Part 18

'What the devil is the reason that thou art in such a fright, indeed what should make thee suspect the contrary? My not having written is the very thing that ought to have kept thee quiet, for if any accident had happened to me thou certainly wouldst have heard of it by me and by many others, henceforth I desire thou wilt remember the old saying "no news is good news," and not fret thyself because I am lazy and don't like to write when I have nothing to say.

'My dearest Amelia was not so fortunate in coming to town as myself; she was overturned in the mail about 30 miles from town, and so bruised as to cause her to be lame for a fortnight or three weeks after, but she is now I hope perfectly recovered: she desires me to give her kindest love to you and mother, and to thank you for your presents.... Keep up Mother's spirits and tell her I am very well and hope to see her again next summer, and my wife hopes the same. Give my love to Mary James,[122] &c., &c., and believe me ever

'Affectionately yours, 'JOHN OPIE.

'Let brother's picture be sent off as soon as possible, and I will take care the other shall be sent down as soon as I have time to paint one of Amelia to go with it.'

But it is time to speak of his literary talents. Charles James Fox,[123] Horne Tooke, and Sir James Mackintosh had the highest opinion of his mental powers. Horne Tooke (whose portrait also Opie painted) says of him that he spoke in axioms worthy to be remembered; and Mackintosh observed: 'Had Mr. Opie turned his powers of mind to the study of philosophy, he would have been one of the first philosophers of the age. I was never more struck than with his original manner of thinking and expressing himself in conversation; had he written on the subject he would probably have thrown more light on the philosophy of his art than any man living.'

There is a capital short 'Life of Sir Joshua Reynolds' by Opie, written for Pilkington's 'Dictionary of Painters;' and the accompanying extract from a letter which he addressed to one of the periodicals on the subject of a grand national memorial to the triumphs of the British fleet, may serve as a specimen of his powerful, glowing style. Opie proposed a huge building in which everything connected with the subject might be displayed--including statues of our naval heroes, surrounded by pictorial representations of their achievements.

'What an effect,' he says, 'might a design like this, happily planned and executed, produce! How magnificent, how instructive it might be made! How entertaining to trace down from the earliest records of our history the gradual increase of our navy! to remark the different stages of its growth from a few simple canoes, in its infancy, to the stupendous magnitude of a hundred first-rate men-of-war, miracles of the mechanic arts, proudly bearing Britain's thunder! the bulwarks of England! the glory of Englishmen, and the terror and admiration of the world! How flattering to the imagination to anticipate the pleasure of walking round such an edifice, and surveying the different subjects depicted on its walls! Battles under all varied circumstances of day, night, moonlight, storm, and calm!--the effects of fire, water, wind and smoke mingled in terrific confusion. In the midst, British Valour triumphantly bearing down all opposition, accompanied by Humanity, equally daring and ready to succour the vanquished foe! Discoveries, in which we see delineated the strange figures and still stranger costume of nations till then unknown, and where the face of Nature herself is exhibited under a new and surprising aspect. Then to turn and behold the statues and portraits of the enterprising commanders and leaders in the expeditions recorded, and compare their different countenances: here a Drake and an Anson! there a Blake, a Hawke, a Boscawen, and a Cook!'

To me these enthusiastic sentences have something of the ring of a sea-song of Dibdin's; and it is pleasant to think that the idea has been carried out in the Painted Hall at Greenwich Hospital.

His Lectures before the Royal Academy (prepared with a severity of labour which probably shortened his life), are, however, the works by which his literary fame will be handed down to posterity. Sandby tells us that Opie had, shortly before his appointment to his Professorship, delivered some lectures on Art at the Royal Institution; but though they were generally thought good, and were numerously and fashionably attended (that sour critic, Allan Cunningham, by the way, calls them 'confused, abrupt, and unmethodical'), Opie was himself much dissatisfied with them, and would not complete the intended course. He was also concerned in a scheme, in conjunction with West and Flaxman, for establishing a 'Gallery of Honour,' under the sanction of the Royal Academy, for the encouragement and reward of all those who contributed to the higher walks of art. And he is further said to have projected a colossal statue of Britannia, to be erected in some prominent position in the Isle of Wight, as an alternative mode of commemorating the naval victories of Great Britain. Northcote, again (whom, it may be observed, Wolcot, as Opie's patron, much abused), was associated with Opie in 'a project of getting paintings into St. Paul's,' which they hoped 'would tend to raise the drooping head, or rather the almost expiring art, of painting;' and to this project the Bishop of London gave his assent.

