A FULLY-DEVELOPED PAINTER—FIGHTING DOGS—“THE CAT’S PAW”—FIRST VISIT TO THE HIGHLANDS.
A FULLY-DEVELOPED PAINTER—FIGHTING DOGS—“THE CAT’S PAW”—FIRST VISIT TO THE HIGHLANDS.
Havingnow brought our artist to the verge of his career; shown the course of his studies; and indicated that quality of his genius which seems to have been most effective in making him what he was, we have next to set forth, in chronological order, some of his more remarkable works, and to describe their production as we should relate the history of special incidents in the life of a man of action. In one sense pictures are the actions of a great artist: he lives in them, and his life is of them.
We said that the first exhibited works of Edwin Landseer, “Portrait of a Mule,” and “Portraits of a Pointer Bitch and Puppy,” were sold with the collection of Mr. Simpson, the artist’s early friend;[26]the next painting that comes into notice is the portrait of “Brutus,” the property of the same gentleman, which was exhibited in 1817. This was, we believe, the little circular picture originally intended for the top of a snuff-box, and representing the head of a dog in full face, or nearly so,which was afterwards very finely engraved in 1818 by Mr. T. Landseer; the print styled “Old Brutus.” “Brutus” is depicted with a grizzled muzzle, ears not closely cropped, and having eyes expressing habits of consideration, as if he had seen the world and profited by experience; a hawk’s bell hangs beneath his chin. After the wont of dogs and men, this “wise and venerable” “Brutus” had a son, another “Brutus,” who became a very much-favoured and frequent model of Landseer’s; the animal was a gift from Mr. Simpson to the painter.
This son “Brutus,” whom we must, for distinction’s sake, call the second of the name, whose portrait appears in an early “Sportsman’s Magazine,” was a rough-hided, very sagacious-looking white dog, with a short tail, and signs, so far as strangers were concerned, of a shorter temper. Thus we judge by his portrait, as it was taken, whole canine generations since “Brutus II.” appeared. The picture was engraved by Mr. T. Landseer, having its scene in a stable, the floor of which is strewn with straw; a pipe and a bone are there to tell their tales. The canine inmate is a wiry-looking creature, tough, and light in limb, yet, withal, having every muscle instinct with life, and in courage such as makes him anything but loth to begin a combat. He has seemingly heard, or smelt, for he cannot yet see, the approach of a stranger of his own kind, whose muzzle is visible to us by means of the stable door being a few inches ajar, “with the chain up,” as folks say. This stranger is a representative of that ill-conditioned race, the bull-dog breed—the so-called “bull-poop”—much loved by Staffordshire colliers, whose wives, such is the local legend, are not seldom known to suckle the “poop” with the baby; although the former is, out of the Black Country, much abhorred by many men and dogs. Of the latter class, “Brutus II.” is evidently one, and we may thank the chain of the stable-door for keeping the animals apart; but for this, there would have been a dire “scrimmage” between the champions. We believe the same plate which supplied “The Sportsman’s Magazine” with this capital illustrationwas again used for the collected series of “engravings” before referred to from the works of our artist. The print is one of the most masculine specimens of its kind, and full of spirit and character. Edwin Landseer made a great pet of “Brutus II.,” taught him tricks, and very often painted him.
In the Anderdon Collection of Royal Academy Catalogues, which is now in the Print Room, British Museum, is a copy of a letter, formerly in the possession of Dawson Turner, which is characteristic of a young artist, and, as referring to this important picture of “Brutus,” may well find a place here. It was, no doubt, directed to Mr. W. W. Simpson:—
“Foley Street, Aug. 12, 1818.“Dear Sir,—I must beg to apologize for detaining the pictures so long, but hope you will now receive them safe, and that you will like the ‘Brutus,’ as it has generally been admired, and thought the best thing I have done on so small a scale. I am exceedingly obliged to you for your kind invitation, but am doubtful whether I shall be able to avail myself of the pleasure this season.“I remain,“Yours truly,“Edwin Landseer.“P.S. I shall get on with your other picture as fast as possible. I think you left the subject to my choice.”
“Foley Street, Aug. 12, 1818.
“Dear Sir,—I must beg to apologize for detaining the pictures so long, but hope you will now receive them safe, and that you will like the ‘Brutus,’ as it has generally been admired, and thought the best thing I have done on so small a scale. I am exceedingly obliged to you for your kind invitation, but am doubtful whether I shall be able to avail myself of the pleasure this season.
“I remain,“Yours truly,“Edwin Landseer.
“P.S. I shall get on with your other picture as fast as possible. I think you left the subject to my choice.”
At the foot of the paper is a sketch of a greyhound chasing a hare, designed with great spirit. To this the following memorandum refers: “I don’t mean this for the subject.” The signature comprises the usual flourish which accompanied Landseer’s autograph; the handwriting is very neat and clear.
The “Portrait of Brutus” showed a white dog, lying at the full length of his chain, near a red earthenware dish. It is very small; and was sold, with the pictures of Sir John Swinburne, June, 1861, for seventy guineas. The bidding began at five guineas, and rose by one guinea at a time.
It will be observed that we are now writing of Edwin Landseer as an accomplished artist; yet, strange as it may seem, it is true that only the year before this picture of “Brutus” was exhibited, he was admitted a student in the Royal Academy.This is generally considered one of the earlier steps in an artistic career. So much, however, did our artist differ from most students, that he was an exhibitor before entering the Academy, and his progress had been carefully recorded in one of the periodicals of the day.
