The Book of Art for Young People Part 7

Velasquez's power with his brush lay in depicting vividly a scene that he saw; thus in portraiture he was at his best. He knew how to pose his figures to perfection, so as to make the expression of their character a true pictorial subject. In our picture it is on high ground that the hoofs of the pony of Don Balthazar Carlos tread. So to raise the little Prince above the eye of the spectator was a good stroke, suggesting an importance in the gallant young rider. The boy's erect figure, too, firmly holding his baton as a king might hold a sceptre, and the well-stirruped foot, are all perfect posing. Velasquez does not give him distinction in the manner of Van Dyck, by delicate drawing and gentle grace, but in a st.u.r.dier fas.h.i.+on, with speed and pose and a fluttering sash in the wind. All the portraits of this lad are full of charm. He was heir to the throne, but died in boyhood.

[Ill.u.s.tration: DON BALTHAZAR CARLOS From the picture by Velasquez, in the Prado Museum, Madrid]

Velasquez paid another visit to Italy, twenty years after his first, for the purpose of buying more pictures to adorn Philip's palaces.

Again we find him in Venice, where he bought two Tintorets and a Veronese, and again he made a long stay in Rome, this time to paint the portrait of the Pope. When he returned to Spain in 1651 he had still nine years of work before him. There were portraits of Philip's new Queen to be painted--a young girl in a most uncomfortable dress--and portraits of her child, the Infanta Marguerita. Bewitching are the pictures of this little princess at the ages of three, of four, and of seven, with her fair hair tied in a bow at the side of her head, and voluminous skirts of pink and silver. But sweetest of all is the picture called 'The Maids of Honour' ('Les Meninas'), in which the princess, aged about six, is being posed for her portrait. She is petulant and tired, and two of her handmaidens are cajoling her to stand still. Her two dwarfs and a big dog have been brought to amuse her, and the King and Queen, reflected in a mirror at the end of the room, stand watching the scene. Velasquez himself, with his easel and brushes, is at the side, painting. The picture perpetuates for centuries a moment of palace life. In that transitory instant, Velasquez took his vivid impression of the scene, and has translated his impression into paint. Everything is simple and natural as can be. The ordinary light of day falls upon the princess, but does not penetrate to the ceiling of the lofty room, which is still in shadow.

All seem to have come together haphazard without being fitted into the canvas. There is little detail, and the whole effect seems produced by the simplest means; yet in reality the skill involved is so great that artists to-day spend weeks copying the picture, in the endeavour to learn something of the secret of Velasquez.

The best judges are among those who rank him highest, so that he is called pre-eminently 'the painter's painter.' It is impossible for any one but a painter to understand how he used paint. From near at hand it looks a smudge, but at the proper distance every stroke takes its right place. Such freedom was the result of years of careful painting of detail, and is not to be attained by any royal road.

Velasquez seldom seems to have made preliminary drawings, but of that we cannot be sure. Certainly he had learned to conceive his vision as a whole, and we may fancy at least that he drew it so upon the canvas--altering the lines as he went--working at all the parts of the picture at once, keeping the due relation of part to part; not as if he finished one bit at a time, or thought of one part of a figure as distinct from the rest. To have drawn separate studies for legs and arms would have been foreign to his method of working.

The pictures painted in this his latest style are few, for the court duties heaped upon him left too little time. Maria Theresa, the sister of Don Balthazar Carlos, was engaged to be married to Louis XIV., King of France. The marriage took place on the border of France and Spain, and Velasquez was in charge of all the ceremonies. The Princess travelled with a cavalcade eighteen miles long, and we can imagine what work all the arrangements involved. The marriage over, the ever loyal Velasquez returned to Madrid, but he returned only to die.

CHAPTER XIII

REYNOLDS AND THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY

Hitherto we have travelled far and wide in our search for typical examples of the beautiful in painting. We went from Flanders to Italy, from Italy to Germany, back to Holland, and thence to Spain. It is true that we began in England with our first picture, and that we have returned twice, once with Holbein, and again with Van Dyck, both foreign born and trained artists. We will finish with examples of truly native English art.