Opie's 'Discourses on Painting' were delivered before the Royal Academy in 1807.[124] His scheme included six: four on the practical aspect of the subject, viz., 'Design or Drawing,' 'Colouring,' 'Chiaroscuro,' and 'Composition;' and two on the intellectual side, viz. 'Invention' and 'Expression.' The last of the series in each division, viz. those on 'Composition' and 'Expression,' he did not live to complete. I propose to give as characteristic a short specimen as I can select from each of the four which Opie delivered,[125] merely premising that they were enthusiastically received, and that their author was, for once, satisfied with his work, and so elated by his success that he could not sleep. Even Allan Cunningham admitted: 'A passage such as this would reflect credit on any professor the Academy ever possessed.'

In his first lecture, on 'Design or Drawing,' after insisting on the absolute necessity for hard study of anatomy, with constant practice so as to insure accurate drawing, without which, whatever may be the other merits of the work, 'when the tide of taste rises, and the winds of criticism bluster and beat upon it, the showy but ill-founded edifice must quickly be swept away, or swallowed up and forgotten for ever,' he goes on to say:

'These remarks are the more necessary, as it must be confessed that the strength of the English painters never lay so much as it ought in _design_; and now perhaps, more than ever, they seem devoted to the charms of colour and effect, and captivate by the mere penmanship of the art--the empty legerdemain of the pencil.

'But if the English artist runs counter in this instance to the established character of his country, and prefers the superficial to the solid attainments in art, has he not many excuses? May it not in great measure be attributed to the general frivolity and meanness of the subjects he is called upon to treat? to the inordinate rage for portrait-painting (a more respectable kind of caricature), by which he is for ever condemned to study and copy the wretched defects, and conform to the still more wretched prejudices, of every tasteless and ignorant individual, however in form, features, and mind, utterly hostile to all ideas of character, expression, or sentiment? And may it not in part be attributed to the necessity he is under of painting always with reference to the exhibition? In a crowd he that talks loudest, not he that talks best, is surest of commanding attention; and in an exhibition he that does not attract the eye does nothing. But however plausible these excuses, it becomes the true painter to consider that they will avail nothing before the tribunal of the world and posterity. Keeping the true end of Art in view, he must rise superior to the prejudices, disregard the applause, and contemn the censure of corrupt and incompetent judges; far from aiming to be fashionable, it must be his object to reform, and not to flatter--to teach, and not to please--if he aspires, like Zeuxis, to paint for eternity.'

The spirit of this passage will, I think, enable us to understand how irksome mere portrait-painting must always have been to our professor; and its precepts might be laid to heart even by the artists of the close of this nineteenth century.

In the lecture on 'Invention' the following passage seems to me worthy of being reproduced. He observed that both the poet and the painter have 'something more to do than to illustrate, explain, or fill the chasms of history or tradition;' they must both first penetrate thoroughly into the subject, and then mould it anew.

'Each adopts a chain of circumstances for the most part inapplicable in the case of the other; each avails himself of their common privilege of "daring everything to accomplish his end," not scrupling on some occasions to run counter, if necessary, even to matter of fact; for though most strictly bound to the observance of truth and probability, these are obviously very different from such as is required in _history_; his truth is the truth of _effect_, and his probability the perfect _harmony_ and _congruity_ of all the parts of his story, and their fitness to bring about the intended effect--that of striking the imagination, touching the passions, and developing in the most forcible manner the leading sentiment of the subject.'

