Complete Works of Wilkie Collins (2112 page)

“To MRS. WILLIAM COLLINS.

“Ventnor, August 29th, 1827.

“My dear Harriet, not liking the appearance of Portsmouth, I stayed there somewhat less than half an hour; and, without my dinner, embarked in a steamer for Ryde, at six o’clock; arriving in time for an eight o’clock dinner at the latter place. I walked about, and made some slight sketches during Tuesday. It is a very pretty place indeed, — all 1 have hitherto seen is fine; but I have sketched so many features of coast scenery that I find little or nothing new. From Ryde, I went in a gig to St. Helens, Brading, Sandown — the bay of which is magnificent — then to Shanklin Chine, and remained there about two hours with great pleasure. Arriving here about four, I walked till seven; and am now, just before going to bed, writing in a most romantic inn upon an enormously high cliff, backed by large hills, surrounded by woods, and with a beautiful view of the sea from my window. If you and Willy were with me, I might do well enough — saving and excepting the constant demands upon one’s purse.

“To-morrow I purpose going on to Niton, about five miles from this place; where, if I have time before the post hour, I may add something more: but should that be out of the question, I expect my dear Harriet will write to me by return of post, — as a couple of days, at one place, seems quite sufficient for most, and too much for many, and more than enough for
money.
Tell Willy I have this day picked up two nice little scuttle-fish bones for him. Every day, nay almost every hour, how I have longed for you both!

“Thursday, August 30th. — I left Ventnor this morning after breakfast, walked to Niton, called upon Mr. Pine, who is now in London, dined at the inn, hired a gig, and went sixteen or seventeen miles over, for the most part, a wild country, averaging about two persons a mile. I am now at Freshwater Gate, where I find I cannot send you this letter before to-morrow morning. * * * Although I dare say I shall find where the Duke of Norfolk is staying when I reach Cowes, still, that I may be certain, I wish Frank to call at his house in St. James’-square, for the purpose of knowing the fact. If you cannot however, without delaying your letter, obtain this information, do not mind; as I feel so very anxious to hear from you: and, as I have no doubt at all that I shall easily find the Duke, do not by any means put yourself to the smallest trouble on the subject.

“Yours affectionately,

“WILLIAM COLLINS.”

The opening of the year 1828, found the painter busily engaged, at his Hampstead residence, on four sea-pieces, and a large landscape — one of the former, being a repetition of the popular “Fisherman’s Departure,” for Mr. Chamberlayne, M.P. At the commencement of the year, his small family circle was widened by the birth of a second son. With a cordial remembrance of the old friend and fellow painter far away in America, and with a wish to strengthen, in spite of absence, the bond: of their mutual regard, he made Mr. Allston one of the sponsors of his child, by proxy. Nor was the birth of another son the painter’s only subject of personal congratulation at this period. Renovated in health, and prepared for new efforts, Wilkie was now soon to return, again to resume that wonted communion on Art that had been suspended between them personally, for three years. There were, however, professional events to be chronicled, and new ideas to be communicated, for which the time of meeting was to the painter, even yet, too far removed to be waited for; and once more they exchanged letters, ere they saw each other again, as characteristic and as cordial as any that had preceded them:

“To SIR DAVID WILKIE, R.A.

“Hampstead, April 17th, 1828.

“Dear Wilkie — I should have written to you long ago, but I have waited from day to day for matter sufficiently interesting; and now, in despite of the absence of any topic better than usual, I must just content myself with saying whatever comes upper-most; and this, in the hope of obtaining something from you, who live in such inexhaustible mines; acknowledging at once the scantiness of my material, dig as hard as I may. Your last letter came most opportunely; its authority was almost my only support, under my usual eclipse at Somerset-house.* What a wretched thing it is, to find that the more fit one may become for the society of the old masters, the more one suffers in the company of the new! Poor Sir George Beaumont, backed and supported by your practical skill, had certainly considerable effect in keeping under the tawdry tendency of our Exhibition. But, after his death, the opportunity afforded to our opponents by the possession of the field, they seemed resolved not to lose; and, by one great and combined effort (I must in justice, except here, the names of Hilton, Mulready, Lawrence, and Jackson,) to set the question respecting what will, and what will not do for the Exhibition, for ever at rest. So most assuredly they did; and, were it not now for the support afforded by a reference to the National Gallery, and the occasional Exhibitions of old pictures in this country, the manufacture of any colour deeper than
crome,
must have been abandoned.** Under all this opposition, however, it is matter of great consolation that a standard is now forming, if not already formed, by which all will be, even in
their own time,
tried and judged too. I take this to be a matter of certainty, not merely from what is said
outside the gates,
but from the more solid evidence of the great and increasing demand for the ‘genuine article.’

* It will be gathered from the context, as well as from some recent remarks, that the “eclipse” here spoken of, refers to the minority in which Mr. Collins was then placed, among some of his professional brethren, in discussions on Art, by his uncompromising opinions on the high station to be assigned to the works of the old masters.

** “Crome” is a bright vivid, yellow colour.

“There are other circumstances, from which, I confess, I take great hope that all is not yet lost; and the principle of them, is the increased weight with which what you have to say on the subject will be received, after the great opportunities you have had of consolidating opinions, not new ones, but those with which, to use your own words, you ‘left home.’ Under the impression that you could be mainly instrumental in effecting great reformation in our body, and with a view to give you that authority which you so justly deserve, I have taken such legitimate opportunities as fell in my way, of reading such portions of your letters, (particularly your first) as appeared to me calculated to weigh with the reasonable and most valuable portion of our circle; and it gratifies me exceedingly to assure you, that Lawrence, Mulready, Callcott, Phillips, and others — more especially the three first — declared it to be their united conviction, ‘that highly as they had already estimated your powers as an artist, and a man of intellect, they were bound to acknowledge that you had surpassed, in the clear and philosophical views of Art expressed in that letter, their highest hopes.’ This, coming, as it did, so soon after you quitted us, was I trust highly advantageous in keeping up that high character you had left among us. Did I not feel perfectly satisfied that you would do justice to my motives, or had I anything to gain, beyond what I must be ungrateful indeed not to acknowledge — I mean your genuine and kind friendship for me — I should hesitate to say so much. But, being perfectly easy on this head, I conceive it to be my duty to speak the truth.

