CHAPTER XXIX

1823: AGED FORTY-EIGHT

'THE BAY OF BAIÆ': A CRITIC IS CRITICAL, AND A PAINTER IS ENTHUSIASTIC

'Waft me to sunny Baiæ's shore' wrote Turner in the _Fallacies of Hope_, one of the simple lines, a line that it was quite permissible to print in the catalogue of the Academy of 1823 against his much discussed, much criticised, and much loved 'Bay of Baiæ.' The picture indeed wafts us to Baiæ, one of the most beautiful spots in Italy, and we are content with its beauty if we neglect the pines, their heavy shadows, and the figures of Apollo and the Cumæan Sibyl posing in the shade. But could anything be lovelier than the blue sea rippling on the yellow sand, the subtle hills and the fairy building, a kind of Claude 'Enchanted Castle' that has passed into a golden dream.

Turner, as I have said before, has his admirers and detractors, and those who adore part of his achievement and are critical of the rest; few, if any, admire him all in all. Let me here quote two authorities on 'The Bay of Baiæ'--Mr. Finberg, a critic who has devoted years of his life to Turner, and Mr. Wyllie, a painter who has written an admirable book on the master. The reader can decide which form of criticism or commentary he prefers: the cold objectivity of the critic or the glowing subjectivity of the painter. Here is Mr. Finberg on 'The Bay of Baiæ,' extracted from the admirable Extra Number of _The Studio_ on the 'Water Colours of Turner':--

'It is conceded on all hands that Turner's artistic work went all to pieces as a result of his Italian experiences. "The Bay of Baiæ" contains faults altogether new in his completed works. Even the feeblest of his earlier works had been animated by some central idea or emotion to which all the parts were subordinated, and which infused into them whatever of life or significance they possessed. In "The Bay of Baiæ" the artist has an unusual quantity of material on his hands, but he can neither find nor invent a pictorial idea to give coherence to his disconnected observations. The picture is made up of bits of visual experiences elaborately dovetailed into one another but which absolutely refuse to combine into any kind of conceptional unity.'

And here is Mr. Wyllie on 'that wonderful work' 'The Bay of Baiæ':--

'Only eight years before, the "Crossing the Brook" was painted in little more than black, brown, and palest blue, and now Turner has thrown aside the inky shadows as cold, grey skies and has burst out a perfect blaze of splendid colour. Years ago when I was a student at the old Academy schools in Trafalgar Square I used to stroll out at the luncheon hour or after closing time, to have a look at the Old Masters in the National Gallery next door. Somehow my feet always seemed to carry me to this my favourite picture at that time.

'I think the blue sea breaking gently on the sandy shore is one of the most perfect of Turner's visions of Italy. The little jetty, the fishing boats, the castle, and the volcanic hill thickly wooded and piled ridge beyond ridge as they pale into the haze are all most splendidly painted; the ruins half hidden in vines and long trailing creepers are well done and take their places in the scheme. There are thin rich glazes and strong yellows in the foreground and two very conventional stone pines, which throw a mos unnatural dark shadow right across the foreground. The Sibyl holding up the cryptic handful of sand to Apollo as a request for many years of life is painted quite carelessly; indeed one would almost fancy that the whole of the near objects were formed up in that rich, juicy fashion merely to drive back the delicate middle distance and enhance its beauty. There is no doubt that it does produce that effect, for if you shut out that part of the composition with your hand the rest of the picture suffers though the foreground is nothing by itself.'

Turner's contemporaries made the usual remark that the real locality had been rather freely treated, or, as Thornbury puts it, half the scene was sheer invention. As a matter of fact 'Baiæ' is more accurate, from a topographical point of view, than most of Turner's pictures. Jones wrote across the frame with a piece of chalk the words '_Splendide Mendaæ._' Turner laughed; he did not even take the trouble to rub out the chalk. For years the marks remained on the frame.

Here is a pen picture of Turner at this time. David Roberts, who became one of Turner's most intimate friends, decribes how he first met him at a meeting of the Artists' Benevolent Fund, one of Turner's pet schemes which he helped to found and to carry out. It was characteristic of Turner that he was in favour of hoarding its funds and distributing but a small sum each year in charity.

Of this meeting of the Artists's Benevolent Fund at the Crown and Anchor in the Strand, Roberts wrote:--

'Being seated round a table covered with green baize--of course with the exception of my friend whom I accompainied, John Wilson, all to me were strangers--a little square built man came in, to whom all paid respect; the business having begun, he joined in the conversation, and made some weak attempts at wit--at least I thought so, for no one seemed to laugh at his jokes but himself! So I asked who this very facetious little man was, and my astonishment on being told that it was the 'Great Turner' almost, without meaning a pun, turned my head.'

Turner was not the first great man, and he will not be the last little man, at whose jokes no one laughs but himself.