes and landscapes depicting
the beauties of their beloved country, such are the themes chosen by
these painters.
Pieter de Hoogh (1630–1678) flooded his pictures with golden sunshine.
He is the painter of pure light, and light gives the idealising touch.
There are three pictures in the National Gallery by him, two of Dutch
courtyards (794 and 835) and one (834) the interior of a Dutch house.
These pictures are festivals of gem-like colour. All the home-loving
life of Holland is in them. We see the zealous haus-frau standing in the
courtyard waiting for her husband’s return, we see him returning pushing
open the garden gate. The interior of the Dutch house shows a
tessellated floor all brilliant with light and shadow. It is a picture
of well-to-do comfort. There is no spiritual ideality, but there is
honest and beautiful workmanship and familiar delight.
I can only tell you of some of the artists that formed the group. There
is Gabriel Metzu (1630–1667), remarkable for the harmony of his colour.
His pictures are often of music (838–839), suggesting pleasant memories
in which music entered.
Van der Neer (1603–1677), the poet of night, is represented by several
pictures, the most charming being (239). He painted moonlight
romantically.
Nicholas Maas, pupil of Rembrandt (1632–1693), draws his figures most
finely and spiritedly. Of the pictures by him in the Gallery “Card
Players” (1247) is the most characteristic of his manner. See how the
young girl’s fingers are hovering over the cards she holds, hesitating
which to play, and her partner is waiting for her decision, looking out
of the canvas with an amused expression. (207) and (159) are also
excellent. Maas is a fine example of observation of ordinary life and a
noble sense of colour.
Adrian van Ostade (1610–1685) was a pupil of Frans Hals. He is the
painter of peasant life and rustic revels, the painter also of the
necromancer’s life. See the alchemist (846), a strong picture, showing
the destitution of the man who is devoted to his quest for gold. His
brother Isaac (1621–1649) is the painter of winter, of frozen canals and
skating (963).
Bartholemew Van der Helst (1611–1670) was a portrait painter of most
remarkable gifts; indeed we may say that he never attempted anything but
portraits, for his great historical pictures in the museum of Amsterdam
are simply a number of portraits in one frame. Sir Joshua Reynolds said
of the picture at Amsterdam, “A Company of Civil Guards,” that it is
“perhaps the finest picture of portraits in the world.” Here is a
portrait of a young lady (1348), which is a specimen of his art. It is a
realistic portrait; look at the expression in the dark grey eyes, at the
beautiful painting of the hands, at the representation of the gold
embroidery, of the fine lace collar and cuffs, at the lustre of pearls
and jewels. There is nothing, however, of Rembrandt’s concentration of
light and of deep gloom in Van der Helst’s works.
Molenaer, the two Mieris, Netscher, all belong to the group of painters
flourishing between Frans Hals and Rembrandt.
Gerard Dou (1613–1675) was a direct pupil of Rembrandt; his work is
quite microscopic. “The Poulterer’s Shop” (825) is a marvel of high
finish and breadth of execution. The shopwoman is holding up a pair of
birds for the inspection of a customer; on the window sill is game of
every description; every feather of the birds, every hair of the
animals’ hides are exquisitely depicted. In (192) and (968) we have the
portraits of this extraordinarily clever artist and his wife. The
portraits are finely individualised; they are full of life and of
expression.
Then there is Jan Steen (about 1626–1679), the wittiest, most jovial of
artists. The painter of tavern scenes, himself a brewer, who joined the
profession of painter and publican; he was the least spiritual of
artists. We see his rollicking rustics in every gallery—boors drinking,
making love, clumsily dancing, sometimes fighting. With his observant
eye he beheld many brawls, many discordant scenes, many joyful revels,
and he painted them as he alone could paint. He had a great gaiety of
brush. He has left a fine portrait of himself; it is that of a gentle,
serious face, the very last we would associate with his genius and with
his life. In the National Gallery is “The Music Master” (856), for often
Jan Steen chose scenes of life from the wealthier classes; and the
magnificence of the painting of this little picture is very remarkable.
