The Critic: The London Literary Journal, Volume 9

The Critic: The London Literary Journal, Volume 9 John Crockford (publisher) 1 The Critic, The London Literary Journal John Crockford John Crockford London 1850 9 Microfilm, Library of Indiana University ap4.c88 3 Commentary

Introduction

Commentary is not yet available.

Textual History: Composition

Textual History: Revision

Production History

Reception History

Iconographic

Printing History

Pictorial

Historical

Literary

Translation

Autobiographical

Bibliographic

-------------- -------------- <hi rend="c">BRITISH INSTITUTION.</hi> Most of this article was written by WMR. Only the sections which WMR designates in the 1911 edition as being DGR's work are transcribed here.

No. 129, <hi rend="i">Sympathy</hi> , Frank Stone. Whether the sympathy of the gazer with the painter, or of the painter with his subject, or, indeed, of the young lady in faded yellow with the young lady in washed-out red, or vice versâ , be the sympathy here symbolized there is no pre– cise clue to determine. But a conjecture may be hazarded that the distress of the fair ones is occasioned by a “distress” for rent; since, under no other circum– stances, could we expect to meet with a blue satin sofa in a place which, from its utter nakedness, can be in– tended for no part of a modern dwelling-house except the passage leading to the street. These premises, however, are merely, as we have said, conjectural— knocked up at random on the appearance of the premises represented. All we can know for certain from the picture is, that on some occasion or other, somewhere, a mild young lady threw her arms (with as much of abandon as a lay-figure may permit itself,) round another sorrowful but very mild young lady; that the faces of these young ladies were made of wax, their hair of Berlin wool, and their hands of scented soap. There is one other piece of knowledge distinctly communicated, viz., that such pictures as this will not sustain Mr. Stone's reputation.

No. 317, <hi rend="i">The Departure of the Chevalier Bayard from <lb/>Brescia</hi> , “As he quitted his chamber to take horse, the two fair damsels met him, each bearing a little offering which she had worked during his sickness.” J. C. Hook. The general arrangement of colour in this picture is very brilliant and delightful, and its first aspect will be highly satisfactory; as, indeed, it could scarcely fail to be when the work of a very accomplished young artist, as Mr. Hook incontestably is, is surrounded by the in– competence which predominates among the figure-pieces here. But we question whether it would not be wise to carry away the first impression of pleasure, without endangering it by any stricter examination. There is a flimsy holiday-look about the picture, when con– sidered, at variance not only with the simplicity of the subject, but also with truth to nature. One figure, however,—that of the foremost lady—is of exquisite grace and beauty; the head and bosom perfectly charming. As for the good Bayard himself, we sus– pect that, could he have had any preknowledge of the carpet-knight (with something, too, of the dashing out– law) Mr. Hook was to make of him, he would not at that moment have been altogether sans peur; and that, could he now look at the picture and speak his mind of it, the artist would not find him to be, in an active sense, sans reproche . The present work, though not of the same dimensions, may be considered, in subject, as a companion to one which Mr. Hook had last year at the Royal Academy.

The article on pages 127-128 ("British Institution. [Continued from page 103]" is a continuation of the article printed on pages 102-103. Typo: on page 127, in "Branwhite," the word "encroachment" is spelled "encroachmont."

No. 282, <hi rend="i">The Rival's Wedding</hi> . This picture, the only one contributed by Mr. Anthony, needs but a little more of finish to have secured to it that promi– nent position on the walls to which its merits, even as it is, undoubtedly entitled it. The subject, as indicated in the catalogue, is not, perhaps, very clearly developed; but such pictures as this are independent of any cata– logue. To some, the first aspect of the work will be more singular than engaging; indeed, it is perhaps necessary that the eye should gaze long enough to be isolated from all the surrounding canvasses, before the mind can be fully impressed by the secret beauty of this picture. Every object and every part of the colour contribute to the feeling: there is something strangely impressive even in the curious dog, who is looking up at that sad, slow-footed mysterious couple in the shadow; there is something mournful, that he has to do with, in the sunlight upon the grass behind him. After con– templating the picture for some while, it will gradually produce that indefinable sense of rest and wonder, which, when childhood is once gone, poetry alone can recal. And assuredly, before he knew that colour was laid on with brushes, or that oil-painting was done upon canvass, this painter was a poet.

