.. 4'

Rt r

H'-<i

?¥

^W4

.^¦'

mi'. .

¦t'tk

f f&

*ij' .I'll J f

m

%%

' YALE >
CENTER ^ for ^
CBriiisfP
K Art ;

LIFE AND LETTERS
OP
JOHN CONSTABLE, R.A.

FROM A DiiAWrNG BY C, r. LESLIE, R.A.

LIFE AND LETTERS

1
OF

JOHN CONSTABLE. R.A

C. R. LESLIE, R.

WITH THREE PORTRAITS OF CONSTABLE AND
FOR TV- TWO ILL US TRA TIONS
FROM CONSTABLE'S PICTURES AND SKETCHES
TOGETHER WITH SOME NOTES ON HIS WORK, ETC.
BY
ROBERT C. LESLIE

Jl "gleto §6itiott.

London: CHAPMAN AND HALL, Ln.
1896

LONDOX :
PRINTED BY J. o. VIRTUE AND CO., LIMITED,
CITT ROAD.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.
1776—1810.

PAGE
Constable's Native Scenery — Parentage — Birth — School Days — His Love of
Painting — ^John Dunthorne — Constable employed in his Father's Mills —
Introduced to Sir George Beaumont — His First Sight of a Picture by Claude
— Girtin's Drawings — Constable's First Visit to London — Farrington —
Antiquity Smith — Constable engaged in his Father's Counting-house —
Returns to the Study of Painting — Becoraes a Student of the Royal
Academy — His Drawings at Helmingham — Visits Derbyshire — Anatomical
Studies — Exhibits at the Academy — Samuel Strowger — Mr. West — Situation
of a Drawing-Master offered to Constable — Dissuaded by Mr. West from
accepting it — ^Voyage from London to Deal — Altar-piece for Brantham
Church — ^Visits Westmoreland and Cumberland — Introduced to the Earl and
Countess of Dysart — Altar-piece for Neyland Church — Jackson — Wilkie . . i

CHAPTER II.
1811 — 1812.
West's Picture of Christ Healing the Sick— Constable's Art — Traits of his
Character — His Health affected — Sir George Beaumont's Prescription —
Another Prescription — Attachment to Miss Bicknell — Their Marriage objected
to by her Friends — Visit of Miss Mary Constable to her Brother — Correspon
dence with Miss Bicknell — Exhibition at the Royal Academy, 1812— ^Arch-
deacon Fisher — Mr. Stothard — Constable engaged on Portraits — Fire at his
Lodgings  24

CHAPTER III.
1813 — 1814.
Constable's Pictures in the Exhibitions of 1813 — Exhibition at the British Gallery
ofthe Works of Reynolds — Turner — ^J. Dunthorne, Jun. — Willy Lott's House —
Sale of two of Constable's Pictures — His Pictures at the Academy, 18 14 —
Excursion in Essex — Picture of Boat-Building — Constable's Disposition to
shun Society  48

VI CONTENTS.
CHAPTER IV.
1815— 1816. TAUB
Constable permitted to visit Miss Bicknell — Death of his Mother — Death of Miss
Bicknell's Mother— G. Dawe — Exhibition, 1815 — Delicacy of Miss Bicknell's
Health — Lady Spencer — Constable studies at Bergholt — Illness of his Father
— Dr. Rhudde — Exhibition, 1816 — Death of Constable's Father — General
and Mrs. Rebow — Pictures painted at Wivenhoe Park — The Rev. J. Fisher —
Constable's Marriage — Visit to Osmington — Dr. Rhudde's Legacy to Mrs.
Constable .............. 64

CHAPTER V.
1817— 1821.
Housekeeping — Birth of a Son — Exhibitions, 1817, 1818, 1819 — Birthof a Daughter
— Constable elected an Associate of the Royal Academy — Sale of his large
Pictures, " The White Horse " and " Stratford Mill," to Archdeacon Fisher
— Exhibition, 1820 — Matthews' "Diary of an Invalid" — Stothard's " Canter
bury Pilgrims " — White's " Selborne " — Exhibition, 1821 — Excursion in Berk
shire and to Oxford — Studies at Hampstead — Criticisms on the " Stratford
Mill" — Constable's Remarks on Skies  87

CHAPTER VI.
1822.
Mr. Samuel Lane — Farrington — Coxe's Life of Correggio — Gold Grounds — Con
stable's Fourth large Picture — Stothard's Wellington Shield — Farrington's
House — The Bishop of Salisbury — Studies of Skies — Illness — System of
Copying at the British Gallery — Picture of Salisbury Cathedral from the
Bishop's Grounds — David's Picture of the Coronation of Josephine— Con
stable's dread of a National Gallery . .  107

CHAPTER VII.
1823.
Illness — Picture of Salisbury Cathedral — Sir John Leicester's Pictures — Wilson —
Constable's Pictures at the Exhibition — Sir Godfrey Kneller's House — Life of
Correggio— The Rev. T. J. Judkin — Sir William Curtis— Visit to Archdeacon
Fisher — Fonthill — The Diorama — Visit to Cole Orton Hall — Adventure on the
Road — Sir George and Lady Beaumont- — Pictures of Cole Orton — Manner of
passing the day there — Scenery of its Neighbourhood — Southey — Difference
of opinion between Sir George and Constable on Art — Studies at Cole Orton —
Return to London — Illness — Pictures for the Exhibition — Southey and the
Church . .  121

CONTENTS. Vll

CHAPTER VIII.
1824. PAGE
Letter from Sir George Beaumont — Picture of the Opening of Waterloo Bridge —
Lady Paintress — Sale of two large Pictures to a Frenchman — Picture of a
Lock on the Stour — Description of Brighton — Mr. Phillips — J. Dunthorne, Jun.
— Venetian Secret discovered by a Lady — Mr. Ottley — Washington Irving —
Note from Mr. Brockedon — Archibald Constable — French Criticisms on Con
stable's Pictures  -144

CHAPTER IX.
1825.
Brighton Sketches — Family Picture at Woodmanstone — Picture of "The Jumping
Horse" — Gold Medal awarded to Constable by the King of France — Due de
Choiseul — Paley — Sharon Turner — Picture of "The Lock" — Opinion ex
pressed of it by S. W. Reynolds — Constable's Pictures in the Exhibition at the
Academy — Sale of two Pictures to Mr. Darby — Exhibition, at the British
Gallery, of a Selection ofthe Works of Living Artists — Illness of Constable's
eldest Son— Picture of " The White Horse " sent to Lisle— Dinner at Lady
Dysart' s — Northcote — Cat and Chickens— Mr. Bannister — J. Dunthorne's
Description of " The Devil and Dr. Faustus "  167

CHAPTER X.
1826—1827.
Return of the "White Horse" from Lisle — Gold Medal voted to Constable —
Letters of N. Poussin — Constable's Picture of " The Cornfield" — Letter from
Mr. Phillips — Mr. Fisher's Description of the Valley of Sutton and Preston —
Anecdote of one of Mr. Fisher's Children — Exhibition at the Royal Academy,
1826 — Description of a Ruined Man — Paul Pry — Ludicrous Occurrence to
the Ghost in Hamlet— The Brighto-n Gazette—" The Glebe Farm "—Mr.
Fisher and Bishop Burgess — Northcote — Picture by Ruysdael — Exhibition at
the Academy, 1827 — Constable removes his Family to a House in Well Walk,
Hampstead .  . 186

CHAPTER XL
1828— 1829.
Illness of Mr. Abram Constable and of Mrs. Constable — Birth of Constable's
youngest Child — Pictures of Dedham Vale and of Hampstead Heath — Death
of Mr. Bicknell — His Bequest to Mr. and Mrs. Constable — Exhibition at the
Royal Academy, 1828 — Death of Archdeacon Coxe — Illness of Mrs. Constable

vill CONTENTS.
PAGE
— Her Death — Constable 111 — Receives a Commission to paint a Sign —
Elected an Academician, 1829 — Congratulations from some of his Friends —
Sir Thomas Lawrence and Constable — Picture of Hadleigh Castle— Constable
engaged in preparing the " English Landscape " for Publication — Mr. David
Lucas  203

CHAPTER XII.
1830-31.
Picture of "Bergholt Churchyard" — -Death of Sir Thomas Lawrence — Mr. Shee
elected President of the Royal Academy — Notes to Mr. Lucas — Constable on
the Committee of Arrangement at the Academy — Picture of " A Dell in Hel-
mington Park,' ' exhibited in 1 830 — Illness of George IV. — Jackson — Bannister —
Constable visitor in the Life Academy — Etty — Wilkie — Illness — Large Picture
of "Salisbury Cathedral from the Meadows," exhibited 1831 — Death of
Jackson — Death of Northcote — Watteau — Greuze — John Varley — Coronation
of King William IV. and Queen Adelaide — Lord Brougham — Lord Lyttelton
and the Ghost — Old Sarum — Illness — Reform Bill — E. Landseer . . . 225

CHAPTER XIIL
1832.
Illness — Turner — Claude — Hobbema — Gainsborough — Stanfield — Picture of
Waterloo Bridge — Mr. Lawley — Callcott — Constable's Mode of Proceeding
with his Pictures — The Palette Knife — Exhibition at the Academy, 1832 —
Constable's Eldest Daughter dangerously 111 — Illness of John Dunthorne, Jun.
— New Apartments for the Academy — Death of Archdeacon Fisher — Copy of
De Hooge — Death of J. Dunthorne, Jun. — Constable attends his Funeral at
Bergholt — Vale of Dedham — E. Landseer — Mr. George Constable — Picture of
" Englefield House "............ 250

CHAPTER XIV.
1833-
Messrs. Chalon — The Palette Knife— Mr. Seguier— Mr. Beauchamp's Establish
ment — Picture ofthe Cenotaph erected by Sir G. Beaumont to the Memory of
Reynolds — Constable visited by a Connoisseur — Lady Morley — Letters to
Mr. George Constable — Stothard — Letter to Mr. Thomas Dunthorne — Exhibi
tion at the Royal Academy — Picture of Englefield House —Allusion to the Loss
ol th& Abergavetiny , Captain Wordsworth— The Author's Visit to America —
Constable's First Lecture on the History of Landscape — Captain Cook —
Letters to Mr. George Constable — Notes to Mr. Lucas — Picture of Waterloo
Bridge .  268

CONTENTS. ix
CHAPTER XV.
1834— 1835.
PAGE
Illness of Constable and his Eldest Son — Death of Lady Beechey — Constable
again 111 — Mr. Purton — Pictures at the British Gallery and at the Academy,
1834 — Visit to Arundel — Mr. George Constable— Petworth — Lord Egremont
— Large Picture of Salisbury Cathedral — Lady Dysart — Gainsborough — Ham
House — Pictures there — Cuyp — Visit to Petworth — Cowdry Castle — Old
Mills — Burns — Farm Houses — Constable's Habits — Conflagration of the
Houses of Parliament— Large Picture of Salisbury Cathedral — Wilkie's
" Columbus " — Picture called " The Valley Farm " exhibited at the Academy,
183s, and purchased by Mr. Vernon— Cozens — Pictures by David — Second
Lecture at Hampstead— Attacks on the Academy — Committee of the House of
Commons, etc. — Charles Constable — Mr. Vernon's Picture — Bryan's Dic
tionary  284

CHAPTER XVI.
1836— 1837.
Mr. Vernon's Picture — Contemplated Pictures of Arundel Mill and of Stoke —
Description of Stoke Church — Engraving of "Salisbury" — Breakfast with
Mr. Rogers — Lectures at the Royal Institution — Exhibition of 1836 — Picture of
"The Cenotaph erected by Sir George Beaumont to Sir J, Reynolds" —
Drawing of Stonehenge — Constable's two. eldest Sons — Clouds and Skies —
Death of Westall — Constable Visitor in the Life Academy — Picture of Arundel
Mill — Engraving of " Salisbury Cathedral from the Meadows " — Probable
Causes of the decline of Constable's Health — His Death — His Funeral . .310

CHAPTER XVII.
Picture of Arundel Mill and Castle, exhibited 1837 — Presentation ofthe Picture
of " The Cornfield " to the National Gallery — Letter from Mr. Andrew
Robertson — Constable and Hogarth compared — Traits of Constable's
Character described by Mr. George Field — Further Particulars — Selections
from Constable's miscellaneous Memoranda — Note from Mr. Collins — Pictures
injured by cutting, enlarging, etc. — Forgeries of Constable's Pictures —
Recollections of his Sayings and Opinions — The Author's Visit to East Berg
holt, in company with Mr. Purton and John Constable, Jun. — Mr. Purton 's
Remarks on Constable's Art — Sketch Books  333

CHAPTER XVIIL
Notes of Six Lectures delivered by Constable on Landscape Painting . . , 360
b

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

John Constable — from a drawing by C. R. Leslie, R.A.
•East Bergholt, Constable's Birthplace . .
John Constable, setat. 20 — from a painting by Gardiner
'Spring . .
•Bergholt Church Porch
•A Mill Stream 
Boat-building, near Flatford— from the picture at South Kensington
•A Cottage in a Cornfield
•The White Horse 
•Stratford Mill, on the River Stour 
•Hampstead Heath, Harrow in the distance 
The Hay Wain— from the picture in the National Gallery
•Flatford Mill, on the River Stour 
River Stour, Suffolk — from an engraving by W. R. Smith
Study of Sky in oil, by Constable . .
•Yarmouth, Norfolk . .
•A Lock on the Stour . .
Brighton Beach, 1825 — firom a pencil sketch lent by J. P. Heseltine
•Cornfields, near Brighton . .
•Summer Afternoon, after a shower. .
Brighton Lugger — from a pencil sketch lent by J. P. Heseltine
Gold Medal firom King of France . .
•The Lock — from an early proof given by Constable to C. R. Leslie, R.A.
The Leaping Horse — from a copy of Constable's large sketch by the
Editor 
•Gillingham Mill 
Gold Medal, from Prefect of Lisle 
•The Glebe Farm 
•A Heath 
•Sir Richard Steele's Cottage on the Hampstead Road
•Hadleigh Castle, near the Nore 
•A Mill 
•Autumnal Sunset
•Summer-Land •Summer Evening
•Old Sarum
•Castle Acre Priory 
•Summer Morning 
•Weymouth Bay
Study of Trees — from pencil drawing at South Kensington . ,
•Salisbury Cathedral, from the meadows . .
The Valley Farm  
•Noon *A Sea-Beach . .
•Stoke-by-Nayland •Stonehenge John Constable — from a sketch by D. Maclise, R.A. . .
•Arundel Mill and Castle
Plates raarked thus * are from proof impressions of Mezzotints by David Lucas.

To face Title-^age.
Toface^age i
4

5
24.1560
889*94
97
100loSno "5124
148 152
153 159164166182I8S 196
200 202
215223224 227 228 244263
264 27s 28629s 297
301 308
3"
316 325 333

INTRODUCTION.

It is more than fifty years since the second edition of my father's
" Memoir of John Constable" was publiGhed, in the Preface to
which he says : " I regret that it must appear without the beautiful
engravings with which, in its first state, it was adorned." This
first edition was published in 1843, with more than twenty plates
after Constable, by David Lucas. Both this, and the second
edition published in 1845, have long been out of print.
Owing, however, to the vast improvement and refinement in
the various methods of reproducing good engravings and original
sketches, it is now possible to offer to all lovers of Constable and
his art, an edition of my father's book, not only with the plates
in the earlier folio edition, but with others afterwards engraved by
Lucas under my father's own careful supervision; together with
reproductions from some of Constable's pictures and sketches.
Few painters' lives were more completely identified with their
work than Constable's ; and in his case the difficulty has been, not
which of his pictures to select in illustrating it, but which, if any,
to omit. Though Constable left many well-filled sketch-books and small
oil studies from nature, he was far from being a prolific painter,
and left comparatively few important large finished works. In
spite of which, for some years after his death, the few pictures of

xii INTRODUCTION.
his which changed hands did so at quite moderate prices ; while a
proof by Lucas after him might often then be picked up for a few
shillings. Time has so changed all this, that to-day the following
quotation from Bacon, found among Constable's papers by my
father, reads almost like prophecy. " Let great authors have
their due, but so as not to defraud time, which is the author of
authors and parent of truth." Substituting painters for authors
half a century has certainly proved a kind parent to the fame of
John Constable, and the truth of his art.
About sixty years ago I remember seeing nearly all his more
important works upon the walls of a large studio formed by him
out of the drawing-room of 35, Charlotte Street, Fitzroy Square.
When he died the greater number of these, after being bought in
for the family by my father and other friends at his sale in Foster's
Rooms, remained crowded together on the walls of a small house
in St. John's Wood, which then became the home ofhis children ;
and, with the exception of a portion allotted to his second son,
Captain Charles Constable, which have since been sold, all these
pictures and studies remained there until, on the death, in 1888, of
his last surviving daughter Isabel, they became the property of the
nation. During the fifty years which elapsed between Constable's death
(in 1837) and this bequest of his pictures to the nation, any work
of his that chanced to change hands, at first slowly, but afterwards
very rapidly, rose in value; and many imitations of his pictures
have during this interval been sold, and even publicly exhibited.
One marked feature of all these productions being founded upon
the mistake, that in order to manufacture an authentic Constable, it
was only needful to load so many square feet of old canvas with

INTRODUCTION. xiu
unmeaning dabs of paint, clumsily laid on with something like
a small trowel. Constable, no doubt, in certain of his later works
employed the palette knife freely, but it was never used until he
had secured the drawing, tone, and efifect of the picture with the
brush. During the last years of his life he, at times, also touched upon
some of his earlier pictures in this way as they hung on the walls of
his studio, leaving for a moment a work on his easel to do so.
Though I have heard my father say that in this way Constable
himself thought he often injured a picture, or as he said once, " was
cutting his own throat with the palette knife,"
As the schoolfellow and neighbour of his sons, Alfred and
Lionel, I spent many happy hours among Constable's finest
pictures, until I believe I became more intimate with them, and his
sketches, than I was with my own father's work. And while able
to speak with some authority upon Constable's work in his best
period, I can also do so upon his use of the palette knife, because
some time after the sale of those few of his pictures at Foster's,
not bought in for his family, two sketches upon six-foot canvases,
of the " Hay Wain " and " Leaping Horse," were, for want of room
elsewhere, stored at my father's house.
Though wonderfully fine in sparkle and efifect, both were more
or less mere masses of colour, loaded on with brush and knife, and
in spite of a goodly assemblage of dealers and others at the sale,
no bid above £<^ was made for them.
They remained with my father for some time, and after he and
I had removed the dirt and London smoke with which they were
covered, he asked me to make two small copies of them ; and I
shall not soon forget the difficulty I met with in doing this, so as

XIV INTRODUCTION.
to retain, upon a small scale, the sparkle obtained by the use of
the palette knife, without losing their fine general efifect and
intention. Both these studies are now at South Kensington ; but I feel
sure that Constable merely looked upon them as unfinished expe
riments upon a large scale for more finished pictures.
I was with my father the whole time he was engaged in com
piling both his first and second editions of Constable's memoirs,
and remember well the pains and labour — though in his case a true
labour of love — the vast amount of correspondence, writing, and
rewriting they cost him before a single page left his hand. During
the whole of this period, and especially after the publication of
this book, spurious Constables were constantly brought to my
father by dealers ; at times singly, at others in batches ; nearly all
being of the extreme palette knife type, or what would now, per
haps, be called "impressionist" examples. One such batch, I re
member, was brought by a well-known London dealer, who, though
too good a judge himself to be deceived, wished my father to see
them, because, as he said, "the source from which he had them
should have placed their authenticity beyond doubt." This was
nearly ten years after Constable's death, and yet, on examination,
most of the meaningless lumps of paint with which they were
loaded proved to be still soft,
I never saw my father so completely upset as he was by this
crop of forgeries, because, from the name given by the dealer, he
at once foresaw an unlimited supply of the same kind of rubbish.
And judging from the quantity of works sold and exhibited under
the name of Constable, I should not be surprised if the number of
forgeries now greatly exceeded that of his genuine pictures.

INTRODUCTION. xv
One of the worst evils of the multiplication of such things is,
that the public eye — never too discriminative — is gradually led to
look, not at or for Constable, as seen in the more finished work of
his best period, but only at those examples which display the man
nerism of his later style. A style to which I agree with my brother
George, " both he and Turner were goaded by a desire, natural
to such men, of seeing their pictures eclipse, in sparkle and bril
liancy, those of others upon the walls of the Academy." Writing
on this subject in his " Handbook for Young Painters," my father
says, " The truth is that the pictures in which he most used this
instrument, are those of which there are the greatest number of
forgeries. A practised eye will, however, generally detect thes°,
as in such imitations one colour is smeared over another, so as to
have the muddled and filthy look of the rags with which a painter
cleans his palette, , . , While the dashes of colour from Con
stable's knife have the look of gems, and the more they are mag
nified the more beautiful they appear."
Any one who examines a few square inches of Constable's
" Cenotaph" in the National Gallery with a lens will, I think, at
once acknowledge the truth of this.
Among art critics, no one has more undervalued Constable, or
deplored his influence for evil upon the English and French schools
of landscape, than Mr. Ruskin. But with my father, I think this
to be very much owing to the fact that Mr. Ruskin's judgment
of Constable was hastily formed, in almost complete ignorance of
his really finest work, and at a time when his careful studies from
nature, and power of drawing either with brush or pencil, were
almost unknown. " I have never," he says in " Modern Painters,"
" seen a work of Constable in which there is any sign of his being

xvi INTRODUCTION.
able to draw." After quoting which in his " Handbook for^ Young
Painters," my father says, " I can only conclude from it that Mr.
Ruskin has either never seen a genuine Constable, and that his
impression is derived from the numerous forgeries of his work in
circulation, or that he has seen pictures by him without looking at
them ; which often happens where we are not interested,"
Again, in the preface to " Modern Painters," Mr, Ruskin in a
note says, " The feelings of Constable with respect to his art might
be almost a model for the young student, were it not that they err
a little on the other side, and are perhaps in need of chastening
and guiding from the works of his fellow men, , , . Constable, in
his dread of saint- worship, depriving himself of much instruction
from the Scripture to which he holds, because he will not accept
aid in reading it from the learning of other men." "How far,"
my father says, "this charge is just, the reader will determine
when told that Constable's first known attempts at art were pen-
and-ink copies of the prints from the cartoons ; his next, copies of
the etchings of Ruysdael, Rubens, Teniers, and Claude ; copies
some of which might pass for the originals ; while his walls were
covered with pictures, drawings, and prints of the great landscape
and other painters." Then again, Mr. Ruskin says, " Unteachable-
ness seems to have been a main feature of his — Constable's —
character, and there is a corresponding want of veneration in the
way he approaches Nature herself." " I think," adds my father,
" the first of these charges has been sufficiently answered, and to
the second I will oppose the following words from one of Con
stable's lectures, where he says, ' The landscape painter must walk
in the fields with an humble mind. No arrogant man was ever
permitted to see nature in all her beauty ; and if I may be allowed

INTRODUCTION. xvu
to use a very solemn quotation, I would say most emphatically
to the student. Remember now thy Creator in the days of thy
youth,' "
Constable's much-talked-of influence, especially as an impres
sionist, upon the French school of landscape, has, I think, been
greatly exaggerated. And certainly when Charles X. of France
and the Mayor of Lille awarded him those gold medals for his
pictures of the "Hay Wain" and "White Horse," it was for
nothing of this character about them.
Turner, in his later art, indeed, far exceeded that of Con
stable in this way ; and the real gospel, which the French artists
were the first to receive and recognise as true from Constable, was,
that so-called romantic scenes or subjects, go little toward making
a picture interesting, compared with those of every-day life humbly
studied among an artist's immediate surroundings.
Of the literary merits and taste of my father's book I am far
less able to speak than the editor of my father's own autobiography
— Mr. Tom Taylor — who said of it, " Among examples of artist
biography, Leslie's ' Life of Constable ' deserves, I think, to rank
as a model. Affection for his subject may have had as much to do
in guiding Leslie through his task as any theory of editorial duties.
But to whatever cause we are to ascribe the result, I know of
no more striking example of perfect good taste than Leslie's part
in this book. It seems to me difficult to praise too highly the
subordination, all through, of the editor to his subject, his industry
in research, his arrangement ; the skill with which he has left the
subject of the biography to tell his own story in letters judiciously
chosen, and carefully linked by brief explanatory statements ; the
simple earnestness with which the editor has conveyed his admira-

XVIU INTRODUCTION.
tion and afifection for the subject of his memoir, till he creates
a kindred feeling in those who read what he has written."
Beyond some additional notes and personal recollections I have
not therefore ventured to alter a word of my father's book. And
in conclusion, have only to offer my best thanks to Mr. Clifford
Constable, son of Captain Charles Constable, and grandson of the
great painter, for the loan of many valuable engravings ; also
to my friend Mr. J. P. Heseltine, Mr, T, Armstrong of the
Science and Art Department, South Kensington, my brother,
G. D. Leslie, R. A., and my brother-in-law, Mr. A. P. Fletcher.
Robert C. Leslie.

