Complete Works of Wilkie Collins (2127 page)

But, while thus occupied in amassing, part by part, the materials for the new style he was now forming, he was not forgetful of due attention to the formation of the
whole
that was to combine them — of the composition and arrangement that was to turn them originally and forcibly to account. His first sight of Raphael and Michael Angelo, at the Vatican and the Sistine Chapel, had impressed on him, among other convictions, a decided opinion that no artist ought to come to Rome, until he had gone through a long course of severe study in his own country, and had arrived at an age when his judgment was matured, as the great works there were of a nature either to bewilder a young unpractised student, or to possess him with the dangerous idea, that from seeing such pictures only he had become at once the superior of his fellow-labourers at home. Another impression produced in the painter about this period, from deep and patient study of the classics of Italian Art, was, that Raphael and Michael Angelo had acquired their triumphant mastery over attitude and composition from close observation of the aspect of ordinary humanity around them. Conscious that he was now in a country where Art was still the missionary of Religion, and where the population associated their hours of devotion with the contemplation of all that was most beautiful and universal in painting, insensibly deriving from this very habit a peculiar grace in attitude and variety in action, he looked for his new theories of pictorial arrangement and form, where he believed that the great masters had looked before him — in the casual attitudes of the idlers in the streets. In their carelessness of repose, in their unconscious sublimity of action, in their natural graces of line and composition, the groups he saw formed accidentally in the roadway seemed the continuation — sometimes almost the reflection — of the glorious groups on the walls of the Vatican, or in the altar pictures of the churches of Rome. In sketching such dispositions of natural composition as were thus finely presented to his eye wherever he turned his steps, his quickness and dexterity well enabled him to note them down successfully in his little sketch-book ere they changed; and so preserved, they turned to admirable account in the pictures he produced on his return to England. Wherever he went — whether to a gallery of pictures, or a cardinal’s levee; to a ceremony in a church, or a picnic in the gardens of a palace — his eye was ever observant, and his hand ever ready, as he passed through the streets. The designs for future pictures which he thus accumulated, would have occupied a lifetime to execute. Of those which he completed, it will be more fitting to speak at the time when they were undertaken in England: of those which he found no opportunity to finish, one or two may be mentioned here, as showing the discursiveness of his taste, as well as his desire for originality.

The curious annual ceremony of blessing the domestic animals of Rome, in the name of St. Anthony (patron of pigs and other four-footed beasts), which is performed by a priest, at the door of St. Anthony’s Church, with a brush full of holy water, on each anniversary of the Saint’s day, was a subject my father never entirely resigned the hope of painting. Pigs dragged up, squealing, by the leg; kicking donkeys beaten into being blessed by their pious owners; pet dogs and cats, barking and mewing, as their possessors presented them to the saving waterdrops; cattle running hither and thither in frantic bewilderment; the chargers of regiments of cavalry, ridden reverently up to the holy-water brush by soldiers in full uniform; the motley crowds of spectators of the ceremony; and, finally, the beautiful church of St. Maria Maggiore, bounding the whole scene at one end, produced an admirably graphic display of Italian life; which was reduced by the painter, immediately after he had beheld it, to one of his most spirited designs. It is much to be regretted that his attention to after subjects, and various other causes, combined to prevent his executing the large and elabourate picture, thus conceived, on his return to England.

Another picture frequently contemplated, but never more than designed, was suggested to him in the Colosseum. It was evening; the friars had retired, after singing before the little chapels placed round the interior of the mighty ruin; darkness was approaching. Beneath the tall crucifix in the middle of the arena, knelt a peasant woman, prostrate in adoration, and a Carmelite monk beating his breast — the two last-left worshippers at the holy symbol. At some distance from them stood a penitent — his face covered with a hood pierced with two apertures for the eyes — looking spectral, as his veiled, motionless form half disappeared in the gathering gloom. The glorious arches of the Colosseum, showing doubly mysterious and sublime in the dim, fading light cast down on them from the darkening sky, alone surrounded this solemn scene, whose tragic grandeur is to be painted, but not to be described. It impressed the painter with emotions not easily forgotten; and although he never lived to pourtray it as he desired, he embodied its sentiment of prayer, in after years, in the picture of “Italian Peasants at the foot of the Cross, on leaving their native shores.”