But perhaps the most admirable work in any class upon these walls is Mr. Branwhite's <hi rend="i">Environs of an <lb/>Ancient Garden</hi> (No. 296), before alluded to, grand, and full of melancholy silence. It calls to mind Hood's <xref doc="a.hood002.rad" link="dead"> <hi rend="i">Haunted House</hi> </xref> , and may, we fancy, have been suggested by that poem; or Mrs. Browning's readers may think of her wondrous <xref doc="a.browninge002.rad" link="dead"> <hi rend="i">Deserted Garden</hi> </xref> . But here the work of desolation has been more complete. Many years must have passed before it became thus; and since then it has scarcely changed for many years. All that could quite go is gone; and now, for a long long while, it shall stand on into the years as it is. The water possesses the scene within its depths, as calm as a picture; the white statue almost appears to listen; there is a peacock still about the place, to stalk and hush out his plumage when the sun lies there at noon; the pines conceal the rocky mountains till at a great height, and the mountains shut the horizon out. The encroachmont of moss and grass and green mildew is everywhere; the growths of the garden cling together on all hands. Long years ago it might befall, When all the garden flowers were trim, The grave old gardener prided him On these the most of all. And lady, stately overmuch, Who moved with a silken noise, Blushed near them, dreaming of the voice That likened her to such.

quotation of E.B. Browning's <xref doc="a.browninge002.rad" link="dead">The Deserted Garden</xref> , lines 25-32

-------------- -------------- <hi rend="c">THE ROYAL ACADEMY EXHIBITION.</hi> Most of this article was written by WMR. Only the sections which WMR designates in the 1911 edition as being DGR's work are transcribed here. Typo: on page 254, in the second paragraph of "Lucy," there is no end punctuation after the sentence "Bishop Juxon ... sympathetic appeal"

There can now no longer remain a doubt that Mr. C. Lucy is one of the elect of art destined to contribute to his epoch. In no painter whose works we can re–member is there to be found more of resolute truth, while in none is it accompanied by less of the mere parade of truthfulness.

The increased solidity of thought and manner in Mr. Lucy's pictures of last year is confirmed in this exhibition; it is evidently a permanent advance in power. His present subject, <hi rend="i">The Parting of Charles I. <lb/>from his two youngest Children the day previous to his <lb/>Execution</hi> (No. 571), is one of those hitherto left for second or third rate artists to work their will upon. Truly none such has here been at work. The arrange–ment adopted by Mr. Lucy is simple and suggestive. Bishop Juxon, holding the young prince's hand, leads him out into the antechamber where the sentry is posted, and where Vandyck's portrait of the king has been left hanging; the princess, now on the threshold, looks back at her father for once more; while the quiet head and pattering shoes of the little boy, who is evidently trying to walk faster than he is able, and the delicate manner in which he is being led by the good bishop, are peculiarly happy in their sympathetic appeal Charles, standing, raises one hand to his brow; his face is bewildered with anguish. He is turning un–consciously against the window, and the hand which has just held those of his children for the last time, is quivering helpless to his side. At first, the action of the figure strikes, however, as incomplete; and indeed, perhaps, something better might have been done with the limbs; but the feeling in the head and in the children, assisted by the quietness of the room into which they pass, is not the less real for being perfectly unob–trusive.

