trivial. But the common declamation on the _natural right_ of the
Jew to be represented in Parliament is verbiage. But the Jew is
actually represented, as much as a multitude of other interests of
superior importance are represented. Are the fifteen thousand clergy
of the Church of England (a body worth all the Jews on the globe)
personally represented? Are the millions of England under twenty-one
represented? One might thus go through the great industrious classes
of England, and find that, out of twenty millions, there are not
one million electors. And what claim have a class--who come to this
country only to make money, and who make nothing but money, and who,
if they could make more money anywhere else on the earth, would go
there to-morrow--to an equality of right with the manly, honest, and
attached son of England, every day of whose life adds something to
the comfort or the credit of the community?
The whole and sole claim of the Jew is, that some of his party are
rich. How they have made their riches, or how they spend them,
is beneath us to inquire. But what are their national evidences,
even of wealth, it might be difficult to discover. They exhibit no
fruits here, nor anywhere. It has been often asked, with genuine
astonishment, what signs of national liberality have ever been
given by Jewish wealth in the world? What contribution does it
make, or has it ever made, to the arts that decorate life, to the
literature that enlightens it, or to those bold and commanding
services by which nations are raised or restored? Where are the
picture galleries, or the great libraries, the great institutions,
erected by the wealth of the Jew? As to the genius which endows
mankind, for generations to come, with noble inventions, or leaves
its name behind in a track of glory to posterity, who ever heard of
it among the Jews? Shopkeepers of London have planted its vicinity
with great establishments, castles of charity, magnificent monuments
of practical religion, to which all the works of Jewish bounty are
molehills. The Jews have an hospital and a few schools,--and there
the efflux of liberality stops, the stream stagnates, the river
becomes a pond, and the pond dries away.
It is remarkable, and may be a punitive consequence, that there
is nothing so fugitive as the wealth of the Jew. There is perhaps
no hereditary example of Jewish wealth in the world. In England
we have seen opulent firms, but they have never had the principle
of permanency. Supposed to be boundlessly wealthy, a blight came,
and every leaf dropt off. One powerful firm now lords it over the
loan-market of Europe. We have no desire to anticipate the future;
but what has become of all its predecessors in this country? or what
memorial have they all left, to make us regret their vanishing, or
remember their existence?
Of the sudden passion with which Ministers have snatched the
Israelite to their bosom, we shall leave the explanation until
their day of penitence. As poverty makes man submit to strange
companionship, political necessity may make a Whig Cabinet stoop to
the embrace of the Jew. The resource is desperate, but the exigency
must be equally so. We hail the omen,--the grasp at straws shows
nothing but the exhaustion of the swimmer.
On one point more alone we shall touch. It is of a graver kind.
It has been the source of a kind of ignorant consideration for
the Jews, that prophecy speaks of their future restoration. But,
as _Jews_ they will _never_ be restored. In the last days some
powerful influence of the Holy Spirit will impel the surviving Jews
to solicit an admission into Christianity. How many or how few will
survive the predicted universal convulsion of these days, is not for
man to tell; the terrible, or the splendid, catastrophes of those
times are still hidden; but no Jew well ever dwell in the presence
of the patriarchs, but as a "new creature"--a being cleared from the
prejudices of his exiled fathers, and by supernatural interposition
purified from the unbelief, to be rescued from the ruin, of his
stiff-necked people.
The measure must be thrown out by the awakened power of public
opinion. We must not indulge our indolence in relying on the House
of Lords. They _may_ do their duty, but _we must do ours_. The Jew
_must not_ enter the Christian Legislature.
THE PICTURES OF THE SEASON.