PREFACE
TO C. R. LESLIE'S FIRST ILLUSTRATED FOLIO EDITION
OF CONSTABLE'S LIFE, PUBLISHED IN 1843.

The lives of painters are considered to afford but few materials
that can engage the attention of the generality of readers ; they
are not often diversified with what is called " stirring incident " ;
yet at a time when the arts seem to attract more notice than they
have hitherto received in this country, the adventures of the mind
of so original a painter as John Constable cannot be entirely
devoid of interest even beyond the sphere of his own profession.
The number of his letters placed in my hands has enabled me
to give the following pages, however unskilfully I may have done
it, almost the form of an autobiography. Very few of these papers
are printed entire, and the difficulty of selecting such portions of
them as might best compose a narrative of his studies has not been
trifling. It may perhaps be thought that too many circumstances
merely of a domestic nature have been dwelt on ; but in Constable
the affections of the heart were so inseparably blended with all that
related to painting that it did not seem to me possible to give
a true impression of his character as an artist without making the
reader intimately acquainted with him in the private relations
of life.

XX PREFA CE.
The series of engravings from his pictures and sketches
entitled " English Landscape," formed a work which, to use the
words of Coleridge, was " a secret committed to the public, and very
faithfully kept." These plates will, therefore, to most eyes be
new. Their subjects are all connected with Constable's personal
history, and the permission that has been obtained to make use
of them, enables me to adorn a volume, chiefly from his pen, with
some beautiful productions of his pencil.
T must here offer my thanks to the members of his family, and
to others of my friends, for much valuable assistance in a task
which I have onl)'^ undertaken from the fear that if I did not
engage in it, it would perhaps be deferred until many particulars
of his life remaining only in the memories of those who knew him
intimately, might be lost. C R, Leslie.
March, 1843.

'"Wk

M

^-s

THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE.

CHAPTER I.
1776 — 1810.
Constable's Native Scenery. — Birth and Parentage. — Employed in his Father's
Mills. — Visit to London. — Student of The Royal Academy. — Mr, West. — Voyage
to Deal. — Paints an Altar-piece,
East Bergholt, or, as its Saxon derivation implies, Wooded
Hill, is thus mentioned in the " Beauties of England and Wales" :
" South of the church is Old Hall, the manor-house, the seat of
Peter Godfrey, Esq., which, with the residences of the rector, the
Rev. Dr. Rhudde, Mrs. Roberts, and Golding Constable, Esq.,
give this place an appearance far superior to that of most villages.
It is pleasantly situated in the most cultivated part of Suffolk, on
a spot which overlooks the fertile valley of the Stour, which river
separates the county on the south from Essex. The beauty of
the surrounding scenery, its gentle declivities, its luxuriant
meadow flats sprinkled with flocks and herds, its well-cultivated
uplands, its woods and rivers, with numerous scattered villages
and churches, farms and picturesque cottages, all impart to this
particular spot an amenity and elegance hardly anywhere else to
be found." This is Constable's description of the " scenes of his boy-

2 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. I,
hood," which he was fond of saying " raade him a painter,"
From among them most ofthe subjects ofhis pencil were selected.
The frontispiece to the "English Landscape," a series of engrav
ings published by him late in life, is from a sketch of the house
in which he was born,* and the passage I have quoted accom
panies the plate. Fearful of having said too much, and yet
unwilling to say less, he adds, " Perhaps the author, with an
overweening afifection for these scenes, may estimate them too
highly, and may have dwelt on them too exclusively."
His ancestors were from Yorkshire, where the name is fre
quent. His great-grandfather, Hugh Constable,t carried it into
Suffolk, and settled as a farmer at Bures, on the border which
separates that county from Essex, Golding Constable, the artist's
father, inherited considerable property from a rich uncle, who
was childless, including the water-mill at Flatford ; he afterwards
purchased a water-mill at Dedham, and two windmills in the
neighbourhood of East Bergholt ; at the latter place he built the
house which has been mentioned, and to which he removed in the
year 1774, having before that period married Miss Ann Watts,
who brought some accession to his wealth, but more to his
happiness, for she possessed, in a high degree, the virtues best
suited to domestic life.
The children of this marriage were three sons and three
daughters. John Constable, the second son, was born on the nth
* This house was pulled down some time ago, and sold for the value of the
material of which it was built.
t The name is obviously derived from the ancient office of trust, as the constable
of Chester, the constable ofthe Tower, &c., and from the list or table of Battle Abbey,
printed in How's Chronicle, the first Constable came to England with William the
Conqueror .

1776.] BIRTH— SCHOOL DAYS. 3
of June, 1776, and baptized on the same day, not being expected
to live. He became, however, a strong and healthy child, and,
when seven years old, was placed at a boarding-school about
fifteen miles from Bergholt. He was afterwards removed to a
school at Lavenham, the master of which, being in love, left the
care of his scholars to an usher, who flogged them so unmercifully
as to incur the hatred of them all, and Constable secretly resolved
to repay his own share of the castigation in kind, if, as men, he
and the tyrant should ever meet — a resolution he was well qualified
to put in practice, unless the usher had been a man of uncommon
personal strength. From Lavenham he was removed to the
grammar school of the Rev. Dr. Grimwood, at Dedham, where he
met with an indulgent master, with whom he becarae a favourite.
Dr. Grirawood had penetration enough to discover that he was a
boy of genius, although he was not reraarkable for proficiency in
his studies, the only thing he excelled in being penraanship. He
acquired, however, some knowledge of Latin, and subsequently
took private lessons in French, in which he made less progress.
He was at this time sixteen or seventeen years of age, and had
become devotedly fond of painting. During his French lessons a
long pause would frequently occur, which his master would be
the first to break, saying, " Go on, I am not asleep. Oh ! now I
see you are in your painting-room."
But his painting-room was not under his father's roof. He.
had formed a close alliance with the only person in the village
who had any love for art, or any pretensions to the character of
an artist, John Dunthorne, a plumber and glazier, who lived in a
little cottage close to the gate of Golding Constable's house.
Mr. Dunthorne possessed more intelligence than is often found in

4 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. I.
the class of life to which he belonged ; at that time he devoted all
the leisure his business allowed him to painting landscapes from
nature, and Constable became the constant companion of his
studies. Golding Constable did not frown on this intimacy, al
though he was unwilling that his son should become a professional
artist, and Constable's attempts were made either in the open air,
in the small house of his friend, or in a hired room in the village.
It argued no want of afifection or of foresight in his father
that he opposed his son's choice of a profession in which future
excellence cannot with any certainty be predicted from early
attempts, and which, even if attained, is less sure than excellence
in many other pursuits of securing a competence. He would
have educated him for the Church, but finding him disinclined to
the necessary duties, he determined to make a miller of him.
For about a year Constable was employed in his father's mills,
where he performed the duties required of him carefully and well.
He was remarkable among the young men of the village for
muscular strength, and being tall and well formed, with good
features, a fresh complexion, and fine dark eyes, his white hat
and coat were not unbecoming to him, and he was called in the
neighbourhood the "handsome miller."
The windmill, in an engraving frora one of his sketches
entitled "Spring,'' is one of those in which he worked; and its
outline, with the narae of "John Constable, 1792," very accurately
and neatly carved by him with a penknife, still remains on one of
its timbers. His acquaintance with the picturesque machinery
both of wind and water-mills was very useful to him in after life.
His younger brother, Mr. Abram Constable, said to me, " When
I look at a mill painted by John, I see that it will go round, which

JOHN CONSTABLE
Aged 20.

FROM A PAINTING BY GARDINER.

1792.] A SILVERY SPRING DAY. s
is not always the case with those by other artists." By a wind-
miller every change of the sky is watched with peculiar interest ;
and it will appear from Constable's description of this plate that
the time spent as one was not wholly lost to hira as a painter.
" It raay perhaps," he says, " give some idea of those bright
and silvery days in the spring, when at noon large garish clouds,
surcharged with hail or sleet, sweep with their broad shadows the
fields, woods, and hills ; and by their depths enhance the value
of the vivid greens and yellows so peculiar to the season. The
natural history, if the expression may be used, of the skies, which
are so particularly raarked in the hail squalls at this time of the
year, is this: The clouds accumulate in very large masses, and
from their loftiness seem to move but slowly : immediately upon
these large clouds appear numerous opaque patches, which are
only sraall clouds passing rapidly before them, and consisting
of isolated portions detached probably from the larger cloud.
These floating much nearer the earth may perhaps fall in with a
stronger current of wind, which, as well as their coraparative light
ness, causes thera to move with greater rapidity ; hence they are
called by wind-raillers and sailors, messengers, and always portend
bad weather. They float midway in what may be termed the
lanes of the clouds; and frora being so situated, are alraost
uniformly in shadow, receiving a reflected light only, frora the
clear blue sky imraediately above them. In passing over the
bright parts of the large clouds they appear as darks; but in
passing the shadowed parts, they assurae a grey, a pale, or a
lurid hue."
Mrs. Constable procured for her son an introduction to Sir
George Beaumont, who frequently visited his mother, the Dowager

6 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. I.
Lady Beaumont, then residing at Dedham. Sir George had seen
and expressed himself pleased with some copies raade by Constable
in pen and ink frora Dorigny's engravings of the Cartoons of
Raphael ; and at the house of the Dowager Lady Beauraont the
young artist first saw a picture by Claude, the " Hagar"* which
Sir George often carried with hira when he travelled. Constable
looked back on the first sight of this exquisite work as an impor
tant epoch in his life. But the taste of a young artist is always
the most affected by contemporary art. Sir George Beauraont
possessed about thirty drawings in water-colours by Girtin, which
he advised Constable to study as examples of great breadth and
truth ; and their influence on him may be traced more or less
through the whole course of his practice. The first impressions
of an artist, whether for good or evil, are never wholly effaced ;
and, as Constable had till now no opportunity of seeing any
pictures that he could rely on as guides to the study of nature, it
was fortunate for him that he began with Claude and Girtin.
In the year 1795 his father consented to his visiting London,
for the purpose of ascertaining what might be his chance of success
as a painter, and on this occasion Priscilla Wakefield furnished
him with a letter of introduction to Farrington, of whom, it has
been said, he becarae a pupil. But this was not the case, though
he, no doubt, received raany valuable hints from a landscape
painter who, though not a man of genius, possessed a great deal
of good sense, and could tell him much of the practice of Wilson.
Farrington predicted Constable's future excellence, and said, at
• This little treasure is now in the National GaUery, where it is called " The
Annunciation " ; but the spring by which the female is seated, and the action of the
angel who points to the buildings in the distance, leave little doubt that Claude's
intention was to represent the first flight of Hagar from the presence of her mistress.

I79S-] INTRODUCTION OF FIGURES IN LANDSCAPE. 7
an early period of their acquaintance, that his style of landscape
would one day " forra a distinct feature in the art."
Soon after his arrival in London, Constable became acquainted
with John Thomas Smith, known then as a clever draughtsraan,
engraver, and local antiquary ; since raore generally, I cannot say
better, known as the writer ofthe " Life of NoUekens." Constable's
intercourse with "Antiquity Sraith," as he was called, tended, no
doubt, to strengthen that fondness for localities which had so
much to do with, if indeed it was not the basis of, his art ; and it
may be inferred that the advice he received from his new friend
was generally sound, from the following specimen : " Do not,"
said Smith, " set about inventing figures for a landscape taken
from nature ; for you cannot reraain an hour in any spot, however
solitary, without the appearance of sorae living thing that will in
all probability accord better with the scene and time of day than
will any invention of your own." Often has Constable, in our
walks together, taken occasion to point out, from what we saw,
the good sense of Smith's advice.
Constable's time was now divided between London and
Bergholt ; and the following passages from the letters he wrote
from the country to Smith show what were sorae of his occupa
tions for the next two years. "October 27th, 1796. — ^As the
evenings are now long, I find great pleasure in reading the books
I brought home with rae, particularly ' Leonardo da Vinci ' and
' Count Algarotti.' I should feel obliged to you, when you raake
up the parcel which I mentioned, if you would enclose Gessner's
• Essay on Landscape.' I devote all my evenings to the study of
anatomy." " January i6th, 1797.— You flatter me highly respect
ing my ' Cottages,' and I am glad you have found one or two

8 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. I,
araongst thera worthy of your needle.* I am obliged to you for
the directions you sent me for etching, but they were not exactly
what I raeant. What I fear I ara deficient in is the biting. I
have lately copied Terapesta's large battle, and painted two small
pictures in oil, viz., a Chyraist and an Alchymist, for which I am
chiefly indebted to our immortal bard. You remember Romeo's
account of an apothecary's shop. I have a great mind to copy
one of Ruysdael' s etchings. I have seen one at your house,
where there are two trees standing in the water, and there is one
your father copied ; either of these I should like very much, but
as they are scarce and dear, perhaps you would not like to trust
them ; if not, send rae any others. I want to know if it is possible
to take the proofs of the plates rayself."
The little pictures of the Chyraist and the Alchyraist men
tioned in this letter have very little merit. Constable probably
intended a moral by the ragged and poverty-struck appearance of
the alchymist, while the chyraist is neat and comfortable ; but if he
had as yet produced nothing better, it is not surprising that his
own pursuits were regarded by his friends much in the same light
with those ofhis alchyraist. In a letter to Smith, dated March 2nd,
1797, he says, "I raust now take your advice and attend to my
father's business, as we are likely soon to lose an old servant (our
clerk), who has been with us eighteen years; and now I see
plainly it will be my lot to walk through life in a path contrary to
that in which my inclination would lead me." The next letter is
from Mrs. Constable to Smith : " East Bergholt, October, 1797. —
Dear Sir, I have great pleasure in receiving a letter so warm in
* Smith was publishing a series of etchings of picturesque cottages, and some of
Constable's letters to him contained sketches of cottages.

1799] STUDENT AT THE ROYAL ACADEMY. 9
commendation of my son John as yours of the 29th ult. His
future conduct, I trust, will ever merit the favour of your friend
ship, which I know he highly values. Let rae assure you, that
were you intiraately acquainted with his father, you would not
wonder at his having so worthy a son. We are anticipating the
satisfaction of seeing John at horae in the course of a week or
ten days, to which I look forward with the hope that he will attend
to business, by which he will please his father, and ensure his own
respectability and comfort."
How long Constable was engaged in his father's counting-
house I know not ; but in the year 1 799 he had resumed the pencil,
not again to lay it aside, as I find hira thus writing to Dunthorne :
" London, February 4th, 1799. — I ara this raorning admitted a
student at the Royal Academy; the figure which I drew for
admittance was the * Torso.' I am now comfortably settled in
Cecil Street, Strand, No. 23. I shall begin painting as soon as I
have the loan of a sweet little picture by Jacob Ruysdael to copy.
Since I have been in town I have seen some remarkably fine ones
by him, indeed I never saw him before ; yet don't think, by this, I
am out of conceit of my own, of which I have seen a print, 'tis of
the sarae size and reversed. I shall not have rauch to show you
on my return, as I find my time will be more taken up in seeing
than in painting. I hope by the time the leaves are on the trees
I shall be better qualified to attack them than I was last summer.
All the time you can conveniently spare frora your business may
be happily spent in this way, perhaps profitably, at any rate inno
cently. . . . Smith's friend, ... has left ofif painting,
at least for the present. His whole time and thoughts are occu
pied in exhibiting an old, rusty, fusty head, with a spike in it

10 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. I.
which he declares to be the real embalmed head of Oliver
Cromwell. Where he got it I know not ; 'tis to be seen in Bond
Street, at half-a-crown admittance. How goes on the lay figure?*
I hope to see it finished when I return, together with some draw
ings of your own from nature."
I have seen no studies made by Constable at the Academy
from the Antique, but many chalk drawings and oil drawings from
the living model, all of which have great breadth of light and
shade, though they are sometimes defective in outline.
On the I Sth of August he writes to Smith frora Ipswich: " I
believe I may be here a fortnight longer. It is a raost delightful
country for a painter. I fancy I see Gainsborough in every
hedge and hollow tree." f
In a letter to Dunthorne from London, without date, but
probably written in the winter of this year. Constable says: "I
paint by all the daylight we have, and that is little enough. I
sometimes see the sky, but imagine to yourself how a pearl must
look through a burnt glass. I eraploy ray evenings in making
drawings and in reading, and I hope by the forraer to clear my
rent. If I can I shall be very happy. Our friend Sraith has
offered to take any of ray pictures into his shop for sale. He is
pleased to find I ara reasonable in my prices."
In another letter to the same correspondent, without date, he
says: "I have copied a small landscape of A. Caracci, and two
* Mr. Dunthorne, who was a man of much ingenuity, had undertaken to make a
lay figure, and no doubt two beautiful models of windmills, which I remember seeing
at Constable's house in Charlotte Street, were made for him by Dunthorne.
t Gainsborough was a native of the southem border of Suffolk. He was born at
Sudbury, about fourteen miles from Bergholt ; and his earliest studies, like those of
Constable, were from the pastoral scenery of the Stour. Before he settled in London
he resided for some time at Ipswich.

1799- J COPIES FROM RUYSDAEL AND CLAUDE. ii
Wilsons, and I have done some little things of my own. I have
likewise begun to copy a very fine picture by Ruysdael, which
Mr. Reinagle and myself have purchased in partnership for
£^0. ... I hope to see you in the spring, when the cuckoos
have picked up all the dirt. Every fine day makes me long for a
walk on the commons. ... I have finished my copy from
Ruysdael, all but the glazing, which cannot be done till the
picture is dry. It has been roasting in the sun these two or three
days. To-morrow I hope to go on with my copy of Sir George
Beaumont's little Claude.* I shall remain in town the chief of
this sumraer. Indeed, I find it necessary to fag at copying, some
time yet, to acquire execution. The more facility of practice I
get, the more pleasure I shall find in my art ; without the power
of execution I should be continually embarrassed, and it would be
a burthen to rae. This fine weather almost makes me melan
choly ; it recalls so forcibly every scene we have visited and
drawn together. I even love every stile and stump, and every
lane in the village, so deep rooted are early impressions." In a
letter, probably subsequent to these, he says : " My visit to the
Whalleyst has done me a world of good. The regularity and
good example in all things which I had an opportunity of seeing
practised (not talked qf orHiy) during my stay with that dear family,
will, I trust, be of service to me as long as I live. I find my
mind much more decided and firm ; and since I have been this
time in town, I have acquired considerably what I have so long
and so ardently desired, patience in the pursuit of my profession.
I know very little of what is going on in the arts, but I have free
* The " Hagar."
t Mrs. Whalley was Constable's second sister.

12 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. I,
adraission to Mr, Bryan's picture-room, where are some fine
works, particularly sorae landscapes by Gaspar ; I visit this once
a week at least." {Month illegible) " 1800.
" Dear Dunthorne, — Here I ara quite alone araong the oaks
and solitudes of Helraingham Park. I have taken quiet possession
of the parsonage, finding it empty. A woman comes from the
farmhouse where I eat and makes my bed, and I ara left at liberty
to wander where I please during the day. There are abundance
of fine trees of all sorts, and the park, on the whole, affords good
objects rather than fine scenery. But I can hardly judge yet
what I may have to show you. I have made one or two drawings
that may be useful,"
Two of these drawings, dated July 23rd and 24th, are in my
possession, and though slight and merely in black and white, they
show that he at that time possessed a true sense of the beautiful
in composition. In the year 1801, it appears, by one of his
sketch-books, he visited Derbyshire, The sketches he made
there, like those at Helraingham, are slight and general. They
are washed in one tint only, and with no attempt at the beautiful
finish or force of chiaroscuro seen in his later studies. " 1801.
" Dear Dunthorne, — , . . I have got three rooms in a
very comfortable house. No, 50, Rathbone Place, My large
roora has three windows in front. I shall make that my shop,
having the light frora the upper part of the raiddle window, and
by that raeans I shall get ray easel in a good situation. I hope to

i8o2.] STUDY OF ANATOMY. 13
be able to keep more to myself than I did in former times in
London. I have been araong ray old acquaintances in the art,
and am enough disgusted (between ourselves) with their cold
trumpery stuff. The more canvas they cover, the more they
discover their ignorance and total want of feeling. ... I have
seen .... twice. He has painted a landscape, ' Dedham,*
from the sketch he took from Mrs. Roberts's. He calls it his
best picture. It is very well pencilled, and there is plenty of light
without any light at all." " Rathbone Place, January 2)th, 1802.
" Dear Dunthorne, — . . . About a fortnight back I was so
fully in the hope of making an immediate visit to Bergholt, that I
deferred writing. I then knew nothing of the Anatomical Lec
tures* which I am at present attending, and which will be over in
about a week or ten days. I am so much more interested in the
study than I expected, and feel my mind so generally enlarged by
it, that I congratulate myself on being so fortunate as to have
attended these lectures. Excepting astronomy (and that I know
little of), I believe no study is really so sublirae, or goes more to
carry the raind to the Divine Architect. Indeed, the whole
machine which it has pleased God to form for the accommoda
tion of the real man, the mind, during its probation in this vale
of tears, is as wonderful as the conteraplation of it is affecting, I
see, however, raany instances of the truth, and a raelancholy truth
it is, that a knowledge of the things created does not always lead
* Delivered by Mr. Brookes at his Anatomical Theatre. To these lectures, and
to his dissecting-room, Mr. Brookes very liberally gave the students of the Royal
Academy free admission. Many extremely accurate and beautiful coloured drawings
of a large size, made by Constable at this time, from dissections, bear evidence of the
interest with which he pursued the study of anatomy.