Mr. F. R. Pickersgill's nymphs differ from Mr. Frost's by something of the same space as might exist between a doll which, having put on humanity[,] has grown to the size of a woman, and a high-art wax-work. The latter are more firm and consistent; the former retain the pulpiness of infancy, and stare with the glass eyes of their primitive status. We may refer, for con–firmation, to Mr. Pickersgill's Pluto carrying away <lb/>Proserpine, opposed by the Nymph Cyane (No. 264), as compared with the Andromeda just mentioned; observ–ing further that, whereas Mr. Frost brings his pictures up to the point he is capable of desiring them to reach, in Mr. Pickersgill, when on his present tack, there is more of wilful imbecility, clearly conceived, boldly aimed at, and worked out with an uncompromising contempt for his real self. Last week we likened this gentleman to an amalgam of the Venetian colourists, Mr. Etty, and Mr. Frost; in the work now under review we are struck by the resemblance in Pluto and Cupid to the late Mr. Howard; while the plagiarism from the artist of the Mr. Skelt, dear to our childish days, is too evident in the horses to escape detection. As regards Mr. Pick–ersgill's third picture, A Scene during the Invasion of <lb/>Italy by Charles VIII. (No. 552), it is painful to be---------------------------------------------- compelled in truth to say that the artist, who was originally Mr. Hook's model of style, is here some–thing very like an imitator of that same Mr. Hook. We turn with a degree of pleasure to Mr. Pickers–gill's watercolour <hi rend="i">Sketches from the Story of Imelda</hi> (No. 1043.) If these are recent works, the artist is evidently still capable of his own style, still retains some feeling for purity of form and sentiment. The story is told in three compartments. The first is not in any way remarkable the second, where Imelda sees her lover's blood trickling through from under the closed door, is vividly imagined; there is poetry in the last. Imelda is dead in her efforts to suck the poison from the wounds of her lover, and the two lie together: a thin leafless tree in the shadow of the wall bends outside into the moonlight which makes the stone steps deathly cold.

Mr. C. H. Lear has this year taken the subject of his single small picture (No. 172) from Keats: “Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter: therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; Not to the sensual ear, but, more endeared, Pipe to the spirit-ditties of no tone:”— quotation of John Keats's <xref doc="a.keats001.002.rad" link="dead">Ode on a Grecian Urn</xref> , lines 11-14 Or rather, he, working from his own poetical resources, has found a sympathetic echo in the words of a brother poet. The “heard melody” is indeed “sweet,” so sweet that the “unheard” may scarcely exceed it: but the parallel is unnecessary; they are like voice and instru–ment. This picture should hang in the room of a poet: we will dare to say that Keats himself might have lain dreaming before it, and found it minister to his inspiration. Here we will not stand to discuss trivial shortcomings in execution; believing that, when Mr. Lear undertakes—as we hope he will not long defer doing—a subject combining varied character, and whose poetry shall be of the real as well as the abstract, he will see the necessity of not denying to his wonderful sentiment, which has already more than once accom–plished so much by itself, the toilsome but indispensable adjunct of a rigid completeness.

While we are still within the magic circle of the poetic—the truly and irresponsibly pleasurable in art, let us turn to Mr. Kennedy's <hi rend="i">L'Allegro</hi> (438.) Mr. Kennedy lounges (no less than Mr. Frost picks his way) in his own footsteps year after year; and his pictures have much less to do with nature than with his own nature. Mr. Frost is self-conscious—timorously so; Mr. Kennedy is less alive to his identity than to his ideal, but lazy enough in all things. His picture of this year, like those of former years, does not seem to deal in any way with critical requirements: it simply affords great delight. The landscapes we have all known in our dreams; only Mr. Kennedy remembers his, and can paint them. The figures are of that elect order which Boccaccio fashioned in his own likeness: they will play out the rest of the sunlight, no doubt, in that garden: in the evening their wine will be brought them, and the music will be played less sluggishly in the cool air, and those white-throated ladies will not be too languid to sing. Surely they are magic creatures; they shall stay all night there, surely it shall be high noon when they wake, there shall be no soil on their silks and velvets, and their hair shall not need the comb, and the love-making shall go on again in the shadow that lies again green and distinct; and all shall be as no doubt it has been in that Florentine sanctuary (if we could only find the place) any ten days these four-hundred years. From time to time, however, a poet or a painter has caught the music, and strayed in through the close stems: the spell is on his hand and his lips like the sleep of the Lotos-eaters, and his record shall be vague and fitful; yet will we be in waiting, and open our eyes and our ears, for the broken song has snatches of an enchanted harmony, and the glimpses are glimpses of Eden.

-------------- -------------- ----*---- <hi rend="c">THE ROYAL ACADEMY EXHIBITION.</hi> Most of this article was written by WMR. Only the sections which WMR designates in the 1911 edition as being DGR's work are transcribed here.