In the eighteenth century England for the first time gained a foremost place in painting, though the people of the day scarcely realized that it was so. Even the poet Gray, writing in 1763, could say:

Why this nation has made no advance hitherto in painting and sculpture, it is hard to say.... You are generous enough to wish, and sanguine enough to foresee, that art shall one day flourish in England. I, too, much wish, but can hardly extend my hopes so far.

Yet in 1763 Reynolds was forty years of age and Gainsborough but four years younger. Hogarth was even sixty-six, and at work upon his last plate. Although, hitherto, the best painting in England had been done by foreign artists such as Holbein and Van Dyck, yet there had always been Englishmen of praiseworthy talent who had painted pleasing portraits. Hogarth carried this native tradition to a high point of excellence. He painted plain, good-natured-looking people in an unaffected and straightforward way. But he was a humourist in paint, and as great a student of human nature as he was of art. His insight into character and his great skill with the brush, combined with his sensitiveness to fun, make him in certain respects a unique painter.

In the National Gallery there is a picture of the heads of his six servants in a double row. They might all be characters from d.i.c.kens, so vividly and sympathetically humorous is each.

In his engravings Hogarth satirised the lives of all cla.s.ses of the society of his day. When we look at them we live again in eighteenth-century London, and walk in streets known to fame though now destroyed, thronged with men and women, true to life.

As an artist, Hogarth occupies a position between the seventeenth-century Dutch painters of low life and the English painters that succeeded him, who expressed the ideals of a refined society. His portraits have something of the strength of Rembrandt's.

His street and tavern scenes rival Jan Steen's; but behind the mere representation of brutality, vice, crime, and misery we perceive not merely a skilled craftsman but a moral being, whom contact with misery deeply stirs and the sight of wickedness moves to indignation.

After 1720 a succession of distinguished painters were born in England.

Many of them first saw the light in obscure villages in the depths of the country. Reynolds came from Devons.h.i.+re, Gainsborough from Suffolk, Romney from the Lake country.

The eighteenth century was a time when politicians and men of letters had the habit of gathering in the coffee-houses of London--forerunners of the clubs of to-day. Conversation was valued as one of life's best enjoyments, and the varied society of actors, authors, and politicians, in which it flourished best, could only be obtained in the town. To the most distinguished circle of that kind in London, our painter Reynolds belonged.

In the eighteenth century, society had also begun to divide its time in modern fas.h.i.+on between town and country. Many of the large country houses of to-day, and nearly all the landscape-gardened parks, belong to that date. Nevertheless it was a time of great artificiality of life. The ladies had no short country skirts, and none of the freedom to which we are accustomed. In London they wore long powdered curls and rouged, and in the country too they did not escape from the artificiality of fas.h.i.+on. Indeed, their great desire seems to have been to get away from everything natural and spontaneous. The artificial poetry of that time deals with the patch-boxes and powder-puffs of the fas.h.i.+onable dames of the town, and with nymphs and Dresden china shepherdesses in the country.

Even on Reynolds' canvases the desire to improve upon nature is apparent. In his young days he painted the local personages of Devons.h.i.+re. Then he made a journey abroad and spent three years in Rome and Venice. On his return he settled in London, and the most distinguished men and women of the day and their children sat to him.

It seems that he would have liked his lords and ladies to look as heroic or sublime as the heroes or G.o.ds of Michelangelo. Instead of painting them in the surroundings that belonged to them, as Holbein or Velasquez would have done, he dressed his ladies in what he called white 'drapery,' a voluminous material, neither silk, satin, woollen, nor cotton, and painted them sailing through the woods. The ladies themselves liked to look like nymphs, characterless and pretty, so the fas.h.i.+on of painting portraits in this way became common.

The pictures are pleasing to look at, although so artificial, and after all it was only full-length portraits of ladies that Reynolds treated in this way. They were a small part of his whole output. But he and Velasquez worked in a totally different spirit. Velasquez made the subject before him, however unpromising, striking because of its truth.

Reynolds liked to change it on occasion into something quite different, for the sake of making a picture pretty. Nevertheless, his strength lay in straightforward portraiture, and in the rendering of character.