14 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. L
to a veneration of the Creator, Many of the young men in this
theatre are reprobates.
" I have done little in the painting art since I have been in
town yet, A copy of a portrait and a background to an ox for
Miss Linwood is all, I have not tirae to say half I could wish
about my Derbyshire excursion, therefore I will say nothing,"
In 1802, Constable's name appeared for the first tirae in the
catalogue of the Exhibition of the Royal Academy as an exhibitor ;
the picture being merely called " Landscape," I think it likely,
however, he may have sent pictures for exhibition in 1800 or 1801,
or in both years, which were rejected ; as in a letter, apparently
written in the winter of 1799, he speaks of preparing some little
thing for the exhibition.
Those of ray brother artists who reraember the Academy
twenty years ago, will not have forgotten Samuel Strowger, the
most symmetrical of models in the Life School, and the best of
servants to the Institution, He was a Suffolk man, and had
worked on a farra in Constable's neighbourhood, where he was
distinguished in the country phrase as " a beautiful ploughman,"
until he enlisted in the Life Guards, when his strict attention to
his duties soon acquired for him the character of the best man in
his regiment. The models of the Academy are generally selected
from these fine troops ; Sam was chosen, and the grace of his
attitudes, his intelligence and steadiness, induced the Academy to
procure his discharge, and to place him in the Institution as head
porter and occasional model, Sam and Constable, who had
known each other in Suffolk, were thus brought together again in
London ; and Strowger showed his readiness to patronise his old

i8o2.] SAM STROWGER, THE ACADEMY MODEL. 15
acquaintance, as far as lay in his power, by interceding, when he
could venture to do so, during the arrangements of the exhibi
tions, in behalf of his works. As they were generally views in
Suffolk, they had peculiar charms in Sam's eyes, and he could
vouch for the accuracy with which they represented all the opera
tions of farming. He was captivated by one of thera, a "Corn
Field with Reapers at Work," and pointed out to the arranging
committee its correctness, " the lord," as the leading man among
reapers and mowers is called in Suffolk, being in due advance of
the rest. But with all his endeavours to serve his friend, the
picture was either rejected or not so well placed as he wished ;
and he consoled Constable, and at the same time apologised for
the members of the committee, by saying, " Our gentlemen are
all great artists, sir, but they none of thera know anything about
the lord:'
I cannot take leave of my old friend Strowger without men
tioning that, towards the close of his life, the students of the
Academy presented him with a silver snuff-box of huge dimen
sions, and that a very exact portrait of hira in his best days was
painted by Wilkie. It is the head of the intelligent farmer in the
" Rent Day," who, seated at the table with his finger raised,
appears to be recalling some circumstance to the recollection of
the steward.
I have heard Constable say that under some disappointment,
I think it was the rejection, at the Acaderay, of a view of
Flatford Mill, he carried a picture to Mr. West, who said,
" Don't be disheartened, young raan, we shall hear of you again ;
you must have loved nature very much before you could have
painted this." He then took a piece of chalk, and showed

1 6 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. I,
Constable how he might improve the chiaroscuro by some
additional touches of light between the steras and branches of
the trees, saying, " Always reraember, sir, that light and shadow
never stand still: ' Constable said it was the best lecture, because
a practical one, on chiaroscuro he ever heard. Mr. West, at the
same tirae, said to him, " Whatever object you are painting,
keep in mind its prevailing character rather than its accidental
appearance (unless in the subject there is some peculiar reason
for the latter), and never be content until you have transferred
that to canvas. In your skies, for instance, always aim at
brightness, although there are states of the atmosphere in which
the sky itself is not bright. I do not raean that you are not to
paint soleran or lowering skies, but even in the darkest effects
there should be brightness. Your darks should look like the
darks of silver, not of lead or of slate." This advice was not
addressed to an inattentive ear.
Constable acknowledged many obligations to the amiable
President of the Acaderay, in whom every young artist found
a friend; but the greatest was one which possibly affected the
whole course of his life. In the spring of 1802, Dr. Fisher,
Rector of Langhara, and afterwards Bishop of Salisbury, had
procured for him the situation of a drawing- master in a school ;
but Mr, West strongly dissuaded him from accepting it, telling
him that if he did so he raust give up all hopes of distinction.
Such advice, and frora so high an authority, was very agreeable
to Constable ; the difficulty, however, reraained, of declining
Dr. Fisher's well-intentioned offer without giving him offence,
which Mr. West undertook and easily accomplished. To this
affair Constable alludes in the next letter.

i8o2.] REFUSES A POST AS DRAWING MASTER. 17
"London, May 2gth, 1802.
" My DEAR Dunthorne, — I hope I have now done with the
business that brought me to town with Dr, Fisher. It is suffi
cient to say that had I accepted the situation offered, it would
have been a death-blow to all my prospects of perfection in the
art I love. For these few weeks past, I believe I have thought
more seriously of my profession than at any other time of ray
life ; of that which is the surest way to excellence. I am just
returned from a visit to Sir George Beaumont's pictures with a
deep conviction of the truth of Sir Joshua Reynolds's observation,
that * there is no easy way of becoming a good painter,' For
the last two years I have been running after pictures, and seeking
the truth at second hand, I have not endeavoured to repre
sent nature with the sarae elevation of mind with which I set
out, but have rather tried to make ray perforraances look like
the work of other men. I ara come to a deterraination to raake
no idle visits this summer, nor to give up my time to comraon-
place people. I shall return to Bergholt, where I shall endeavour
to get a pure and unaffected manner of representing the scenes
that may employ me. There is little or nothing in the exhibition
worth looking up to. There is room enough for a natural painter.
The great vice of the present day is bravura, an attempt to do
something beyond the truth. Fashion always had, and will have,
its day ; but truth in all things only will last, and can only have
just claims on posterity. I have reaped considerable benefit from
exhibiting. It shows me where I ara, and in fact tells me what
nothing else could."
In 1803, Constable exhibited at the Acaderay two "Land
scapes" and two " Studies frora Nature " ; and in April he made
D

1 8 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. L
a trip from London to Deal, in the Coutts, East Indiaman, with
Captain Torin, a friend of his father, "London, May i^rd, 1803,
" Dear Dunthorne, — I have for sorae tirae felt a weight on
my mind from having so long neglected writing to you. Indeed,
there is this strange fatality about me, that I seera to neglect
those whose love and friendship I raost value, . . . My
voyage I will mention first. I was near a month on board, and
was much employed in making drawings of ships in all situations.
I saw all sorts of weather. Some the raost delightful, and sorae as
raelancholy. But such is the enviable state of a painter, that he
finds delight in every dress nature can possibly assurae. When
the ship was at Gravesend, I took a walk on shore to Rochester
and Chathara. Their situation is beautiful and romantic, being at
the bottom of finely-formed and high hills, with the river continu
ally showing its turnings to great advantage. Rochester Castle
is one of the most romantic I ever saw. At Chatham I hired a
boat to see the men-of-war, which are there in great nurabers. I
sketched the Victory in three views. She was the flower of the
flock, a three-decker of sorae say 112 guns. She looked very
beautiful, fresh out of dock and newly painted. When I saw her
they were bending the sails ; which circumstance, added to a very
fine evening, raade a charraing efifect. On ray return to Rochester,
I raade a drawing of the Cathedral, which is in some parts
very picturesque, and is of Saxon Architecture. I joined the
ship again at Gravesend, and we proceeded on our voyage, which
was pleasant enough till we got out to sea, when we were joined
by three more large ships. We had almost reached the Downs,
when the weather becarae stormy, and we all put back to the

t8o3.] VOYAGE TO DEAL.— LOSS OF SKETCHES.

>9

North Foreland, and lay there three days. Here I saw some very
grand effects of stormy clouds. I carae on shore at Deal, walked
to Dover, and the next day returned to London. The worst
part of the story is that I have lost all ray drawings. The Ship was
such a scene of confusion when I left her, that, although I had
done ray drawings up very carefully, I left them behind.
When I found, on landing, that I had left them, and saw the
ship out of reach, I was ready to faint. I hope, however,
I may see them again sorae time or other. Now I think I must
have tired you, and I will change the subject.
" The exhibition is a very indifferent one on the whole. In
the landscape way most miserable. I saw, as I thought, a great
many pictures by Sir F. Bourgeois, but it proved that not half of
thera belonged to him, but to another painter who has imitated his
manner exactly. Sir Francis was the hangman, and was so
flattered by these imitations that he has given them as good places
as his own. There are, however, some good portraits in the ex
hibition, I have seen some fine pictures lately, and have made a few
little purchases — twelve prints by Waterloo, and four fine drawings
by hira, with some other prints. But my best purchases are two
charming little landscapes by Gaspar Poussin, in his best time. . .
" I feel now, more than ever, a decided conviction that I shall,
some time or other, make sorae good pictures. Pictures that shall
be valuable to posterity, if I reap not the benefit of them. This
hope, added to the great delight I find in the art itself, buoys me
up, and makes me pursue it with ardour,
" Panorama painting seeras all the rage. There are four or
five now exhibiting, and Mr. R,  is coming out with
another, ' A View of Rome,' which I have seen, I should think he

20 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. \.
has taken his view favourably, and it is executed with the greatest
care and fidelity. This style of painting suits his ideas of the art
itself, and his defects are not so apparent in it; that is, great
principles are neither expected nor looked for in this raode of
describing nature.* He views nature rainutely and cunningly,
but with no greatness or breadth. The defects of the picture at
present are a profusion of high lights, and too great a number of
abrupt patches of shadow. But it is not to be considered as a
whole. ... I shall soon be at home again ; the weather is
not, however, very tempting, and while I find so much to interest
me at this busy time of the Arts in London, I shall stay a week
or two longer."
Constable was fortunate enough to recover his marine sketches,
about one hundred and thirty, and the use he raade of his
drawings of the Victory will be seen iraraediately. f
Between this period and 1807, no letters either to or from
Constable have reached my hands. In 1804 he did not exhibit,
but he painted an Altar-piece for Brantham Church, near
Bergholt, the subject, "Christ Blessing little Children." The
figures are of the size of life, and all standing, except a child in
the Saviour's arms. The arrangeraent ofthe raasses is good, but
it has no other merit ; and indeed is not otherwise worthy of
* Sir George Beaumont was of opinion, and perhaps with some reason, that the
effect of Panorama painting has been injurious to the taste both of the artists and the
public in landscape.
t Though I think Constable never loved the sea, he was always at home with
his pencil among shipping and boats ; and I remember a simple but valuable
lesson of his to me as a boy upon the first principle to be observed in drawing the hull
of a man-of-war. "Always think of it," he said, " and draw it first as a floating
cask or barrel — and upon this foundation build up your ship, masts and rigging."
As he said this, he rapidly evolved a stern view of a line of battleship upon a sketch of
a half-immersed cask.

i8o4-S-6.] VISIT TO WESTMORELAND AND CUMBERLAND. 21
notice than as a proof that he did wisely, after one more attempt,
in making no further incursions into this walk of the art. In 1805
he exhibited a "Landscape Moonlight," and in 1S06, a drawing
of " His Majesty's Ship Victory in the Battle of Trafalgar,
between two French Ships of the Line."* This subject was
suggested to him by hearing an account of the battle from a
Suffolk man, who had been in Nelson's ship.
In this year his maternal uncle, David Pike Watts, re
commended to him a tour in Westmoreland and Cumberland, in
search of subjects for his pencil, and paid his expenses. He
spent about two months among the English lakes and mountains,
where he made a great number of sketches of a large size,
on tinted paper, sometimes in black and white,, but more often
coloured. They abound in grand and solemn effects of light,
shade and colour, but from these studies he never painted
any considerable picture, for his raind was forraed for the enjoy
ment of a different class of landscape, f I have heard him say the
solitude of mountains oppressed his spirits. His nature was
peculiarly social and could not feel satisfied with scenery, however
grand in itself, that did not abound in human associations. He
required villages, churches, farm-houses, and cottages ; and I
believe it was as much from natural temperament as from early
impressions that his first love in landscape, was also his latest
love. In 1 807 he exhibited some of the results of his excursion :
" A View in Westraoreland," " Keswick Lake," and " Bow Fell,
Curaberland." * This drawing is now at South Kensington.
t Several drawings made during this trip, together with an engraving from one,
are now at South Kensington.

2 2 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. L
The Earl of Dysart wishing to have some faraily pictures
copied. Constable was introduced to his lordship and the Countess
as a young artist who would be glad to undertake them. The
consequence was, his being employed in making a number of
copies, chiefly from Sir Joshua Reynolds ; and although it is to be
regretted that much of his time should have been spent on any
but original works, yet he no doubt derived improvement in his
taste for colour and chiaroscuro by this intimate coraraunion with
so great a raaster of both.
About this time his mother, at the conclusion of a letter to
hira, says: " How thankful I ara that you so rauch enjoy the
invaluable blessing of health. It is, I trust, the kind gift of
Providence, rendered the raore permanent by your own prudence
and good conduct. Long may you enjoy it on such terms ! "
And his uncle, Mr. Watts, thus speaks of hira at the sarae period :
"J. C. is industrious in his profession, temperate in diet, plain in
dress, frugal in expenses, and in his professional character has
great merit."
In 1808, he exhibited at the Royal Academy three pictures:
" Borrowdale," " A Scene in Cumberland," and "Windermere
Lake " ; and at the British Gallery, " A Scene in Westmoreland,"
probably the one he had exhibited at the Academy the preceding
year, and " Moonlight : a Study," In 1809, his pictures at the
Acaderay were three, with the title merely of " Landscape " ; and
at the British Gallery he had also three, " Borrowdale," "A
Cottage," and " Keswick Lake," the latter having been exhibited
at the Acaderay,
In this year he painted his second and last attempt in Sacred
history, an Altar-piece for Neyland Church — a single half-figure of

i8io.] ALTAR-PIECE FOR NEYLAND CHURCH. 23
the Saviour blessing the bread and wine. Although, from the
slightness of the execution, this picture can only be considered as
a sketch of the size of life, it is in all respects much better than
the Brantham Altar-piece. There is no originality in the treat
ment, but a subject so often painted almost precludes originality.
The light falls on the face frora a larap, and the colour and efifect
are very agreeable, broken colours partaking of purple and
brownish yellow being substituted in the draperies for the ordi
nary blue and red. Still, such are its deficiencies that it is evident
a long course of study and practice would have been required
before he could have done justice, if ever, to subjects of its class.
In 18 10, he exhibited at the Academy, " A Landscape" and
"A Churchyard."
The following passage in a letter from John Jackson, dated
October 23rd, 18 10, shows that Constable's friendship with that
eminent artist had then commenced. They were men who could
fully appreciate each other : " I spent ten days in Hants, and
was delighted beyond measure with the New Forest. I think
it indescribably beautiful ; but perhaps you may have seen it. If
not, I wish we might find sorae sequestered cottage to put our
heads in by night, and in the day explore and sketch, for a
fortnight or three weeks ; but raore of this when we meet."
Constable and Wilkie were also rauch together at that time,
and their friendship never suffered any diminution. Constable
sat to Wilkie for the head of the physician in his picture of the
" Sick Lady," and again, in the character of a physician, at a late
period of their lives, as will be noticed in its proper place.

CHAPTER n.
1811 — 1812.
Constable's Art.— Attachment to Miss Bicknell.— Correspondence with her.— Arch
deacon Fisher. — Engaged in Portrait Painting. — Fire at his Lodgings.
In 181 1, an extraordinary event in the history of English Art
occurred : the Directors of the British Institution bought West's
picture of "Christ Healing the Sick," for ;^3,ooo. Constable's
fond raother, who had seen this picture, after saying she preferred
the principal figure and infant in her son's Brantham Altar-piece,
thus concludes a letter to him : "In truth, ray dear John, though
in all huraan probability ray head will be laid low long ere it
comes to pass, yet, with my present light, I can perceive no reason
why you should not, one day, with diligence and attention, be the
performer of a picture worth ^^3, 000."
In this year he sent to the Academy two pictures, " Twilight "
and "Dedham Vale"; and to the British Gallery, "A Church
Porch," which, as well as the " Dedham Vale," reraained in his
possession to the end ofhis life, and I ara therefore well acquainted
with them. The "Porch" is that of Bergholt Church, and the
stillness of a summer afternoon is broken only by the voice of an
old man to whora a woman and girl sitting on one of the tombs
are listening. As in many of the finest Dutch pictures, the
fewness of the parts constitutes a charm in this little work ; such
is its extrerae simplicity, that it has nothing to arrest attention.

BERGHOLT CHURCH PORCH.

i8ii.] DEDHAM VALE.— PORTRAIT PAINTING. 25
but when once noticed, few pictures would longer detain a mind
of any sensibility. I have heard the word sentiment ridiculed
when applied to representations of inanimate objects. But no
other word can express that from which the impression of this
picture results, independently of the figures. In the " Dedham
Vale" an extensive country is seen through a sunny haze, which
equalises the light, without injuring the beauty of the tints.
There is a tree of a slight form in the foreground, touched with a
taste to which I know nothing equal in any landscape I ever saw.
Such pictures were, however, too unobtrusive for the exhibition,
and Constable's art had made no impression whatever on the
public. But when we look back to the fate of Wilson, and recollect
that Gainsborough was only saved from poverty by his admirable
powers in portraiture, and that the names of Cozens and Girtin
are scarcely known to their countrymen, we shall not hastily
conclude that to fail in attracting general notice is any proof of
want of merit in an English landscape painter. It may be that
the art, so simple and natural, as it is in the best works of these
extraordinary men, becoraes a novelty which people do not know
how to estimate. Steele, in a paper of the Taller, speaks of an
author " who determined to write in a way perfectly new, and
describe things exactly as they happened."
Constable's father and mother wished him to apply himself to
portrait painting, but he had not the happiness, like Gainsborough,
to combine landscape and portrait in equal perfection. He
painted the latter indeed, occasionally, all his life, but with very
unequal success ; and his best works of this kind, though always
agreeable in colour and breadth, were surpassed in more common
qualities by raen inferior to hira in genius. His profession had

26 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. IL
hitherto been profitless, but it raay be doubted whether, under any
circumstances, he would have become a rich man by his own
exertions ; for although he was an early riser, frugal in his habits
of living, and not addicted to any vicious extravagance, either of
tirae or raoney, yet of neither was he an economist. Both were
always too readily at the disposal of others ; it was as difficult for
him to say no to a borrower, as to shut his door against a lounger ;
still less could he resist an appeal to his charity j and if a book or
a print he wanted carae in his way, the chances were he would buy
it, though with the raoney that should pay for his next day's
dinner. He was well aware of this want of resolution, and often
formed plans of economy, but failing in a constant and steady
adherence to thera, they seldora proved of rauch real advantage
to him. It now became apparent to Constable's friends that his health
was declining. It was, I believe, at this time that Sir George
Beaumont undertook to be his physician, and prescribed for him
that he should copy a picture entirely from memory. He was
to walk every day to Sir George's house in Grosvenor Square,
look at the picture as long as he pleased, then return home
and paint as rauch of it as he had retained in his recollection,
until the copy was finished. The regular exercise and change
of scene, combined with an agreeable and not too arduous
employraent, were to work the cure. The picture selected was
a landscape by Wilson, and the experiraent was tried, but the
malady under which Constable laboured was not to be so easily
removed. The following is part of a very long letter from a friend, who
often bestowed advice on hira less judicious than well-intentioned-

i8ii.] ILL-HEALTH— CAUSE OF IT.