“In a note I have this morning received from your sister, I find that you purpose leaving Bordeaux about the 12th of May; and, as I trust you will arrive in time to see the Exhibition before its close, I shall not fatigue your attention any longer. I have however much to say when we meet. In the mean-time you will be glad to hear that (notwithstanding some dirty work that has been attempted against me, of which it is possible some garbled account may have reached you)* I am, thanks to Heaven, enjoying the highest patronage. Your godson grows a strapping fellow, and has a little blue-eyed red-haired bonny bairn, as a brother, about three months old. I have now, for nearly two years, occupied a small house at this place, with I think no loss of advantage in my pursuits — enabled by the comparative retirement and consequent quiet, to keep down in a great measure that natural tendency to excitement, which I have always found so difficult a task; and, as the distance from the great City is only three miles, I have by no means given up useful contact with many of its most valuable contents. * This refers to the calumny (already related) respecting Sir Robert Peel’s “Frost Scene.”

“Hoping that, by the blessing of God, we may shortly meet, and trusting that when you have leisure you will let me have a few lines all about yourself and with my wife’s kind regards to you, as well as those of my mother, brother, and Mr. Rice; I am, with great esteem,

“Yours most sincerely,

“WILLIAM COLLINS.”

“P.S. — I cherish the hope that you may, at some future day, feel disposed to visit Holland again, for the purpose of seeing how far the pictures there will be able to stand the test you are now able to try them by, and that I may have the pleasure and advantage of being with you on the occasion.”

“To WILLIAM COLLINS, ESQ., R.A.

Madrid, May 9, 1828.

“Dear Collins, — This I write on the eve of leaving the interesting capital of Spain, after a residence of six months; and as I find by your most kind letter, that you are far more disposed to
over
rather than
underrate
such reflections as have occurred to me on my journey, this at least encourages me to note down such as are immediately applicable to the subjects we are so often accustomed to discuss.

“Bayonne, May 14th.

“I need not detail to you what I have seen in Madrid, the Escurial, or Seville; it is general ideas alone I wish to advert to. Being the only member of our Academy who has seen Spain, perhaps it is to be regretted that I see it with an acknowledged bias or prejudice, in which, I fear, scarce any will participate. With some of my kindest friends, indeed, much of what I have seen, would produce between us an influence like the apple of discord; and if some of our youths with less matured minds than they — while I write this with one hand, fancy me covering my face with the other — should venture across the Biddasoa, what a conflict in testimony there would be! The spiritual Velasquez, whose principle and practice Sir Thomas Lawrence so justly calls ‘the true philosophy of Art,’ would be rendered with all the dash and splash that tongue, pen, or pencil is capable of; while the simple Murillo, perhaps despised like Goldsmith for his very excellence, would have his Correggio-like tones transposed into the flowery gaudiness of a coloured print. Even the glorious Titian, in this last stronghold, where his virgin surface will probably remain the longest untouched, might have his ‘Apotheosis,’ and his ‘Last Supper’ dressed up according to the newest version of blues, pinks, and yellows, adapted to the supposed taste of the picture-seeing public.

“But the system that we deprecate is, after all, not confined to our own school. Luca Giordano, and Tiepolo, have tried it with sufficient talent and
éclat
to prove that neither the one nor the other (the principle being wrong) can be a warrant for its success.

“There is just one test by which all artists returning from abroad should try themselves. You know the small head Sir Joshua Reynolds painted; the first after his return: it is in something like this, that is summed up to me all the law and the commandments.

“In viewing some of the finest works, I have been often reminded of Sir Joshua Reynolds, by their finest qualities. At Bayonne, in a parcel of prints, waiting there for me, are three from Sir Joshua; these, coming as I do from Velasquez and Titian, seem the work of a kindred spirit. With them are also some prints of my own; from which, as from my picture at Munich, I have learnt a useful lesson. They strengthen me in what I felt most doubtful, and weaken my confidence in what I felt most assured of. I feel the wisdom of Sir George Beaumont’s advice to me, to reflect that
white is not light, and detail is not finish.

“A casual remark in one of your own letters, though I have not before noticed it to you, has made a deep impression, — your observation on seeing the surface of ‘the Penny Wedding,’ in the Royal Cottage, Windsor. Your approval of the picture was unexpected, but has been lucky and useful to me; for I have since acted upon it as a
principle.
With
me
no starved surface now; no dread of oil; no ‘ perplexity for fear of change.’ Your manner of painting a sky is now the manner in which I try to paint a whole picture.

“Much as I might learn from Spain and from her Art, you, as a landscape-painter, could learn but little, excepting only from some works of Velasquez, which are, even in landscape, so brilliant an exception to the rest of the school. Of him I saw a large landscape in Madrid, that for breadth and richness I have seldom seen equalled. Titian seemed his model; and if you could fancy what Sir Joshua Reynolds and our friend Sir George Beaumont would have approved as the beau ideal, it would be such a landscape. It was too abstract to have much detail, or imitation; but it was the very sunshine we see, and the air we breathe — the very soul and spirit of Nature.