CHAPTER LIV

1850: AGED SEVENTY-FIVE

HIS LAST FOUR PICTURES PAINTED IN HIDING AT CHELSEA

In 1850, the year before his death, Turner sent four pictures to the Royal Academy, an heroic attempt on the veteran's part to assure the world that his power had not deserted him; but these canvases are but the tottering ruins of his genius, and they have been hung among other 'splendid failures' in the large, lower room of the Turner Gallery. But, as I have said before, Turner's 'splendid failures' are merely less great than his triumphs. His 'failures' in the large, lower room of the Turner Gallery, would easily make a lesser man's reputation. These four valedictory works entitled 'Æneas relating his Story to Dido,' 'Mercury sent to admonish Æneas,' 'The Departure of the Trojan Fleet,' and 'The Visit to the Tomb,' were painted between January and April, 1850, in a small room, with a small window, in the little house at Cremorne. We are told that at this window, and on the roof balcony, he would spend a long time each day studying the ways of the sun, the effect of light on the river and on the open places of rural Chelsea; and that he would often rise early, paint for a little, and then return to bed. Mrs. Booth declared that some of his last work was inspired by his dreams; that one night she heard him calling out excitedly; that she gave him the drawing materials he asked for, and that he made some notes, which he afterwards used for a picture. Mrs. Booth also confessed that she could not resist whispering in the neighbourhood that 'Booth' was a great man in disguise, and that when he died he would surely be buried in St. Paul's. This local gossip was collected later by John Pye the engraver.

Here I may print, for what it is worth, a letter, that was sent to me by an unknown correspondent in reference to a small book on Turner I wrote three years ago:--

'Clapham, _March_ 1907.

'_Re_ Turner.

'Dear Sir,--In the eighties (I think) there resided at Haddenham Hall, Haddenham, Bucks, a Mrs. Booth, whom it was understood was Turner's widow. I expressed a wish to look over the Hall, and was received by the old lady herself (she was a very homely body, and always wore a big cotton apron). In one of the rooms I recognised a miniature portrait of the late Dr. Price of Margate. Mrs. Booth said, "Yes! it was painted by my husband, Mr. Turner the artist; he and the Doctor were great friends." I also understood that Turner lodged with her when painting his pictures of Margate.

'When Mrs. Booth died she was taken to Margate to be buried. As I have never read of Turner's marriage, this may prove interesting.

_'P.S._--The son of the late Dr. Price still resides at Margate.'

In a letter to Hawkesworth Fawkes, dated December 27th, 1850, Turner wrote: 'Old Time has made sad work with me since I saw you in town.' But a certain dinner at David Roberts's house shows that old Time did not prevent him from being merry and sociable after his manner. The account of this dinner in 1850 is printed in a note to Ballantyne's _Life of David Roberts._ Turner's manner at the feast is described as--

'Very agreeable, his quick bright eye sparkled, and his whole countenance showed a desire to please. He was constantly making, or trying to make jokes; his dress, though rather old-fashioned, was far from being shabby. Turner's health was proposed by an Irish gentleman who had attended his lectures on perspective, on which he complimented the artist. Turner made a short reply in a jocular way, and concluded by saying, rather sarcastically, that he was glad this honourable gentleman had profited so much by his lectures as thoroughly to understand perspective, for it was more than he did. Turner afterwards, in Roberts's absence, took the chair, and, at Stanfield's request, proposed Roberts's health, which he did, speaking hurriedly, but soon ran short of words and breath, and dropped down on his chair with a hearty laugh, starting up again and finishing with a "hip, hip, hurrah!"... Turner was the last who left, and Roberts accompanied him along the street to hail a cab.... When the cab drove up, he assisted Turner to his seat, shut the door, and asked where he should tell cabby to take him; but Turner was not to be caught, and, with a knowing wink, replied, "Tell him to drive to Oxford Street, and then I'll direct him where to go."'

Sir Martin Shee died this year, and it is said that Turner was aggrieved that he was not offered the Presidentship of the Royal Academy. It is difficult to realise Turner in that office this year or in any year of his life. He was not made for official duties, but to make beautiful and wonderful things.