Sow and Pigs.
Sow and Pigs.
Sow and Pigs.
present no features which need detain us. It was at this period Landseer made his first visit to Belgium, to procure studies and sketches for the capital “Dialogue at Waterloo,” which appeared in 1850, and is now comprised in the Vernon Gift; it represents the Duke of Wellington and his daughter-in-law, the Marchioness of Douro, at the scene of “the famous victory.” This visit naturally attracted a great deal of attention from the Dutch and Belgian artists, who listened to strange stories of Landseer’s mode of painting, and his, to their notions, luxurious mode of life; that he went out into the woods near the place of his sojourn, Brussels, accompanied by a man servant, and made careful studies on millboard, was not so surprising to our neighbours as that he was reported to regale himself with champagne. It had been the artist’s custom during the greater part of his life, especially during that period which has now been described, to make his studies on millboards of a generally uniform size; great numbers of works of this size exist, and their artistic qualities are of a high order. The sale of his artistic remains brought to light numerous millboard studies, including first thoughts for not a few of Landseer’s finest designs, studies for pictures, and bold versions of thoughts which were never elaborated into pictures, or placed before the world. These studies realized a considerable sum, and thus increased the handsome fortune which he obtained by means of a long life’s labours.
In 1850 Edwin Landseer was made a knight.
SIR EDWIN LANDSEER—THE MONARCH OF THE GLEN—MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM—MAID AND MAGPIE—THE FLOOD IN THE HIGHLANDS.
SIR EDWIN LANDSEER—THE MONARCH OF THE GLEN—MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM—MAID AND MAGPIE—THE FLOOD IN THE HIGHLANDS.
“TheMonarch of the Glen,” exhibited in 1851, was a stag, executed with vigour and soundness of modelling, which recalled some of the finest works of the artist.[1]The group styled “Geneva,” which appeared with this, was a large painting of several asses, a bull, a mule, &c., gathered under an arch. The head of the mule struck us as the best part, where all portions were worthy of the painter. “The last Run of the Season” showed a fox leaving his earth; the texture of the beast’s hide was rendered with dexterity, and the head characterized the painter’s peculiar craft in such subjects, but there was not enough of the “varmint” in its expression.
“Titania and Bottom—Fairies attending,” was a happy specimen of Sir Edwin’s poetical invention, and one of the most agreeable pictures which illustrate Shakespeare. The graceful nature of the Queen of the Fairies was shown in Titania, whose figure expresses the love-languor of her absurd dream; she leans with a confiding caress against the most complacent Bottom, who extends his huge paw to handle a fairy. The head of Titania is decorated with a diadem of leaves and glow-worms. Fairies mounted on white rabbits add quaintness to the whole. “A Highlander in a Snow-storm, holding an Eagle he has just shot,” and “Lassie,” were summer and winter scenes which effectively contrast each other. These concluded the pictures of 1851. The year 1852 gave us nothing of immediate profit, but the year after made ample amends.
What one may call the progress of ultra-facility, the decline of Sir Edwin’s power of solid painting, was illustrated by the pictures of 1853, being the dramatic designs—they were little more—styled “The Combat,” and, severally, “Night” and “Morning,” the subjects being a duel of stags, and the ruin of both. The pictures were at the Academy, and, later, at the International Exhibition of 1862. The contrasted effects were those of, 1, romantic gloom, much less than twilight, with a dim moon, with screens of rain flying by a tumultuous lake, and, 2, dawn growing rosier as the day grows over the fields; the subject of the death struggle, and of death. In the one picture the beasts were fighting, with such intensity of action as no one but Landseer could have given, so that they are “locked horn in horn in fight.” The second picture shows the combatants still locked together by their horns—indeed it was this which decided their fate; they are both dead on the hill-side, the day has come, the gusty night winds are hushed and the lake is a mirror again; growing light reveals the outlines of the hills, grey mist creeps on the strand, the bird of prey wheels in the air above the dead, and the fox has come from his lair in the rotting fern; the royal dead are carrion prey. Here is a moral forcibly depicted, on which we need not enlarge. The pictures belong to Viscount Hardinge, and have been engraved by Mr. T. Landseer, to whom not a little is due on their account, for it is certain that the magnificent design lost little in translation, and that the picture was not pre-eminent. “The Children of the Mist,” a group of deer on a cloud-laden moor, was exhibited with these more powerful examples which we have just described.