Much would naturally be expected from Opie when he came to treat of 'Chiaroscuro,' for it was one of his strong points. West said of him: 'He painted what he saw in the most masterly manner, and he varied little from it. _He saw nature in one point more distinctly and forcibly than any painter that ever lived._ The truth of colour as conveyed to the eye through the atmosphere, by which the distance of every object is ascertained, was never better expressed than by him.' And the following fine description of Opie's idea of this recondite branch of art accordingly seems to me worthy of the painter and writer:

'Light and shade must be allowed to be the creator of body and space. In addition to this, if properly managed, it contributes infinitely to expression and sentiment; it lulls by breadth and gentle gradation, strikes by contrast, and rouses by abrupt transition. All that is grave, impressive, awful, mysterious, sublime, or dreadful in nature, is really connected with IT. All poetic scenery, real or imaginary, "of forests and enchantments drear," where more is meant than is expressed; all the effects of solemn twilight and visionary obscurity that flings half an image on the aching sight; all the terrors of storm and the horrors of conflagration are indebted to IT for representation on canvas; IT is the medium of enchanting softness and repose in the works of some painters, and the vehicle by which others have risen to sublimity in spite of the want of almost every other excellence.'

We now come to his last lecture, that on 'Colour,' and in it note this felicitous, nay poetic, passage:

'Colour, the peculiar object of the most delightful of our senses, is associated in our minds with all that is rare, precious, delicate, and magnificent in nature. A fine complexion, in the language of the poet, is the dye of love, and the hint of something celestial; the ruby, the rose, the diamond, the youthful blush, the orient morning, and the variegated splendour of the setting sun, consist of, or owe their charms principally to, _colour_. To the sight it is the index of gaiety, richness, warmth, and animation; and should the most experienced artist, by design alone, attempt to represent the tender freshness of spring, the fervid vivacity of summer, or the mellow abundance of autumn, what must be his success? _Colouring is the sunshine of art_, that clothes poverty in smiles, rendering the prospect of barrenness itself agreeable, while it heightens the interest and doubles the charms of beauty.'

The next extract which I shall make will be the best answer to some cavillers who used to aver that Opie was unwilling to admit excellence in the works of other artists:

'Like Michael Angelo in design, Titian in colouring may be regarded as the father of modern art. He first discovered and unfolded all its charms, saw the true end of imitation, showed what to aim at, when to labour, and where to stop; and united breadth and softness to the proper degree of finish. He first dared all its depths, contrasted all its oppositions, and taught COLOUR to glow and palpitate with all the warmth and tenderness of real life: free from tiresome detail or disgusting minutiæ, he rendered the roses and lilies of youth, the more ensanguined brown of manhood, and the pallid coldness of age with truth and precision; and to every material object, hard or soft, rough or smooth, bright or obscure, opaque or transparent, his pencil imparted its true quality and appearance to the eye, with all the force of harmony and light, shade, middle tint and reflection; by which he so relieved, rounded, and connected the whole, that we are almost irresistibly tempted to apply the test of another sense, and exclaim

'"Art thou not, pleasing vision! sensible To feeling as to sight?"'

But the too industrious artist's health was already beginning to break down. Exactly one calendar month passed away, and there

'Came the blind Fury with abhorred shears And slit the thin-spun life--'

the lecturer was silent after the delivery of the foregoing lecture; and his busy pencil at length idle. John Opie died, childless, in the house in Berners Street where he had lived for sixteen years, in the forty-sixth year of his age. He had loving nurses in his devoted wife and a most affectionate sister; he had also the advantage of no less than six medical attendants, who saw him daily--frequently three or four times a day. But the exact nature of his illness seems not to have been quite understood,[126] and all was in vain; he lingered awhile, and died, as he had lived, a painter. His friend and pupil, Henry Thomson, R.A.,[127] had been called in to complete the background and robes of one of Opie's finest portraits, for the forthcoming Exhibition. It was a likeness of the Duke of Gloucester. 'It wants more colour in the background,' said Opie, in the intervals of his deathbed delirium. More was added, but he continued to express himself dissatisfied:--the delirium returned; and he continued (in imagination) at his easel, until he breathed his last on the 9th April, 1807.