We now come to Terborgh (1617–1681). Let us look at his remarkable
historical picture, “The Peace of Münster” (896), a peace that put an
end to the terrible Thirty Years’ War and proclaimed the independence of
the Dutch united provinces in 1648. This picture is one of the gems of
our national collection, every face therein is portrayed so strongly and
is so well individualised. We seem to know the character, the very
temperament of its owner. The delegate, in a red cloak, reads the
clauses of the treaty, and the listeners are holding up their hands in
sign of approval. The wonderful distribution of the light over all these
faces, the dark gloom of the black draperies give a unity to the picture
scene. Terborgh introduces his own portrait amongst those of the crowd;
it is the third on the left behind the man whose hand is on the back of
a chair. It is a scene of supreme interest. Terborgh himself was present
at the great discussion, and he painted it at Münster during the
congress. All the heads are portraits. During his lifetime Terborgh
would not part from it.
There is a story of dramatic interest attached to this picture. It
belonged to Prince Demidoff. When the prince died his pictures were put
up for sale, and the Marquis of Hertford became the possessor of “The
Peace of Münster.” Lord Londonderry had tried to get it for England; he
had offered eight thousand pounds, and he could do no more. In due time
the Marquis of Hertford died, and Sir Richard Wallace inherited his
gallery.
One day the keeper of the National Gallery was told that a gentleman
wished to see him. It was a busy morning; however, on the promise that
the interview would last but a few moments, a stranger bearing a parcel
was admitted. He began to explain the object of his visit, but the
official cut him short, bidding him leave the picture behind and he
would hear tidings of it within a week. For all answer the stranger
began to undo the straps round the parcel; the official tied them up
again, impatiently repeating what he had just said. Then the visitor
said: “My name is Sir Richard Wallace, and this is the ‘Peace of
Münster’ by Terborgh. I wish to present it to the National Gallery.”
You can well believe how the keeper was thunderstruck.
Terborgh excelled in another class of pictures, of which “The Guitar
Lesson” (864) is an example. It shows how music was part of the home
life in that northern country, and it displays the master’s certain and
delicate touch.
In marine painting we have Van de Velde, the younger, who was born in
1633 and died in 1707. He has been called the most famous marine painter
of Holland. He lived for a large part of his life at Greenwich in the
service of Charles II. and of James II.; they granted him and his father
a pension of £100 per annum. His father was an eminent draughtsman, whom
the English king paid to make drawings of sea-fights, and he paid the
son to put these draughts into colours. Both artists were specially
commissioned by the East India Company to paint several of their ships.
It was in Holland that marine painting first played an important part.
The sea was the glory and the menace of this low lying country. We
prefer Van de Velde’s calm seas where the boats are at anchor to his
boisterous ones. The “Calm at Sea” (874) is painted like a miniature;
the transparent light, the delicacy of the tone I want you to notice.
We will now pass on to Bakhuizen (1631–1708), the painter of wrecks and
storms. The artist is said to have often exposed his life for the sake
of studying the effects of cloud and wind. We have five of his pictures;
they are hard and they lack transparency of colour, but they are full of
movement. Bakhuizen was very much patronised by sovereigns. It is good
to study them, for they show the state of marine painting in Holland.
Peter the Great frequently visited his studio and even took lessons from
him. “Dutch Shipping” (223) is a good example of his work.
Then there are the landscapes of the Dutch school. The Dutch set
themselves to reproduce the physical features of their country with love
and great technical skill. We meet constantly avenues of poplars, wide
plains, sluggish canals. Albert Cuyp (1620–1691) was before all things
the painter of light. We, in England, call him the Dutch Claude. His
golden skies over a misty land, or over calm waters, are delightful to
contemplate. Whether Cuyp paints a river scene where ships are leisurely
sailing, as in (823), or whether, as in (53), he paints a landscape with
cattle and figures, he is always individual. These pictures are all gold
and silver haze. In (53) a rider in a coat of brilliant vermilion,
somewhat out of keeping with the tone of the landscape, mounted on a
horse of dapple grey, is talking to a pretty shepherdess guarding her
flocks. It is an idyllic scene. The light, the sky, the misty haze are
tender and suggestive. Ruskin says hard things of Cuyp, but he also
tells us that Turner owed much to him. He loved the mellow light of
evening rather than the garish light of early afternoon, and almost all
his pictures in the National Gallery are harmonies in gold.