27

It is addressed to "J. C, aged thirty-five," which marks it as
belonging to this period.
"Dear John, — I am sorry to see too visible traits in your
whole person of an inward anxiety which irritates your nervous
system, deranges the digestion, and undermines the health. But
health alone, that invaluable possession, is not the sole thing im
paired ; the mental powers are liable to participate in the depression
of the animal system. It is not in the power of even your nearest
friend to see into the secret causes of the operations of the raind ;
but a tolerable opinion raay be forraed of what passes within the
thoughts of another person by certain external traits. The
conclusion to be drawn from these is, that your indisposition
arises from more than one cause, though one has of late been
predominant, and has becorae the main trouble which absorbs the
minor ones, and resolves all the subordinate cares into one
overwhelming solicitude, and this is a deep concern of the heart
and afifections." I will spare the reader any more of this letter,
which comprises four pages of the usual advice as to the best
means of combating a hopeless passion, which is generally thrown
away on similar occasions ; one page being a quotation from
"An able Divine." Enclosed in the letter I found a printed
paper entitled, " A Cure for Love: Take half a grain of sense,
half a grain of prudence, &c., &c."]
Another long letter, from the same kind Mentor, appears to
have been written the next day ; and, however well raeant, was
certainly not very well timed.
" Dear John, — I amused myself at seven o'clock this morning
in transcribing the enclosed, which I hope will amuse you more

a 8 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. IL
than my yesterday's extract. You see I copy from the great
masters, whether in Divinity, Morals, or the Arts.* I soraetiraes
wish you had copied raore ; and that at an early age you had put
yourself under a great raaster. That dread of being a raannerist
and that desire of being an original, has not, in ray imperfect
judgment, produced to you the full advantage you promised
yourself from it. As far as my unqualified, and siraply native,
taste extends (which I acknowledge to be very inadequate to form
a correct judgment), I had rather see some of the manner of
those highly extolled works, which have coraraanded the applause
of the public at large, frora the perfect connoisseur down to the
simple spectator. I have before taken the freedora to offer my
sentiments to you ; you have before paid rae the compliment to
ask and receive them. I have no raotive in ray observations but
your good, or what I conceive to be so, joined to a regard to
truth, and an aversion to flattery. My opinion is, that cheerfulness
is wanted in your landscapes ; they are tinctured with a sombre
darkness. If I may say so, the trees are not green but black ; the
water is not lucid, but overshadowed ; an air of melancholy is
cast over the scene, instead of hilarity, &c."
How must the artist have writhed under this friendly advice,
ill in body and depressed in mind as he then was.
Maria Bicknell, the young lady between whom and Constable
there now existed a mutual attachraent, was the daughter of
* I have omitted transcribing the enclosure, nor should I have interrupted the
narrative with any of the effusions of this correspondent, but that the reader may
judge from these specimens, of many similar inflictions to which Constable was, for
some years, subjected from the same quarter. They smack of the wisdom as well as
the style of Polonius.

i8ii.] ATTACHMENT TO MISS BICKNELL. 29
Charles Bicknell, Esq,, of Spring Gardens, SoHcitor to the
Admiralty, and granddaughter, by her mother's side, to the Rev.
Dr. Rhudde, Rector of Bergholt, where Constable's acquaintance
with her had comraenced as early as the year 1800, while she was
a child. Objections to their union arose on the part of Miss
Bicknell's friends. Dr. Rhudde being its chief opposer. He was
probably unwilling that his granddaughter should marry a man
below herself in point of fortune, and whom he might, not un
reasonably, consider as without a profession, since Constable
could scarcely appear in any other light to his best friends. A
difference had arisen between Golding Constable and the rector,
which at that time estranged them from each other ; and there was
a story current in Bergholt of a caricature of the doctor by
Constable, which, whether true or false, was unfortunate. How
far any or all of these circurastances operated on Dr. Rhudde's
mind, or what other objections he may have had to receive
Constable as a grandson-in-law, I know not, but it becarae after
wards plain that Mr. Bicknell would not long have opposed the
marriage, had it not been for fear of excluding his daughter's
name frora the will of her grandfather, who was very rich. As it
was, the lovers were dooraed for five years to suffer all the wear
ing anxieties of hope deferred, of which their own letters forra a
deeply interesting history,*
* In a biographical sketch of Constable, in the Portfolio, Mr. Hamerton says
of these letters : " The quiet good sense of both writers, a little warmed, on one side
at least, by the fire of a very powerful, though suppressed, passion, gives a sort of old-
world charm to them, which a modem novelist might be proud to imitate completely,
if his art were equal to a nature so pure and delicate as this. ... In all that is
known to us about the love affairs of men of genius, there is no story of constancy and
fideUty more charming than this of John_Constable and Maria Bicknell." — Portfolio,
No. 43, p, 109.

30 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. IL
The first I have seen of this series is from Miss Bicknell,
who was on a visit at the house of a friend in the country.
" Spring Grove, November 2nd, 1811.
" My dear Sir, — You have grieved me exceedingly by the
melancholy account you give of your health, and I shall feel
much better satisfied when I know you are in Suffolk, where I do
not doubt that good air, with the nursing and attention of your
friends, will go a great way towards your recovery. I dare not
suffer myself to think on your last letter. I am very impatient, as
you may imagine, to hear from Papa, on a subject so fraught with
interest to us both ; but was unwilling to delay writing to you, as
you would be ignorant of the cause of such seeming inattention.
I hope you will not find that your kind partiality to me made you
view what passed in Spring Gardens too favourably. You know
my sentiments ; I shall be guided by my father in every respect.
Should he acquiesce in my wishes, I shall be happier than I can
express. If not, I shall have the consolation of reflecting that I
am pleasing him, a charm that will, in the end, give the greatest
satisfaction to my mind. I cannot write any more till the wished,
but fearfully-dreaded, letter arrives. With the most ardent
wishes for your health, believe me, my dear Sir, your obliged
friend, " Maria E. Bicknell."
Constable's fond mother, who, from the commencement ofhis
attachment to Miss Bicknell, entered warmly into all his feelings
on the subject, thus replied to a letter she had received from
him: —

i8ii.} MR. BICKNELL. 31
"East Bergholt, November ^rd, 1811.
"Your letter of the 31st ult. pleases me, because it tells me
you are ' far better.' But you cannot imagine how you may have
surprised and filled me with conjecture by saying, ' I have been
kindly received by the Bicknells this morning, and my mind is,
in some measure, quieted. I have Mr. Bicknell's permission to
write to Miss Bicknell, which I have done this afternoon.' Now,
my dear son, what may be augured frora this ? I pray it may
prove favourable. They are too good, and too honourable,
to trifle with your feelings ; therefore I am inclined to hope for
the best, and that it will end well." " Spring Grove,
" To Mr. John Constable. " November /\th.
" I have received my father's letter. It is precisely such a one
as I expected, reasonable and kind ; his objection would be on
the score of that necessary evil — money. What can we do ? I
wish I had it, but wishes are vain ; we must be wise, and leave
off a correspondence that is not calculated to make us think less
of each other. We have many painful trials required of us in this
life, and we must learn to bear thera with resignation. You will
still be my friend, and I will be yours. Then, as such, let me
advise you to go into Suffolk, you cannot fail to be better there.
I have written to Papa, though I do not, in conscience, think he
can retract anything he has said ; if so, I had better not write to
you any more, at least till I can coin. We should both of us be
bad subjects for poverty, should we not ? Even painting would go
on badly ; it could hardly survive in domestic worry. I hope you
have done a good deal this summer ; Salisbury, I suppose, has

32 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. IL
furnished some sketches. You are particularly fortunate in
possessing the affectionate esteem of so kind and excellent a man
as Mr. Watts, whose wishes you raust consult on this most impor
tant point. Remember, dear Sir, if you wish to oblige me and all
your friends, it raust be by taking care of your health.
" Adieu, and think me always sincerely yours,
"M. E. B."
Constable, however, abated not "a jot of heart or hope."
" Be assured," he wrote to her, "we have only to consider our
union as an event that must happen, and we shall yet be happy,"
To this she replied : —
" You grieve and surprise rae by continuing so sanguine on a
subject altogether hopeless, I cannot endure that you should
harbour expectations that raust terminate in disappointment, I
never can consent to act in opposition to the wishes of ray father ;
how then can I continue a correspondence wholly disapproved of
by him ? He tells me that I am consulting your happiness as well
as my own by putting an end to it. Let me then entreat that you
will cease to think of me. Forget that you have ever known me,
and I will willingly resign all pretensions to your regard, or even
acquaintance, to facilitate the tranquility and peace of mind which
is so essential to your success in a profession, which will ever be in
itself a source of continued delight. You must be certain that
you cannot write without increasing feelings that raust be entirely
suppressed. You will, therefore, I am sure, see the impropriety
of sending rae any raore letters. I congratulate you on your

i8ir.] ADVICE FROM CONSTABLE'S FATHER. 33
change of residence. It is, I think, a very desirable situation.
Farewell, my dear Sir, and ever believe me your sincere and
constant well-wisher, " M. E. B.
" Spring Grove, December, 1811."
From his father Constable received, on the sarae subject, the
following letter : — " East Bergholt, '¦^ December 2,1st, 18 11.
"Dear John, — Your present prospects and situation are far
more critical than at any former period of your life. As a single
man, I fear your expenses, on the raost frugal plan, will be found
quite equal to the produce of your profession. If my opinion were
asked, it would be to defer all thoughts of marriage for the
present. I would farther advise a close application to your
profession, and to such parts as pay best. At present you must
not choose your subjects, nor waste your time by accepting
invitations not likely to produce further advantages. When you
have hit on a subject, finish it in the best manner you are able,
and do not in despair put it aside, and so fill your roora with
lumber. I fear your great anxiety to excel may have carried you
too far above yourself, and that you make too serious a matter of
the business, and thereby render yourself less capable; it has
impaired your health and spirits. Think less, and finish as you
go (perhaps that raay do). Be of good cheer, John, as in me
you will always find a parent and a sincere friend. At your
request, you may expect to see your sister at No. 63, next
Thursday afternoon."

34 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. II.
Constable's j'^oungest sister, the lady mentioned in this letter,
remained with him in London from the commencement of 1812 to
the middle of May ; and by the affectionate interest she took in
all that agitated his mind, and the truly feminine gentleness of
her manners, contributed much to his corafort.
It was scarcely to be expected that the injunctions of Miss
Bicknell, to write no more to her, should be obeyed by Constable,
now that matters had gone so far, and a regular interchange of
letters soon took place between them.
" 63, Charlotte Street,
"To Miss Bicknell. ''April, 181 2.
"I have despatched my pictures to Somerset House; my
friends assure me they are ray best ; but Leonarda da Vinci tells
us to raind what our enemies say of us. It is certainly one of the
great ends of a public exhibition that we hear the truth. I have
sent four pictures, the " View of Salisbury," " Flatford Mill,"
and two small ones. My good friends, the Bishop of Sarum and
Mrs. Fisher, called to see them, I shall have great pleasure in
giving you some account of the exhibition. Lawrence has sent
a picture of Kemble in Cato, Mr, Farrington spoke highly of it
to me. . . . Let rae beg of you to continue to cheer my
solitude with your endearing epistles ; they are next to seeing
you, and hearing you speak. I am now engaged with portraits,
Mr, Watts sat to rae this morning, and seems pleased with what is
going on, I am copying a picture for Lady Heathcote, her own
portrait as Hebe, She will not sit to me, though she wants raany
alterations frora the original ; but I can have prints, drawings,
miniatures, locks of hair, &c., &c,, without end. You may be able

i8i2.] MR. WEST' S FAVOURABLE OPINION OF CONSTABLE. 35
to tell me, better than I can you, any public raatter, as I never
have an opportunity of seeing the newspaper."
"63, Charlotte Street, Fitzroy Square,
''April 24/A, 181 2.
" . . . I believe I raentioned to you that I left a card for
Dr. Rhudde, in Stratton Street. I have had a polite raessage
from him, offering to take any letters, &c, , to Bergholt, I called
with a letter for my raother, and saw the doctor, who was very
courteous, I am glad I have seen him ; for though this may not
better our cause, it cannot make it worse, and I have not to reflect
on myself for any omission or neglect.
" I met Mr. West in the street the other day; he had been
much gratified with ray picture of 'The Mill,' &c., which passed
the Council of the Acaderay. I wished to know whether he con
sidered that mode of study as proper for laying the foundation of
real excellence. ' Sir,' said he, ' I consider that you have attained
it.' . . . What happiness it is to me to impart to you any
little circumstances that in any way connect themselves with our
future welfare, when I know how they will be received by you ;
and though I am denied the pleasure of coraraunicating them
with —
'Your arm fast lock'd in mine,'
yet I have had that pleasure, and may yet again for many years.
Mary Constable has left Epsom, and I have detained her here
for a few days on her return. She begs her kind remembrance
to you."
"63, Charlotte Street, May 6th, 1812.
" My dearest Maria, — I am writing to you on my mother's
birthday and wedding day. Perhaps you will think me very

36 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. II.
busy with ray pen ; but I ara glad to recollect that you may be
expecting to hear frora rae about this tirae. Your kindness will
reraeraber that I can scarcely gain any intelligence of you but
from yourself. I have made two hasty visits to the exhibition.
The portraits by Lawrence and Owen are very excellent; and
there are some beautiful fancy pictures by Thomson, the Infant
Jupiter, and Lavinia resting her arra on her raother. Mr. West's
is truly an heroic landscape ;* and Turner has another, a scene
araong the Alps, with Hannibal and his army. It is so ambiguous
as to be scarcely intelligible in some parts (and those the
principal), yet, as a whole, it is novel and affecting. Mr.
Farrington has sorae beautiful landscapes, but they are heavy
and crude. I waited to see them by twilight, when they looked
much better. My own landscapes have excellent situations. My
dear Mary is still with me, but I must part with her in a few
days," " Spring Grove,
" To Mr, John Constable. "May i4.th, 1812.
" I am sorry, my dear John, that you should have felt any
disappointraent by ray silence. I will not, therefore, delay thanking
you for your last two letters. . . You will, I ara sure, make
allowances for rae. Think how rauch of the charra of writing is
broken, not having ray mother's approbation to add to my joy by
sharing it. But do not let me grieve you by sorrow, that will
intrude its hideous form to rae. I am sure you have suffered
sufficiently on my account. What do you think of accompanying
Sadak in his search for the waters of oblivion ? but were they now
within ray reach, I could not drink them."
* " Saul before Samuel and the Phophets."

i8i2.] CONSTABLE'S DECISION OF CHARACTER. 37
Constable's health again suffered, and he was advised to go
into the country. On the 24th of May he wrote to Miss Bicknell :
" I am still looking towards Suffolk, where I hope to pass the
greater part of the summer ; as much for the sake of study as on
any other account. You know I have always succeeded best
with my native scenes. They have always charmed me, and I
hope they always will. I have now a path marked out very
distinctly for myself, and I am desirous of pursuing it uninter
ruptedly." This last sentence is worthy of attention, as it shows
the steadiness of purpose which belonged to his character in all
raatters relating to his art, while to those who knew or observed
hira but slightly, there was an appearance of vacillation and
indecision in his raanner entirely at variance with the real stability
of his raind. It will be seen in the sequel how impossible it
was to drive him out of the path he had chosen, though few
indeed were the encouragements he raet with to continue in it.
In the same letter he says, " I am getting on with my picture
for Lady Heathcote. Lady Louisa Manners has a wretched copy
by Hoppner from Sir J. Reynolds, which she wishes me to repaint,
so that I fear it must be at least a fortnight or three weeks before
I can get into Suffolk. My friend John Fisher is half angry with
me because I will not pass a little time with him at Salisbury ; but
I am determined not to fritter away the summer, if I can help
it. I will quote part of his letter (which he has followed to town),
that you may see what an enthusiast he is : " We will try and
coax you here, dear Constable, by an account of the life we will
lead. We will rise with the sun, breakfast, and then set out for
the rest of the day. If we are tired of drawing, we can read, or
bathe, and th^n home to a short dinner. We will drink tea at

38 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. II.
the Benson's, or walk the great aisle of the cathedral, or if the
maggot so bites, puzzle out a passage or two in Horace. I think
this life of Arcadian or Utopian felicity must tempt you.
" I believe there are more exhibitions than usual open at this
time. I have been most gratified at Wilkie's."
The Rev. John Fisher (afterwards Archdeacon Fisher) was
chaplain to his uncle, the Bishop of Salisbury. He was the eldest
son of Dr. Fisher, Master of the Charterhouse, and, though
sixteen years younger than Constable, they had contracted a
friendship for each other which never altered, excepting by its
growth, "Charlotte Street, June bth, 1812,
" Yesterday I took a long walk with Mr. Stothard. I left ray
door about six in the raorning, we breakfasted at Putney, went
over Wimbledon Common, and passed three hours in Coombe
Wood (Stothard is a butterfly-catcher), where we dined by a
spring, then back to Richmond by the Park, enjoyed the view,
and so home. All this on foot, and I do not feel tired now,
though I was a little so in the morning. I only asserted I was
well before ; I hope now this is a proof of it."
Constable had, for sorae time, been the chosen companion of
Stothard's long walks, the chief relaxation of that admirable artist
from the drudgery of working for the publishers. These walks
lengthened with the lengthening days, and I have heard him
speak of the hilarity with which Stothard would enter his room on
a fine afternoon in the spring and say, " Corae, Sir, put on your
hat, ray boys tell me the lilacs are out in Kensington Gardens."
I have seen a beautiful pencil drawing of a shady lane, which

i8i2.] STOTHARD.— PORTRAIT OF THE BISHOP OF SALISBURY. 39
Constable made during their excursion to Coombe Wood, while
his corapanion, who was introduced into it, was engaged with his
butterfly nets. Stothard was then about fifty years of age ; his
deafness precluded hira frora the enjoyment of general society,
but with a single friend, and, as in this instance, a younger man,
who looked up to hira with great respect and admiration, and
whose mind was in many respects a kindred one, he was very
communicative. In their walks together, he, no doubt, felt his
infirmity as little as possible ; while the hours passed with him
must have contributed to soothe the spirits of Constable, dis
quieted as they then were. "Charlotte Street, June loth, 181 2.
" You will see by the cover that the good bishop is as kind to
me as ever. He and Mrs. Fisher were here yesterday for an hour
or two ; and I have completed the portrait* quite to their satis
faction. I ara to make a duplicate of it for the palace at Exeter.
During their stay, Mrs. Fisher wrote to the Marchioness of
Thomond, to introduce me to a sight of her fine collection of Sir
Joshua Reynolds's pictures. I am going this morning to Pall
Mall (I believe I told you that I had soraething to do there,
with a portrait of Lady Louisa Manners), from thence to call on
Sir George Beaumont ; he wishes to see the Gainsboroughs at
Lord Dysart' s, and in return he is to take me to the Marquis of
Stafford's Gallery. These things delay my visit to dear Bergholt,
and I ara sighing for the country. I ara told the trees never were
more beautiful ; indeed, I never saw them in greater perfection
than in my walk with Mr. Stothard to Richmond."
• Ofthe Bishop.

40 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. IL
" Charlotte Street, June i^th.
" I am making sad ravages of ray tirae with the wretched por
traits I mentioned to you. I am ungallant enough to allude
entirely to the ladies' portraits.* I see no end, if I stay, to my
labours in Pall Mall. Lady Louisa was quite distressed when I
told her I must order my colours away ; but I see no alternative
and must fly like another Telemachus, though not for the same
reason. I am sure you will pardon me when I tell you that duty
and afifection to my mother raade it impossible for me to with
hold some of your letters from her. The perusal of them made
her more than ever lament our unhappy situation. My father is
uncommonly well ; on horseback at six o'clock in the morning,
pursuing his plans with all the ardour of youth ; surely this is a
delightful proof of the blessings of a well-spent and temperate life.
. . . In one of your letters you ask me what I have read lately.
I have all Cowper' s works on my table. I mostly read his letters.
He is an author I prefer to almost any other, and when with him,
I always feel the better for it." " East Bergholt, y^une 22nd.
" From the window where I ara now writing, I see all those
sweet fields where we have passed so many happy hours together.
I called at the Rectory on Saturday with my mother. The doctor
was unusually courteous, and shook hands with me on taking
leave. Ara I to argue from this that I am not entirely out of the
pale of salvation ? How delighted I am that you are fond of
* These were copies by Hoppner, with alterations according to the fancies of the
ladies.

i8i2.] HIS STUDIES IN SUFFOLK. 41
Cowper. But how could it be otherwise ? for he is the poet of
religion and nature. I think the world much indebted to Mr.
Hayley. I never saw, till now, the supplement to the letters ;
perhaps some of his best are to be found there, and it contains an
interesting account of the death of poor Rose, a young friend of
the poet's. Nothing can exceed he beautiful appearance of the
country; its freshness, its amenity." "July 22nd.
" I have been living a hermit-like life, though always with my
pencil in my hand. Perhaps this has not been much the case
with hermits, if we except Swaneveldt (the pupil of Claude), who
was called the Hermit of Italy, from the romantic solitudes he
lived in, and which his pictures so admirably describe. How much
real delight have I had with the study of landscape this summer ;
either I am myself improved in the art of seeing nature, which
Sir Joshua calls painting, or nature has unveiled her beauties to
me less fastidiously. Perhaps there is something of both, so we
will divide the compliment. But I ara writing this nonsense with
a sad heart, when I think what would be my happiness could I
have this enjoyment with you. Then indeed would my mind
be calm to contemplate the endless beauties of this happy
country." In a letter dated in August, he says, " Many of my friends
have urged my leaving a profession so unpropitious ; but that,
you know, is impossible." "East Bergholt, September 6th, 18 12.
" I am happy to hear of your safe arrival at Bognor. . . On
the same day I found myself quietly drinking tea with my father

42 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. II.
and mother. ... I was looking anxiously for your letter, and
am grieved to find your spirits so much affected. You have
hitherto borne your share of our sorrows (and you have had by
far the greatest share) with a fortitude that has made me ashamed
of myself I can only iraagine our feelings to have been very
similar ; but let me believe that much of our present suffering
may be the efifect of parting ; and that, with this fine weather,
added to the delightful scenes you are in, you have recovered your
usual serenity. . . I have not resumed my landscape studies
since ray return. I have not found rayself equal to the vivid
pencil that landscape requires. I am going to-morrow to stay
a few days at General Rebow's, near Colchester, to paint his little
girl, an only child, seven years old ; I believe I ara to paint the
General and his lady at sorae future tirae ; this is in consequence
of ray portrait of young Godfrey, which has been much
admired. . . ." " Bognor,
" To Mr. John Constable. "September lotk.
" . . . Continue to write to me, my dear John, without the
least reserve ; the more I am acquainted with you, the happier I
shall be. We are both very unfortunately situated (but really
you must think rae very silly to tell you what is so evident). We
can, however, raake writing alleviate many of our troubles, and be
to us one of our highest pleasures. I used to dislike it excessively;
but now there is no employraent I like so well. . . . Have the
goodness to reraeraber rae kindly to your raother, and tell her how
much I am obliged to her for her frequent recollections of me.
And you, ray dearest John, except every affectionate wish
from "M. E. B."

i8i2.] FIRE AT CONSTABLE'S LODGINGS. 43
" Bognor,
" To Mr. John Constable. " November 6th.
" It was particularly kind of your raother to call in Spring
Gardens. You do not mention anything that passed, so I suppose
it was merely the common chit-chat of the day. You will believe
how eamestly I hope my father's visit to Suffolk will produce some
change for the better. But I dare not be too sanguine ; for then
bitter would be my disappointment. Grateful for the present share
of happiness we enjoy, we must not be too anxious for the future.
Your letters afford me a continual source of pleasure. . . .
Farewell, ray dearest John ; may health and spirits long attend
you, and then I shall always subscribe myself,
"Your happy and affectionate "Maria."
"33. Portland Place,
'• To Miss Bicknell. "November loth, 181 2.
" . . . Should the circurastance of a fire in Charlotte
Street appear in any of the papers, it is possible you may meet
with it ; and I write this hasty line or two that you may not be
uneasy on my account. The fire did in fact happen on the
preraises I inhabit; but I have lost nothing. We shall suffer
a temporary inconvenience ; but Mr. Watts has kindly ordered
me a bed in his house, and a neighbour, Mr. Henderson, in
Charlotte Street, has allowed me a room to paint in, while the
house is under repair. We were put to sorae alarm and bustle,
but no one was hurt; and I hope Mr. Wright's insurance will
cover his loss. The fire began in a workshop at the back of the
house, about four o'clock in the morning, and spread so very

44 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. II.
fast, that at one tirae we thought of saving ourselves only. I,
however, secured my raost valuable letters ; and we went to work
removing whatever we could into the street. We were not long
without help ; but it was an hour before any engine came. It
appeared as if nothing could save the house, and it was very
difficult to pass up and downstairs, owing to the great heat of the
windows ; but we persevered as long as we could, and while we
were getting Lady Heathcote' s large picture down, I had a
shower of glass about me frora the window on the staircase. I
ran with it over the way to Mr. Farrington's, and on my return
for soraething else, I found the poor woraan -servant, who had
lately nursed Mrs. Wright, in great distress, as all her fortune
was in the garret, and in her pockets which were under her
pillow. There was no time to be lost ; I ran up the stairs, and
she was overjoyed to see rae return with thera, through the
sraoke, quite safe. It was now that the engines arrived, and
fortunately succeeded in putting a stop to the flaraes. Mr. Wright's
loss is greater than he at first expected; all the premises are
burnt at the back of the house, the back drawing-room and its
contents are destroyed, and all the back windows. I cannot bear
to leave these poor people in their distress, and we think of taking
a temporary place till the house is repaired."
" To Mr. John Constable. "Bognor, November i6th.
" My dearest John, — Had it been raerely a letter of forra
I had to write, you should have received it sooner ; but, as it
is, you perfectly know how sincerely and fervently thankful I
am that you have sustained no personal harm. You acted
considerately and like yourself. I shoud have been sadly

i8i2,] ARCHDEACON COXE, HIS CRITICISMS. 45
alarmed at any account of the fire previous to yours ; but I had
not seen it in the papers, though I daresay it has been inserted,
as they are always glad of news, and I believe the more raelan
choly the better,"
Constable had presented to his friend Fisher a sraall land
scape, of which that gentleraan writes in a letter, dated
"Noveraber 13th, 1812": —
" Your painting has been much criticised ; disliked by bad
judges, gaped at by no judges, and admired by good ones.
Among these, Coxe, the historian, who has seen much, was
particularly pleased with it. It put him in mind, he said, ' of the
good old Dutch forest painting school.' He looks at it whenever
he comes into my room, which is most days. What it wants, he
says, is, that 'what is depth near, should not be gloom at a
distance.' By the words far and near, I mean as the spectator
recedes from or approaches the picture. This is, I think, a just
observation. I am now looking at it. It is raost pleasing when
you are directed to look at it ; but you raust be taken to it. It
does not solicit attention ; and this I think true of all your
pictures, and the real cause of your want of popularity, I have
heard it reraarked of Rubens that one of his pictures illuminates
a room. It gives a cheerfulness to everything about it. It
pleases before you exaraine it, or even know the subject. How he
obtained this, or how it is to be obtained — hie labor, hoc opus est.
Don't laugh at my feeble criticisms. Constable ; I mean your
service, and all men are allowed to talk good-natured nonsense.
You shall have something to put you in mind ofthe great Escurial*
• A Landscape by Rubens.

46 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. II,
at Lord Radnor's. I have to thank you for the ability to view
that work as it ought to be viewed. You gave rae another sense.
. . . . I passed three most delicious days in this country with
Dr. Callcott and his brother the artist  How is your
mind ? at rest ? Set it so, if you can, for your success, as you
know, depends upon it. I shall see you soon in town, till when,
" ' Adieu — adieu — remember me,'
though I am no ghost.
" Believe me, ray dear fellow, yours most faithfully,
"John Fisher."
In a letter without date, but written about this tirae, Constable
says, " My good friends in Seyraour Street continue their great
kindness to me ; I have just corapleted another portrait for thera,
for the Palace at Exeter. I told Mrs. Fisher yesterday how
much I thought his Lordship had of the character of the Arch
bishop of Cambray. She was pleased to hear me say so, and
said that, although it had not been observed to her before, she
had always called him her Fenelon. Mr. Watts and I are the
best friends in the world. Should I not be happy when I
consider all these blessings, and that you love rae ? "
The portraits Constable had painted, of the Bishop of Salisbury
and Mr. Watts, had given great satisfaction, and on the 30th of
November his mother thus wrote to him : " Fortune seems now
to place the ball at your foot, and I trust you will not kick it from
you. You now so greatly excel in portraits that I hope you will
pursue a path the most likely to bring you fame and wealth, by
which you can alone expect to obtain the object of your fondest
wishes."

^8i2.] PORTRAIT PAINTING.

47

Portraiture, we are told, originated in love ; and Constable's
friends now hoped that love would make a portrait painter of him.
Its immediate effects, however, seemed more likely to retard
his advance, both in portrait and in landscape ; and Miss Bicknell,
who saw this with great grief, thus admonished him : " By a
sedulous attention to your profession, you will very much help to
bestow calm on my mind, which I shall look for in vain while I
see with sorrow how unsettled you appear, and, consequently,
unfitted to attend to a study that requires the incessant application
of the heart and head. You will allow others, without half your
abilities, to outstrip you in the race of fame, and then look back
with sorrow on time neglected and opportunities lost, and perhaps
blame me as the cause of all this woe. Exert yourself while it is
yet in your power ; the path of duty is alone the path of happiness.
Let us wait with quiet resignation till a merciful Providence shall
dispose of us in the way that will be best. Believe me, I shall
feel a more lasting pleasure in knowing that you are improving
your time, and exerting your talents for the ensuing exhibition,
than I should do while you were on a stolen march with me round
the Park. Still I am not heroine enough to say, wish, or mean,
that we should never meet. I know that to be impossible. But
then, let us resolve it shall be but seldom, not as inclination, but
as prudence shall dictate. Farewell, dearest John, may every
blessing attend you, and in the interest I feel in your welfare,
forgive the advice I have given you, who, I am sure, are better
qualified to admonish me. Resolution is, I think, what we now
stand most in need of, to refrain for a tirae, for our mutual good,
from the society of each other."

CHAPTER III.
1813 — 1814.
Pictures Exhibited 18 13. — Turner. — Sale of two of Constable's pictures. — Excursion
into Essex. — Disposition to shun Society,
"63, Charlotte Street,
" To Miss Bicknell, "May 2,rd, 1813.
" Mr. West inforras me it is the opinion of the Council, as well
as his own, that I have made an advance upon myself this year.
Since I had last the happiness of seeing you, I have had so great
a share of ill-health that I have not been able to paint ; but I hope
the sumraer, and a look at the country, will revive me. I told you
I was about to commence a portrait of Lady Lennard. I began it
three weeks ago, and it promised to be like ; but I was obliged to
decline it, and this circurastance has given me real concern, as I
am anxious to raaintain the friendship of this worthy family. . .
Shall I raention ray profession again ? I am really considered to
have been more successful in it this last year ; and is it unreason
able to suppose, that if, under such untoward circumstances, I
have exerted some energy, I raight do much more if this load of
despondency could be removed from me."
The pictures mentioned in the foregoing letter were called
on the catalogue of the Acaderay, "Landscape: Boys Fishing,"

i8 r3.] EXHIBITION OF THE WORKS OF REYNOLDS.

49

and " Landscape : Moming." In January he had exhibited at the
British Gallery one picture, with no title but " Landscape."
In the summer of this year, the Directors of the British Insti
tution exhibited at their rooms the most splendid collection of
pictures that were ever seen together, as the productions of one
man ; and the reputation of Re)molds, high eis it was, was raised
by this assemblage of his works. Through the kindness of Mr.
Watts, Constable received a card for the dinner given by the
Directors on this memorable occasion ; and the following is the
account he gave of the day to Miss Bicknell : " The company
assembled at an early hour in the Gallery, from which there was a
covered way to Willis's Rooms. On the arrival of the Prince
Regent, the Marquis of Stafford and the Governors of the
Institution hastened to conduct him upstairs. His manner was
agreeable, and I saw him shake hands with many of the company.
Dinner was announced at seven, the Marquis of Stafford (the
President) in the chair, behind which, on a considerable elevation,
was placed a statue of Sir Joshua Reynolds, by Flaxman. The
Earl of Aberdeen made em excellent speech. He said that,
' although the stjde of Sir Joshua Reynolds might difFer in appear
ance from the style of those specimens of art which are considered
the nearest to perfection in the ancient Greek sculpture, and the
productions of the great schools of Italy, yet his works were to be
ranked with them, their aim being essentially the same — the attain
ment of nature with simplicity and truth: The Regent left the
table about ten, and retumed to the Gallery, which was now filled
with ladies. Among them I saw Mrs. Siddons, whose picture is
there as ' Tragic Muse.' Lord Byron was pointed out to me ; his
poetry is of the most melancholy kind, but he has great ability.

h

50 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. IIL
Now, let me beg of you to see these charraing works frequently ;
and form, in your own mind, the idea of what painting should be
from them. It is certainly the finest feeling of art that ever
existed." " Spring Garden Terrace, June 6th.
" My- dear John, — Having only a few minutes to converse on
Friday, you know we did not say much. I will, therefore, try
what I can do in a letter. Writing I dislike excessively, but
still I have no other raeans of telling you what passes here, and I
take it for granted you like to know. I think you seemed much
better than when I saw you at the Acaderay. I was quite hurt
then at your appearing so very far from well. The portrait you
gave me looks pale, as you did then. That is the only fault I
find with it. I was enchanted with Sir Joshua Reynolds's pictures.
I think it must have been a beautiful sight to have seen them by
candle-light, and the rooms filled with company elegantly dressed.
. . . I imagine next month you will like to quit London for
Suffolk ; as the study of nature will be more agreeable than the
picture galleries. I will not forget to drink your health in a
bumper on the nth. Adieu, dear friend; why are we thus
attached when everything conspires against us ? "
"Palace, Sarum, June 14M, 1813.
" Dear Constable, — I have heard your great picture spoken
of here, by no inferior judge, as one of the best in the exhibition.
It is a great thing for one man to say this. It is by units that
popularity is gained. I only like one better, and that is a picture
of pictures, the ' Frost,' by Turner, But then you need not repine
at this decision of mine ; you are a great man, and, like Buona-

i8i3.] MR- FISHER'S ADVICE. 51
parte, are only to be beaten by a frost, I despair of ever seeing
you down here. What a reflection is it in this life that, whenever
we have a pleasant scene, there is little hope of repeating the
view. How many delightful hours of pleasantry have I passed in
a society that will never meet together again, except under the
sod. It is one argument for living while you can. ' Dura vivimus
vivamus.' The same argument will, by-the-bye, hold good of
reading. Read a book while it lies before you ; ten to one if you
read it another time. I only know the little knowledge I have
has been picked up by odds and ends. In a bookseller's shop,
late at night, at breakfast, or while waiting for a friend who was
late at dinner. Pray, as you regard your interest, call on the
Bishop and his lady, as he may attribute your not calling to
neglect, and not to humility. Everybody does not know, as well
as myself, that there is an exhibitioner and a painter for fame, who
is possessed of modesty and merit, and who is too honest and
high-minded to push himself by other raeans than his pencil and
palette. " Believe me, dear Constable,
" Yours very faithfully,
"John Fisher."
"63, Charlotte Street, June zoth.
" When I last had the happiness of seeing you, my dearest
Maria, I had fixed a day for going into Suffolk. I was, however,
prevented by a call upon me for portraits ; for, I assure you, my
reputation in that way is much on the increase. One of them, a
portrait of the Rev. George Bridgman, a brother of Lord
Bradford, far excels any of my former attempts in that way, and

52 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. IIL
is doing rae a great deal of service. My price for a head is
fifteen guineas ; and I ara tolerably expeditious when I can have
fair play at ray sitter. I have been much engaged for Lady
Heathcote, who seems bent on serving me. My pictures of her
self and her raother occupy either end of the large drawing-roora
in Grosvenor Square ; they have magnificent frames, and make
a great dash. She is to bring me a handsome boy at the Christ
mas holidays. She has a little dance on Friday, when ray picture
will be seen for the first time publicly. I am now leaving London
for the only time in my life with my pockets full of raoney. I am
entirely free from debt (not that ray debts ever exceeded my usual
annual income), and I have required no assistance from my father.
I have arranged raatters with Sir Thomas Lennard, and am to
pass a month with him very late in the season, which, I am
delighted to find, gives me possession of the three ensuing raonths
to rayself, and I hope to do a good deal in that tirae. I do assure
you, my dearest Maria, I am not trying to give you the favourable
side only of myself, but am merely mentioning facts as they have
occurred to me within the last two or three months, during which
time, we have unfortunately had so little communication with
each other. But I trust the time is at hand when the ground will
be rendered raore smooth for us. You may probably know that
there has been some correspondence between Mr. Bicknell and
myself. When I thought I was leaving town I wrote to him to
request that he would consent to an interview, or some sort of
communication between us ; he would agree to neither ; yet I do
not repent of what I have done, as I was happy, at least to have
an opportunity of approaching him in a respectful manner, , , .
I thank God daily for a thousand blessings which I enjoy, and I

i8i3.] /. M. W. TURNER. 53
can lay my hand on my heart and say, ' I have a conscience void
of offence.' I look forward to many happy years with you, but
we might have been spared a world of pain. ... I am quite
delighted to find myself so well, although I paint so many hours ;
but my mind is happy when so engaged. I dined with the Royal
Academy last Monday in the Council Roora. It was entirely a
meeting of artists (none but the merabers and exhibitors could
be admitted), and the day passed ofif very well. I sat next to
Turner, and opposite Mr. West and Lawrence. I was a good
deal entertained with Turner. I always expected to find him what
I did. He has a wonderful range of raind. ... I leave town
with a rauch more comfortable feeling on your account than I
had last year. You looked so well, and seemed so happy; and
to see you comfortable ought to make me happy under any cir
cumstances." "Richmond, August 2 ^th, 1813.
" Knowing, my dearest John, that you are expecting a letter
from me, I cannot delay any longer* thanking you for your last
letter, which I received the day before I left town ; I wish I could
divest myself of feeling so like a culprit when I write to you. It
would be so much pleasanter for you and for me ; but I know I
am breaking through rules prescribed to rae by those I love, and
making you uncomfortable by my sombre reflections. I think of
you equally if I write or do not write ; so recollect in future not to
expect to hear from me unless I have something very particular
to say." "Spring Garden Terrace, Feb. i8th, 1814.
" Your wish, my dear John, is totally impracticable — of cor
responding weekly ; but I will write as often as I can. Indeed, I

54 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. III.
was just going to tell you that your last letter had given rae
much pleasure: for it seemed written in better spirits than
usual. . . . You have both surprised, deceived, and pleased
me. How could you say there was no picture of yours at the
British Gallery ? I think the cats* excessively pretty, comical
creatures. I ara sure you raust have been entertained in painting
them. The whole has a richness of colour that pleases me. You
must forgive my criticising your pictures. . . "
In a letter to Miss Bicknell, dated February, 1814, the first
mention of young Dunthorne, the son of Constable's early friend,
occurs. Of this young raan, to whom he was much attached, and
who became an extremely useful assistant to him, he says : "I
have written to Dunthorne to send me Johnny. He is not at all
vulgar, and naturally very clever. But were he not, I should love
him for his father's sake." To Dunthorne, Constable wrote : "I
am rather disappointed at not seeing Johnny here yet ; but as
the weather is now fine, though cold, I wish you would let hira
come. I am desirous of having him now, for I think he will be
useful to stimulate rae to work, by setting my palette, &c., which
you know is a great help, and keeps rae cheerful. I am anxious
about the large picture, 'Willy Lott's House,' which looks
uncommonly well in the masses and tone. I am determined to
detail, but not retail, it out. Tell Abram, Mr. Coxet intends
having my ' Windmill ' engraved, and has put it into the hands of
Mr. Landseer for that purpose. It is a pretty subject, one of the
* Two martin cats, of which he exhibited a small picture at the British Gallery,
t Peter Coxe, the brother of Archdeacon Coxe, and author of a poem called the
"Social Day," for which the engraving was made.

i8i4.] SALE OF TWO OF HIS PICTURES.

SS

Stoke Mills, I am determined to finish a small picture on the
spot, for every large one I intend to paint. This I have always
talked about, but have never yet done."
The little Farm-house, which in the last letter is called " Willy
Lott's House," is situated on the edge ofthe river, close to Flat
ford Mill. It is the principal object in many of Constable's
pictures; but the most exact view of it occurs in the one
engraved for the " English Landscape," with the title of " A
Mill Stream," and is taken from the front of the Mill, the wheel
of which occasions the ripple seen on the surface of the water.
Willy Lott, its possessor, was born in it; and, it is said, has
passed more than eighty years without having spent four whole
days away from it.
So little was Constable's art appreciated, that the sale of two
of his pictures, this year, must be mentioned as an extraordinary
event ; a small one exhibited at the British Gallery to Mr. AUnutt,
and a larger one of a " Lock" to Mr. James Carpenter.* The
last is mentioned in the following note to Mr. Watts : —
"63 Charlotte Street, April 12th, 18 14.
" My dear Uncle, — I received your kind note this raorning.
Accept my best thanks for the excellent advice it contained, and
which, I am well aware, I stand much in need of. I am willing to
allow that I possess more than a usual share of the failings
incident to the species ; as an artist, I know I have many great
deficiencies, and that I have not yet, in a single instance, realised
my ideas of art. Your kind solicitude respecting my picture of
the ' Lock ' is highly gratifying to rae ; but it may now cease, as
* Mr. James Carpenter, of Old Bond Street, who, in 1843, published the large folio
edition of Constable's Life, with twenty-two plates by David Lucas.

S6 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. III.
the picture is now the property of Mr. Carpenter, who purchased
it this raorning. He is a stranger to me, and bought it because
he liked it. You say, truly, that ray mind is not at ease.
Perhaps there may be something constitutional; but it is
certainly rauch increased since I have had the raisfortune to involve
the happiness of the most amiable being on the face of the earth in
my own fate. The excellent lady to whom I allude continues
faithful to me in my adversity, and that, too, amidst a scene of
persecution and unkindness, which has continued raany years ;
therefore I may yet be happy ; and believe me, my dear uncle,
the great kindness which you have always shown me, at your table
and elsewhere, as a friend and relation, has not a little con
tributed to support my mind through much trouble, which I
believe has been increased by an extraordinary susceptibility of
feeling." The picture purchased by Mr, Allnutt led to an acquaintance
between Constable and that gentleman, who has recently
favoured me with the following account of its comraenceraent : —
" Dear Sir, — Many years ago I purchased at the British
Institution a painting by Mr. Constable. But as I did not quite
like the efifect of the sky, I was foolish enough to have that oblit
erated, and a new one put in by another artist ; which, though
extremely beautiful, did not harmonise with the other parts of the
picture. Some years after, I got a friend of Mr. Constable to ask
hira if he would be kind enough to restore the picture to its original
state, to which he readily assented. Having a very beautiful
painting by Mr. (now Sir Augustus) Callcott, which was nearly of
the sarae size, but not quite so high, I sent it to Mr, Constable, to-

i8i4.] HIS FIRST PATRON, MR. ALLNUTT. 57
gether with his own, and expressed a wish that if he could do it
without injury to the picture, he would reduce the size of it in
height by lowering the sky, so as to raake it nearer the size of
Mr, Callcott' s, to which I wished it to hang as a companion.
When I understood from him that it was ready for me, I called at
his house to see it ; and this was the first interview I ever had
with him. He asked me how I liked it ; to which I replied I was
perfectly satisfied, and wished to know what I was indebted to
him for what he had done to it, in order that I might settle the
account. He then said he had no charge to make, as he felt
himself under an obligation to me, which he wished to acknow
ledge, and was happy he had now an opportunity of doing so. I
told hira I was not aware of any obligation, and, therefore, wished
he would name a price. To which he replied that I had been the
means of making a painter of him, by buying the first picture he
ever sold to a stranger ; which gave him so much encouragement
that he determined to pursue a profession in which his friends had
great doubts of his success. He likewise added that, wishing to
make the picture as acceptable to me as possible, he had, instead
of reducing the height of the old picture, painted an entirely new
one of the same subject, exactly of the size of the one by Callcott ;
and that if I was satisfied with the exchange (which, of course, I
was) it gave him much pleasure.
" I remain, dear Sir, yours very faithfully,
"John Allnutt.
" Clapham Common, February ind, 1843."
The pictures Constable sent to the Academy this season were,
" A Ploughing Scene in Suffolk," and "A Ferry."

58 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap, III.
" From Miss Bicknell,
"Spring Garden Terrace.
" I deferred writing, my dear John, in hopes of being able to
tell you where our summer quarters would be fixed ; but it still
reraains undecided. Only think of your not making one among
the two hundred thousand persons, who I hear are come to town
to see our illustrious visitors* ; I suppose you intend consoling
yourself with a view of their pictures. . . . Indeed, my dear
John, people cannot live now on four hundred a year — it is a bad
subject, therefore adieu to it. I imagine it will not be very long
before you are in town. I wonder if I shall see you. Alas ! that
it should be a matter of doubt." " East Bergholt,
" To Miss Bicknell. " July zrd, 1814.
" I have been absent from this place more than a fortnight, on a
visit to the Rev. Mr. Driffield, at Peering, near Kelvedon, He is
a very old friend of my father's, and once lived in this parish. He
has remerabered me for a long time ; as he says he christened me
one night, in great haste, about eleven o'clock. Some time ago,
I promised hira a drawing of his house and church at Peering,
and, during my visit, he had occasion to go to his living at South
Church, and I was happy to embrace his proposal that I should
accompany him ; by which I saw rauch raore of the county of
Essex than I had ever seen before, and the raost beautiful part of
it ; as I was at Maiden, Rochford, Southend, Hadleigh, Danbury,
&c., &c. At Hadleigh there is a ruin of a castle, which, from its
situation, is vastly fine. It coraraands a view of the Kent hills, the
* The Emperor Alexander, the King of Prussia, &c.

i8r4] EXCURSION INTO ESSEX.

59

Nore, and the North Foreland, looking many railes to sea. I have
filled, as usual, a little book of hasty memoranda of the places
which I saw. My companion, though more than seventy, is a
most active, restless creature, and I never could get him to stop
long at a place. He could outwalk and outrun me on any occa
sion ; but he was very kind and good-tempered. Indeed, my dear
Maria, this little excursion was so amusing to rae that, although I
was never a moment without you in my thoughts, there were times
when I was so delighted with the scenery as to forget that ray
mind had been so long a stranger to happiness. You tell me that
you have an offer of going into Wales. Let me, my beloved child,
entreat you to embrace it if you are able to leave your excellent
mother, to whom I know you are always ready to devote yourself.
I am confident that such a tour would be a real blessing to you :
the change of air, and then the sublime scenery. I did hope that
we might have visited these delightful places together for the
first time ; but it will be happiness enough for me to know that
you are happy. . . ." " East Bergholt,
" To Miss Bicknell. "September i8th, 1814.
" This charming season, as you will guess, occupies rae
entirely in the fields ; and I believe 1 have made some landscapes
that are better than usual, at least that is the opinion of all here.
I do hope that nothing will happen to interrupt my present pursuits,
but that I shall pass the rest of the autumn as I have done the
summer ; and I also hope, on my return to London, to have the
great happiness of seeing you much oftener than I have hitherto
done. I believe we can do nothing worse than indulge in useless

6o THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. III.
sensibility, but I can hardly tell you what I feel at the sight, from
the window at which I ara writing, of the fields we have so often
walked, A calm autumnal setting sun is glowing on the gardens
of the rectory, and on those fields where some of the happiest
hours of my life have been passed."
Araong the landscapes raentioned in this letter was one which
I have heard hira say he painted entirely in the open air. It was
exhibited the following year at the Academy, with the title of
" Boat-building," In the midst of a meadow at Flatford, a barge
is seen on the stocks, while just beyond it the River Stour
glitters in the still sunshine of a hot suraraer's day. The picture
is a proof that in landscape what painters call warm colours are
not necessary to produce a warm effect. It has indeed no
positive colour, and there is rauch of grey and green in it ; but
such is its atraospheric truth, that the tremulous vibration of the
heated air near the ground seems visible. This perfect work
reraained in his possession to the end ofhis life.*
"East Bergholt,
" To Miss Bicknell. " October 2nd, 18 14.
" We have had a most delightful season. It is many years
since I have pursued my studies so uninterruptedly and so
calraly, or worked with so rauch steadiness or confidence. I
hope you will see me an artist some time or other."
* Now at South Kensington. As an amateur boat-builder I can vouch for the
truly Dutch accuracy of every detail in this picture ; from the boy who sits in the
shade of the barge bow on a calker's stool, quietly rolling up oakum, the fire of
chips, pitch-pot and ladle on the left, to the bright edged shipwright's adze and other
tools to the right of the barge ; all sparkling in the sun, and painted with the full fat
touch of Wilson at his best.

<
UJ2

m I
H<Om

i8i4.] DEATH OF GENERAL FISHER. 6i
Constable's close application to his art while at Bergholt, had
prevented his paying as much attention to some of his friends
there as it would appear he was expected to do, and after his
return tp town his mother wrote to him : "I believe it is thought
you avoid notice too rauch : this will damp the ardour of the
best friendships. 'Tis true you have been delightfully busy this
summer, and so far so good,"
" To Miss Bicknell, " October 2^th, 1814,
"... I am happy to hear of some improvement in your
mother's health ; I hope it may continue to advance. Though
any notice or good wishes from me I know will be useless, yet I
mention it for your sake. ... I have had a distressing letter from
my friend John Fisher, on the death of his uncle. General Fisher .
Poor Fisher was acting the part of comforter when no corafort
could be imparted. The distress of the General's daughter, Mrs,
Conroy, and of his son-in-law, was beyond all belief. A fine
manly soldier weeping like an infant ; and Fisher was obliged
to tear her from the coffin when they were taking it away. He
wishes me to undertake (as it might prove a means of con
solation) a portrait of the General from a drawing. He was
extremely like the good bishop — mild, sensible, and placid. I
could give him little hope of making much of a picture, but shall
willingly try, . . . The studies I have made this sumraer are
better liked than any I have done ; but I would rather have your
opinion of them than that of all others put together. But fate
is still savage. I lament every moment the want of your society,
and feel the loss of it in my mind and heart. You deserve a
better fate."

62 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. III.
"63, Charlotte Street,
" To Miss Bicknell, "November 12th, 1814,
" You say you shall leave Brighton in a fortnight. Let me
hope, then, you have received benefit from its good air and
general appearance of cheerfulness. I never was at a bathing
town, but I am told they are amusing. You will judge of my
great ignorance of what is going on in the gay world, when I tell
you that, till I read your letter yesterday, I did not know that any
of the royal family had visited Brighton this season. ... I never
fail to find unceasing delight in the art ; but who are seeking for
its honours I know not ; it is sufficient for me to know that I am
not, though I win allow that four or five years ago, when I was
more youthful, I was a little on tip-toe for fame. I have hardly
yet got reconciled to brick walls and dirty streets, after leaving
the endeared scenes of Suffolk. At the same raoment that I
received your letter I had one from ray mother, so amusing that I
long to show it to you. It is quite a journal of the time I was
with them, though she regrets, at the end, that my natural pro
pensity to escape from notice should have so much increased
upon me." "Brighton, November i^th, 1814.
"You will be surprised, my dear John, to hear from me again
so soon. Indeed, I fear I shall ruin you in postage. But really
you have written me such a strange letter that I cannot forbear
sending you my sentiments upon it, and I am delighted to find
that I am supported in them by Mrs. Constable. It appears
strange to rae that a professional man should shun society.
Surely it cannot be the way to promote his interest. Why you
should no longer be anxious for fame is what I cannot com-

i8i4-] A SCOLDING FROM MISS BICKNELL. 63
prehend. It is paying me a very ill compliment. If you wish to
remain single, it may do very well. We shall return to town next
Tuesday. I trust the following day, if it should be tolerably fine,
to have the pleasure of seeing the recluse in St. James's Park
about twelve o'clock ; if not, the following day at the same hour.
You can then, if you please, make your defence, and promise
to behave better for the future. I must have no more of this
propensity to escape from notice. I must have you known, and
then to be admired will be the natural consequence. I do not
know how you will like ray strictures on your conduct, but I cannot
help that. It is better you should know my raind now than after
wards. It is not too late to quarrel. It is your turn next to
accuse me, and I am sure I stand convicted of numberless
errors." " December 12th.
" When I took leave of you, my dearest John, last Saturday, I
fully thought I should see you again before you left town ; but
alas 1 it is your fate as well as my own to be often disappointed.
It is, I ara well convinced, for our rautual benefit that we should
not often see each other. It is this alone makes me support the
privation with tolerable good humour. 'B]ityour time, so infinitely
valuable to me, I cannot have it lost. The genius of painting will
surely, one day or other, rise up against me for too often keeping
one of her favourite sons from a study that demands his exclusive
attention  Mamma, I am happy to say, is much better,"

CHAPTER IV.
1815— 1816.
Death of Constable's Mother. — Exhibition, 1815. — Studies at Bergholt, — Exhibition,
1816. — Death ofhis Father. — Marriage. — -Visit to Osmington.
" East Bergholt, January 6th, 18 15.
" My- dear Son John, — I send you a mother's Christmas gift
in the form of six new shirts. Four of them are hemp, and you
said you should like to try them for working shirts. The other
two are Sunday ones, with the collars cut to the pattern of your
cousin  's. How you will like thera I cannot tell. But
I hope it will be the only imitation of him you will try, with the
exception of the kind intentions of his heart and his dutiful
afifection to his mother and sisters, which will spring up and show
themselves through all the confusion in his affairs. The magni
tude ofhis debts really terrifies rae. Oh, my dear John, pray keep
out of debt — that earthly Tartarus ! I retum you the pocket-book.
It is very pretty, and rauch increased in value for the donor's sake,
who, I hope, will one tirae or other, be rewarded better than by a
poor artist. You raust try hard for farae and gain. We have
lived to see the beginning of a new year. Who may be permitted
to see the close of it God only knows. To those who do may it
prove a happy one, and to you amongst that number.
"Ann Constable."

i8is] DEATH OF CONSTABLE'S MOTHER.

65

" Spring Garden Terrace, February 22,rd.
" My dearest John, — I have received from papa the sweet
permission to see you again under this roof (to use his own
words) ' as an occasional visitor.' From being perfectly wretched
I am now comparatively happy. . . . "M. E. Bicknell."
Mrs. Constable, in a letter to her son, dated " East Bergholt,
March 7th," thus speaks of this unexpected gleam of sunshine on
the prospect of the lovers : "It gives me pleasure to know you are
a visitor in a friendly way in Spring Gardens. You must make
every allowance for Mr. Bicknell, who is, most assuredly, not
a free agent in this matter. He is under rigid restrictions, from
which, for the sake of his family, he must not swerve. As
circumstances stand, I esteem it a great point gained, and it is a
comfort to my mind, which has long been a silent sufferer from
the treatraent you have met with, so derogatory to your
respectability and honourable intentions."
Mrs. Constable was not, however, destined to see her son,
and the object of his afifections, raore happy than they now were.
She had lately suffered much anxiety on account of her hus
band's health, which was declining. And this, perhaps, hastened
a paralytic attack, with which she was seized on the gth of April,
while gardening, a recurrence of which terminated her well-spent
life on the Sth of May. In her last letter to her son she earnestly
exhorted hira to use his influence with a friend at Bergholt,
whose conduct had placed hira at variance with his wife. " How
can he bear," she said, " to worry her, as it were, into her grave.
And as to the children, all their budding days of happiness,
K

66 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap, IV.
their youthful prime, are blighted by their father's imprudence.
Do, my dear John, try to persuade hira to the ways that raake
for peace : * Blessed are the peace-makers, for theirs is the
kingdom of God.' May this be your portion in the world
to corae, and health and happiness in this. So prays your affec
tionate mother."
The death of this excellent woraan was felt by her son as a
very heavy blow. She had cheered and encouraged hira in his
profession, and obtained for hira introductions calculated to
advance his prospects, at a time when his other friends considered
them hopeless.* She, more than anyone else, shared in all the
anxieties arising out of his engagement with Miss Bicknell, which
she hoped to see happily fulfilled ; and she neglected no raeans,
however trifling, to propitiate Dr. Rhudde, as a single instance
will show. Constable had sent her a present of a large drawing
in water-colours of Bergholt Church,t which, in the letter she
wrote to acknowledge its receipt, she described as " the raost
beautiful drawing she had ever beheld." But it iraraediately
occurred to her to present it to the Rector, which she did in the
name of her son. It was useless. Dr. Rhudde acknowledged
the present in a polite letter; but, unwilling to remain the
obliged person, he enclosed a bank-note, requesting Constable
* How sad, as Mr. Hamerton says, " It is that no far-seeing prophet could predict
to her the present lustre of her son's name, his place in public and private collections,
and the contests over his once-neglected landscapes in the great sale-rooms of the
world." In 1855 his picture of the "White Horse" was sold at Christie's for 600
guineas, and in 1894, at Mr. Hemming's sale, Messrs. Agnew & Sons gave 6,200
guineas for it. Again, Constable received ;^ioo for his picture of " Stratford Mill,
on the Stour," from his friend. Archdeacon Fisher, and at his death, in 1848,
Mr. Huth bought it for ;^6oo. At his sale in 1895, it fetched 8,500 guineas,
t This drawing became the property ofhis eldest sister. Miss Ann Constable.

i8iS-] DEATH OF MRS. BICKNELL. 67
to purchase with it something to remember him by " when he
should be no more." The death of Miss Bicknell's raother, who
had long been ill, occurred not raany days after that of Mrs. Con
stable. "East Bergholt,
" To Miss Bicknell. "May 21st, 18 15.
" My dearest Love, — When I left town it was not my inten
tion to have remained so long absent. I received your kind note,
and regretted you were so situated that you could not see me. I
called, however, the day before I came here ; and although your
note had somewhat prepared me for the afiflicting intelligence
which I received at your door, I could not but be shocked, as I
was not aware that your dear mother was so near her reraoval.
It is singular that we should, both of us, have lost our nearest
friends, the nearest we can have in this world, within so short a
time ; and now, more than ever, do I feel the want of your
society." "63, Charlotte Street,
" To Miss Bicknell. " June i6th.
" I have seen Spilsbury again; he still urges me to make him
a visit at his cottage, near Tintern Abbey. I ought to see
another country, and this is a charming one. I am half inclined
to go, but I need not decide for a week or ten days. I pine
after dear Sufifolk. But is not this indolence ? My heart, as
you know too well, is not there. At least, not all of it. But,
you say, you would not give a farthing for a divided heart;
however, make yourself easy, you have by far the greatest
part. But what vanity is this ! "

6» THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. IV,
"June \']th.
" I have given up all thoughts of Wales, and I now only wonder
that I indulged in them. I have sold myself for the work I am
engaged in, which is a large landscape in the background of a
picture at Mr. Dawe's,* It occupies me at least twelve, and
sometimes fourteen, hours a day. This I do by choice, as well as
by agreement, that I may the sooner get back to dear Bergholt,
and find a day to see you before I go."
" June 28th.
" I find there is no end to my labours for Dawe ; therefore,
with even a loss to myself, should it be so, I am determined to
relinquish them. He is very anxious to engage me in other works,
and he would even take a promise from me for a twelvemonth to
come. We are full of anxiety about our relations who were in
the late dreadful battle ;t we can get no account of them what
ever."
" June loth.
" I have done at Mr. Dawe's, and have given him great satis
faction ; but I have persisted in making him no more promises ;
he is an overmatch for me."
Constable, this year, exhibited at the Academy eight works,
and araong thera the exquisite one I have mentioned, called
"Boat-building"; the others were, "A view of Dedham," "A
Village in Suffolk," "A Landscape," "A Sketch," and three
* The portrait of Miss O'Neil in the character of Juliet, now in the possession of
the Garrick Club.
t Of Waterloo, at which were present two of Constable's cousins — Captain Gubbins,
who was killed, and Lieutenant Allen, The mothers of these officers and Mrs. Con
stable were sisters.

i8is.] EXHIBITION, 1815. 69
drawings. At the British Gallery he exhibited one picture, called
"Landscape." " East Bergholt,
" To Miss Bicknell. " July i^th.
" .... I think I never saw dear old Bergholt look half so
beautiful as now, the weather has been so delightful. There is
no village news, except that they are all very gay, and the youngest
man among them is Dr. Rhudde."
" To Mr. John Constable.
"... I was rauch pleased with your letter. You appear
calm, resigned, affectionate, and happy. It comraunlcated the
sarae feelings to me. I am very glad you have had a conversa
tion with papa. In the winter it will be well to renew it. Of the
doctor I can say nothing, but that I believe it will be wisest to
leave him to himself. How delightful this sweet rain will make
those dear fields look, that I envy you the view of. I should like
to transport myself there once a week — am I not very moderate ?
How much you must enjoy painting in the open air after Mr.
Dawe's room." " East Bergholt, August 27/A.
"... I have, my dearest love, little to tell you of what is
passing here. I live almost wholly in the fields, and see nobody
but the harvest raen. The weather has been uncommonly fine,
though we have had some very high winds that have discoraposed
the foliage a great deal. We are all well ; ray father takes his
rides as usual, and is pretty well, but we think he gradually grows
weaker. This, however, we cannot but expect ; but his present
appearance is a striking proof of the blessings attending the old

70 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap, IV,
age of a virtuous life.* ... I received a newspaper containing
an account of Mr. Stothard's pictures from Lord Byron's works,
&c. — am I not obliged to you for it ? It must have been directed
by your hand." " Putney Heath, August 2gth.
"... It was I who sent the newspaper, just to show you
that I sometimes think of you, and in expectation of hearing from
you ; so it answered my plan exactly.' '
"Putney Heath, September gth.
" I cannot resist, my dear John, taking up my pen again, fear
ing you should have deemed my last letter unworthy of notice ;
and I may, perhaps, be absent a week after the i6th, and then, I
hope, you would have thought my silence long. How charraed
you raust be with this long continuance of fine weather. I should
suppose, for many seasons, you have not painted so much in the
open air. Nature and you must be greater friends than ever. I
am suffering a little to-day from being out late yesterday. Is it
not a sad thing to be so delicate ? I must not be out after sunset.
It is easy enough to avoid it, so that trouble is soon got over.
The moon shall tempt me no more. . . I regret you have not
seen Mrs.  , she is rauch interested in our future welfare.
Fortune, I ara sure, delights to torraent us. But hold, ray pen !
I do not think I ara ever long dejected. Tell rae what you have
been reading ; but I suppose you have not found rauch time for
it. I am studying French quite hard, and I find it very amusing.
, , , My dear John, good-bye, you will allow this to be, for me,
quite a long letter. Will the end of October oblige you to return
* Golding Constable was then in his 77th year.

i8is.] DELICATE HEALTH OF MISS BICKNELL. 71
to London ? Though I long to see you, I am always sorry when
you leave Sufifolk, It must be so pleasant for you to be there,
I should never like to leave the country while a single leaf
reraained on the trees." " East Bergholt, September i\th.
"... I ara concerned to find by your letter that you are
still so delicate, and that you are so liable to be hurt by any little
unusual exertion. Pray take care of yourself. I am happy to
hear that your father is so friendly and kind to you. I shall
always venerate him for his goodness to you, who are all the world
to me. I am sure you will believe me, my dear Maria, when I say
that I allow no bad disposition nor any wrong feeling to remain in
my heart towards anyone, for both our sakes. For should it be, as
I trust it is, God's good pleasure that we shoiild pass our lives
together, it will be but sensible conduct, as well as a religious
duty, to have as little to disturb our peace as possible ; for, as life
advances our trials will increase, and at the end all our ill-conduct
must be accounted for. I have, as you guess, been much out
of doors."
" To Miss Bicknell, " October ist.
" I cannot help regretting the departure of our delightful
summer ; but I continue to work as much as possible in the fields,
as ray mind is never so calm and comfortable as at those tiraes.
. . . This morning we had the Sacrament at our church, and, I
am happy to say my father was able to join us. . . . You do not
mention when you leave Putney Heath. Should I be likely to
stop here a few weeks longer, I shall corae to town for a day or
two, for I am anxious to see you. ..."

72 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. IV.
Constable remained at Bergholt until the beginning of
November. In a letter to Miss Bicknell, dated the ist of that
raonth, he says : " My aunt Allen's second son is lately made a
post-captain ; and our cousin. Colonel Gubbins,* is preferred (Mr.
Watts writes me word), above fifty other field officers, to command
the light companies of the army in Paris; and when, added
to these good things, your papa introduces me to the Prince
Regent f — who cannot do otherwise than give me a bit of red
or blue riband for my very excellent landscapes — you may justly
be proud of the faraily you are to be connected with."
" Putney Heath, October 2nd.
" I raust praise you, my dear John, for writing on the day
I named. I should have been very sorry had you not. Is it not
delightful that we can depend upon each other ? I must tell you
what a pleasant ride I had yesterday, through Wimbledon Park,
to see Lady Spencer — very grand, is it not ? — who had politely
desired papa to bring his daughter. She appeared to be a very
pleasant woman ; but had she not, a title is too apt to make us
think so. Does it not seem strange ? A charming house and
park, and she says she ' would not give twopence for it.' Such is
the world ! What we have we do not value, and what we have
not we want. . . . These are charming days for walking, but
surely too cold and damp for painting."
"East Bergholt, October igth.
" . . . I have been every day intending to write to you,
but I have been so much out, endeavouring to catch the last of
* The brother of Captain Gubbins, who was killed at Waterloo. Colonel Gubbins
had just returned from America, where he had been present at the attack on New
Orleans. t Mr. Bicknell was solicitor to the Prince.

i8i5.] CONSTABLE AT BERGHOLT. 73
this beautiful year, that I have neglected almost every other duty.
I have put rather a larger landscape on hand than I ever did
before. And this it is my wish to secure, in a great measure,
before I leave this place ; as I here find many aids, and I am sure
that if I go to London to stay first, I shall meet with many
trifling jobs to interrupt me, which I shall do with pleasure when
I have my own pictures under command. You shall hear from
me again in a day or two."
After a short visit to London, Constable again wrote from
Bergholt on the 15th November: "I have received your kind
and affectionate note, and your lovely present, which I cannot
enough prize. It is the first thing of the kind I ever possessed.
It is my intention to continue here till I feel that I have secured
such a picture as I intend for the exhibition. Here everything
is calm, comfortable, and good; and I am at a distance from
you which effectually removes the anxious desire I always feel,
when you are in London, to meet you, perhaps too often for
each other's comfort, till we can meet for once, and, I trust,
for good. . . . My kindest regards to all about you, and
believe me, ever dear Maria, unalterably yours."
"Spring Garden Terrace,
" December 28th.
" I dare say, my dear John, you are expecting to hear from
me, and I am expecting to hear from you ; as your last letter
led me to suppose you would write again in a day or two.
But it is painting that takes up all your tirae and attention. How
I do dislike pictures ; I cannot bear the sight of them ; but I am
very cross, ara I npt ? You raay spare yourself telling me I am

74 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. IV.
very unreasonable, for I know it already. But I cannot be re
conciled to your spending month after month in the country.
You say you have no expectation of remaining in London for
sorae tirae. At all events it is pleasant intelligence. But I feel
how very often the visits here are distressing. I believe you are
right to reraain where you are, in a corafortable horae, and ren
dering the declining years of your father happy. Whatever
attention you can show him must make your hours pass the raore
agreeably. Whenever I wish you away, I know I do wrong. I
wish we could always like what is right. Henceforth I will en
deavour. . . . Accept, ray dearest John, the good wishes of
the season ; not only you, but all your family, and believe me,
affectionately yours, " M. E. B.
" P.S. — I am in a very good humour now, so that I shall be
happy to hear your pictures please you. Is Bergholt gay this
Christmas ? Do you not think if I were to write seldora, and fill
the paper, it would be better? I certainly will in future."
"East Bergholt, December ^ist.
" Believe me, my dearest Maria, I have been for some time
past raost anxious to write to you. I have even written raore than
one letter, without being able to prevail on rayself to send them.
This house has been the scene of great anxiety and alarm, owing
to the very dangerous state of ray dear father's health. But, thank
God, for the last two or three days he has revived ; and, although
in a very weak and low state, he seeras to be free frora iramediate
danger. As you may suppose, I have not been painting much,
nor am I likely to return to London for the present, at least, not
to remain. Dr. Rhudde has been very kind in his inquiries after

i8i6.] ILLNESS OF CONSTABLE'S FATHER. 75
my father, and has sent him word that he will call upon him at
the shortest notice." " East Bergholt,
"January 'jth, 18 16.
"It is impossible to contemplate, without satisfaction, the
frame of raind ray father has been in all through his illness. His
pious resignation in what appeared the hour of death — his calra-
ness and his thankfulness for all the blessings he has enjoyed —
will, I hope, be always before rae, and prove a guide to my future
life. His pillow is light to him, and he is so kind as to consider
the having all his children about him as not among the least of
his blessings. I have got to work again with alertness, and ara, I
hope, advancing. I have no intention of coraing to London to
stay, but I hope, if my father continues as well as he now is, to be
there for a few days soon. I have a letter of thanks from Mr.
Watts for a most beautiful brace of pheasants, which I wish it had
been in my power to have given to you. But from these little
courtesies, dear to a heart that is not bad, I am cut ofif,"
" To Mr, John Constable,
" Though I have not written to you, my dearest John, I have
thought continually of you. When you last wrote, the idea of
danger seemed past, and I rejoice that it pleases God still to
bless you with a father. May the impression it has made on you
never wear ofif; it shall be a lesson to me. Of this I ara confident,
that those who really love and fear God are the only wise
people, Reraeraber rae kindly to your sisters, "M. E Bicknell,"

76 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. IV,
"East Bergholt, January i\th.
" . . . . My dear father continues charmingly, all things
considered, and this imparts cheerfulness to the whole house. . .
He will drink your health in a bumper with me to-morrrow.* . ."
Miss Bicknell's next letter alludes to a visit paid by her father
to Dr. Rhudde. " January i8th.
". . . I do not think I have been quite so comfortable lately,
as I ought to be. I had most foolishly, most romantically, I own,
flattered myself that the late visit to the Rectory would have
produced some good for us ; but the state of our affairs seems
as bad as ever ; with, to me, the addition of your spending the
winter in the country, though remember, in your father's present
state of health, I would not for the world you should be any
where else. In the summer it is a thing of course, and we have
been used to it, and know it must be ; but in the winter and spring
months we have always been together. . . We certainly have
not too many enjoyments. . . I am afraid you will be said to
be very unsociable by the Bergholt belles and beaux if you refuse
being at any of their card parties."
Soon after receiving this letter. Constable spent a few days in
town, and returned to Bergholt, from whence he wrote to Miss
Bicknell on the 25th January ; —
" , . . On ray arrival here, I found my dear father sadly.
There is certainly a great alteration in him since I left home. I
fear his time is now short indeed. I ara glad I went to London ;
* Her birthday.

i8i6.] DR. RHUDDE'S LETTER TO MR. BICKNELL. 77
and do let me entreat you to be calm, and let nothing that can be
said vex you. ... I love you entirely, and nothing, save
death, can prevent our being happy together. We can never be
rich, but we can have what riches cannot purchase, and what
enemies cannot deprive us of Dr. Rhudde and Mrs.  are
entirely inveterate against me. But don't let that vex you. The
one never saw me, and the other has had no opportunity of
knowing me. But time will set all to rights."
The permission Mr. Bicknell had given to Constable to pay
occasional visits at his house had been kept a secret from
Dr. Rhudde. But an accident now discovered it to him ; and
Miss Bicknell wrote to Constable : — " February ith.
" . . . The doctor has just sent such a letter that I tremble
with having heard only a part of it read. Poor dear papa, to
have such a letter written to him ! he has a great share of
feeling, and it has sadly hurt him. ... I know not how it will
end. Perhaps the storm may blow over; God only knows. We
must be patient. I am sure your heart is too good not to feel
for my father. He would wish to make us all happy if he could.
Pray do not come to town just yet. I hope by the end of the
month peace will be restored."
Constable replied : " I ara truly sorry anything should have
happened to cause us any concern frora that quarter. But my
sisters trust the calm will not long be disturbed ; though I have
always feared it was a deceitful one, and that we have been
making ourselves happy over a barrel of gunpowder. But, my
love, let me hear from you, and tell rae whether I may see you

78 TIIE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. IV.
when I return to London. All this nonsense has been kept from
my father, or it must have vexed hira." "February 13/^.
" I would rather, ray dear John, write too soon than that
you should wonder why you do not hear frora me ; but you have
already so much to distress you that I hardly know if I should
tell you what I fear will only do so raore. The kind doctor says
he 'considers rae no longer as his granddaughter,' and from
the knowledge I have of his character, I infer he means what
he says. I have not seen his letters. Papa says, if we were to
marry and live at Bergholt, he thinks the doctor would leave the
place." " To Miss Bicknell. " February i%th.
" I trust, ray dearest love, you have allowed yourself to be
made as little unhappy as possible by what has been lately pass
ing in your house. You have always been so kind as to believe
that my affection for you was never alloyed by worldly motives.
I, now more than ever, repeat it; and, I assure you, that
nothing can be done by any part of your family that shall ever
make any alteration in rae towards you. I shall not concern
myself with the justice or injustice of others — that must rest with
theraselves ; it is sufficient for us to know that we have done no
thing to deserve the ill-opinion of any one. Our business is now
more than ever with ourselves. I am entirely free from debt,
and, I trust, could I be made happy, to receive a good deal
more than I do now by ray profession. After this, my dearest
Maria, I have nothing raore to say than the sooner we are
married the better ; and, from this tirae, I shall cease to listen

i8i6.] INCREASING ILLNESS OF HIS FATHER.

79

to any arguments the other way, from any quarter. I wish
your father to know what I have written if you think with me."
" February 2^th.
" I was expecting to hear from you, my dearest Maria, all last
week, I wrote you a long letter last Sunday, and I am very
anxious to hear from you again, as I fear you are unwell. Do
give me a line by return of post, otherwise it is probable I
raay corae to London on Wednesday. My dear father is no
better, but the contrary. His dropsy certainly increases, and Mr.
Travis says it is out of his power to help hira. Mrs. Whalley
is here, who cheers our fireside a good deal. Her mildness and
serenity always raake her a most welcome guest everywhere. Do
pray write to rae. I ara restless to see you, yet ray poor father is
in such a sad state that every week we look for the change. But
tell rae that you are well, and I shall be easy.' '
"Spring Garden Terrace, February 26th.
" My dearest John, — I received your letter at Greenwich.
. . . Greenwich, I ara told, is a damp, unhealthy place, and I
am sorry I went, for it has delayed a few days my writing to you.
I walked out, foolishly, on a very damp day, and have got a cold.
I have had a blister, and shall now be well in a few days. I have
only to keep quiet. I will write to you again in a day or two.
There is not, my dearest John, the least cause for you to be
uneasy. I fully intended writing to-day, and only raentioned this
cold to make ray excuse for seeraing neglect. We are all
perfectly quiet here, and it would be a great pity for you to
leave your poor father. Perhaps you raight regret it. It imust be
a pleasure to him to have you with hira. Your afifection is a

8o THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. IV.
source of the greatest happiness to rae ; but raay I entreat that
you will not wish to hear very frequently from me. It only
makes you uncomfortable if I do not write on the day you
iraagine I will. Papa says if we reraain as we are he has no
expectation that the doctor will alter his will. Let us then wait
any time rather than you should experience the raisery of being
much in debt, added to having a very delicate wife, . . . I am
glad you have the addition of Mrs. Whalley to your society."
Towards the end of March, Constable arrived in town with two
pictures for the Academy, one of which is called in the catalogue,
"A Wheat Field," and the other, "A Wood: Autumn." The
latter was purchased by Mr. Watts.
He was recalled to Bergholt by the death of his father, which,
in a letter to Miss Bicknell, he thus describes : —
" My dear father died while sitting in his chair as usual,
without a sigh or pang, and without the sraallest alteration of
his position or features, except a gentle inclination of his head
forwards ; and ray sister Ann, who was near him, had to put her
face close to his to assure herself that he breathed no more.
Thus it has pleased God to take this good man to Himself, the
rectitude of whose life had disarmed the grave of its terrors, and
it pleased God also to spare him the pangs of death.
"May igth, 1816." "East Bergholt, July i^th,
" My dearest Love, — You would certainly have heard from
me before, had I left London on the day I mentioned, but I could
not get away before Tuesday. I found all my friends here quite

i8i6.] " AN APPROVED lover!' 8i
well, and we make a, large family party — nine with Mrs. Whalley's
two children ; and your portrait, which gives great pleasure here,
as an additional proof of your kindness to me. . . . We are all
very happy among ourselves ; but so used have I been, on entering
these doors, to be received with the affectionate shake of the
hand of my father, and the endearing salute of my mother, that
I often find myself overcome by a sadness I cannot restrain. . . .
I am sitting before your portrait, which, when I look ofif the paper,
is so extremely like, that I can hardly help going up to it. I
never before knew the real pleasure a portrait can afford."
" Putney Heath, August i^th.
"... How well you knew what I should like when you sent
me the delightful letters of Gessner. My only regret is, that I
have finished them so soon. I shall send to the library for the
rest of his works. My dear John, you know the raoraents were
too short and too precious for me to write a note when you took
the box ; but I expected you would make a very pretty speech for
me when you gave it to your sister. I am very glad she was
pleased with it. I had great pleasure in doing it for her. Thank
you, my dear John, for sending me your sweet picture. Corae
early this evening."
When Constable, on one of his visits to Spring Garden
Terrace, placed himself beside Miss Bicknell, and took the hand
which was soon to be given to him for life, her father said, " Sir,
if you were the most approved of lovers you could not take a
greater liberty with my daughter," " And don't you know. Sir,"
he replied, " that I ara the raost approved of lovers? " She had
been treated for five years as if she were a boarding-school girl
M

82 tbe life of JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. IV.
in danger of falling a prey to a fortune-hunter. But she had now
arrived at the age of twenty-nine ; a time of life at which, patient
as she was, she felt entitled to determine for herself a matter
which so entirely afifected her own happiness. A journey into
Wales, under the care of an uncle, was proposed to her, and in
allusion to this, she says, in a letter to Constable, dated July 30th,
" I am not to go unless I get stronger than I ara at present, and
then it will do rae rauch good, the change of air and scene. My
uncle intends to take plenty of tirae for the journey, that it may
not be fatiguing. I think, therefore, you may safely trust to my
discretion, and then my dear John shall find me ready, if it is his
decided wish, for another and far pleasanter journey."
" Putney Heath, August 20th.
"... I do not like, dear John, that you should have to borrow
money ; and I think you said it would be some tirae before you
came into possession of your own. I only suggest this for our
consideration, but, alas I I know too well that you have thought of
it with sorrow. Let me know what you think, for it makes me
perfectly uncomfortable. I ara glad to be going from home for a
short time." "East Bergholt, August 21st.
" My dearest Love, — I returned from ray very pleasant visit
at General Rebow's on Monday. . . . The General and
Mrs. Rebow are determined to be of some service to me. I
am going there again, and shall stay a week in all probability.
Do be so kind as to let me hear from you before you go to
Mr. Lambert's. I ara to paint two small landscapes for the
General ; one in the park, of the house, and a beautiful wood and

i8i6.] GENERAL AND MRS. REBOW. 83
piece of water ; and another, a wood, with a little fishing house,
where the young lady (who is the heroine of all these scenes)
goes occasionally to angle. They wish me to take my own time
about them ; but the General will pay me for them when I please,
as he tells me he understands, from Mr. Driffield, that we may
soon want a little ready money. They are both well acquainted
with our history, and hope to see us there together. I am next
year to paint another picture of the little girl, with her donkey,
for their house in town. This, my love, is just such a commis
sion as will be of real service to me. I am getting on as well
as I can wish with my own pictures ; but these little things will
rather interrupt them, and, I am afraid, will detain me here a
week or two longer than I could have wished."
" Putney Heath, August 22,rd.
" I thank you, my dear John, for yours, this raoraent received.
How very happy the account of your visit makes me ; you seem
so truly comfortable there. I am delighted that you return on
Monday, and that the views you are to paint are so pretty. . .
My uncle set ofif last night by the mail. The weather has so
much improved that I have been silly enough to regret (only for
a moment) that I did not go. But then, poor dear papa 1 I ought
sometimes to comply with his wishes with pleasure."
" Wivenhoe Park, August 30M.
"My dearest Love, — I have been here since Monday, and
am as happy as I can be away from you. Nothing can exceed
the kindness of the General and his lady. They often talk of you,
because they know it will please rae, and I am sure they will
show you the same attentions they show me. I feel comfort-

84 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. IV,
able with them, because I know them to be sincere people ; and
though of family, and in the highest degree refined, they are not
at all people of the world, in the common acceptation of the word.
I am going on very well with ray pictures for them. The park
is the most forward. The great difificulty has been to get as rauch
in it as they wanted. On my left is a grotto with some elms,
at the head of a piece of water ; in the centre is the house over a
beautiful wood ; and very far to the right is a deer house, which
it was necessary to add ; so that my view comprehended too large
a space. But to-day I have got over the difificulty, and begin to
like it myself. I think I shall make a large picture from what I
am now about. When do you return ? If I should be delayed
longer in the country than I at first expected, I shall run up for
a day to see you. I shall write to John Fisher soon."
"Wivenhoe Park, September ^th.
"My dearest Love, — I hasten to send you the enclosed letter
frora our friend Fisher. I can only say that I am ready to adopt
any plan that may meet your feelings on this occasion, and, I
repeat Fisher's words, that ' I shall be happy and ready to marry
you ' at the time he mentions. I am advised by my good friends
here to try one more effort with the doctor; but I shall do
entirely in this as you direct."
The following is the letter enclosed :
" Osmington, near Dorchester,
"August 2'jth, 1816.
" My dear Constable, — I am not a great letter writer, and
when I take pen in hand I generally come to the point at once.

i8i6] MR. FISHER'S ADVICE AND INVITATION. 85
I therefore write to tell you that I intend to be in London on
Tuesday evening, the 24th ; and on Wednesday shall hold myself
ready and happy to marry you. There, you see, I have used no
roundabout phrases, but said the thing at once in good plain
English. So, do you follow ray example, and get you to your
lady, and, instead of blundering out long sentences about ' the
hymeneal altar,' &c., say that on Wednesday, Septeraber 25th,
you are ready to marry her. If she replies, like a sensible
woman, as I suspect she is, 'Well, John, here is my hand, I
am ready,' all well and good. If she says ' Yes, but another day
will be more convenient,' let her narae it, and I ara at her service.
And now, ray dear fellow, I have another point to settle ; and
that I raay gain it I shall put it in the shape of a request. It is
that if you find, upon your marriage, your purse is strong enough
to make a bit of a detour, I shall reckon it a great pleasure if you
and your bride will come and stay some time with ray wife and
me. That lady joins with me in my request. The country here
is wonderfully wild and sublirae, and well worth a painter's visit.
My house coraraands a singularly beautiful view, and you may
study from your very window. You shall have a plate set by the
side of your easel, without your sitting down to dinner. We never
see company, and I have brushes, paints, and canvas in abun
dance. Of an evening, we will sit over our autumnal fireside, read
a sensible book, perhaps a sermon, and, after prayers, get us
to bed, at peace with ourselves and all the world. Since I have
been quiet down here, out of the way of the turmoil and bustle of
 's great dinners, I have taken much to my easel, and
have improved much. Your visit will be of wonderful advantage
to me. Tell your lady that I long to be better acquainted with

86 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. IV.
her, as does Mrs, Fisher; and I beg her to use her influence with
you to bring you to see " Yours, with sincerity, "John Fisher."
On the 15th Septeraber Constable wrote to Miss Bicknell:
" What can I do about writing to your father? Will it be tirae
enough if I call on hira when I come to town ? You must be my
adviser." She replied : " Papa is adverse to everything I propose.
If you please you raay write to him ; it will do neither good nor
harm. I hope we are not going to do a very foolish thing. . . .
Once more, and for the last time, it is not too late to follow papa's
advice and wait. . . Notwithstanding all I have been writing,
whatever you deem best, I do. This enchanting weather gives
one spirits."
They were married on the 2nd of October, i8i6, at St.
Martin's Church, by Mr. Fisher, whose invitation to Osmington
they accepted. Mr. Fisher had hiraself been raarried but three
months. Mr. Bicknell did not long withhold his forgiveness from his
daughter, and now that he allowed himself opportunities of know
ing Constable, he became extremely fond of him. In one of Miss
Bicknell's letters, which has not been quoted, she said, " It grieves
me that papa and you cannot be better acquainted, but the loss
is mutual." Dr. Rhudde was not so soon reconciled to the mar
riage, but at his death, which occurred in 1819, he left his grand
daughter a legacy, she probably little expected, of ^^4, 000.

CHAPTER V.
1817— 1821.
Birth of a son.— Exhibitions, 1817, 1818, 1819. — Elected an Associate. — Sale of "The
White Horse" and "Stratford Mill."— Exhibitions, 1830, 1821.- Studies at Hamp
stead.
Although my acquaintance with Constable began about this time,
I have little to tell of the next two years of his life but that which
the catalogues of the exhibitions furnish. I remember him, in
181 7, living in a small house. No. i, Keppel Street, Russell
Square, and that his first child, a fine boy, to whom his own name
had been given, might be seen almost as often in his arms as in
those of his nurse, or even his mother. His fondness for children
exceeded, indeed, that of any man I ever knew.*
In this year he exhibited at the British Gallery " A Harvest
Field with Reapers and Gleaners," and at the Academy,
"Wivenhoe Park," "A Cottage," a portrait of Mr. Fisher, and
* He was not only fond of them as little ones, but, as the following incident shows,
most indulgent to them as boys, and had, at the back of his London house, a large
courtyard glazed in as a playground for them in all weathers, where, I remember,
among other interesting toys, was a most complete working model of a fire-engine ;
and how one of the elder boys, after cutting holes in a large box to represent a house
with windows, filled it with shavings and set fire to them. Another boy then rang a
small bell, and the model engine appeared, but had scarcely begun to play upon the
flaming box when Constable, to whose studio the dense smoke had found its way, came
among us, and saying, " I can't have any more of this," looked for a can of water to
put out the fire ; while the author of the mischief coolly tumed the hose of the little
engine on to the back of his father's head ; who, in place of being furious with the boy,
as I expected, appeared to think it rather a good joke, and, after extinguishing the
fire, quietly went back to his painting-room. — Ed.

88 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap, V.
" A Scene on a Navigable River," and in the auturan he paid a
visit to Bergholt, as the dates of some of his sketches show.
In 1818 he sent to the Academy " Landscape: Breaking-up of
a Shower," three other landscapes, " A Gothic Porch," and "A
Group of Elms," the two last being drawings in lead pencil ; and
to the British Gallery he sent " A Cottage in a Cornfield," prob
ably exhibited at the Acaderay the year before. The cottage in
this little picture is closely surrounded by the corn, which on the
side most shaded frora the sun reraains green, while over the rest
of the field it has ripened — one of the many circumstances that
may be discovered in Constable's landscapes which mark them as
the productions of an incessant observer of nature. But these and
other latent beauties passed wholly unnoticed in the exhibitions ;
indeed, the pictures that contained thera were for the raost part
unheeded, while raore .showy works by artists, whose very names
are now nearly forgotten, were the favourites ofthe day.
Constable's art was never raore perfect, perhaps never so
perfect, as at this period of his life. I reraeraber being greatly
struck by a sraall picture, a view from Hampstead Heath, which
I first saw at Ruysdael House, as Mr. Fisher called his residence
in Keppel Street. I have before noticed that what are comraonly
called warra colours are not necessary to produce the irapression
of warrath in landscape ; and this picture affords to me the
strongest possible proof of the truth of this.* The sky is of the
blue of an English suraraer day, with large, but not threatening,
clouds of a silvery whiteness. The distance is of a deep blue,
* It is, perhaps, unnecessary to remark that we associate the idea of warmth with
red, orange, and yellow, because they are the colours of fire ; and that, in a summer
landscape, they can only have place in very small proportions, excepting at the rising
and the setting of the sun, the coolest hours of the day.

a cottage in a cornfield.

i8i8.] AN ENGLISH SUMMER DAY. 89
and the near trees and grass of the freshest green ; for Constable
could never consent to parch up the verdure of nature to obtain
warmth. These tints are balanced by a very little warm colour
on a road and gravel pit in the foreground, a single house in the
middle distance, and the scarlet jacket of a labourer. Yet I know
no picture in which the raid-day heat of raidsuraraer is so adrairably
expressed ; and were not the eye refreshed by the shade thrown
over a great part of the foreground by some young trees that
border the road, and the cool blue of water near it, one would
wish, in looking at it, for a parasol, as Fuseli wished for an
umbrella when standing before one of Constable's showers. I am
writing of this picture, which appears to have been wholly painted
in the open air, after an acquaintance with it of five-and-twenty
years, and, on referring to it again and again, I feel my first
impressions, whether right or wrong, entirely confirmed.* At
later periods of his life. Constable aimed, and successfully, at
grander and more evanescent effects of nature ; but in copying
her simplest aspects, he never surpassed such pictures as this, and
which, I cannot but think, will obtain for him, when his merits are
fully acknowledged, the praise of having been the raost genuine
painter of English landscape that has yet lived.
The following beautiful passage is from a letter written to Mrs.
Constable, in May, 18 19, while he was on a short visit to Bergholt:
" Everything seems full of blossora of some kind, and at every
step I take, and on whatever object I turn my eyes, that sublime
expression of the Scriptures, ' I am the resurrection and the life,'
seeras as if uttered near me."
In 181 9, he sent two pictures to the British Gallery, not before
* Now in the National Gallery, under the curious title of " The Salt-Box." — Ed.
N

90 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. V.
exhibited, " Osraington Shore, near Weymouth," and " A Mill " ;
and to the Academy he sent the largest and most important work
he had yet produced, " A Scene on the River. Stour," afterwards
called, frora a white horse in a barge near the foreground,
"Constable's White Hor.se." This fine landscape, which was
too large to reraain unnoticed, attracted more attention than any
thing he had before exhibited. It is the one mentioned by him in
the following letter to Archdeacon Fisher,* dated —
"July 11 th.
" I should like, of all things, to raake you a visit in the auturan,
though I cannot, allow myself to be sanguine ; yet it is cheering to
think about it; such a visit would have many charms for me.
Your society, the cathedral, the walks, and those mines of art,
Longford and Wilton, to which you could procure me admission to
make sorae studies.
" The price I have put on ray large landscape is one hundred
guineas, exclusive of the frarae ; it has served a good apprentice
ship in the Acaderay, and I shall work a good deal upon it before
it goes to the British Gallery. I should hardly like to part with
my copy of Ruysdael ; its being an old school exercise (of which
I have too few) gives it a value to me beyond what I could in
conscience ask for it. We will talk about the Claude when we
meet. I have procured the drawing by Cozens for you, and could
pictures choose their possessors you would have had many like
it long ago. I do not wonder at what you tell me of poor . . .
pictures. Such collections and judges always make me raelancholy.
I neither visit them nor talk about them if I can help it. But such
* Mr. Fisher had been installed Archdeacon of Berkshire in the latter part of 1817.

i8i9,] ELECTED ASSOCIATE OF THE ROYAL ACADEMY. 91
things are driven down the throats of ignorance by ignorance
stfll more overbearing, backed, by-the-bye, with good dinners. . . .
I have made a sketch of the scene on the Thames, which is very
promising."* "August i2,th.
" My dear Fisher, — I was happy to receive your friendly
letter yesterday. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to
make you a visit, and I hope to be able to accomplish it ere long,
I am under an engagement to paint the portraits of General and
Mrs, Rebow, at Wivenhoe Park, about this tirae, I have written
to know if it is still his wish, and when I have his answer you shall
hear from me again. My wife thanks you for your kkid inquiries
after her and her infant. They are both well, and a raore lovely
little girl at a raonth old was never seen. We are so proud of
her, and at the sarae tirae so arabitious, as to be induced to ask
a great favour : it is our wish to be allowed to narae you for her
godfather. We shall take her to church in a few days, and
shall be happy to hear from you."
In October, 18 19, Constable was called to Bergholt by the
division of his father's property, of which his part amounted to
;^4,ooo ; and in November he was elected an Associate of the
Royal Academy, on which occasion he received the following note
from Mr. Fisher : "Close, Salisbury, November, 1819.
" My dear Constable, — The Bishop and Mrs. Fisher bid me,
with my own, to present their congratulations on your honourable
election. Honourable it is, for the Royal Academy is, in the first
place, an establishment of this great country, and as such, to be
* The Opening of Waterloo Bridge.