Mr. Landseer's chief work of the present year is (No. 189), <hi rend="i">A Dialogue at Waterloo</hi> . This is, in the truest sense of the word, a historical picture;—not merely an embodiment of conceptions, however acute and valuable, founded on the records left us from past ages: this, on the contrary, is itself a record, a part of the time, to remain chronicled; an emphatic per–sonal testimony. It belongs to a class of art but too little followed in our day, which leaves its own annals, for the most part, to the caricaturist and the newspaper draughtsman; a class which is more “historical” than Mr. Cross's picture, or than Mr. Lucy's, or than M. Delaroche's, as not being painted from history, but itself history painted. Let us consider Mr.Land–seer's work. It is now thirty-five years since the day of Waterloo, and Europe is another Europe since then because of that day: and here, in the picture, we have that day's Master riding in peace after these many years over the field whose name is now less the name of a field than of a battle which he fought. A woman of his house is with him; and to her he is recounting those matters as one who was there and of them. Since then, his labour has been his country's no less than on that day; but it has been wrought out in the compa–rative calm and silence of a peace which, but for him, she might not have enjoyed; and now, how must his memories crowd upon him as he recalls those events in which he was not an actor only, but the mind and master-spirit of action! Nothing about him but what has felt his influence;—the peasantry, whose native soil has become famous and prospered because of his deeds; the very soil itself, which the blood of his battle has fertilized and increased yearly to a plentiful harvest. All this is here, and much more, both pre–sentment and suggestion. On the execution of the picture, its truthfulness in colour and daylight, we have left ourselves no room to dwell; we may mention, however, that the action of the Duke is, we believe, one habitual to him, and here admirably appropriate. Still less can we devote space to the discussion, in how far a subject of this class is available to the tendencies of the age. The painter's highest duty is to record, in a manner sufficiently complete for after deduction: and surely here, if any where, thus much is accomplished.

The subject of Mr. Cope's principal picture is from the 4th Act of King Lear: “Oh! my dear father! Restoration, hang Thy medicine on my lips: and may this kiss Repair those violent harms that my two sisters Have in thy reverence made!” quotation of Shakespeare's <xref doc="a.shakespeare001.006.rad" link="dead">King Lear</xref> , Act 4. sc.7 Nearly identical, it may be remembered, was the theme of Mr. F. M. Brown's work of last year, the most remarkable contribution to the then “Free Exhi–bition;” and a comparison of the two renderings may help us to some conclusions. Firstly, Mr. Cope has assigned a more prominent place to the music, and has attempted more of physical beauty and of differences of age and position in his singers, the chief of whom, we submit, is man or woman, at option of the spec–tator: the other picture had a background of music; but its subject was emphatically the filial love. There lay the potential influence; and to this the resources appealing to sense were but a ministration. Yet the subordination of the persons doing did not detract from the full presentment of the thing done, to which the ostensible action was referred by the waiting and lis–tening heads of Kent and of the Fool,—a character not introduced by Mr. Cope. The latter, in keeping strictly to the text,—“In the heaviness of sleep we put fresh garments on him,”—has, we think, acted well, though the result is necessarily a less obvious and im–mediate realization: but, in all that relates to the characters of Lear and Cordelia, considered as either individual or Shaksperian, Mr. Brown shows a far higher apprehension; nor must his adherence to appro–priateness (as far as possible) in costume and accessory be overlooked, as contrasted with the unknown chro–nology of Mr. Cope. The colour of both is strong. Mr. Cope's, however, while specially noticeable for modelling and relief, has a degree of inkiness, as though a tone of colour naturally hot had been reduced by means of corresponding violence.

<hi rend="c">THE ROYAL ACADEMY EXHIBITION.</hi> <lb/> <hi rend="sc">[FIFTH NOTICE.]</hi> Most of this article was written by WMR. Only the sections which WMR designates in the 1911 edition as being DGR's work are transcribed here.

The name of Baron Marocchetti, well known, we believe, in Italian art, is here represented by a small statue of <hi rend="i">Sappho</hi> (No. 1297), of exquisite though pecu–liar character. The first impression of excentricity will not be favourable: but manage to look beyond this, and there is a grace and charm in the work which will arrest not the eye merely, but the mind. Sappho sitsin abject languor, her feet hanging over the rock, her hands left in her lap, where her harp has sunk; its strings have made music assuredly for the last time. The poetry of the figure is like a pang of life in the stone: the sea is in her ears, and that desolate look in her eyes is upon the sea; and her countenance has fallen. The style of the work is of an equally high class with its sentiment—pure and chaste, yet indi–vidualized. This is especially noticeable in the drapery, which is no unmeaning sheet tossed anyhow for effect, but a real piece of antique costume, full of beauty and character. We may venture to suggest, however, that the extreme tension of the skirt across the knees gives a certain appearance of formality to the lower portion of the figure.