Whatever may be the defects of the Royal Academy as asociety—and most of these are, we trust, in the course of correction—there can be no doubt that collectively it has done many fine things; the members have often acted in a noble manner; the number of instances of sacrifice of cherished advantages to fellows or rivals is considerable, and the story has been told of many Academicians who have taken their own pictures from the walls in order to place those of others in good situations. We believe it was about 1853, or it might have been at an earlier date, that Sir Edwin was one of the Hanging Committee for the Royal Academy Exhibition; it does not signify who was his fellow, but it is certain that he was a landscape painter, and therefore no rival of M. Gudin, an animal painter. Sir Edwin found among the contributions which had been set aside as “doubtful,”—i.e.its chance of being hung was but a poor one,—a work which pleased him greatly, but which had no artist’s name. Taking it to his fellow-hanger, Sir Edwin found that both agreed as to its merits, and that it ought to be hung, and well hung. The difficulty was where to put it; at last the other hanger found that a place accorded to a painting of his would suit this one extremely well, he therefore took down his own and put M. Gudin’s production in its stead. Thus the animal painter found an animal painter’s work, and was the means of inducing a considerable sacrifice in order that it might be seen. It may be asked, why did not Sir Edwin take down one of his own paintings instead of allowing his companion to do so? The answer is, that it is possible that Sir Edwin had no pictures at that gathering; or it is still more probable that M. Gudin’s contribution would not fit one of the places occupied by Landseer. We have an impression that Sir Edwin’s generous companion was W. Daniell, R.A., in which case this circumstance must have happened long before 1853; but this date has been given as that of the circumstance.
The year 1854 was not one of those in which Sir Edwin’s powers shone at the Exhibition; in 1855 he gave nothing;in 1856 he contributed the capital “Saved!”—a fine picture, good enough to have made the reputation of another artist—to the Royal Academy. In 1857 we had the grandest stag which came from his hands, being “Scene in Brae-mar—Highland Deer, &c.,” a magnificent stag, standing in the mist, but not concealed by the vapour, and on the brow of a hill, bellowing defiance to the hunter or to other males of his own kind; a group of does are about him; a rabbit appears on the grass. The stag is superbly drawn, and his action instinct with pride. “Rough and Ready” was of this year; a portrait of a favourite mare, in the yard of her stable. The humour of the picture, one of those capital pieces of by-play which none introduced more happily than Landseer, was presented by the passionate emotion of a hen, who, having just laid an egg, calls all the world to witness the fact. “Rough and Ready” turns a questioning eye on the bird, but is not deeply moved by the event; indeed she looks a little bored by the uproarious mother-bird. This was a good example; but “Uncle Tom and his Wife for sale,” which accompanied it at the Academy, showed that Landseer had occupied some of his time during the years before this one in reading a now almost-forgotten United States novel. “Uncle Tom” is a dog of humble breeding and sturdy constitution; he has been brought to the market for sale, and is chained to his wife, for whom a similar fate is purposed. The best part of the picture was the tearful look of the wife at the dog of her heart. This was a masterpiece wherein Sir Edwin often triumphed—the humanizing of animal expression, or rather, the animalization of human expression.
“The Maid and the Magpie,” given by Mr. Bell to the nation, with better pictures, is, however, by no means unworthy of Landseer. The scene is a shed, where a pretty Belgian girl, with a gay red cap on her head, has come a-milking; the cow is willing, and turns with affectionate docility to her friend; but the girl, whose expression is happy, is ardently listening toher lover, who, leaning against a post, sighing and longing, speaks to her. Thus far she neglects her immediate duties. She is supposed to get into further trouble, because, having placed a silver spoon in one of the wooden shoes at her side, she did not observe how a malicious magpie pilfered the treasure, which, being missed, cause her to suffer grievously. The story belongs to that of Rossini’s “La Gazza Ladra,” with an older source, as Mr. Wornum said, in the FrenchCauses Célèbres. A calf and some goats were Landseerian, one cannot have a better word.