Paul Potter is a painter of cattle first and of landscape merely as a
background. What a painter and what a worker was Paul Potter (1625–1654)
during his twenty-nine years of life. He was born at Amsterdam, and he
was an accomplished artist at fifteen years of age. He died, some say of
consumption, others of over-work. I can’t tell you much about him, for
my limit is coming to an end. His aim was truth; he thought of nothing
but representing faithfully what he saw. He was a painter of the dear
dumb animals. We see them in his pictures standing knee deep in the
flowery fields, generally in the spring time. We possess but two
pictures by him. “Landscape with Cattle” (849) brings all nature to us,
and “An Old Grey Hunter” (1009), a portrait of a horse, a fine example
of his style. His “Young Bull” at Amsterdam is a marvel of life; it is a
huge picture; the bull is life-sized.
And now we come to one who might be called the king of landscape
painters—Jacob Ruysdael (1628–1682). The son of a picture dealer, he
quitted medicine for art and he never married. At heart a solitary, he
sought the silence, the mystery of nature. He painted storms as they
have never been painted. There is the picture of one at the Louvre which
a great French critic calls the “prodigy of the Louvre.” The sense of a
turbulent influence seemed to possess him, and he would render the
sadness of many effects. He was inspired by solitude, by the roar of
falling water, by the jagged rocks. Woods of pines and beeches were his
favourite haunts, torrents and waterfalls his favourite subjects. In “A
Landscape with Waterfall” (627) (and there are three pictures (628 and
737) that bear that title), we seem to hear the dash of the spray among
the rocks and to see the brilliancy of the white clouds against the dark
trees. So dearly were trees associated with the life of this unmarried
man that he would often paint the portrait of a single tree. In “An Old
Oak” (988) and “The Broken Tree” (991) we have pathetic examples of this
love of the leafy monarchs. He painted many northern scenes from
sketches made in Norway by a friend. He died in 1682 in an almshouse
close to where Rembrandt had lived.
Meindert Hobbema (1638–1709) is Ruysdael’s only rival, and he was his
pupil and friend. But Hobbema loved the blithe side of nature. His trees
glitter in the sunshine, his skies are wind swept, and in them great
white clouds gather. “The Avenue, Middelharnis, Holland” (830) remains
in our memory. It is so imbued with the sense of homeliness, which is
the endearing charm of these Dutch pictures. We feel that Hobbema must
often have walked down that long avenue under those tall lopped trees,
that he must often have looked at the ditches on either side dividing
the neat plantations trim as a lawn, from the road, and seen the nursery
garden on the left in which the gardener is at work. The road leads to
the village, and we like to think of Hobbema frequenting the village
church peeping from the trees to the left; those red-roofed cottages we
feel were familiar to him. The beautiful white clouds of fantastic
shapes congregating above are very characteristic of his love of summer
skies. Other pictures by the same artist are in the Gallery. He was not
appreciated by his country folk, and he died in great poverty in the
street where Rembrandt had died just as poor four years before.
[Illustration:
“THE AVENUE: MIDDELHARNIS, HOLLAND” (830)
BY MINDERT HOBBEMA
page 150
]
We must not forget the golden landscapes of Jan and Andrea Both
(1610–1652). The brothers were models of fraternal affection: they
travelled together, worked together, and I was about to say they died
together, for Jan died of grief when Andrea was drowned in one of the
canals of Venice. Andrea was a good painter, yet he cared only to paint
the figures in Jan’s landscapes. These landscapes are charming, but
there is something artificial about them in their glowing skies, their
feathery trees. The brothers Both were among those who italianised the
Dutch landscape. To look at one of their pictures is to look at all.