There is a pleasant story told of Fuseli, the Keeper, and Landseer’s entry to the Academy as a student, then a bright lad, with light curling hair, and a very gentle, graceful manner, and much manliness withal. He was a diligent student; and Fuseli would look round the room for him, and, alluding to the picture of “Brutus,” exhibited that year, say, “Where is my littledog boy?”
In the year 1817 was exhibited the “Portrait of an Alpine Mastiff,” which we have noticed while giving an account of early drawings and etchings by and after Edwin Landseer. This drawing, and two others, were exhibited with works by the Society of Painters in Oil and Water Colours, at the gallery in Spring Gardens. It is doubtless that which has been engraved by Mr. T. Landseer in 1818.
The year 1818 is noteworthy as constituting an important epoch in the life of our artist. He then produced a picture from which the present height of his reputation might have been predicted. This appeared at the before-mentioned exhibition of the Society of Painters in Oil and Water Colours, Spring Gardens, entitled “Fighting Dogs getting Wind” (No. 140); it excited an extraordinary amount of attention. The work was purchased by Sir George Beaumont, and this fact was accepted as giving a stamp of the higher order of distinction to the artist, who immediately rose in fame, and became “the fashion,” in a way in which those persons will easily realize who have read Haydon’s account of his own and Wilkie’s positions in the world under similar circumstances.
Here is a criticism on “Fighting Dogs getting Wind,” from “The Examiner,” p. 269, 1818, in a review of the exhibition of the Society of Painters in Oil and Water Colours. After refering
Return from Deer Stalking.
Return from Deer Stalking.
Return from Deer Stalking.
to the merits of certain landscapes which commanded the critic’s admiration, we are told, “Their pictures alone would elevate the character of this Exhibition; but when we add the ‘Fighting Dogs getting Wind,’ by our EnglishSchneiders, young Mr.E. Landseer, and the masterly Drawings and Paintings by Mr.Haydon, we give overflowing evidence of the justness of our preference of this Exhibition. It behoves the Keeper of the room to be careful how he admits any animals of the same species before the ‘Fighting Dogs,’ when we recollect the exciting effect which a ‘Mastiff’ by this young Animal Painter had last year upon a canine judge admitted to the room. We hope thatE. Landseerwill not deviate from his large touch into a littleness of style. His may be called the great style of Animal Painting, as far as it relates to the execution and colour; and the natural, as far as it concerns their portraiture. Did we see only the Dog’s collar, we should know that it was produced by no common hand, so good is it, and palpably true. But the gasping, and cavernous, and redly-stained mouths, the flaming eyes, the prostrate Dog, and his antagonist standing exultingly over him, the inveterate rage that superior strength inflames but cannot subdue, with the broad and bright relief of the objects, give a wonder-producing vitality to the canvas.” The writer was evidently deeply moved. It is impossible to refrain from smiling at the thought that Leigh Hunt’s, or his brother’s, influence in respect to “The Examiner” was thus represented with regard to pictures by their friend Haydon and Edwin Landseer. The painting is still at Coleorton; it was No. 422, in the Royal Academy Winter Exhibition of 1874. It has not been engraved.
Of one of Landseer’s contributions to the Royal Academy in 1818 Wilkie thus wrote to Haydon: “Geddes has a good head.[27]Etty has a clever piece, and young Landseer’s jackasses are also good.”[28]The picture thus referred to as by Landseer is styled “Portrait of a Donkey.” Wilkie’s memory tricked him about it, but his testimony of admiration is valuable. In these days the British Institution received superior attention from Landseer: and the Academy gatherings—where, however, hisdébutwas made—rarely contained his more important productions.
Lady Charles Wellesley has a picture of this year, a thoroughly characteristic example of Landseer’s then current mode, which was mounted for the Hon. H. Pierrepoint, but not sent home, and when inquired for could not be found. It is called “White Horse in a Stable.” In 1842, many years after its disappearance, the work was discovered in a hayloft, where it had been hidden by a dishonest servant, and was sent by Sir Edwin with a letter to Mr. Pierrepoint, stating that the white horse “was the first of that complexion I ever painted,” and that he had not retouched it, thinking “it better when my early style unmingled with that of my old age.” In answer to a question as to price, he mentioned that the sum he was accustomed to receive at the time of painting this picture was Ten Guineas: see the Royal Academy Winter Exhibition Catalogue, 1874, p. 24.
In 1818 a satirical print was published in Elmes’s “Annals of the Fine Arts,” representing Haydon and his pupils drawingfrom Raphael’s Cartoon of “Elymas struck blind,”[29]which, as Haydon boasted, had by his means been brought to London and placed for the use of artists in the British Institution. This print is a rough etching, and entitled “A Master in the Grand Style & his Pupils;” it represents the interior of the gallery with three enormous canvases placed before the Cartoon, besides a smaller one and a portfolio, at which last a boy is drawing one of the heads on our right of Raphael’s work. Five copyists are busy, two of whom are identified by their portraits and inscriptions on their canvases, as, 1, Bewick, a “romantic” looking youth, who assumes “the grand style” of drawing, pressing his lips together demonstratively after the fashion of poor Haydon himself, while he steps backwards on the rickety platform and draws at arm’s length, sustaining his right elbow with his left hand; his inner mind is evidently divided between his studies and concern for his personal appearance, which is intended to be more than commonly beautiful by means of long curled locks tucked behind his ears, and a falling shirt-collar; his boots are of the smallest. The next artist, 2, is Thomas Christmas, one of Haydon’s pupils, wearing very big boots, his hair and collar being similar to those of his neighbour. The figures working at the smaller canvases on our left do not concern us here; but the portrait of a lad, who, perched on a ladder, measures with a pair of compasses the features of one of the faces in Raphael’s work is important, as it probably represents Edwin (see below) or Charles Landseer, the younger two of Haydon’s pupils, in the figure of a modest-looking, neatly-dressed boy. In the air is Haydon, wearing his broad-brimmed hat and spectacles, busily flying about as a bird and blowing his own trumpet as “Director of the Public Taste.”[30]
The joke is heightened by the publication line of the print stating that it was “Published for the Annals of the Fine Arts, No. 8, by Sherwood, Neely & Jones, Paternoster Row, April 1, 1818.” In this Journal it appeared with a long letter animadverting on Haydon and his pupils. If anybodies’ merits were certain to be recorded in Elmes’s “Annals,” they were those of Haydon and his pupils; but the editor, in order, as he stated, to show his impartiality, did not hesitate to publish the satire on his friends; he was doubtless assured that there was nothing Haydon enjoyed so much as notoriety. “Mr. E. Landseer” is named with his brother in the “Annals,” for 1818, p. 360, as among those who drew in chalk from the Cartoon of “The Beautiful Gate.” According to the “Annals,” ii. 433, the brothers, Thomas and Charles, drew the lictors and the figure of Elymas in the “Elymas struck blind” in 1817.[31]
Some of these drawings were exhibited by Haydon, 1819, in Pall Mall. “Messrs. Thomas Christmas and the two Landseers have taken their canvases to the Academy (British Institution), to make drawings from the Ananias,” &c., so says the “Annals,” No. 6, p. 436; and there seems to have been a tolerablyunwise squabble about the pupils of Haydon and their drawings from this cartoon. (See pp. 442-3 of the same volume.)
“The Cat disturbed” was a picture of the year 1819, contributed to the British Institution, and afterwards engraved with the title of “The Intruder.” It, we believe, reappeared at the Gallery of the Society of British Artists in 1826, with the title of “The intrusive Visitor,” and represents a cat hunted to a high place in a stable by a dog, into whose quarters she had ventured. This was probably the work belonging to Sir C. Coote, of which Dr. Waagen wrote, in complete harmony with the opinion intimated in these pages, that Landseer at an early stage painted with greater solidity than in later days. It is now in the possession of Sir Philip de Malpas Egerton. Dr. Waagen says, “This picture exhibits a power of colouring”—by this he doubtless meant depth of tone, for colouring is simply out of the question in Landseers’s art—“and a solidity of execution recalling such masters as Snyders and Fyt.” Here we may as well say that no one has a true and complete, or even a satisfactory, notion of the spirit and vigour of our painter’s powers at this time unless he has studied these triumphs. They possess qualities not discoverable in his later works, but, of course, lack extraordinary merits which predominated when he grew older.
The preference often exhibited by Landseer for the British Institution appeared strongly in 1820, when a picture, which had been much talked about in professional circles, was shown at the gallery in Pall Mall, and attracted more admiration than the foregoing works. This was the famous “Alpine Mastiffs re-animating a distressed Traveller,” afterwards engraved by John Landseer, and due to studies of the magnificent dog of St. Bernard, to which we have referred as the property of “a gentleman of Liverpool,” according to the catalogue of the Spring Gardens gallery of 1817. This picture now belongs to Mr. S. Addington. (See below on the Exhibition in 1835 of “A Sleeping Bloodhound,” now at South Kensington.)
It must not be supposed that Landseer, so young as he was, produced small pictures only; on the contrary, the British Institution contained two paintings, one of which measured six feet by seven feet six inches; while its companion, “A Lion disturbed at his Repast,” was six feet by eight feet, “landscape way,” as artists say;i.e.the longer dimension was horizontal. At the same gathering appeared “A Lion enjoying his Repast.” We have observed Landseer with his brothers copying parts of the Cartoons of the same sizes as the originals. At this period—1821—he exhibited at the British Institution “The Seizure of a Boar,” with life-sized figures, which belongs to the Marquis of Landsdowne; it is full of action and worthy of the artist’s rising fame. We believe it has not been engraved. Haydon’s advice had been adopted—large works were undertaken, and a lion was dissected. An opportunity for the latter study occurred through the death of a lion in the Exeter Change Menagerie; this chance was seized, and the results were several lion pictures, as the above, and “A prowling Lion,” which was at the Royal Academy Exhibition of 1822.
After these, lion subjects were not produced for a considerable time; opportunities for anatomizing such costly and rare animals as lions do not often occur; yet, as we may presently observe, our artist was at a later day fortunate in obtaining at least one other chance of this kind. The history of this matter, and an anecdote respecting it, are narrated further on.
In 1821 the progress of our subject was continued with rapidity and honour. The pictures of that year were, at the Royal Academy, “Ratcatchers,” which is now at Lambton Castle, the property of the Earl of Durham, and may be taken to illustrate Landseer’s admirable inventive powers at this period, although it is by no means the most important of his productions of the kind and date. Three dogs are in an old barn, and as if they had gone wild with passion and anxiety, because a fourth, whose extreme latter end is visible, is “scurrying” rats in depths below the broken floor of the
The Highland Mother.
The Highland Mother.
The Highland Mother.
place. His tail gives expressive signals of excitement and rage, and, beyond all misunderstanding, indicates his furious desire to get at his foes. It is but slight comfort to the eager creatures that several of their enemies are already stretched on the floor, or that a living rat, half conscious of impending doom, springs and dances at the wires of a trap near his dead brethren—he is at once confined and fortified in bars of iron. A maltster’s shovel, birch broom, old cart-harness, traces of cart-gear, a bottle, and stray wisps of straw, litter the ground and aid the composition. This composition, as regards the dogs, is worthy of admiration. The three entirely visible dogs, may be described as follows: A big white terrier, in whom one fancies the “Brutus” of former pictures, plunges and “scurries” round the hole where the sunken comrade is at work; he grovels with his nose near the floor, and thrusts his head and chest forward in fierce action; his jaws are set, and his breath goes quickly in and out of his nostrils; his ears are thrown to the front as if to listen for squeaks in the region of the rafters; his eyes protrude and glitter with ravenous desire; his fore feet are spread widely apart, and his hind legs thrust far behind. Thechiaro scurois disposed so that the white body of this dog is the chief object; the light falls powerfully on him, so that his colour aids the effect in the manner of the great masters ofchiaro scuro—which is much more than mere “light and shade” in the common sense of that term. Behind,—with a white mark, like a splash of chalk on the back of his head and between his ears, his figure coming above that of the last-named animal,—squats on his haunches a black dog of less demonstrative but equally excitable temperament; his back is arched in a bow, he quivers, and bends his head over the searching terrier with an eager gaze that is very finely expressed. He seems to whimper now and then; but “Brutus,” if it be he, yelps, snaps, barks, and almost howls in his ardour. One sees that if the hole were big enough to admit the bigger dog he would swiftly pull out the pioneer and goin himself, confident in his own resources, in an emergency like this; but with all this valour he has discretion enough to know that the hole would never admit a bulky carcass like his own, and that the sole chance for him consists in the possibility that a rat may appear at some apparently unguarded crevice, or, delirious with fear, rush between the legs of the half-buried hunter. Farthest off is a smaller and younger terrier, who has the air of an amateur or representative of the “lay-element” of rat-catching.[32]This dog sits in a formal, affected manner, his ears are uncropped and hang like lappels[33]quaintly above his head, with no unapt likeness to the decorations on a cap of a fool of the Middle Ages. This is a younger dog, and as eager as his fellows, although less impressionable. The joys of rat combating are as yet untasted by him, or he may be thedilettantehe seems. This picture was, like many more by Landseer, engraved by his brother Thomas; it was published in 1823.
In the same year 1821, which produced the “Ratcatchers” for the Royal Academy, the British Institution was enriched with a picture that was engraved for “The Sporting Magazine,” or “Annals of Sporting,” and styled “Pointers To-ho!” The background shows a long level landscape, which is evidently a piece of nature; two pointers stand in the front, at the “foot” of the picture; behind them is a man with a gun: it is a thoroughly “sporting picture,” and as true to life as it is possible to be. A pen and ink sketch for “To-ho!” was sold at the artist’s sale, May 11, 1874, for twenty guineas. Of Landseer’s paintings of this year at the British Institution, Wilkie wrote to Sir George Beaumont, who was interested as the purchaser of a former picture: “Ward, Etty, Stark, Crome, and Landseer are successful, but in no great work.”
The year 1822 was to be marked with a white stone in the annals of a young artist like Edwin Landseer, because he then received the premium of one hundred and fifty pounds from the Directors of the British Institution for “The Larder invaded,” which was contributed to this exhibition of that date. In the same year Mr. George Jones, R.A., late Keeper of the Royal Academy, obtained two hundred pounds in acknowledgment of the merit of his “Battle of Waterloo.” In 1821, John Martin received two hundred pounds on account of his “Belshazzar’s Feast.” As to Martin, there is a story, originally told by himself, to the effect that he contributed a picture to the Royal Academy in 1812, and before sending it, and while washing his brushes in an adjoining room, had the pleasure of hearing the framemaker’s men dispute as to which was the top and which the bottom of the painting. This work is one of Martin’s finer productions, the poetical “Sadak in search of the Waters of Oblivion.”
In 1822, our painter likewise contributed “The watchful Sentinel” to the British Institution. This picture is in the possession of Mr. Chapman, of Manchester, and represents a large black dog watching packages by a road side; a post-chaise is in the distance.
There is an interesting passage in a letter by Wilkie to Sir George Beaumont, dated from No. 24, Lower Phillimore Place, 14th February, 1823; it throws a double light on the writer and our artist. The passage refers to what Sir David called a “niggling touch” in painting, as “very common of late in our pictures,” a defect, if such it was, that was due, no doubt, to over anxiety on the part of the artists, and to the desire“for fulness of subject,” whatever that may be. The writer stated: “I have been warning our friend Collins against this, and was also urging young Landseer to beware of it.” The fact was, Wilkie’s health, then breaking up, precluded that extreme care which distinguished his early and good pictures; moreover, his reputation was made, and he wanted to make money; this could not be done by “niggling,” so he aimed at breadth, as he called it, went abroad for health, came back over head and ears in asphaltum, and never painted a sound picture afterwards. Unfortunately, his better pictures, such as “The Blind Fiddler,” and “The Village Festival,” now in the National Gallery, have been repaired on account of excessive cracking.
Edwin Landseer’s early practice is thus curiously illustrated by Wilkie’s advice. At a later time, no one could caution the former against “niggling,” or enjoin cultivation of “breadth.” Nor was this required since the Highland subjects were taken up after the northern journey with Leslie in 1824; to the first of these we shall presently refer, under the title of “Highlanders returning from Deer-Stalking,” exhibited in 1827, the first contribution of the artist as an Associate of the Royal Academy.
“Neptune,” a picture of 1824, represents the head and shoulders of a huge Newfoundland dog, in full front view, with his mouth open and tongue shown; the head is black, with a white stripe dividing it, and having an oval spot of black on the white of the forehead; it is superbly designed, and treated in honour of the noble animal. It was painted for Mr. Ellis Gosling, and has been admirably engraved by the artist’s brother.
The best known of Edwin Landseer’s early pictures is “The Cat’s Paw,” which was exhibited at the British Institution in 1824, and now hangs in the dining-room at Cassiobury, the seat of the Earl of Essex. This work, which is painted on a panel, was bought of the artist for one hundred pounds,and sold a few days afterwards to the late Earl of Essex, a great patron of the arts, for one hundred and twenty pounds, and would probably be worth, if now sold, about three thousand pounds.
This was Sir Edwin’s estimate, made some years since, when, soon after the fever caused by Mr. Bicknell’s remarkably well-managed sale of pictures, the present Earl of Essex met the painter, and asked what he thought “The Cat’s Paw” would produce if it were sold. “About three thousand pounds,” was the answer. At the sale, which occurred in 1863, appeared illustrations of the increase in the value of Landseer’s pictures; thus “The Prize Calf,” which is by no means one of his best works, and for which he four years earlier received four hundred and twenty pounds, was resold for one thousand eight hundred and ninety pounds; “The Twa Dogs,” purchased for three hundred pounds, was sold for two thousand four hundred and fifteen pounds; “The Highland Shepherd,” exhibited in 1850, and bought for three hundred and fifty pounds, brought back again two thousand three hundred and forty-one pounds, ten shillings. As “The Cat’s Paw” now appears, it is hot and dark in tone, if compared with some silvery and more solid productions. It scarcely needs a description, yet we may point out how admirably the incident is told. The scene is a laundry, or ironing-room, probably in some great house, to which a monkey of most crafty and resolute disposition has access. The place is too neat and well-maintained to be part of a poor man’s house. The “ironing-woman” has left her work, the stove is in full combustion, and the hand of some one who appreciated the good things of life has deposited on its level top, together with a flat iron, half-a-dozen ripe sound chestnuts. To the aromatic, appetizing odour of the fruit was probably due the entrance of the monkey, a muscular, healthy beast, who came, dragging his chain, and making his bell rattle. He smelt the fruit and coveted them; tried to steal them off the cooking-place with his own long, lean digits,and burnt his fingers. He looked about for a more effective means and—heedless of the motherhood of a fine cat who, with her kittens, was ensconced in a clothes-basket, where she blandly enjoyed the coverings and the heat—pounced upon Puss, entangled as she was in the wrappings of her ease. Puss resisted at first with offended dignity and wrath at being thus treated before the faces of her offspring. She resisted as a cat only can, with lithe and strenuous limbs; the muscular, light, and vigorous frame of the creature quivered with the stress of her energy; she twisted, doubled her body, buckled herself, so to say, in convulsions of passion and fear, but still, surely, without a notion of the object of her captor. Yet he had by far the best of the struggle, for her tiger-like claws were enveloped in the covering which erst served her so comfortably; and, kicking, struggling, squalling, and squealing as strength departed from her, she flounced about the room, upset the coal-scuttle on the floor, and hurled her mistress’s favourite flower-pot in hideous confusion on the “ironing-blanket.” It was to no purpose, for the quadruped with muffled claws was no match for her four-handed foe. He dragged her towards the stove, and dreadful notions of a fate in its fiery bowels must have arisen in her heart, as nearer and still more near the master of the situation brought his victim. Stern, resolute, with no more mercy than the cat had when some unhappy mouse felt her claws—claws now to be deftly, yet painfully employed, Pug grasped her in three of his powerful hands, and, as reckless of struggles as of yells, squeals, and squalls, with the fourth stretched out her soft, sensitive, velvety fore-paw—the very mouse-slayer itself—to the burning stove and its spoils. What cared he for the bowed backs or the spiteful mewlings of her miserable offspring, little cats as they were? He made their mother a true “Cat’s Paw.”
This picture was engraved by C. G. Lewis. Shortly after its exhibition Sir Walter Scott came to London, and took the young painter to Abbotsford on his return, “where,” said
Mare and Foal.
Mare and Foal.
Mare and Foal.
Leslie, recording the circumstance, “he will make himself very popular, both with master and mistress of the house, by sketching their doggies for them.” It was probably due to the vein of thought and fancy most cultivated by Scott, and sure to affect his young visitor, that Landseer after this painted Scotch subjects and romantic themes, such as he had not previously indulged in. “Chevy Chase” was commenced shortly afterwards, and exhibited with marked effect on young Landseer’s fortunes. Leslie had been with Sir Walter, taking his portrait, and found the novelist to “dislike sitting very much,” and to be fonder of dashing out of doors with the “doggies,” rabbit-killing, and landscape hunting. The incident referred to by the picture at the British Institution in 1858 (see the Catalogue) probably occurred at this time. Landseer’s first visit to the Highlands was made in 1824. Leslie and he went in the London and Leith steamer. They visited Glasgow, and Loch Lomond and Loch Katrine, and crossed the mountains on foot to Loch Earn, in order to be present at an annual meeting of Highlanders, which occurred under the patronage of Lord Gwydyr, and included performances on bagpipes, dancing, broadsword exercise, and the like pastimes; the painters traversed Loch Earn in a large row-boat, with Highland rowers, who told them, says Leslie, in his “Autobiography,” stories of the fairies who haunted the shores. To this visit to Abbotsford was due the well-known “Scene at Abbotsford,” by Landseer, and from it he derived inspiration for Highland pictures. After this period he rarely failed to visit the north annually, and the catalogue of his works bears evidence of his studies there.
“Taking a Buck,” and “The Widow,” were Landseer’s contributions to the Royal Academy in 1825, with a portrait. “The Poacher” appeared in the same year at the British Institution. “The Hunting of Chevy Chase,” an important work, which has been repeatedly exhibited, was shown in the following season at the Academy. The affectionate deference paid by Edwin Landseer to his father at this timehas been illustrated by the account of the difficulty he experienced in leaving the paternal roof. No one who knew the painter believes that he was likely to be weakly subservient to his father or any one else; or that in 1824, when in his twenty-second year, and already the possessor of a very considerable reputation, he was in any respect a timid recluse. Nevertheless, it is recorded that when one interested in bringing his pictures into note, called on the painter in the dingy studio he occupied in the Fitzroy Square region—it was, we believe, Upper Conway Street, now Southampton Street, Fitzroy Square, near where Mulready lodged in Cleveland Street—the visitor asked, “Why are you in this place, without a table, carpet, or proper chairs? why not have a place where you can keep a dog or two, and have a garden, and so on?” The answer was that the painter lived with his father, and occupied the place only to paint in. The offer of a hundred pounds for “The Cat’s Paw,” then just finished, a price satisfactory to the artist, did not induce him to conclude the bargain and set himself free from the paternal control. John Landseer managed his son’s affairs, settled the prices of his pictures, received the money, and treated Edwin in his twenty-second year as he had done when he was twelve years old. John Landseer did what Mr. Jacob Bell, many years afterwards, did for his friend,i.e.managed his affairs with zeal and discretion, and, perhaps, the father kept a tighter hold on the painter than the friend was able to maintain. This affectionate arrangement was proof against the second offer of one hundred pounds in a crisp bank-note for “The Cat’s Paw,” which thus came into the possession of the Earl of Essex, and not into that of the young artist’s friend. The same affection for his parent appeared in “Sketch of my Father,” 1848, the pathos of which was as simple as it was kindly. Of the same vein of feeling we find it recorded that in 1817 or 1818, the Landseers, in order to make a present to Haydon, when they were about to quit his tutelage, prepared a copy of one of the Cartoons which were at the British Institution; thiscopy—we are not certain if it was more than an important group—was a gift to Haydon. Sir Edwin bought and carefully preserved Haydon’s “Judgment of Solomon,” not only on account of the fineness of the picture, but, it is said, in kindly remembrance of his old adviser.
AT ST. JOHN’S WOOD—MADE ROYAL ACADEMICIAN—FACILITY AT WORK—TECHNICAL DEXTERITY—JACK IN OFFICE.
AT ST. JOHN’S WOOD—MADE ROYAL ACADEMICIAN—FACILITY AT WORK—TECHNICAL DEXTERITY—JACK IN OFFICE.
“TheCat’s Paw” was sold, and soon after a renewed offer of pecuniary aid that he might establish himself, was accepted by the painter, and he found, near Regent’s Park, a small house with a garden; here a large barn was converted to a studio, and he set up his staff independently—not, however, without qualms of heart at thus quitting the “old house at home.” The fact is, he was not a man of business, nor a man of the world; he had remained so long in tutelage, and owed so much to his father, that it needed more than ordinary impulses ere he was induced to plunge into the world as the chief of a household. This diffidence was so strongly marked that, on learning that a premium of one hundred pounds was demanded for the house, Landseer was about to break off the negotiation in despair. But his adviser, who had endeavoured to buy “A Cat’s Paw,” came to his aid. “Well,” said he, on learning the difficulty which seemed insurmountable, “if that is the only obstacle, I will remove it. Go to the lawyers, and tell them to make out the lease, and that as soon as it is ready for signatures, you will pay the sum required, and I will lend you the money, which you can repay when it suits you, without interest.” This was agreed to, the lease was made out,and the money paid. Edwin Landseer returned the money by instalments of twenty pounds each, and this transaction concluded the history of the obtaining the house, which was enlarged as his means permitted and his convenience demanded. This is the house in which he lived for nearly fifty years, and in which he died. Here his sister, Mrs. Mackenzie, to whom the reader is much indebted, long acted as his housekeeper. Here the greater part of his life’s work was done, and in it, as we believe, John Landseer died. It was for many years the centre of the kindly painter’sentourage, where his friends were summoned to meet by hasty messages bidding them to pleasant parties, and it is the house which of all others in London belonging to artists has received the greatest number of distinguished visitors, always excepting that of Sir Joshua Reynolds in Leicester Square. Not long before, the district was open and the locality pertained to Red Hand Farm.[34]In those days deer were in Hyde Park, where one would now as soon expect to see a phœnix, or be gored by the stag that was painted in our artist’s next picture, as to encounter even a doe.
The “Portrait of Lord Cosmo Russell,” 1825, represents a boy in a Highland dress, holding a whip and galloping on a pony over a moor, with a dog running by his side. “Taking a Buck” shows three deer-hounds chasing a buck; one of the dogs has leaped at and seized its prey by the ear, and thus checked the progress of the latter, giving a keeper an opportunity for throwing a noose over his antlers, so that he may be pinioned and secured.