The taste for pictorial art, if its progress may be measured by
the opportunity afforded for its gratification, is decidedly upon
the increase in this country. In London, especially, pictures of
one class or other form, each successive year, a larger and more
important item in the sum of public amusements. During the present
season of 1850 there have been open, at one time, four exhibitions
consisting chiefly of oil paintings, two numerous collections of
water-colour drawings, and panoramas and dioramas in unprecedented
number and of unusual excellence. These last, although pertaining
to a lower walk of art, have strong claims on consideration for
their scenic truthfulness and artistic skill, and are fairly to
be included in an estimate of the state of public feeling for the
pictorial. The four first exhibitions alone comprise upwards of
three thousand works of art, now for the first time submitted to
public inspection. As usual, the exhibition of the Royal Academy
is the most important and deserving of attention. Numerically, the
Society of British Artists claims the next place; but in point of
interest it must yield precedence to the British Institution, now
for some weeks closed, and also to the exhibition of an association
of artists which has installed itself, upon a novel principle,
and under the title of the National Institution, in a building
constructed for its accommodation, and known as the Portland
Gallery. It were for some reasons desirable--it certainly would
be favourable to the comparative appreciation of merit--that, as
at Paris, the whole of the annual harvest of pictures should be
collected in one edifice, subject, of course, to such previous
examination by a competent and impartial council, as should exclude
those works unworthy of exhibition. But such a system, however
pleasant it might be found by the public, could hardly be made
agreeable to the artists. The most indulgent censorship, excluding
none but the veriest daubs--nay, even the plan of open doors to
all comers, which has lately clothed a portion of the walls of the
Republican Louvre with canvass spoiled by ignorance and presumption,
would fail to satisfy artists and their friends. In London, as in
Paris under the old system, it is less the question of admission
than the placing of the pictures that is the source of discontent.
The excluded conceal their discomfiture; the misplaced grumble
loudly, and not always without reason, especially as regards the
Academy exhibition. The fault may be more in the rooms that contain,
than in the men who place the pictures. Of course everybody whose
work gets into the Octagon Room feels aggrieved, although it is
evident that, as long as that ridiculous nook is used to contain
pictures, some unlucky artists must fill it. The good places in
the other rooms--limited as is the extent of these compared to
the large number of pictures annually exhibited in them--cannot
be very numerous, although they may be multiplied by the exercise
of judgment, and by impartial attention to the requirements of
each picture as regards light and elevation. The best possible
arrangement, however, will fail to please everybody, and the
persons to whom falls the difficult task of distributing a thousand
or fifteen hundred pictures over the walls of a suite of rooms
inadequate to their proper accommodation, must be prepared to endure
some obloquy, and esteem themselves fortunate if the public acquit
them of flagrant partiality or negligence. It is not our purpose
to dilate on this oft-mooted and still vexed question. We have no
polemical intention in the present paper, in which we shall not have
too much space to note down a few of the thoughts that suggested
themselves to us during our morning wanderings amongst the throng of
pictures in four exhibitions.
The great event of the artist's year, the opening of the Exhibition
of the Royal Academy, is of course the signal for a Babel of
opinions. The question which on all sides is heard: What sort of
Exhibition is this? obtains the most conflicting replies. People
are too apt to trust to their first impressions, and to indulge in
sweeping censure or excessive encomium. We have heard this year's
exhibition set down by some as first-rate, by others as exceedingly
poor. Our own opinion, after careful examination and consideration,
is, that it has rather less than the average amount of merit.
This we believe to be also the opinion of the majority of those
most competent to judge. There is certainly an unusually small
number of pictures of striking excellence; nor is this atoned for
by any marked improvement in those artists whose works can claim
but a second rank. One circumstance unfavourable to the interest
of the exhibition is the uncommonly large number of portraits,
the majority of which are not very admirable either in subject or
execution. The impression, as one walks through the rooms, is,
that an extraordinary number of ugly or uninteresting persons have
got themselves painted by careless or indifferent artists. Of
landscapes there seem to be fewer than usual--certainly fewer good
ones. Some of the best of this class of painters have contributed
to other exhibitions. On the other hand, historical, scriptural,
and dramatic subjects are numerous, but not in many cases have they
been treated with very great success. One of the foremost pictures
in the Exhibition--certainly the one about which most curiosity
has been excited--is Edwin Landseer's _Dialogue at Waterloo_. We
are unfeigned admirers of Mr Landseer's genius, but we do not
think this one of his happiest efforts. There is much fashion in
these matters; people are very apt to be led away by a name, and
to fall into ecstasies before a picture simply because it is by a
great painter. We believe it impossible for Edwin Landseer to paint
anything that shall not have great merit, but he is certainly most
felicitous when confining himself to what is strictly speaking his
own style. We do not think him successful as a portrait painter.
His Marchioness of Douro does less than justice to the beautiful
original. As to the Duke of Wellington, it is a failure; especially
if, as we are assured, it is intended to be his portrait as he
now is. We certainly cannot admire the burly figure and swarthy
complexion of Mr Landseer's Duke, which gives us the idea of a
younger and more robust man than him it is intended to represent.
We should be disposed to object to the strained appearance of the
downward-pointing hand; but the gesture is said to be one habitual
to the original, and of course the painter was right to preserve
character, even at the cost of grace. The less prominent portion of
the picture is the most to our taste--the peasants and child, the
dogs and game, and the plough horses with their old driver. We are
not quite clear as to what it all means; some of the objects seeming
rather to have been dragged in than naturally to have come thither;
the tablecloth spread in the ploughed field appearing rather out
of character, and the left-hand corner of the picture having
altogether somewhat of a crowded aspect: but these are trifles not
worth dwelling upon. The painting is evidently unfinished. The
subject of Mr Landseer's second picture, a shepherd digging the
stragglers from his flock out of a snow-drift, is of less interest
than that of his larger work; but, in an artistic point of view, it
claims higher praise. His snow is admirable, the tender gray tints
are full of light, and distributed with surpassing skill; and the
earnest laborious face of the delving peasant is very vigorous and
characteristic. Mr Landseer is so accurate an observer of brute
nature that it is with extreme caution we venture to criticise his
animals, but we must say that the wool of his sheep in this painting
has a hard and cork-like look. Upon the whole it is a question with
us, when we revert to some of this artist's former productions,
whether he is painting as carefully as he used to do. Looking at
his Waterloo Dialogue, we say no; but an affirmative starts to our
lips when we examine his last and smallest picture in this year's
Exhibition, Lady Murchison's dog. With this the most fastidious
would be troubled to find fault. It is a gem of admirable finish.
If Mr Landseer's power of drawing, in the grander contours of his
designs, were equal to the skill he displays in the details, he
would leave nothing to desire.
Mr Maclise has two pictures in this exhibition. There is scarcely
an English artist living concerning whom we are more embarrassed
to make up our minds, than concerning the painter of _The Spirit
of Justice_ and _The Gross of Green Spectacles_. His merits and
defects are alike very great, and unfortunately he delays to amend
the latter--if indeed it be in his power so to do. His first-named
and larger picture, whilst it contains much to admire, leaves a
great deal to be desired. To us it is a vexatious performance.
We cannot look at it without admitting it to be the work of no
ordinary artist, and we feel the more annoyed at the mannerism that
detracts from its merit. Mr Maclise has fertility of invention
and power of design, but there is a deficiency of true artistical
feeling in his execution. We cannot coincide, besides, with the
notion which he, in common with many others, seems to entertain,
that fresco painting precludes chiaroscuro. In _The Spirit of
Justice_ there are some good faces; but there are more that are
unnecessarily ugly, and several of faulty expression. Justice has
a fine countenance and altogether pleases us well. The widow's
face is hard and unflesh-like; the accuser, who drags the murderer
before the tribunal, and displays a bloody dagger as evidence of
guilt, and the free citizen who unrolls the charter of liberty, are
anything but admirable. The accuser looks more like an informer
than an avenger. Nothing can be more unfavourable to the face than
the sort of scrubby, colourless, thinly-sown stubble with which his
chin is provided, as a contrast, we presume, with the dark hirsute
countenance of the criminal, who, deducting the beard, might pass
for a portrait of Mr Macready, of one of whose favourite attitudes
the position of the head and shoulders particularly reminds us. With
all its defects, however, this is by far the best of Mr Maclise's
two pieces. _The Gross of Spectacles_ we consider a failure. It is
a gross of spectacles, and little besides. The first thing that
catches the eye is Moses' unlucky bargain. There they are, the
twelve dozen, in green cases and with plated rims. We submit that
the first thing which _should_ attract the eye is the countenances
of the actors in the scene. Owing to their tameness of expression,
these, which should be prominent, are almost subordinate to the
inanimate details of the apartment. Unimportant as it is, we are
inclined to prefer the recess, and the peep through the window, to
any other part of the picture. There is an airiness and transparency
in that corner of the canvass, which we in vain seek elsewhere. The
general effect is very hard. The hair of Moses and the little boy is
as unlike hair as it well can be: we remember to have seen something
very like it upon a tea-tray. These are technical objections. But Mr
Maclise may rely upon it that he lacks the keen perception of humour
indispensable to the artist who would illustrate Goldsmith.