The most remarkable work which Landseer had for some years exhibited was the immense cartoon styled “Deer Browsing.” It is in coloured chalks, black, red, and white, used in a manner analogous to that which Mulready employed for his famous studies from “the life,” and it represented a herd of deer grazing, while hunters have stolen on them from the heights of the mountains, and prepare to fire from behind rocks. A royal stag browses unsuspiciously; but two does have detected the intruders, and, looking up with startled air and erected ears, are about to take to their heels. In the same year we found at the British Institution, to which gathering Sir Edwin had not then contributed for a considerable period, the humorous and characteristic “Twa Dogs,” an illustration of Burns’ poem with the same name. The gentlemanly dog, “they ca’d him Cæsar,”[41]had all the marks of his education about him; not only in “his lockit, letter’d, braw brass collar,” but in the gravity and cleared-eyed dignity of his face, which is wonderfully represented. The other dog, “that gash and faithful tyke,” is evidently for rougher service; and if not so much to be admired, is perhaps to be liked more. There is not the slightest doubt that
“His honest, sonsie, braws’nt faceAy got him friends in ilka place.”
“His honest, sonsie, braws’nt faceAy got him friends in ilka place.”
“His honest, sonsie, braws’nt faceAy got him friends in ilka place.”
In the same exhibition appeared the portrait of Sir Walter Scott to which we have referred, styled “Extract from a Journal whilst at Abbotsford.” The poet sits laughing at the gambols of his dogs. Maida, the old deer-hound, famous in his master’s verses, is looking with “inane benevolence,” the humour of which is exquisite, on a little puppy on the floor; the little dog nibbles his senior’s tail. At their side is a letter directed to Sir Walter. In this, as the catalogue lets us infer, a proof of one of the Waverley novels had been received. By means of this, Landseer was convinced that the authorship of those novels was, as many suspected, due to Scott. This was, relatively, not a good picture. As a sketch of canine character and a dexterous piece of painting it had great merits; but the story was incomprehensible without the catalogue. In this respect it was less explicable at sight than “The Maid and the Magpie;” for the latter might be taken for no more than it really was, a picture of lovers gossiping, and the incident of the magpie and the spoon ignored.
“Doubtful Crumbs,” at the Academy in 1859, was hardly equal to its origin; a mastiff lolls at the door of his kennel, and a smaller dog looks anxiously for permission to pick up scraps. The picture, with a title in Highland jargon, in the catalogue of the Royal Academy Exhibition of this year, displayed how a hunted stag escaped two dogs by taking to the water. One of the dogs is hurt to death; the other is about to leave the stag. It was finely and vigorously designed, not less slight than of late from the painter. “The Prize Calf” showed, with a slight touch of humour, a frightened girl leading a calf through a mountain pass. “A kind Star” illustrated a Highland superstition, but in such a manner as proved that the designer’s mind was not in its usual fine tone when it was conceived. The superstition is that hinds are under the protection of beneficent stars: a hind lies dying on the banks of a lake. So far nothing could be said; but the introduction of a spirit, with a star in its hair, to bend over thepoor beast, was of quite another order of invention. The production of this idea was the first decided sign of decay in the powers of our artist. Those who owed him much delight stood aghast before it. Some of these tried to ascribe its exhibition, and even its production, to obedience to some unfrequent impulse—deference to some inferior mind, subservience to some vulgar taste. However this might be, there, unfortunately, it was.
The year 1860 put the artist before us as effectively as before, and gave what is probably the strongest of all his pictures, the “Flood in the Highlands,” as to which I cannot do better than borrow from the “Athenæum” of the time the following description, which has the freshest impression because I wrote it on the day when, in the well-known St. John’s Wood studio, and before the picture was sent to the Royal Academy, Mr. Millais introduced me to Sir Edwin Landseer:—“By right of seniority let Landseer come first. His subject is a flood in the Highlands, one of those catastrophes to which villages situated in gorges of a mountain country are exposed by the sudden melting of snow on the hills, or heavy falls of rain, which, swelling the little rivulets, often overwhelm a valley-hamlet at a sweep. The great flood, rushing from the hill-side, rages through the street; up to the very thresholds of the houses it pours along, a torrent irregular and resistless. Behind the village a range of low hillocks bear a few scanty trees, in the boughs of which some black birds have taken refuge, telling the wide extent of the inundation. The water has drowned the adjacent country, bearing along with it multitudes of farming implements and thedébrisof the swept district. The inhabitants have taken refuge on the roofs of their cottages. Upon one, in the mid-distance, are men urgently endeavouring to save a team, which, borne onwards by the torrent, struggles relentlessly against its force, and, mad with fear, nigh baffles the efforts of the rescuers, straining to the utmost a rope held by them, whose entire strength fails to check the terrified animals that have already been swept past
Sheep and Lambs.
Sheep and Lambs.
Sheep and Lambs.
the place of safety, and come driving full on to another cottage, nearer the front of the picture; an exhausted ox has reached this spot, and now, breathless, with bloody nostrils and eyes possessed with the madness of fear, strives in vain to save itself. The dumb agony of this beast is fearful; being nigh spent with the violence of the flood which sweeps over its flanks, the forefeet wrestle fruitlessly, and the animal will soon be borne away to destruction. The principal group, in which the chief interest of the picture concentrates, is placed on the roof of the nearest cottage. The people have saved themselves, but little else, so sudden was the coming of the flood. Right in the front sits a woman with a cradle beside her, of which the clothes are tossed aside, and the infant who occupies it lies in her lap; round her neck the child clings, ignorant, but yet alarmed. The woman’s action tells the horror and fear predominating in her soul. Fear for herself and fear for the infant relax even her grasp on its body, letting it rest almost wholly on her knees (the hands, however, instinctively making a guard), which terror has drawn up towards her; while, with forth-thrust neck and head, she glares at the approaching torrent out of large, rounded and dilated eyes, that have no glance for the infant now, but see in the struggling beast a presage of death for both. Her jaw is set back, paralyzed with dread; her mouth is open, the lips are retracted and hard, the eyebrows are up and yet compressed, the cheek pallid and rigid with lines of fear, her hair is dishevelled and her dress is disarranged. In short, this figure is a perfect study of expression, the success of which does honour to the artist. He has done well to show her momentary indifference to the child; for this is a new point of character, beyond question just and natural, which alone would remove the picture from the conventional order of works of Art.
“Behind this group sits an aged man, half imbecile, and scarcely recognizing the danger which threatens his family; but, with his dress drawn about him, keeping steadfastly in theseat where their heedful affection has placed him. Beyond, squats a boy, wrapped in a plaid wet from the flood, and caressing a dog he has rescued from the water, and now holds it, shivering, in his bosom. On a ladder raised against the side of the house, by which the people have ascended to the roof, are perched some poultry, fussily alarmed at the distress about them; a hen—as is the wont of such creatures when terrified—has laid an egg, which, falling on a step below her perch, much astonishes a cat that has established herself there, and now rises to examine the phenomenon. Here is a point some hypercritical people will get hold of. The egg is broken by the fall, the shell being hard and set. No egg is otherwise than soft at this moment of exclusion, these critics will say. Let us leave them their discovery, and proceed to point out an incident of the design that marks the genius of the artist. Close under the eaves of the house, and just emerging from the water, is a poor hare, endeavouring to burrow a way into the thatch, with struggling feet and ears laid back; the flood has brought this timorous beast into the neighbourhood of man, and it is pitiful to see its frantic efforts to make a place of refuge in the very habitation of its enemies. Above, grey wreaths of rain-clouds haste along, and the whole aspect of the picture bespeaks terror and desolation. The very fault of its execution aids this appearance, for the want of appreciation of colour, which is alone to be lamented, helps the motive of the theme by a certain chilly opacity. This, under another aspect, would seriously mar the credit of so marvellous a work. Sir Edwin has done his best in the picture, and the result of many years’ study shows how profitably they have been employed in ensuring him fresh honour.”
So far the critic, and present writer, sees no reason for changing his opinion of this masterpiece of Sir Edwin’s. If it was not his finest work, it was at any rate his culminating one; he painted none so good afterwards—indeed, even before it was finished, the painter, always a man of extreme nervous susceptibility, had hints that the human mind and the bodywhich surrounded it are mortal. He was constitutionally subject to nervous depression, but these attacks accumulated force as years went on, and threatened the end which came with all its painfulness.