Thus, in varied study, — in treasuring up whatever could improve or animate him, wherever he found it, — in enthusiastic communion with the triumphs of the masters of Italian painting, — passed Mr. Collins’s days in the City of the Arts. When the evenings came, they brought with them to his rooms constant arrivals of friends following his pursuit, anxious to communicate their local and general information, to hear his opinion on the great works he daily beheld, to see his sketches, and to show him theirs. Truly, it is on magic ground that a painter treads, when the maturity of his career brings him to Rome.

But it is now time that my father’s own expression of his projects and opinions in his new place of sojourn, should be laid before the reader, as conveyed in the third of his Letters from the Continent to Sir David Wilkie:

“To SIR DAVID WILKIE, R.A.

“Rome, March 7th, 1837.

“Dear Wilkie, — We were exceedingly gratified by your letter, dated from the
Vicarage;
most happy to find that your brother had recovered; and that your whole communication had such a tinge of prosperity, which I can truly say, we enjoyed as if all its good things had happened to ourselves; long may our dear friend Sir David live to enjoy the blessings of Providence, was our united and sincere prayer. We had read, in ‘Galignani,’ the account of your visit to Brighton, and the presentation of the print of ‘Sunday Morning,’ in the same paragraph. It was very kind of you to touch the proofs for me.

“We have now been in Rome about two months and I am more pleased with it every day, although the weather has been remarkably cold and rainy. But, when a fine day has made its appearance, I have generally enjoyed it, in the walks in the neighbourhood of the city, especially among the classical features of the Campagna. Here I find the most exquisite combinations of buildings, with landscape scenery; and here, notwithstanding the absence of foliage, consequent upon the season of the year, I feel constantly impressed with the idea that great things might be achieved; and also, that since the time of Claude, justice has not been done to the sublime features, and especially to the tones of colour, peculiar to this region of creation. In this remark, however, I ought not to include poor Richard Wilson, whose characteristic pencil I am here continually reminded of; his choice of subject, and breadth of treatment, I reverence exceedingly. I trust the weather will soon permit me to make sketches out of doors; and although I cannot hope to succeed in that which others have so frequently failed to do, I am not so very modest as to give up without at least a trial. In the mean time, I am occupied in visiting collections and trying to compose subjects for future pictures, of which I think I have picked up some that may be interesting; in this, however, I find great difficulty. Mere costume pictures are a
drug;
and unless the dresses are made subservient, pictures of this class must always be failures. I hope my plans of present and future study are well digested, for I have had much leisure, free entirely from professional anxiety and pecuniary cares. With increased and increasing delight in my pursuits, I pass my time in thankful enjoyment, convinced that a landscape painter who has not seen Italy, has one sense less than he of that craft whose good fortune has brought him to her shores.

“In the pictures shown at the palaces, I find quantities of rubbish, with, certainly, many perfect specimens of the great masters of the various schools of Italy. The frescoes of Raphael and Michael Angelo, become more estimable at every visit. How I should enjoy looking, with you, at ‘The Miracle of Bolsena.’ It is impossible to say enough of this wonder; the colour, too, how perfect! The ‘Heliodorus,’ and the ‘Incendio del Borgo,’ are full of power of every kind; and when I think of these of the ‘Sibyls,’ in the Chièsa de S. Maria della Pace — the ‘Prophet Isaiah,’ in the pilaster of the nave of the church of S. Agostino, and compare them with the oil picture of the ‘Transfiguration,’ I cannot help feeling that my admiration of Raphael would be less like rapture, had he painted only in the latter method. Domenichino, too, how much of his reputation depends upon his fresco pictures. The angles of the cupola in the church of S. Andrea della Valle (the four Evangelists) — the ‘Flagellation of St. Andrew,’ in the church of S. Gregorio sul Monte Celio — the angels in the church of S. Carlo a Catinari, and St.
Somebody
giving away clothes to the poor, in the church of Francesi, in the Ripetta; and many others, how superior to his oil pictures! You speak of the background of the ‘St. Jerome,’ — I must confess it did not strike me so much as you seem to think it ought. I will, however, look at it again.