And his prophecy as to his place of burial was fulfilled: 'Aye, girl,' he once said to his sister, 'I, too, shall be buried at St. Paul's.' There he was laid on the 20th April (close to Barry), in the crypt, by the side of a yet more illustrious artist from the West-country,--Sir Joshua Reynolds. Benjamin West's remains followed in 1820. Vandyke had long before been buried near the same spot. Fuseli, and Lawrence, and Turner, followed them. Amongst the distinguished men who were his pall-bearers were two eminent Cornishmen, Lord De Dunstanville and Sir John St. Aubyn, his friends, and (the former especially) his patrons.

We have seen something of Opie's career as an artist, and of his grasp as a writer: it remains to say something of his private character. The predominant features of it seem to me to be a lofty, unselfish ambition for excellence, a deep earnestness and stern truthfulness combined with a most affectionate placable disposition, a generous heart, and no inconsiderable sense of humour. He was never idle for a moment, his wife says--he painted all day long, and grudged himself the shortest holiday; but he never made sufficient progress to satisfy himself, and would sometimes exclaim: 'I shall never, never make a painter.' As in his youth, so in his manhood, he was liable to fits of depression, from one of which he especially suffered during a gloomy three months at the end of the year 1802, when commissions for a short while came in slowly. He recovered his spirits, however, at the beginning of the following year, when more work came to him, and from that time to the very last he was full of commissions. The last work he finished was a head of Miranda, and it was one of his best.

His tastes were simple, and his ambition (except as to his art) was moderate. To save 'a certain sum,' Mrs. Opie tells us, in order that he might keep a horse, and collect a good library which he could study at his leisure, was the limit of his desires.

A few words may be expected as to Opie's personal appearance and manners. As to the former, his bold, homely, melancholy features, noble forehead and penetrating eye--the 'index' to his mind--are tolerably familiar to us from the fact of his having several times painted his own portrait--Mr. Rogers catalogues more than twenty. One of the best with which I am acquainted is, I think, that engraved in mezzotint by S. W. Reynolds, and selected by Mrs. Opie to prefix to her edition of her husband's 'Lectures;'[128] but that presented by his widow to the Royal Cornwall Polytechnic Society, Falmouth, is also a very fine one. There is another portrait, painted by himself when a youth, at the National Portrait Gallery; and there is one at Dulwich. And Opie was caricatured, with six other R.A.'s, in Gillray's 'Titianus Redivivus, or the Seven Wise Men consulting the Venetian Oracle.' He was always somewhat careless of his personal appearance, and frugal in his mode of life. For drawing-room society he had no liking or capacity; but, as we have seen, he enjoyed a good dinner-party, where sterling conversation went on, and to which he was able and ready to contribute his quota--sometimes brusquely enough. But on this point his friend Boaden should be heard:

'I know that, to some, his frank open conduct appeared uncalled for; nay, I have even heard it termed coarse; but the coarse man is he who says a thing in bad language, and not he who, with a noble simplicity, comes immediately to the point, and, when he has obtained conviction, in the plainest words delivers his judgment. If I were to attempt to characterize him in one word (I should most certainly use that word to the honour of our species) it would be that he was a genuine ENGLISHMAN--for affectation he despised, and flattery he abhorred.' It may be added that he regarded with utter indifference any attacks which might be made on his private or professional character.

His sledge-hammer style of expression had doubtless something to do with the cessation of intimate relations which took place between old Wolcot and himself. Opie was not the sort of man to be _patronized_, even by a 'Peter Pindar.'