In 1826 appeared “The Dog and the Shadow” now at South Kensington. This is an illustration of the old fable; a dog with a piece of flesh in his mouth is crossing a brook by means of a fallen tree, and stops to gaze at the reflected image of himself and his prize. A worsted cap and a pair of shoes on the bank indicate that a butcher’s boy, who loitered to fish or bathe, has been plundered of part of his charge. Such is the officialdescription. We believe it was about this time that Sydney Smith’s humorous reply was given to an invitation that he should sit to Edwin Landseer. He said, with that dashing readiness which characterized the man of jokes, “Is thy servant a dog that he should do this great thing?” This was a not very reverent paraphrase of the speech of Hazael, the messenger of Ben-hadad, king of Syria, to Elisha. There have been more than one claimant for the honour of saying this good thing; like many others of its kind, it was probably never “said” at all, but deliberately invented, with toil of brain and mental throes. There is another story of Sydney Smith, which is very good, and not less characteristic of the wit. Landseer said to the clerical dignitary, “With your love of humour, it must be an act of great self-denial to abstain from going to the theatres.” “The managers,” he replied, “are very polite; they send me free admissions, which I can’t use, and, in return, I send them free admissions to St. Paul’s.”
In 1826, when Landseer was twenty-four years of age, several of his works were etched by his pupil, Georgina, Duchess of Bedford.
The exhibition of the picture of “Chevy Chase” can hardly be said to have led to Landseer’s election as an Associate of the Academy. This honour was long anticipated, and the election occurred, as a matter of course, immediately on his attaining the age of twenty-four years, that being the limit prescribed by the laws of the artistic body. Sir Thomas Lawrence and Mr. Millais were among the few to whom similarly early elections have been vouchsafed. “Chevy Chase” is at Woburn Abbey, and the property of the Duke of Bedford, whose ancestor was the original purchaser. In this picture we see the fruits of Landseer’s visit to Sir W. Scott and to the Highlands, a district of which he may be said to have been the artistic prophet, and from which he derived more subjects than any other; its men, animals, and landscapes he illustrated from the picture next before us up to the “Flood in the Highlands” of 1860.
Shepherd’s Dog and Pups.
Shepherd’s Dog and Pups.
Shepherd’s Dog and Pups.
“The Chief’s return from Deer-stalking” (1827) is not only the first important Highland picture by our painter, but the first of his contributions to the Royal Academy as an Associate. It is one of the best of his compositions, the subject giving scope to all his powers in dealing with dogs, deer, and horses. Across the backs of a white and a black pony two magnificently antlered deer are bound. A young chief and his old companion, a mountaineer—with traces of the wear and tear of a hard life on his cheeks and in his gaunt eyes—step by the head of one of the horses. They go slowly and heedfully down the hill. Two dogs pace with them; one of these turns to a deer’s skull which lies in the herbage. With this picture is connected a more noteworthy point than those we have observed in the history of our subject. With it his style of execution was changed from the sound and deliberate firmness of youthful practice to the broader, freer, and more effective mode which next characterized his later work. The careful studies of earlier life enabled him to paint broadly, and with precision, and gave power to indicate at once that which, ere this time, was the result of ardent and long-sustained consideration. Amassed knowledge made the artist a master. It must not be concealed, however, that with this attainment of “mastery” no small sacrifice was made in solidity and elaboration of modelling. Facility that was marvellous, and dexterity which had the charm of magic, astounding to the observer, are somewhat dearly, though in a pecuniary sense profitably, purchased by the sacrifice of qualities which are higher and rarer than facility and dexterity.
With “The Chief’s return” appeared “The Monkey who had seen the World,” which was engraved by Gibbon as “The travelled Monkey,” and is a well-known design, showing the reunion of Pug and his untravelled friends. The latter are in their natural costume of hair, the former is dressed as a “beau,” with his head in powder and covered by a cocked hat of the most audaciousmode; a cravat embraces his neck, and its widely-spreading ends cover his chest; a long-skirted, deep-pocketed, laced, stiff-collared coat holds his lean body, a large lapelled vest hangs nearly to his knees; breeches, stockings, and buckled shoes enclose his lower extremities; his tail is nowhere, but he carries, instead of it, a splendid cane, and bears round his neck a most superfluous eye-glass. His unsophisticated comrades contemplate this figure with expressions which may be readily imagined. The pendant eye-glass bothers them more than all the rest of his bedizenments. A few of the less bold monkeys squat and gibber behind the principal group. This picture belongs to the Baring Collection.
The British Institution comprised in this year (1827) with “Chevy Chase,” the well-known picture of a dog—Sir Walter Scott’s “Maida”—reclining by a piece of armour; a work which is entitled “Scene at Abbotsford,” and was, no doubt, designed during the visit of which we have spoken before. It is well known by Westwood’s capital engraving for the “Keepsake.” The year 1828 was for our subject one of comparative rest, so far as exhibitions were concerned; 1829 produced “The Illicit Whisky-Still in the Highlands,” an admirable work, familiar to most readers, and “A Fireside Party,” which is now at South Kensington, and shows how in a rude bothy several serious-looking terriers are lying and sitting in various attitudes of thoughtfulness and ease before the fire. These dogs belong to Malcolm Clarke, Esq., of Inverary, and are said to have been the original “Peppers” and “Mustards” described by Sir Walter Scott in “The Antiquary;” a descendant appeared in the picture of 1833, which represented Sir Walter himself and companions.
The year 1830 witnessed the election of our artist to the full honours of the Royal Academy. Having attained this point in his life, it will not be needful to follow his yearly steps; suffice it that it is our purpose to deal chiefly with Landseer’s more important productions, and to note his accessions to honours.