-------- <hi rend="c">EXHIBITION OF MODERN BRITISH ART AT</hi> <lb/> <hi rend="c">THE OLD WATER COLOUR GALLERY.</hi>

The principal claim to support made by the promoters of this new winter exhibition, rests on its being entirely free of expense to the artists exhibiting, even in the event of sale; no charge being made for space, as at the Portland Gallery, nor any per centage levied on pur–chases, as at all other exhibitions with the exception of the Royal Academy. Its principal object appears to be, to place before the public a collection of drawings and sketches (several of them the first studies for pic–tures already well known), a class of productions not of very frequent occurrence in our annual picture shows. Its principal exhibitors, are of course the same whose works fill the other galleries, and among them may be especially noticed a considerable sprinkling of associates from the Royal Academy. Of late years, the Associ–ateship has come to present a somewhat anomalous aspect, viewed as a position in art. Originally insti–tuted as a preliminary step to the highest honours, it now musters a body of young artists so much resem–bling each other in style, in choice of subjects, and even in the minutiæ of execution, that it is difficult to sup–pose, at each new accession to their number, that the young man so elevated is any nearer than before to the full membership of the Academy; since all can scarcely be at any time received into the Forty, nor is selection among them an easy matter. The Associateship has thus grown to be looked upon almost as a limit of achievement, at least by a certain class of artists; some of whom would, we suspect, be actually scared, could they contemplate, when signing their names as aspirants for the minor grade, that they were ever to be called on to discharge the duties of a Professor–ship, for which neither nature nor study has fitted them; utterly lacking, as do certain among them,— education, in the first place,—and, in the second place, the capacity to educate themselves. Thus it happens that year after year, the corner-places and outposts of the “line” at the Academy, are occupied, in a great mea–sure, by pictures so closely resembling each other (though from different hands) as hardly to establish a separate recollection. Meanwhile, year after year, the works of other young artists continue to be ill placed and comparatively unnoticed; one or other of whom, however, in some year or other, finds himself at last on the line, in a little while to be an Associate, and in yet a little while an Academician. Then it is that the ques–tion comes to be asked, why he, now suddenly found worthy to take the head of the board, should so long have sat beneath so many over whom he is now at once advanced. And the answer, whether spoken or not, is, that this man was marked by the Academy for an Academician, and not as these, for Associates; and that verily they have their reward.

These preliminary remarks will not be considered out of place when we see how many of the young men in this exhibition are evidently striving to do exactly the same thing which others, also exhibitors here, have done,—making use of exactly the same means as those who have gone before them, in hope of the same result and no more.

We have said that the collection consists principally of sketches, and indeed rests its chief claim on bring–ing together for the first time any considerable gather–ing of such productions. We will not dispute the plea as a matter of fact, although our memory presents to us certain feet of wall in Trafalgar-square which have been covered annually for the most part, from time immemorial, with works little differing from these sketches except in size. Let us, however, allow that we are here for the first time presented with sketches by British artists; and still we must needs confess a degree of obtuseness as to the benefit, and a certain reluctance of gratitude. It has long been cause of complaint that our organs of veneration are called upon to be influenced by the I. O. U.'s and washing-bills of great men. But has it come to this now—that even mediocrity shall not have its dressing-room? For our part, we have ventured to suspect that the slightest and most trifling productions of some British artists—say Mr. Hollins or Mr. Brooks—might, for any public demand, as well have been held sacred to that moderate enthusiasm which may be supposed to have given them birth. Nay, it has been suggested to us by an unguarded acquaintance, that even Mr. Frith, Mr. Goodall, or Mr. Frank Stone, may be conjectured at some time, in mo–ments of unusual languor, to have produced works (say of the size of three half-crowns) which might almost be regarded as inconsiderable, and the like of which Heaven permits the average Briton to execute, so he be only supplied with a given quantity of hogs- hair and pigment.

Having said thus much in the way of introduction, called for no less by the recent establishment than by the character of the exhibition, we shall proceed in our next to an examination of the several performances.