Most of his great works live to speak for themselves. Some of the finest examples are at Petworth; and Dr. Waagen pronounces these almost equal to Sir Joshua's. In energy of style, breadth, purity of colour, harmony of tone, and exquisite chiaroscuro, they stand very high. His portraits especially were real and lifelike, but they were not without their defects, and, as we see them now, are much marred by his too copious use of asphaltum: Thackeray, in his 'Four Georges,' even refers to them as 'Opie's pitchy canvases.' His historical works are somewhat deficient in imagination; and his portraits sometimes lack dignity as well as delicacy; whilst his style, partaking too much of his own temperament, and even of his personal appearance, was apt to run in a sombre vein. But a brother R.A., who knew him well--J. Northcote, a friendly rival, and to some extent his imitator--wrote of him: 'The toils and difficulties of his profession were by him considered as matters of honourable and delightful contest; and it might be said of him that _he did not so much paint to live, as live to paint_.[129] He was studious, yet not severe; he was eminent, yet not vain; his disposition so tranquil and forgiving that it was the reverse of every tincture of sour or vindictive, and what to some might seem roughness of manner, was only the effect of an honest indignation towards that which he conceived to be error.' Northcote would often exclaim to those whom he esteemed, 'How I wish you had known Opie!'

And his friend Sir Martin Archer Shee, a President of the Royal Academy, paid this final tribute to his memory:

'His vigorous pencil in pursuit of art Disdain'd to dwell on each minuter part; Impressive force--impartial truth he sought, And travell'd in no beaten track of thought. Unlike the servile herd, whom we behold Casting their drossy ore in fashion's mould; _His_ metal by no common die is known, The coin is sterling--and the stamp _his own_.'

It may be interesting to some readers to know where the best Opies are now to be found in Cornwall; and for information on this point I am indebted to the following extract from a letter from my friend Mr. Edward Opie, of Plymouth:

'As I have mentioned where Opies are _not_ to be found, I ought to state where they _are_--I mean in Cornwall, if not removed lately. Sir John St. Aubyn has the greatest number--I think seven or eight. These include two portraits of his grandfather, Sir J. St. Aubyn; one of his grandmother; one of Captain James; one of Miss Bunn;[130] one of Dolly Pentreath; and one--the best of all--of Mrs. Bell, housekeeper at Clowance. This last was much admired at one of the R.A. Winter Exhibitions. Lady Falmouth told me she had three, if not four, Opies. Mrs. Boscawen, you know, was an early patroness of the painter, and invited him to breakfast, when old Mr. Polwhele sent him into the kitchen. The Hon. Mrs. Gilbert has four, including a beggar;--another beggar is at Enys. Mrs. J. M. Williams, at Carhayes, has two, both fancy pictures. At Scorrier, Mr. G. Williams has two. At Penrose, Mr. Rogers's, there are two or three. At Prideaux Place, Mr. Prideaux Brune's, there are two; one being a dog's head, the other his own portrait. At Tregullow there are two, one being his mother with Bible;--there are several copies of this.'

FOOTNOTES:

[112] On an examination of the list of the members, it will be found that Cornwall has produced about the usual average of the English counties.

[113] Opie painted Bone's portrait, and presented it to him, 1795; also one of Bartolozzi, the engraver, which is preserved in the National Portrait Gallery.

[114] A blowing-house is a building where tin ore was smelted prior to the construction of the larger smelting-works. The first Mrs. Opie had the name changed to one more consonant with her notions of connubial felicity. Opie's second wife thus sketched it in a letter dated 'St. Agnes, 11th mo. 26th, 1832:' 'Yesterday I dined at Harmony Cot, where my husband and all the family were born and bred. It is a most sequestered cottage, whitewashed and thatched; a hill rising high above it, and another in front; trees and flower-beds before it, which in summer must make it a pretty spot. _Now_ it is not a tempting abode; but there are two good rooms, and I am glad I have seen it.'

[115] When Polwhele wrote, some seventy or eighty years ago, this picture was in the possession of Richard Hoskins, Esq., of Carennis.

[116] Mr. Rogers, in his 'Opie and his Works,' has thus classified the 760 works catalogued: