ENGLISH SCHOOL (_Continued_)
“I learnt to love that England
Such an up and down
Of verdure—nothing too much up or down
A ripple of land.”
We must look at another landscape painter’s works, those of Richard
Wilson, who was born in 1714, some years before Gainsborough, and who
died in 1782. He was an accomplished artist, yet his landscapes leave us
cold near those of the Suffolk poet-painter. Wilson could not see things
simply; he decked nature, he made her classic. He had been to Italy, the
land of high art, and he loved that land and its associations so dearly
that he could not paint our England simply as he saw it. There are many
splendid pictures by Wilson—skies of pearly light, dark trees, the
foliage of which form a frame to the classic scene beyond. Let us look
at “Niobe” (110). A cascade rushes down the rocks, and the landscape is
a fit setting to the terrible tragedy enacted. Apollo and Diana are up
in the clouds shooting down the children of the unhappy Niobe, because
she mocked at their mother Latona for having two children only, whereas
she had seven sons and seven fair daughters.
Wilson was much neglected during his lifetime. England resented seeing
her fair fields turned into classic groves. The King returned a picture
of Kew Gardens that he had ordered. “It is not Kew,” he said; it was
some representation of a classic country, and he would not have it.
Although Wilson was elected one of the first Academicians, he could not
sell his works, and he became terribly poor. We are glad to know that
towards the end of his life, by the death of his brother, he inherited a
small competence, and was saved from the worst.
George Romney was another of the great painters of the eighteenth
century. He was born in 1734 and died in 1802. The father was “honest
John Romney,” a cabinetmaker, who greatly, but vainly, wished George to
follow his trade. George was bent upon learning to paint, and persuaded
his father to place him with an artist named Steele. Later we find him
with his friend the miniaturist, Ozias Humphrey, wandering about the
Continent. He had married when he was about twenty-two, but he left his
wife for many years. His whole heart was in his painting, and when he
returned to London his works had preceded him and had already made him
popular. He was the recognised rival of Sir Joshua Reynolds and
Gainsborough. His favourite model was the exquisite woman, who later
became Lady Hamilton.
She was a siren; she wiled away the hearts of men. Romney was always
painting her—as Cassandra, as St. Cecilia, as a Bacchante, as a
Magdalene; in every character the divine lady, as he called her, was
more beautiful than in the last. Let us look at her as a Bacchante
(312); her head is turned over her right shoulder, her exquisite mouth
is smiling, her eyes look love. Then, again, in Cassandra (1668) what a
world of woe lies in her prophetic eyes. It is always the same; as he
painted her, she is the type of perfect beauty. Other women Romney
painted, and to all he gave spiritual grace. Mrs. Mark Currie (1651),
with her cloudy hair, her hands half crossed, is a vision of happy and
peaceful womanhood. His career was very successful, dividing the
patronage of the aristocracy with Gainsborough and Reynolds. He went
back to Kendal and died there, November 15, 1802.
Then there is Raeburn, the Scotch portrait painter (1756–1823). Strong,
straightforward, he looked his sitters straight in the eyes, and
detected their souls as he painted them. He has a strong and simple
manner that suited the painting of men rather than that of women, I
should say than that of young women, for his old ladies in large mob
caps are delightful to look at. The portrait of Lieutenant Colonel Bruce
Macmerdoe (1435) is a fine breezy picture of a sailor, who is
represented fishing; he has a clear, open, and intelligent face; (1146)
is the delightful portrait of a lady dressed in white. I cannot dwell
much longer upon the great portrait painters of the English school. It
has excelled from the first in men gifted with the art of painting the
human face.
There is Opie (1761–1807), a man of great culture, wise in speech, and
philosophic in his turn of mind. Two portraits, one of Mary
Wollstonecraft (1167) and one of William Godwin (1208) are here. These
portraits of remarkable personages are well worth looking at. Godwin is
the author of “Caleb Williams” and two other weird romances. He was an
advocate of freedom of thought in all things, and Mary Wollstonecraft,
his wife, wrote a famous treatise upon the rights of women, and was the
mother of Shelley’s second wife. Opie was not a great painter by any
means, but he was a remarkable man. He married twice. Mrs. Opie, the
famous novelist, was his second wife, and she was devoted to him.
Then there is Hoppner, a charming painter, who was born in London in
1759, and died in 1810. He early entered the Royal Academy Schools.
Gifted for song, he gave up his musical ambition for that of painting.
In 1782 he won the gold medal at the Academy. His mother was a German
lady in waiting to the Queen. Hoppner was patronised by the Prince of
Wales, who became King George IV.; and soon attracted the attention of
the fashionable world. Two camps divided the courts—one composed of Whig
ladies who followed Hoppner, and the other of Tory ladies who followed
Lawrence. But the two painters remained friendly rivals to the end, both
taking opposite views of art, as they did of politics. Hoppner, although
the follower of a prince of loose morals, cared for a demure and refined
ideal of beauty. There is something almost Quaker-like in the purity of
his conceptions, while Lawrence’s ladies are graceful, and suggest
somewhat easy morals. The Countess of Oxford (900) is a good specimen of
Hoppner’s delightful style.
Sir Thomas Lawrence was called the second Reynolds, and he was an infant
prodigy. He recited, he drew, his manners were charming. He was well
known long before he came up to London. Born in 1769, he was of a good
family who had fallen upon evil fortunes. He yet came early in touch
with people, for his father had a large inn at Devizes. Later on he
became the idol of fashionable society; everybody admired him, and was
delighted to be with him. Byron speaks of his cultured and lively talk,
and his sitters were charmed with his compliments. He was fond of his
family, and he was always kind and generous to its members. Perhaps the
greatest talent he possessed was that he knew how to paint the furbelows
of fashion with grace and distinction, and to depict character in dress.
He gave a curious look of animation to his portraits. His sitters seem
as if they could speak to us, and yet we ask ourselves did he guess
their souls. His portrait of Mrs. Siddons (785) contrasts with
Gainsborough’s dignified and melancholy representation of the same
woman. It is a brilliant head, full of a seductive charm, but is it not
too simply pretty for that of the woman Sir Joshua immortalised as “The
Tragic Muse”? I prefer Lawrence’s portraits of men. That of Benjamin
West, P.R.A. (144), shows us the venerable painter at the age of
seventy-three. On the easel behind him is the sketch of Raphael’s
cartoon of “The Death of Ananias.” Angerstein, the collector whose
pictures formed the nucleus of the National Gallery (129), and Romilly
(1238), the great lawyer who reformed the cruel laws, are here, and in
them you will see Lawrence at his best. They are simply and nobly
expressive; they show none of the freaks of passing fashion so
noticeable in his portraits of women. Lawrence was President of the
Royal Academy. He died in 1830, and was buried with pomp in St. Paul’s
Cathedral.