In “High Life” and “Low Life,” which are in the VernonGift, and now in the National Gallery, we have contrasted conditions. The gentle, gentlemanly stag-hound, apparently the dog of the “Scene at Abbotsford,” appears in the former of these paintings, which were first exhibited at the British Institution in 1831, and are noteworthy on account of their size, being not more than eighteen inches by thirteen inches and a half. They are among the smallest of celebrated pictures, and, comparatively, mere sketches. The second subject is a broad and brawny bull-dog, theaideof a butcher, by whose block, and guarding whose hat, pipe, boots, and pot, he sits. Our dog here is in a state of satisfaction with the recent past and the soon to come: he has had a capital meat breakfast—note the beef bone in front of the step; the sun is bright and warm, so that it makes him lazily blink one eye, while the other, being shaded, is watching. Fat, he lounges against the jamb of the door; the savour, nay the very flavour of the bone and its adjuncts, lingers about his muzzle, which he licks gently and unctuously. His prospects are almost as agreeable as his experiences; for is he not about to have a ride in the cart—note the whip hanging on the door-latch, and the boots—to market, where there will be company and canine sports. Mr. Ruskin has studied “Low Life” from his proper point of view, which is, of course, not that to be adopted in this book. See “Modern Painters,” v. 271. “Cunning signifies especially a habit or gift of over-reaching, accompanied with enjoyment and a sense of superiority. Its essential connections with vulgarity may be at once exemplified by the expression of the butcher’s dog in Landseer’s ‘Low Life.’ Cruikshank’s ‘Noah Claypole,’ in the illustrations to ‘Oliver Twist,’ in the interview with the Jew, is, however, still more characteristic. It is the intensest rendering of vulgarity absolute and utter with which I am acquainted.”
“Poachers Deer-Stalking,” another famous picture, appeared in this year (1831), with “Too Hot!” “A Lassie herding Sheep,” sent to the British Institution in 1832, was at theArt Treasures Exhibition in 1857, and at that time the property of William Wells, Esq. It needs no description here. In 1832 was exhibited a picture, which most fortunately illustrates the perfect command of the brush and the extraordinary facility which long-continued and severe studies gave to our painter. This was “Spaniels of King Charles’s Breed,” which is now in the Vernon Gift, in the National Gallery. It is sometimes styled “The Cavalier’s Pets,” and represents two dogs lying on a table, by the side of a grey hat with a large drooping ostrich feather stuck in its band. The dogs were pets of Mr. Vernon’s, and the sketch was made in his house as a commission to Landseer, but, after a short sitting, not continued for some time. One day Mr. Vernon met the artist in the street, and reminded him of the commission. Two days later the work as it now appears was delivered at Mr. Vernon’s house, although it was not begun when the meeting happened. It is due to not more than two days’ labour, and a triumph of dexterity in brush working, showing as much facility as the ancient fresco painters exhibited when they dealt with and completed an important head of a man in one day. The sweeping touches by which the feather in the felt hat is expressed have been placed with exquisite precision, and deserve the most careful consideration of all students and amateurs in dexterous art. This kind of execution, of which Landseer’s pictures exhibit innumerable illustrations, is magical; it is really more like penmanship, in which the artist astounds us by elaborate and super-skilful flourishes and the flow of lines in lines, than downright painting of the stricter order, which is not contented with exquisite craftsmanship alone. In this category of triumphs must be classed the countless imitations of hair and feathers which consummate “dragging” of the brush and incomparable skill enabled Landseer to produce rapidly and frequently. It is said, although our memories cannot verify the statement, that Landseer sent a picture of “Rabbits” to the British Gallery,i.e.the British Institution, under which he wrote,“Painted in three-quarters of an hour.”[35]Both the dogs in Mr. Vernon’s picture came to violent ends, so says our authority for this matter.[36]The white Blenheim spaniel fell from a table and was killed; the true “King Charles” fell through the railings of a staircase in his master’s house, and was picked up dead at the bottom. The history of another ill-fated dog, a subject of Landseer’s art, will be found in our account of “The sleeping Bloodhound,” which was exhibited at the British Institution in 1835, and is now in the National Gallery. This anecdote likewise illustrates Landseer’s amazing facility. Hardly less remarkable is the fact that the Hon. W. Russell’s picture “Odin,” which was exhibited in 1836, was painted within twelve hours, or at “one sitting.”[37]
As to Landseer’s facility of execution, Mr. Redgrave truly wrote thus:—“That happy facility which has already been alluded to is fairly to be illustrated in the works of Sir Edwin Landseer. Examine carefully ‘A Fireside Party,’ No. 90 (Sheepshanks Gift); here the hairy texture of the veritable race of ‘Pepper’ and ‘Mustard’ is given, as it were, hair for hair, yet it was achieved at once by a dexterous use of the painter’s brush. Or turn from this work to ‘The tethered Rams’ (No. 95, Sheepshanks Gift), where the fullest truth of a woolly texture is obtained by simply, with a full brush, applying the more solid pigment into that which has already been laid on as a ground, with a large admixture of the painter’s vehicle; days might be spent endeavouring to arriveat a result which the painter has achieved at once. The early works of this painter are a complete study for light-handed and beautiful execution; they look intuitively perfect, yet many instances are known of his extreme rapidity of execution.” It should be noted that Mr. Redgrave must refer to pictures which might be truly, if relatively, styled “early works” of Landseer. The works to which we have called attention as produced before 1826 are examples of happily directed labour, not drudgery, and anything rather than displays of tact in painting and dexterity in handling. Note the passage we have quoted from Wilkie’s letter to Sir George Beaumont. It is needful to interpose this statement, because too many persons admire such facility as an end, whereas it is but a felicitous means in art. The extraordinary felicity and skill of our painter followed more than twenty years hard study. Foolish ideas often rise in the minds of those who read stories such as we have just given, which stories are truer than the tale of the exasperated painter—was it Rubens or Zeuxis?—who dashed the foam in a pictured horse’s mouth by angrily casting his brush at the painting. Mr. Redgrave continues:—