I remember him, during the painting of this picture, on the Tuesday before it was sent to the Academy—putting a few touches on the canvas. He looked as if about to become old, although his age by no means justified the notion; it was not that he had lost activity or energy, or that his form had shrunk, for he moved as firmly and swiftly as ever, indeed he was rather demonstrative, stepping on and off the platform in his studio with needless display, and his form was stout and well-filled. Nevertheless, without seeming to be overworked, he did not look robust, and he had a nervous way remarkable in so distinguished a man, one who was usually by no means unconscious of himself, and yet, to those he liked, full of kindness. The wide green shade which he wore above his eyes, projected straight from his forehead, and cast a large shadow on his plump, somewhat livid features, and in the shadow one saw that his eyes had suffered. The grey “Tweed” suit, and its sober trim, a little emphatically “quiet,” marked the man; so did his stout, not fat nor robust, figure; rapid movements, and utterances that glistened with prompt remarks, sharp, concise, with quick humour, but not seeking occasions for wit, and imbued throughout with a perfect frankness, distinguished the man. Even in 1867 there was little outward change, although not long after that date the attacks occurred with fewer and briefer intervals. These intervals caused the reports which flew about, “Sir Edwin is better,” “much better,” as some would have it, and, anon, “much worse,” as many said.
After the “Flood in the Highlands” had set Landseer’s reputation on a basis which was apparently firmer than ever, he produced pictures of value, even judging them by the standard proper to our estimate. In 1861 we had “The Shrew tamed”—“la jument domptée” of its French admirers, in 1867—a riding-mistress, who, having overcome a vicious thoroughbred mare, (for, this picture echoed the wandering voices of the hour, and “horse-tamers” were then in vogue) has made the beast lie on straw, and triumphantly reclines her own head on the mare’s flank, as the dame, supine and smiling, rests beside the steed, while the latter gently and obediently caresses her hand; the former, conscious of her victory, pats the animal’s head. The horse is exquisitely faithful in the handling, the glossy muscle-binding hide is all a-shine with health and horsehood; her powerful hoofs; her eye of fire, subdued but not depressed, and full of vigour; the strong, unmastered neck, that turns gracefully in its vigour towards the slender lady resting among the dreadful feet, as if there were no more harm in them than in her own, that peep daintily beneath the blue riding-robe. Among the straw, and painted as only Landseer could paint lapdogs, was a saucy little beast of that kind. Besides this very telling picture, Sir Edwin contributed three large cartoons in distemper, a triptych of “stag subjects.” In the centre was “The fatal Duel,” two mighty stags that have been fighting to the very death: here was an echo of a former picture, the noble notion again worked out. They lie in the snow on a mountain side, the surface of which, crisped by frigid winds after a thaw, was given with power and truth. One stag, wounded to the death, is prostrate, and dying on the ensanguined snow, while the torn and bleeding fragment of a horn attests the stubbornness of his defence. Over him the conqueror, with gory flank and limbs, bellows victory to the mountain side. The wings of the triptych are styled, “Scenes in the Marquis of Breadalbane’s Highland Deer Forest;” the first, stags and hinds traversing snow-covered hills; the second, a similar subject in mist. All these were capitally drawn and designed.[42]
MAN PROPOSES, GOD DISPOSES—THE CONNOISSEURS—THE SWANNERY INVADED—CLOSING YEARS—DEATH OF LANDSEER.
MAN PROPOSES, GOD DISPOSES—THE CONNOISSEURS—THE SWANNERY INVADED—CLOSING YEARS—DEATH OF LANDSEER.
Theyears 1862 and 1863 were, so far as the Exhibitions were concerned, significantly void of the fruits of Sir Edwin’s art. But 1864 brought good news and good work again; and we all rejoiced over the vigour which was apparent in “Man proposes, God disposes,” an Arctic incident suggested by the finding of the relics of Sir John Franklin. The scene is a piece of rugged ice, the coast-line of that remote land, broken by inlets of dark water. Over all is the greenish light of an Arctic noon; a purple veil of mist is drawn aside, as if a secret were displayed, and in order that we might see what had become of our long-lost countrymen. The veil gone, the rose tints of sunlight fall on the nearest and the highest points of rock-like ice, while light itself penetrates the sea-green blocks, and lurid shadows appear among the masses that strew the shore. Right across the front lies the mast of a boat, covered with brine as hard as a stone, and with a hoary fringe of icicles. A rag of tarpaulin—that may at one time have been the roof of a hut formed amongst the angular blocks—lies over this spar. Beneath this spar are a few planks, bleached in the long frost; and from below them peer a few bones—the rib bones of a man; above these lies a coat of navy blue. A huge white bear, her head on high, holdsbetween cruel jaws a whitened bone. At the other side of the picture, and at the back of the so-called hut, sprawls the formless bulk of a larger bear, whose flattened head is laid along the ice, dragging between its jaws and from beneath the spar the ragged length of a piece of bunting, part of a Union Jack. This work now belongs to Mr. E. V. Coleman. With this painful picture we received that charming piece of manual dexterity, and keenest feeling for animal character, “A Piper and a Pair of Nutcrackers,” a bullfinch perched on a bough, just above the seat of a pair of squirrels. It is now in the possession of Mr. C. Booth.
At the British Institution for this year (1864) we had “Well-bred Sitters, that never say they are bored,” a large painting of dogs, produced with all Sir Edwin’s dexterity although, it may be, not showing all his soundness of drawing, or that finish in which, of yore, he delighted. An enormous black dog sits, as if before an artist, a model of dignity and self-possession; in his mouth is a badger-hair brush, such as painters style a “softener.” By his side a fawn-coloured dog is posed with great elegance. In the foreground are several dead doves, a pheasant, a purple velvet cigar-case, the colour of which serves as a chromatic echo to that of the pheasant’s neck. This was a vigorous picture, showing all we were accustomed to find in Sir Edwin’s later works.
The most interesting, if not the best, picture of 1865 by Landseer was his own portrait, styled “The Connoisseurs,” a humorous piece, comprising portraits of two dogs, who look appreciatively over his shoulder while he makes a drawing. “The flesh painting is too white as well as pinky to be true to nature, opaque and rather coarse, but the dogs who look over his shoulder at the sketch he is making, supply the title to the picture. Canine meditation and the result on a dog’s face of critical habits were never even thought of before, much less ever painted, as they are here. The dog on our right will not, it seems, give a hasty verdict in favour of his master’s work, that on our left will, like other critics, follow his neighbour. If anything could justify a man’s wish to be a dog it would be that Sir Edwin might paint him. What a gentle dog is he on our right!” “Déjeûner à la Fourchette,” a donkey feeding, a boy near, was not a fortunate picture. “Adversity” and “Prosperity” had contrasted subjects in the life of a horse. In the latter we had a superbly elegant bay horse; his hide has an inner glow such as would delight Titian to paint it; he sniffs the air gladly and looks from on high far off; his limbs are perfectly formed, and his body is a model for a Greek sculptor, and although too small in proportion for the body, his head is elegant. By his side is a dandy groom, the least satisfactory part of the picture. “Adversity” gives the other side of the same medal. A cab-horse in a low inn-yard sniffs wearily a mass of corn that is locked up; the shabby collar of servitude is about his neck, and, worse than all, has rubbed to bleeding some of that golden bay skin, which, a little too perfectly it may be, remains to the poor beast of all his beauty, pride, and delight in life; he sniffs in vain, almost afraid to go too near the locked food, and feebly, apologetically, paws the stones with worn hoofs. The artist never told a tale better than by these pictures, and probably never painted a horse’s hide better than that of the youthful model. These works were sold with Mr. Albert Grant’s pictures, April 28, 1877; the former for £1480, the latter for £1501.
The next year, 1866, produced the unfortunate “Lady Godiva’s Prayer;” the finely painted white “Mare and Foal” lying on the grass by the side of an Indian tent; “Odds and Ends, a Trophy for a Hall,” a collection of bucks heads, hunting weapons, &c., grouped with three living dogs, an unlucky grouping. There was likewise a large cartoon, recalling the triptych we have described, and showing a stag rushing at full speed, and followed hard by a great hound, both full of action. In this year Sir Edwin made his first appearance as a sculptor with the vigorous “Stag at Bay,” the fruit of practice ofwhich the then long-delayed Lions for Trafalgar Square were expected to have the benefit. “Wild Cattle at Chillingham Park, Northumberland,” one of the pictures of 1867, gave a fine painting of a magnificent bull, companied by a cow and a calf, standing among heather and rocks. This and a companion picture, “Deer in Chillingham Park,” were destined for a chamber at Chillingham Castle, the seat of the Earl of Tankerville.