Amongst the scriptural and mythological paintings, those of Mr
Patten and Mr F. R. Pickersgill attract at least as much notice as
they deserve. Besides portraits, Mr Patten has contributed three
pictures. His _Susannah and the Elders_ is remarkable as being the
most decidedly indecent picture exhibited this year. The subject
is not a very pleasing one, and, to our thinking, has been painted
quite often enough. But this is not the question. Mr Patten has
put his version of it out of the pale of propriety by his mode of
handling it. There is nothing classical in his treatment, nothing
to redeem or elevate the nudity and associations of the subject.
His Susannah is simply a naked English girl, with a pretty face, an
immaculate cuticle, and something exceedingly voluptuous in the form
and arrangement of her limbs. There is no novelty of conception in
the picture, nor any particular merit except the colouring, which
is good, but not equal to that in No. 446, _Bacchus discovering the
Use of the Grape_. This is a pleasanter subject, cleverly treated,
displaying more originality and much better taste. The flesh-tints
are capital, and the picture altogether does credit to the painter.
_Venus and Cupid_, by the same artist, is chiefly remarkable for
a plaster-of-Paris dove of an extraordinarily brilliant and very
unnatural effect. As to Mr F. R. Pickersgill, we should like his
pictures better if he would not imitate poor Etty, whose memory,
be it parenthetically observed, has been little regarded by those
who have exhibited that most coarse and unpleasant picture, _The
Toilet_, No. 276, a specimen of the deceased artist's worst manner.
Mr Pickersgill's _Samson Betrayed_ is, there is no denying it, a
very unsatisfactory composition. His red-haired Dalilah is graceless
and characterless. Samson, recumbent in an attitude in which no man
ever slept soundly, seems prevented only by a miracle from slipping
off her knees. Two girls, instead of getting to a safe distance, are
hugging each other in terror within reach of the giant's arm. There
is scarcely an attitude in the picture that is not strained. In the
conception there is an utter want of novelty of circumstance. The
whole picture is deficient in originality. The eye wanders over it,
seeking some feature of special interest or striking beauty whereon
to dwell, and finds none. Mr Pickersgill has good qualities, but
the spark of fancy and genius which alone can complete the great
painter, is, we fear, wanting in his composition.
We turn with pleasure to Leslie's pictures. Were we disposed to find
fault with this very agreeable artist, our objections could only
be technical. With want of imagination, and feeling for beauty,
none can tax him. Two of his three pictures contain the sweetest
female faces in this exhibition. How admirably has he interpreted
Shakspeare's description of Beatrice stealing to the woodbine bower,
to play the eavesdropper on Hero and Ursula.
"Look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs
Close by the ground."
The painter has exactly rendered the poet's graceful idea. As she
glides along, we seem to detect the slight flutter and palpitation
attendant on the clandestine movement. Expression and attitude are
alike charming. Sophia Western deserves even higher praise. She
is indeed a lovely creature. Tom Jones bids her behold herself in
the mirror, and say whether such a face and form do not guarantee
his fidelity. It is altogether a most agreeable composition; and
if we have any fault to find, it is with the face of the enamoured
foundling, which wants refinement, and has a sort of overgrown
schoolboy's ruddy fulness. Katherine of Arragon beseeching Capucius
to convey to Henry VIII. her last recommendation of her daughter
and servants to his goodness, is the most important of Mr Leslie's
pictures; and although by many it will not be deemed the most
attractive, none can deny it great merit and interest. The suffering
countenance of Katherine, and the tearful faces of her attendants,
are full of expression. The ambassador is rather tame, and one
scarcely recognises in his face or bearing the energy with which he
vows to do the bidding of the unhappy queen.
Mr Eastlake has one scriptural and one historical picture in this
year's exhibition. A passage from Sismondi, telling the escape of
an Italian noble and his wife from the persecution of the Duke of
Milan, has suggested the latter, which is painted for the Vernon
Gallery. There is some good expression in the faces in this picture,
which has more interest and novelty than its companion _The Good
Samaritan_, and also greater vigour. Both show the hand of the
experienced and skilful artist, although perhaps neither can be
classed amongst the best things he has produced. We should gladly
see a little more nerve in Mr Eastlake's style, and this we think
might be advantageously combined with his beautiful transparency of
colouring, and other excellent qualities as a painter. There is no
diminution in the purity of style and thought which has always been
one of his finest characteristics.
Mr Frith is an improving artist. There is humour and progress in
No. 543, a scene from Goldsmith's _Good-natured Man_. _Mr Honeywood
introduces the bailiffs to Miss Richland as his friends._ He must
beware, however, of running into caricature in subjects of this
kind. The bailiffs are perhaps a little overdone. Miss Richland
has a very pretty face, but she looks more like a _soubrette_ or
smart actress than a woman of fashion. Mr Frith's other picture,
Sancho proving to the duchess that Don Quixote is at the bottom
of the table, is well painted, and, in a technical point of
view, it must be spoken of with respect. He has not been quite so
successful as we should have expected in the expression of the
faces,--that of the duke excepted, which is a good and thoroughly
Spanish countenance, with its habitual gravity disturbed by Sancho's
quaint humour and his master's manifest distress. But painting
ladies is not Mr Frith's forte. His duchess is pretty, but there
is a want of aristocratic distinction in her face and bearing; and
as to the ladies grouped behind her chair, they are cookmaids in
masquerade. Very few living artists, besides Leslie, should venture
upon Sancho. We will not say that Mr Frith is not one of those few,
but his delineation of the shrewd esquire, although very humorous,
is rather coarse, and he has made him ragged and filthy to an
unnecessary degree. The vexation and embarrassment of Don Quixote
are ludicrously portrayed.
Four very small, very unpretending pictures by Thomas Webster, R.A.,
must be sought for, but, when found, cannot fail to be admired. They
are a feature, and a very charming one, of this year's Exhibition.
High finish and truth to nature are their chief characteristics.
Mr Webster is getting quite into the Ostade manner. His colouring,
too, is admirable. No. 54 is a boy in a chimney corner, supping
pottage, with an old woman knitting opposite to him. Both faces are
excellent, and full of character. _A Cherry Seller_ is a perfect
_bijou_--the woman weighing out the fruit; the boys, looking on with
eager eyes and watering mouths; the fruit itself, with its Dutch
nicety of finish:--altogether it is a most desirable picture, such
as one can hardly pass, even for the twentieth time, without pausing
for another view. _A Peasant's Home_ is upon the whole too gray,
and perhaps the least attractive of the four; but in the _Farmhouse
Kitchen_ are a couple of figures, a farmer and his dame, than which
nothing can be better, either in colour or expression. Mr Webster
shows great taste and judgment in adhering to a pleasing simplicity,
without ever falling into quaintness or affectation. And it is a
study for a young artist to observe the skill with which he throws
his lights, and the transparency and absence of _paintyness_ (to
borrow a term from the studio) which characterise his pictures.