His portraits of men, unlike those of women, are dignified, simple, and restrained. His art was one long development till blindness prevented him from working. Every year he attained more freedom and naturalness in his pose and developed more power in his use of colour.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE DUKE OF GLOUCESTER From the picture by Sir Joshua Reynolds, in Trinity College, Cambridge]

Many would say that his loveliest achievements were portraits of children, yet he did not attain the same freedom in his child poses till late in life. You have all seen photographs, at any rate, of the 'Age of Innocence' and the 'Heads of Angels,' but this little picture of the Duke of Gloucester, nephew of George III., will not be so familiar. I wonder whether it reminds you of anything you know? It reminds me of Van Dyck. The little duke stands with an air of importance upon the hillside, which is raised above the eye of the spectator as Velasquez raised the ground beneath the pony of Don Balthazar Carlos.

There is no mistake about the child being a simple English boy, with a nice chubby face and ordinary straight fair hair. But he is a prince and knows it. For the sake of having his picture painted, he poses with an air of conscious dignity beyond his years. He sweeps his cloak around him like any grown-up cavalier, and holds out a plumed hat and walking stick in a lordly fas.h.i.+on. The child is consciously acting the part of a grown-up person, which only emphasizes his childhood.

But the air of refinement and distinction in the picture comes straight from Van Dyck. As you look at the portraits of the Duke of Gloucester and William II. of Orange side by side, it may puzzle you to say which is the more attractive. Van Dyck has painted the clothes in more detail.

A century later Reynolds has learnt to paint with dash, though not with the mastery of Velasquez. The effect of the cloak of the little Duke, its s.h.i.+mmering shades of mauve and pink, is inimitable. It tones beautifully with the background, varying from dull green to brightest yellow. The background happens to be sky, but it might as well have been a curtain, as long as its bit of colour so set off the clothes of the little Duke.

When Reynolds painted children he delighted in making them act parts.

Even in the 'Age of Innocence' the little girl is looking how very very innocent. He painted one picture of a small boy, Master Crewe, dressed to look like Henry VIII. in the style of Holbein. With broad shoulders and a rich dress, he stands on his st.u.r.dy legs quite the figure of Henry. But the face is one beam of boyish laughter, and on the top of the little replica of the body of the corpulent monarch the effect of the childish face is most entertaining.

When Reynolds puts away his ideas of the grand style of Michelangelo to paint pictures such as these, he is entirely delightful. He sometimes painted Holy Families and cla.s.sical subjects, but the more the spirit of medieval sacred art has sunk into us, the less can we admire modern versions of the old subjects. The sacred paintings of the Middle Ages owe some of their charm to the fact that they do not make upon us the impression of life. In Reynolds' Holy Families, the Mother and Child are painted with all the skill of a modern artist and look as human as his portraits of the d.u.c.h.ess of Devons.h.i.+re and her baby. It is no longer possible to think of them as anything but portraits of the models whom Reynolds employed for his picture.

Another method that modern artists have sometimes adopted in painting sacred subjects, is to imitate the faulty drawing and incomplete representation of life which are present in the art of the Old Masters.

But this conscious imitation of bygone ignorance beguiles no one who has once felt the charm of the painters before Raphael.

Reynolds' great contemporary, Gainsborough, has been called 'a child of nature.' He would have liked to live in the country always and paint landscapes. He did paint many of his native Suffolk, but in his day landscapes were unsaleable, so he was driven to the town and to portrait painting to make a living. Less than Reynolds a painter of character, Gainsborough reproduced the superficial expression of his sitters.

But he had so natural an eye for grace and beauty, that his portraits always please. He did not attempt Reynolds' wide range of subjects or the same difficulties of pose. Of Reynolds he said: 'How various he is,' but his admiration did not make him stray from his natural path to attempt the variety of another. Reynolds, equally admiring, said of him: 'I cannot make out how he produces his effects.' Perhaps Gainsborough did not know either. He does seem to paint by instinct, and successive pictures became more pleasing. Buoyant in his life as in his art, his last words were: 'We are all going to Heaven, and Van Dyck is of the company.'

Another great contemporary painter was Romney, whose portraits of ladies are delightful. Figured as nymphs too, they are so buoyant with bright expressions and wayward locks, that one wishes he had depicted in their faces a soul.