In January of this year the Lions were placed in Trafalgar Square: they had been commissioned from Sir Edwin Landseer so long before as 1859. They have monumental poses, with by no means wholly fortunate realistic execution. Their attitudes are undeniably grand, the surface treatment of each figure is excellent; but the incongruity of the two characteristics is injurious to examples of architectonic art. This may be admitted by those who have recognized in the statues from the pediments of the Parthenon, similar characteristics combined in works which, like the Lions, were intended for architectonic service.
The pictures of 1868 do not call for any particular mention. On the other hand, there was one in the Academy in 1869 which recalled to our minds all the artist’s power. This was entitled “The Swannery invaded by Sea-Eagles,” and came a great deal nearer to Snyders’s manner than any Landseer had produced for many years; indeed, since youth had ceased with him he rarely worked with so much solidity, firmness, and with such skill as in that which we think his last noble picture. It shows a group of swans’ nests near the mouth of a mountain river. “From the hills that overlook the ocean, the fierce brown birds have descended on the white brood, and attacked them with beaks and claws. One has a big wader by the throat, and just below the bill that vainly bites his thigh, while with a yellow dreadful claw he tears the downy breast of the victim, so that the red blood streams over it, dashing the plumage of snow to the black foot-webs themselves, which vainly quiveron the ground. Yet the swan fights well, and delivers smashing blows with his wings at his tyrant. The effect of this mode of defiance is seen on the body of another eagle, which, with the ravenous yelp of his kind, returns to the attack on a second swan, and will certainly get the best of it. Already dead between her still fighting fellows, a third swan lies prone, with a grey cygnet beside her. In the air above the nest, other swans flutter away, but in vain, for other eagles are there to destroy the last of those who built near the robbers. The design of the picture may be thus explained, but it would be hard to illustrate the painting of the plumage, or the largeness of the style which pervades this, one of the best painted of Sir Edwin’s works. It belongs to Lord Northampton.
With this noble painting Sir Edwin’s artistic biography, hisauto-biography, may well be closed. Succeeding works added nothing to our knowledge of his skill, nor were they calculated to illustrate his genius more fortunately than those which have been enumerated and described.
An exceptional painting may fitly have place here; it is described by a correspondent to the “Athenæum,” No. 2396: “To your list of distinguished English artists who have practised scene painting, should be added the name of Sir Edwin Landseer. I have myself seen, in the theatre at Woburn Abbey, a scene painted by him. In the time of the late John, Duke of Bedford, private theatricals were much in vogue at Woburn, and Sir Edwin was then a frequent and honoured visitor, and on one of these occasions he painted the scene in question, which represents the interior of a room, opening in the centre on to a terrace or balcony. In the doorway stands a lady’s dog, marvellously touched, in a listening attitude, with one of the fore-paws uplifted, exhibiting, in a striking degree, all the artist’s wondrous power, even in the coarse and hasty manner incidental to a scene-painter’s art.—H.B.”
A few notes of the prices said to have been obtained forsome of the artist’s works may not be unwelcome to the reader, especially as these will show how greatly they increased in value as popular applause justified his labours, and did honour to his achievements. We believe the sums named are substantially correct, but, of course, cannot verify every statement.
