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.