All over England and Scotland portrait painters flourished at this time. There were so many English artists that in 1768 the Royal Academy was founded, with Sir Joshua Reynolds as its first president. It was to the students of the Royal Academy that he delivered his Discourses upon Art, setting forth the principles which he judged to be sound.

He was an indefatigably hard worker until within two years of his death in 1792. All cla.s.ses of men esteemed and regretted him, clouded though his intercourse with them had been by the deafness from which he suffered during the greater part of his life.

Goldsmith, the author of the _Vicar of Wakefield_, wrote this character 'epitaph' for him:

Here Reynolds is laid, and to tell you my mind, He has not left a wiser or better behind.

His pencil was striking, resistless and grand; His manners were gentle, complying and bland; Still born to improve us in every part, His pencil our faces, his manners our heart.

To c.o.xcombs averse, yet most civilly steering When they judged without skill, he was still hard of hearing.

When they talked of their Raphaels, Correggios and stuff, He s.h.i.+fted his trumpet and only took snuff.

By flattery unspoiled ...

The end is missing, for while Goldsmith was versifying so feelingly about his friend, death overtook the writer, eighteen years before the subject of the epitaph.

CHAPTER XIV

TURNER

I wonder which of you, if seeing this picture for the first time, will realize that you are looking at the old familiar Thames? It would seem rather to be some place unknown except in dreams, some phantasy of the human spirit that we ourselves could never hope to see. And yet, in fact, this is what Turner actually did see one evening as he was sailing down the Thames to Greenwich with a party of friends. Suddenly there loomed up before his eyes the great hull of the _Temeraire_, famous in the fight against the fleet of Napoleon at Trafalgar, and so full of memories of glorious battle, that it was always spoken of by sailors as the _Fighting Temeraire_. At last, its work over as a battles.h.i.+p, or even as a training-s.h.i.+p for cadets, dragged by a doughty little steam-tug, it was headed for its last resting-place in the Thames, to be broken up for old timber. As the _Temeraire_ hove in sight through the mist, a fellow-painter said to Turner: 'Ah, what a subject for a picture!' and so indeed it proved. The veteran s.h.i.+p, for Turner, had a pathos like the pa.s.sing of a veteran warrior to his grave.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE FIGHTING TEMERAIRE From the picture by Turner, in the National Gallery, London]

Turner loved the sea, and was very sensitive to its a.s.sociations with the toils and triumphs of mankind. Born beside the Thames, he grew up among boats and fraternized with sailors all his life. It was impossible for him to be the beholder of such a scene as the _Temeraire's_ approach to her last moorings, save as a poet-painter; and stirred to the putting forth of all his powers, this _Fighting Temeraire_ is his surpa.s.sing poem.

It was in 1775, while Reynolds was at the height of his fame, that Turner saw the light, born of obscure parents in an obscure house, but with a gift of vision that compelled him to the palette and the pencil his whole life long. Yet, when he was apprenticed to an architect to learn architectural drawing, he had to be dismissed after two periods of probation because of his absolute inability to learn the theory of perspective or even the elements of geometry. But the time was not far off when he was to become in his turn Professor of Perspective at the Royal Academy.

The popular distaste, or unborn taste, for landscape, which had prevented Gainsborough from following his natural bent, was changing at last. The end of the eighteenth century saw the beginning of a return to nature in art as well as in poetry. Some artists in the eastern counties, older than Turner, were already spending their lives in the not too lucrative painting of landscape. These men took for their masters the seventeenth-century painters of Holland. Old Crome, so called to distinguish him from his son, founded his art upon that of Hobbema, and came so close to him in his early years that it is difficult to distinguish their pictures. In the works of this 'Norwich School'

the wide horizons of the Dutch artists often occur. But there is a brighter colour, a fresher green, recalling England rather than Holland. Turner never felt the influence of the Dutch painters so strongly as these artists did. Like Gainsborough, and many another artist before him and since, Turner was to be dominated by the necessity of making a living. At the end of the century a demand arose for 'Topographical Collections,' of views of places, selected and arranged according to their neighbourhood. These were not necessarily fine works of art, but they were required to be faithful records of places.