“Landscape: a Party of Muleteers with Laden Mules: Morning” (71), with
its mountain scenery, its rocky foreground, with the lake in the middle
distance and blue mountains beyond, is very like “An Italian Landscape”
(1917), where there are groups of trees with distant mountains seen in a
glowing sunset, where peasants on horseback and two men are grouped by
the roadside in charge of some goats, and two craggy cliffs close in the
picture and the landscape beyond.
Jan Wynants (about 1620–1679) was the first of the school of real Dutch
landscape painters. He sought his inspiration from Holland and Holland
alone. He is the very reverse of Ruysdael; he has no sympathy for gloom
or solitude, he cares only for sunshiny scenes, for sandbanks that glow
in the light of summer skies, or for the wooded borders of the great
forest. Look at the two “Landscapes with Figures” (884, 971). They are
excellent examples of Wynants’ art. There are other landscapes by him in
the National Gallery, and in almost all you will see a sand-hill or a
sandy road gleaming golden. The figures in his landscapes were put in by
other artists. It often happens in Dutch pictures that the landscapes
are by one artist and the figures by another. Andrian Van De Velde was
probably Wynants’ assistant.
Wouwerman (1619–1668), “of the White Horse,” as he is called, for in
almost all his pictures a white horse is the central object that
focusses the light. He was a very prolific painter; his pictures are
full of movement, and his figures and animals are skilfully drawn, and
yet they do not move us. We remain cold before scenes that should harrow
us. It is all too orderly, too smooth, too neat. We cannot imagine “A
Battle, Cavalry and Infantry” (976) conducted on so orderly a pattern.
Sir Peter Lely (1618–1680) was a native of Holland; he settled in
England in 1641. He came in the suite of William of Orange, son-in-law
of King Charles I. It was the year after Van Dyck’s death; upon this
master Lely modelled his style. He began by painting Cromwell, who
commanded him to paint warts and all. Then when Charles II. succeeded as
king, he became a royal favourite. He painted all the frail beauties of
the court. You will see them all at Hampton Court. It was a lucrative
business. “Lely is a mighty proud man,” says Pepys. As he was painting
the Duchess of Somerset in 1680 he was struck down with apoplexy. A
portrait (1016) of a girl feeding her parrot with cherries is the single
specimen here of Sir Peter Lely’s work. It is somewhat artificial, and
yet there is in it a decided sense of beauty.
We must not forget Van Huysum (1682–1769), the painter of flowers, of
birds’ nests with eggs in them. Look at “A Vase with Flowers” (796 and
1001). They are full of charm and grace. Then there are two painters of
still life, Jan Weenix (1621–1661) and his son (1640–1719). They painted
with great spirit hares, pheasants, wonderful fruit, vegetables, and the
imitation is so perfect that in their pictures “life,” it was said,
“seemed restored to the dead creatures.”
Snyders (1579–1652) was a friend of Rubens and a native of Antwerp. His
parents were the proprietors of a large eating-house, and Snyders had
plenty of opportunity of seeing dead game, fish, fruit, and vegetables,
and he enhanced the brilliancy of his groups by introducing some
gorgeously plumed parrot or bird. See his fine picture, “A Fruit Piece”
(1252). Rubens often helped him, and Snyders groups are very valuable
now.
I have told you enough I think of these Dutch painters. There are many
other things, but I must hurry on to other schools. I want you to
remember always that light and shade are the magic of the Dutch, that
with them they wrought superb and glowing effects. The love of the Dutch
for their Holland inspired their art; all the simple ideals of life were
dwelt upon by them with special love. It is this affection for home, for
the skies and roads of their native land, for the plain and humble
people who were their kinsfolk, for their delight in music, in the
amusements—often the boisterous ones of daily life—that are expressed in
their art and make it so interesting to us. We feel that nothing is
really common to these Dutch painters, that observation and sympathy
touch all things and lift their representation to the rank of high art.