In 1831 Edwin Landseer conveyed the copyrights of “Lassie and Sheep,” and “The Widow,” to John Burnet for 150 guineas. In 1850 Sir I. K. Brunel gave £450 for “Scene from a Midsummer Night’s Dream.” It was sold with his pictures, April 21, 1860, for £2800. Mr. Pender gave £3500 for each of the pair of pictures by Sir Edwin, which were in his collection. Mr. Coleman gave the artist £2500 for “Man proposes, God disposes;” Mr. Huth gave him 1000 guineas for “A Piper and a Pair of Nutcrackers.” The painter received £400 for “Bolton Abbey,” £100 for “A Cat’s Paw;” Mr. Vernon gave him £1500 for “Peace” and “War.” For the copyright of these the publisher of the engravings gave, it is said, £3000. £3600 is said to have been paid for the copyright of “A Dialogue at Waterloo.” “The waiting Horse” cost £2500. The four pictures at the Academy in 1846,i.e.“Peace,” “War,” “The Stag at Bay,” and “Refreshment,” cost, it is said, for copyright and engraving, at least £10,000. “The tired Reaper,” which measures 14 × 10 inches, was sold in 1858 for 200 guineas. In August, 1860, on the dispersion of Mr. Houldsworth’s collection at Glasgow, “Uncle Tom and his Wife” sold for £800. In 1861 this picture obtained no higher bidding than £590. “A Study of a white Horse,” given by Landseer to Leslie, sold at the latter’s sale for 44 guineas; “A Goat’s Head,” for 240 guineas. In April, 1860, “The Stone-breaker’s Daughter” was sold, with the Redleaf Collection, for 1000 guineas; and a “Portrait of Lord Alexander Russell” for 825 guineas. At Mr. Windus’s sale, March, 1859, Lord Ward bought “A River Scene,” which has not been exhibited, for 440 guineas; “The Sentinel” was sold for £126, in 1861. The sale of Mr. Gillott’s Collection, April, 1872, comprised several works by Landseer; the prices obtained for these are interesting to us; for examples, take “A Landscape,” with a monk proceeding to a cell, an illustration to one of Scott’s novels, £183; “A View in Scotland, with a ruined Abbey,” £110; “Waiting for the Deer to rise,” £1412; “Mount St. Bernard Dogs,” £1827; the “Pointers, To Ho!” (exhibited in 1821) obtained the enormously disproportioned price of £2016. “The Otter Hunt,” 1844, painted for Lord Aberdeen, was sold with Mr. Albert Grant’s pictures, April 28, 1877, for £5932 (?).
Landseer’s “remaining works” were sold by Messrs. Christie, Manson, and Woods, May 8, 9, 11, 12, 13, 14, and 15, 1874. On this occasion “Lady Godiva’s Prayer,” 1866, sold for £3360.
It was amusing to read the lamentations of an “able editor” at the time of the selling of “Peace” and “War.” There was a gentleman of this class who expressed his horror and wrath at the facts in question, and stated himself to be in dread lest Sir Edwin’s success would swallow up all other art, and he declared it to be gravely injurious, as tending to “lock up” the capital of publishers of prints!
It is necessary to add here that most of Landseer’s earlier pictures, show deterioration; others, among which “Bolton Abbey” has prominence, are in a deplorable condition. Extensive cracking, or parting of the outer layer of pigments into what resemble irregular tesseræ, is the common defect. In a less degree Wilkie’s works have suffered in the same manner, and show, notwithstanding repairs, too obvious signs of crack.
With this our subject is exhausted. Further, as to the honours won by Sir Edwin Landseer, and to enumerate them at once: he was knighted in 1850, and received the large gold medal from the authorities of the Paris Universal Exhibition of 1853, being the only English artist who was so distinguished. He declined the Presidency of the Royal Academy when thedeath of Sir Charles Eastlake and the modesty of Mr. Maclise—who would not receive an honour he merited—induced most of the artists to beg Landseer’s acceptance of the dignity. When Eastlake was elected on the death of Shee, Edwin Landseer had one vote given in his favour as President of the Royal Academy, Mr. George Jones obtained two votes, Eastlake twenty-six.
The closing years of Sir Edwin’s long, otherwise not unhappy, and generally laborious life were darkened in the manner we have already indicated rather than described. He died on the morning of the 1st of October, 1873, and on the 11th of the same month was buried in St Paul’s with full honours.
Bell, Mr. Jacob,56,75Boydell’s Shakespeare,5Byrne, William,2Christmas, Mr. T.,46Cust, Sir Edward (letter from),24Fuseli,42Haydon,32Hayter, J.,30Hunt, W. H.,19Landseer, Charles,14“ John,2-12“ Thomas,4,13Leslie, C. R.,30,65Lewis, C. G.,54Macklin’s Bible,6Mackenzie, Mrs.,18,59,68Meteyard, Eliza,17Potts, Miss,6Raphael’s Cartoons,45Redgrave, Mr. R. (Crit. &c.),65,72Romilly, Peter,1“ Sir Samuel,1Ruskin, Mr. (Criticisms),63,73,77,88Simpson, Mr. W. W. (letter to),41Smith, Sydney (anecdote of),60Vernon, Mr.,64Wilkie, Sir David,51Wornum, Mr. R.,17
GILBERT AND RIVINGTON, PRINTERS, ST. JOHN’S SQUARE, LONDON.