“The sculptors here, (English) are all busy for Torlonia’s new palace. We have a great stir about a picture of the Magdalen — a repetition by Correggio, of that, I believe, at Dresden; which was purchased out of a collection in Rome for a trifle, and being pronounced a work of Correggio’s own hand, the government have insisted upon taking it from its fortunate possessor, under a threat of imprisonment, (put in force indeed for five hours,) which it appears they have the power to do, under a law made to keep works of high Art in Rome. The object of the proprietors was to have sent it for sale to England.

“Our present plan is to remain here until the early part or middle of April, and then to proceed to Naples the ultimatum of my pictorial hopes; and by what turns up there, to decide upon future plans. Your friends Gibson, Williams, Severn, etc., have all sent works to your Exhibition. Of course I delivered your message of kindness to them. They were all much pleased that you recollected them, and desire their remembrances to you. Andrew Wilson had left Rome with his family (all out of health) for Florence. The Baron Camuccini, inquired yesterday kindly after you. Pray make my kind compliments to Miss Rogers: tell her that, finding her name in the book of the little inn ‘Pincina,’ at Cannes, I hoped to have found her at Nice, where that document stated she had gone a short time before. To Sir Martin Shee, and all our Academic brethren, (success to the next Exhibition!) present my kind regards. I will write to Phillips, when I have seen more of the treasures of Art in this place. I am quite pleased you have so many pictures for Somerset-house — how I wish I could see them in your new painting-room! With most sincere regards to your sister and Thomas, believe me

“Your obliged and faithful friend,

“WILLIAM COLLINS.”

“To W. COLLINS, ESQ., R.A.

“Kensington, March 31st, 1837.

“Dear Collins, — The impression Rome has made upon you, is not more than I expected, though it may be more than you anticipated could be made before seeing Rome. It is, as you say, not only a new sense added to a landscape painter; but, to you, it is a new field and impetus added, as an artist. And as you are now in the prime of life and height of your faculties and fame, why might not you, by the irresistible effort which a new theme inspires, form, with all your present excellences, a new style of Art for yourself; reflecting, that what Claude, Poussin, Wilson, and Turner, have owed to Italy, are advantages that are equally open to yourself? Your purpose of avoiding the beaten track of costumes, views, and imitations of others — the rock all young visitors to Italy split upon — is most judicious. The summer sky, rustic and wild nature, with the more simple monuments of ancient greatness, will most likely be objects of your attention and study; and would be hailed as the most pleasing recollections of the delightful country you are now visiting.

“You purpose going to Naples. This, after taking a glance at Tivoli, Frascati, and Grotto Ferrato, (which you probably have done already,) would be a good plan. When at Naples, the sight of Salerno, Eboli, and Pestum, may perhaps suggest Calabria as a place worth your particular study. However this may be, might it not be right to determine on staying the summer at Naples, taking up your quarters with Mrs. Collins and the youths, in the cool regions near Castel-a-Mare? The summer of Italy, they say, is beautiful, and perhaps you might be induced to pass over to see Sicily, during that season, by yourself: but of this you, who are on the spot, will be the best judge.

“Mr. and Mrs. Marshall, having come to town, I went to put up my picture of Napoleon. It is placed at the end of the drawing-room, between your picture and Callcott’s — a splendid situation. They all three look well together; and I have assured Mr. Marshall that I have never had more honour done to my labours. The family have been all most interested in hearing about you. Wordsworth had just come to town, and left them a week ago, on his way with a friend to Italy; so that you will see him at Rome or Naples.