THE NORWICH SCHOOL AND OTHER PAINTERS
“All in the April morning,
April airs were abroad.
The sheep with their little lambs
Pass’d me by on the road.”
There was formed in Norwich an association of painters that called
itself the Norwich school of artists. Its leader and founder was a
simple man of simple life, who has ever since been known as “Old Crome”
(1768–1821). This designation of “old” is really to distinguish him from
his son, who succeeded him in the leadership of the school. He was born
at Norwich on December 8, 1768. His father kept a public-house, and he
was brought up to be a coach painter, but he rebelled against his fate
and he was apprenticed to a sign painter. He married very young. It was
in 1805 that he gathered together the artists and formed the Norwich
school. Its members had a common painting room; they held exhibitions,
and their works became famous, that is the works of their leader John
Crome, with whom was associated Cotman. But to us the Norwich school is
Crome.
Hobbema was his spiritual ancestor, and the art of the Low Countries
inspired him. To him the trees, the airy spaces, the sky with golden
floating clouds, the solitude and stillness of out of the way places
were all delight. Their spirit dwells in the aspects of nature that he
was always striving for. He is the very reverse of Wilson, who always,
as you know, sought some classic theme. Crome loved simple things.
“Mousehold Heath” (689) is a representation of solitude and stillness—a
grassy slope, a foreground of heath and thistles, golden clouds above.
He knew a particular tree as you know the face of a friend, and he
especially loved the oak. He had a perfect passion for fidelity; he
loved shadow and sunshine, the shadow of deep places, the sunshine of
the afternoon light. “Landscape—Slate Quarries” (1037), a picture of
desolate Welsh slate quarries where men are labouring. “The Windmill”
(926), a very suggestive picture of a mill set on a hill, and of a man
trudging home from work.
This unaffected and genial man, honest and homely, cared only for the
scenery of his own county; he lived and died at Norwich. We can imagine
him every night going to the public-house as to an informal club, no
more understanding what we call “impressionism” than he would have
understood some new fangled word. He painted what he saw, and the things
that appealed to him most were air and space.
He died in 1821, and if we read the local records of that time we shall
see that there was a fine funeral given to him, that all the notable
inhabitants of Norwich turned out to do honour to the man who had
painted their county so faithfully. He left his son behind. He also did
good work, but it is always of old Crome that we think when we mention
the name. I like to remember him as he was, in his simple life, painting
at his easel, or talking with his comrades of local affairs.
Cotman (1782–1842), was a foremost member of the Norwich school. He
spent long years at Yarmouth, where he studied all things nautical.
“River Scene” (1111)—wherries on the Yare—is a good example of his love
and faithful observation of the sea.
If we turn from Norwich we find George Morland, prince of the painters
of farmyards, who lived principally in London pot-houses. He was born in
1763. His life is a sad example of the power of dissipation over a great
mind; it is a record of arrests, of fleeing from creditors, of going to
jail for debt. We hear that he was arrested in 1799, and sent to prison
and finally released in 1802, and that he died suddenly in 1806 while
under arrest for debt. When his wife, who was the sister of William
Ward, heard of his death, she succumbed to the shock, and both were
buried on a November day.
Nothing can be sadder than George Morland’s life and death; he was a man
of genius, the painter of England’s rural life in its homeliest aspect.
It was the common things that interested him, and there was no misery
for him in doing common tasks. If you look at “The Inside of a Stable”
(1030), see how beautifully the two horses and a pony are painted, how
exquisite and how tender is the light and shade, how charming is the
whole atmosphere of the picture. Unfortunate George Morland, gifted and
debased in taste, who loved the humble animals, and led a life that
would have shamed them! We can but think of him with sorrow as we look
at this beautiful picture, glorified with the light of real genius.
Stothard (1755–1834) is the very opposite of George Morland. He was
orderly, a modest, contented man, and thus he remained to the end of his
life. The son of a well-to-do innkeeper in Long Acre, delicate in
health, his gentle spirit never rebelled against the existing order of
things. He was always drawing in childhood, so his father apprenticed
him to a draughtsman of patterns for brocaded silks, and the boy took
very happily to his work. His father died and his mother placed him
under an artist, and all her son’s feeling for grace came out in his
drawings. There was a sweet, grave humour about him that found
expression in his art. He began to devote himself to illustration, and
this turned out to be the work of his life; in it he is without a rival.
Perhaps the finest thing he ever did was the “Pilgrimage to Canterbury”
(1163). It is a long, horizontal composition, in which are numerous
figures, all mounted on horseback riding in cavalcade. It is quite
delightful to trace the different pilgrims—“The Knight and his Son,”
“the Yonge Squier,” “the Wife of Bath,” talking with such winsome
coquetry to the Pardoner, “The Clerk of Oxenford,” the Nun talking to
her superior, the lady Prioress, “Madame Eglentyne,” and all the goodly
company that is described in the prologue to Chaucer’s “Canterbury
Tales.” The freshness of the May morning is conveyed in this enchanting
frieze. “A Greek Vintage” (317) is a graceful illustration, full of
innocent gaiety.
Stothard had a great feeling for grace of costume. I must not dwell
longer upon him. I have seen his portrait painted in his old age, and it
is the face of a man of dignity and delicate observation, one possessed
of more sweetness of temperament than of vigour. He died in 1834. He was
neither rich nor poor, but much esteemed and much honoured by all who
knew him.