92 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. V,
held in great respect; and, in the second place, you owe your
election to no favour, but solely to your own unsupported, un-
patronised merits. I reckon it no small feather in my cap that I
have had the sagacity to find them out."
Mr. Fisher did not content himself with praising his friend,
but by the purchase of " The White Horse" ; while he manifested
his sincerity, he rendered Constable a service which was, perhaps,
of more importance to him at that crisis of his life than it would
have been at any later period ; and his desire to follow this up by
farther acts of friendship will be seen in a letter dated —
"April igth, 1820.
" My dear Constable, — I ara under obligations to an archi
tect here who has retired frora business. I want to raake hira a
present of soraething near;^20. I would rather give him one of
your pictures, if I thought he would appreciate it. See what you
can do for me, , , Do not part with your London and West
minster view without apprising me, as I rather think I shall like
to have it, in case I am strong enough in purse. At any rate,
/ can do you no harra by saying no, if I cannot purchase. I am
infinitely obliged by your purchase of the Claude. You can send
it me down with the picture. You did right in sending the sea-
coast windmill to the exhibition. Pray come as soon as you can,
and stay as long as you can." " Salisbury, April 21 th.
" 'The White Horse' has arrived safe; it is hung on a level
with the eye, the frame resting on the ogee moulding in a western
side-light, right for the light in the picture. It Jooks magnifi-

oI

I(-

i82ov] " THE WHITE HORSE." 93
cently. My wife says she carries her eye from the picture to the
garden and back again, and observes the same sort of look in
both. I have shown it to no one, and intend to say nothing about
it, but leave it to people to find it out, and make their own
reraarks. I am quite impatient to see you here, and wish your
young family would permit your wife to join the party.
"J. Fisher."
"The White Horse," on raany accounts the most iraportant
picture, to Constable, he ever painted, and certainly one of the
finest, is now in the possession of L. Archer Burton, Esq,,* of The
Woodlands, Hants, In a letter written to Miss Gubbins (a lady
related to that gentleraan and to Constable), at a late period
of his life, he calls it " one of ray happiest efforts on a large*
scale, being a placid representation of a serene grey morning
sumraer," "Keppel Street, September ist, 1820,
"My dear Fisher,— ... I have settled my wife and chil
dren comfortably at Hampstead. I am glad to get them out of
London, for every reason. Things do not look well, though I fear
nothing.f I hear the Duke of Wellington was in the most im
minent danger yesterday, and had nearly lost his life by the
hands of an old woman. We had a pleasant journey to London,
In truth, we were all made more fit for such an excursion by the
unbounded kindness of yourself and Mrs. Fisher, and our kind
friends at the palace. Indeed, my dear Fisher, my wife and I feel
* At the sale of Mr. Archer Burton's pictures at Christie's, in 1855, this picture
fetched 600 guineas ; and at the sale of Mr. Richard Hemming's collection, in 1894, it
was sold to Mr. Agnew for 6,200 guineas. — Ed.
t The excitement occasioned by the trial of Queen Caroline was then at its height.

94 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. V,
quite at a loss how to speak to you of these things. My Salisbury
sketches are much liked— that in the Palace grounds, the bridges,
and your house from the meadows, &c. ... I have just been
giving some relief to the poor old organist you saw at my door ;
he is taken for an Italian, and is, in consequence, in danger in the
streets. I shall venture to give him five shillings for you, and
add it to your running account."
I do not know whether the present, mentioned in Mr. Fisher's
letter ofthe 19th April, was made; but Mr. Tinney, of Salisbury,
as the Archdeacon's solicitor, having rendered him some services
for which he felt under great obligations, he purchased a large
picture of Constable, which he presented to that gentleman ; but
as Mr. Fisher considered the price, one hundred guineas, to be
far below its value, he, with much delicacy, in a letter to
Constable, spoke of the transaction as " our joint present." This
noble picture, which I well remember in the exhibition of 1820,
and which has since been adrairably engraved by Mr. Lucas, is
about as large as " The White Horse," and has more subject.
On the extrerae left of the spectator, the wheel and part of a
waterraill are seen. In the foreground are some children fishing ;
admirable for the expression of their attitudes, their faces not
being seen. Sir George Beauraont said of the largest boy,
that "he was undergoing the agony of a bite." To the right,
and in the middle distance, a barge lies with extreme elegance of
perspective on the smooth river; light clouds throw their
shadows over a rising distance of great beauty, and a group of
tall trees forras the centre of the coraposition. It is a view, and
when it was painted was an exact one, of Stratford Mill on the

STRATFORD MILL, ON THE RIVER STOUR.

i82i.] STOTHARUS "CANTERBURY PILGRIMS." 95
Stour, not far from Bergholt.* Constable sent with it a small
picture to the Academy, " A View of Harwich Lighthouse, "t
"Weymouth, February i\th, 182 1.
"My dear Constable, — I am here paying the last duties
to my wife's raother. She died silently and suddenly on Monday
morning at three o'clock. Rather a singular accident happened
to me in consequence of her death. I was in the church at
Osmington, with the old clerk alone, pointing out the site of her
grave, when the old raan suddenly exclairaed, ' I cannot stand,
sir,' and, dropping into my arms, died.
" When you next see Stothard tell hira the following anec
dote. I went to call upon a poor curate, living in one of our raud
villages on a lonely part of this coast, and was shown into a dark,
low, underground parlour. Casting ray eye round the corafort-
less walls, it was refreshed by spying in a corner a raost charra
ing bit of light and shadow ; and walking up to see what else it
contained, I found Stothard's ' Canterbury Pilgrims, 'J with the
morning light breaking over the Dulwich Hills. The poor man
little less than worships this print. Pray get, at your circulating
library, the * Diary of an Invalid.' You will be much amused
with it ; for it is written in an easy, lively manner. When you
corae to his critiques on painting and statuary, you will find
another corroboration of our often-repeated opinion, that persons
* Mr. Lucas's engraving of this picture was published after the death of
Constable, with the title " The Young Waltonians " — a title he certainly would not
have given to it. This picture is now the property of Sir Samuel Montagu, Bt., M.P.
It was bought for him by Mr, Agnew at Mr. Huth's sale for 8,500 guineas, the largest
sum yet realised for a picture by Constable.
t Now in the National Gallery.
X Constable told me he was in Stothard's rooms when he was finishing the picture
of the Pilgrims, and that he was then painting the two dogs gamboling at the head
of the cavalcade. They were the last objects introduced into the composition.

96 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. V.
of the highest education in the sciences are often raere children
in their knowledge of the art, . . As soon as the spring
arrives I will raake a correct sketch of our ferry house at Port
land, and send it to you. I saw it, the other day, standing in
sea-bleached desolation. "J. Fisher."
Constable, in his reply to this letter, after condoling with
Mr. and Mrs. Fisher on the raelancholy news with which it com
menced, says, of another large work he was engaged on, " My
picture is getting on, and the frarae will be here in three
weeks or a fortnight. Believe me, my dear Fisher, I should
almost faint by the way when I am standing before my large
canvases, were I not cheered and encouraged by your friend
ship and approbation. I now fear (for ray faraily' s sake) I shall
never raake a popular artist, a gentlemen and ladies' painter.
But I ara spared raaking a fool of myself, and your hand
stretched forth teaches me to value what I possess (if I may
say so) ; and this is of more consequence than gentlemen and
ladies can well imagine. The Bishop and Mrs. Fisher attacked
me about  's pantomime again, yesterday; but I spoke my
mind, as the shortest way. I could not sacrifice rayself to such
gross ignorance,"
The pantomime here alluded to was an extravagant and
raelodraraatic conception of historical art, at that time popular.
The Bishop of Salisbury, though a man of great refineraent of
raind, was no judge of painting, and was, therefore, led away on
that subject by the fashions of the tirae. His unceasing kind
ness to Constable, whose art he did not appreciate, was the result
of friendship alone.

.''

\ ' .' %

'Jt l<
4''

.5^ rV%

*4^

ill ^.^-^'1

f i'

7 '^

i82i.] WHITE'S ' SELBORNE.'— PICTURES AT THE ACADEMY. 97
" Close, Salisbury, March 6th.
" My dear Constable, — . . . I am reading, for the third
time, 'White's Natural History of Selborne.' It is a book that
would delight you, and be highly instructive to you in your
art, if you are not already acquainted with it. White was the
clergyman of the place, and occupied himself with narrowly
observing and noting down all the natural occurrences that carae
within his view, and this for a number of years. It is most
elegantly written. I fear the book is scarce. But if you can
procure it, buy it for rae and keep it by you. It is in your own
way of close observation, and has in it that quality that, to me,
constitutes the great pleasure of your society. . . .
"J, Fisher,"
In 1 82 1 Constable exhibited four pictures at Somerset House:
"Hampstead Heath," "A Shower," "Harrow," and "Land
scape : Noon." The last was the third he had painted on a
six-foot canvas, encouraged to proceed with works on so large a
scale by Mr. Fisher's two purchases. This picture is mentioned
in the next letter, and will be again spoken of as " The Hay
Wain." "No. I, Keppel Street,
" 7b Archdeacon Fisher. "April ist, 1821.
"... My picture goes to the Academy on the loth ; it
is not so grand as Tinney' s. Owing, perhaps, to the masses not
being so impressive, the power of the chiaroscuro is lessened, but
it has a more novel look than I expected. I have yet much to do
to it, and calculate on three or four days there. I hear of so raany
clever pictures, particularly by non-raembers, that it must be
o

98 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. V,
a capital show. They are chiefly historical and fancy pictures.
And why? The Londoners, with all their ingenuity as artists,
know nothing of the feelings of a country life — the essence of
landscape. . . . How rauch I ara obliged to you for the mention
of the books. The * Diary ' is delightful. It has given me new
information on subjects that I have heard of all my life. No
doubt the ' Invalid ' is a clever fellow ; but these tourists in Italy
think they must talk about pictures, and relate anecdotes of
painting. I would recoraraend thera to reraeraber the story of
Alexander's visit to the painting-room of Apelles. He mentions
the landscapes of Gaspar Poussin (whose works contain the
highest feeling of landscape painting), and iraagines defects, that
he raay afford an opportunity to * our own Glover ' to reraedy
them. This is too bad, and he here shows himself to be truly an
invalid.* The raind that produced the ' Selborne ' is such a one
as I have always envied. The single page of the life of Mr.
White leaves a more lasting irapression on my mind than all that
has been written of Charles V., or any other renowned hero. It
shows what a real love of nature will do. Surely the serene and
blameless life of Mr. White, so exerapt from the folly and
quackery of the world, must have fitted him for the clear and
intimate view he took of nature. It proves the truth of Sir
Joshua Reynolds's reraark, ' that the virtuous man alone has true
* The following is the passage from Matthew's "Diary of an Invalid," which
excited his indignation : " Doria Palace. Large collection of pictures. Gaspar
Poussin's green landscapes have no charms for me. The fact seems to be, that the
delightful green of nature cannot be represented in a picture. Our own Glover has,
perhaps, made the greatest possible exertions to surmount the difficulty, and give
with fidelity the real colours of nature ; but I believe the beauty of his pictures is in
an inverse ratio to their fidelity ; and that nature must be stripped of her green livery,
and dressed in the browns of the painters, or confined to her own autumnal tints in
order to be transferred to canvas."

1 82 1,] EXCURSION IN BERKSHIRE. 99
taste.' This book is an addition to my estate. Stothard was
amused with your mention of his * Pilgrims,' but said he believed
' many of his prints were to be found among the Hottentots.' I
dined last week at Sir George Beauraont's. Met Wilkie, Jackson,
and Collins. It was arausing to hear thera talk of  's
picture. Sir George said some clever things about it, but he
added, ' even allowing the composition, its only raerit, to be
soraething; still, if the finest coraposition of Handel's were
played entirely out of tune, what would it be? ' "
In June, Constable accorapanied his friend Fisher during his
visitation in Berkshire, and raade sorae beautiful pencil and
washed drawings of the scenery of the neighbourhood of Reading,
Newbury, and Abingdon. He also visited Oxford, with Fisher,
and raade an exquisite drawing of Blenheim, from the Park.
" Salisbury, July vt^th, 1821.
" My dear Constable, — Your picture is hung up in a tera-
porary way at Tinney' s till his new roora is finished, and excites
great interest and attention. How does ' The Hay Wain ' look
now it has got into your own roora again ? I want to see it there,
for how can one participate in a scene of fresh water and deep
noon-day in the crowded copal atraosphere of the Exhibition ?
Which is always to me like a great pot of boiling varnish. . . .
" Yours very sincerely, John Fisher."
" No. 2, Lower Terrace, Hampstead,
"August 4.th, 1 82 1.
" My dear Fisher, — . . . I'm as much here as possible
with my family. My placid and contented companion and her

100 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. V.
three infants are well. I have got a room at a glazier's, where is
my large picture, and at this little place I have many small works
going on, for which purpose I have cleared a shed in the garden,
which held sand, coals, mops, and brooms, and have made it a
workshop. I have done a good deal here. I have fitted up my
drawing-rooms in Keppel Street, and intend keeping them in
order, hanging up only decent works. ' The Hay Wain ' looks
well in them, but I shall do more to it. ... I ara now going
to pay my court to the world. I have had experience enough to
know that if a man decries himself, he will find people ready
enough to take him at his word. Sir George Beauraont is going
to Italy ; he has presented rae with a beautiful little landscape, a
mill, the sarae mill in Tinney's picture, it is quite a Rembrandt,
full of tone and chiaroscuro. There is some hope of the Academy's
getting a Claude from Mr. Angerstein's,* the large and magnifi
cent raarine picture, one ofthe raost perfect in the world; should
that be the case, though I can ill afford it, I will raake a copy of
the same size. A study would only be of value to myself, the
other will be property to my children, and a great delight to
me. The very doing it will alraost bring rae into coraraunion with
Claude hiraself. Lawrence told me that, should I really wish it, it
would stimulate him to farther exertions to get it from Mr, Anger-
stein, In the room where I am writing, there are hanging up two
beautiful sraall drawings by Cozens ; one, a wood, close, and very
solemn ; the other, a view from Vesuvius, looking over Portici,
very lovely. I borrowed thera frora my neighbour, Mr. Woodburn.
Cozens was all poetry, and your drawing is a lovely specimen."
* Pictures are lent to the Academy by most ofthe possessors of collections for the
use of the painting school.

<
5

<I

I

i82i.] CLAUDE.— GLOVER.

IGI

" Salisbury, August 6th, 182 1.
" My dear Constable,— Very few can copy Claude ; 1 exhort
you to it by all raeans. It will secure two or three hundred
pounds to your family, and will furnish us with an inexhaustible
store of pleasure. I get impatient to know whether your wife will
allow you to run down this autumn. Any time from September
ist to January will be convenient to rae, and you need not be
at any expense at all. One night in the raail and you are here.
The assizes are holding, and C  is here. Your letters lay
on the table. He said that there were some parts of your last
picture good. I told hira if he had said all the parts were
good, it would be no corapliraent unless he said the whole was
good. Is it not strange how utterly ignorant the world is of
the very first principles of painting ? Here is a raan of the
greatest abilities, who knows almost everything, and yet he is as
little a judge of a picture as if he had been without eyes. There's
Matthews again, with his 'own Glover.' "*
"Hampstead, September 20th, 1821.
"My dear Fisher, — How rauch I .should like to come to
you ! and I cannot say I will not, but I fear I must go into
* Lord Dudley, in a letter to the Bishop of Llandaff, admirable for its good sense
and candour, speaking of the excellencies ofthe Old Masters, says : " I believe that
merit to be of a sort which requires study, habit, and, perhaps, some practical know
ledge of the principles of the fine arts, to perceive and relish. You remember that Sir
Joshua Reynolds tells us he was at first incapable of tasting all the excellence of
Raphael and Michael Angelo. And if he, already no mean artist, was still uninitiated
in some of the higher mysteries of art, and obliged at first to take upon trust much of
that which was afterwards made clear to him by further study and labour, what shall
we say about the sincerity of those, who, knowing so much less, pretend to feel so much
more ? For my own part, I think of them, very much as I should think of anybody,
who, being just able to pick out the meaning of a Latin sentence, should affect to
admire the language and versification of the Georgics."

102 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap, V.
Sufifolk soon, on account of a job,* I have raade sorae studies,
carried farther than any I have done before; particularly a highly
elegant group of trees (ashes, elras, and oaks), which will be of
as much service to me as if I had bought the field and hedge
row which contain them ; I have likewise made many skies and
effects ; we have had noble clouds and effects of light and dark
and colour, as is always the case in such seasons as the present.
The great Claude does not corae to the Acaderay this year (a
young lady is copying it), but they expect it next year, and It
would have been raadness for rae to have meddled with it this
season, as I am now behindhand with the bridge,t The beauti
ful Ruysdael, ' The Windraill,' which we adraired, is at the
Gallery, I trust I shall be able to procure a meraorandum of it ;
and there is a noble N. Poussin at the Academy, a solemn, deep,
still summer's noon, with large umbrageous trees, and a man
washing his feet at a fountain near them. Through the breaks
in the trees are mountains, and the clouds collecting about them
with the most enchanting effects possible. It cannot be too
much to say that this landscape is full of religious and moral
feeling. J It is not large, about three-and-a-half-feet, and I
should like to, and will, if possible, possess a facsiraile of it. I
must make tirae. If I cannot come to you I will send you the
results of this summer's study. My wife and children are well,
we have not had an hour's illness all the suraraer."
On the 26th of September, Fisher wrote to tell Constable of
objections that were raade to the sky in Mr. Tinney's picture, by
* A portrait.
t His fourth large picture.
X This picture is in the National Gallery.

i82i,] IMPORTANCE OF SKIES.— VAN DER NEER. 103
a " grand critical party " who had sat in judgment on it. " After
talking in vain for some time," he continues, "I brought them
out of my portfolio two prints from Wouvermans and a Van der
Neer, where the whole stress was laid on the sky, and that silenced
them. While in every other profession the initiated only are
judges, in painting, all men, except the blind, think themselves
qualified to give an opinion. The comfort is, that the truth coraes
out when these self-raade connoisseurs begin to buy and collect
for theraselves. At Lord Shaftesbury's, about twelve railes from
this place, there is a daylight Van der Neer. When you come
we will go and see it. I had nearly forgotten to tell you that I
was the other day fishing in the New Forest in a fine, deep, broad
river, with mills, roaring backwaters, withy beds, &c. I thought
often of you during the day. I caught two pike, was up to the
middle in watery meadows, ate ray dinner under a willow, and
was as happy as when I was ' a careless boy.' What have you
done with your ' Midsuramer Noon,' and what do you intend to
do with it ? " "Hampstead, October 2ird, 1821.
" My dear Fisher, — ... I am most anxious to get
into my London painting-room, for I do not consider myself at
work unless I am before a six-foot canvas. I have done a good
deal of skying, for I am determined to conquer all difificulties, and
that araong the rest. And now, talking of skies, it is arausing to
us to see how admirably you fight my battles ; you certainly take the
best possible ground for getting your friend out of a scrape (the
exaraple of the Old Masters). That landscape painter who does
not raake his skies a very material part of his composition
neglects to avail himself of one of his greatest aids. Sir Joshua

104 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. V.
Reynolds, speaking of the landscapes of Titian, of Salvator, and
of Claude, says : ' Even their skies seem to sympathise with their
subjects.' I have often been advised to consider my sky as ' a
white sheet thrown behind the objects: Certainly, if the sky is ob
trusive, as mine are, it is bad ; but if it is evaded, as mine are not,
it is worse ; it must and always shall with me raake an effectual
part of the coraposition. It will be difficult to name a class of
landscape in which the sky is not the keynote, the standard of
scale, and the chief organ of sentiment. You raay conceive, then,
what a ' white sheet ' would do for me, impressed as I ara with
these notions, and they cannot be erroneous. The sky is the
source of light in nature, and governs everything; even our
common observations on the weather of every day are altogether
suggested by it. The difificulty of skies in painting is very great,
both as to composition and execution ; because, with all their
brilliancy, they ought not to come forward, or, indeed, be hardly
thought of any raore than extrerae distances are ; but this does
not apply to phenoraena or accidental effects of sky, because they
always attract particularly. I may say all this to you, though j/o«^
do not want to be told that I know very well what I am about,
and that ray skies have not been neglected, though they have
often failed in execution, no doubt, frora an over-anxiety about
them which will alone destroy that easy appearance which
nature always has in all her raoveraents.
" How much I wish I had been with you on your fishing excur
sion in the New Forest 1 What river can it be ? But the sound of
water, escaping from raill-daras, etc., willows, old rotten planks,
sliray posts, and brickwork, I love such things. Shakespeare
could make everything poetical; he tells us of poor Tom's

i82i.] BANKS OF THE STOUR. 105
haunts among ' sheep cotes and mills.' As long as I do paint, I
shall never cease to paint such places.* They have always been
my delight, and I should indeed have been delighted in seeing
what you describe, and in your company, ' in the company of a
man to whom nature does not spread her volume in vain.' Still
I should paint my own places best ; painting is with me but
another word for feeling, and I associate * my careless boyhood '
with all that lies on the banks of the Stour, Those scenes made
me a painter, and I am grateful ; that is, I had often thought of
pictures of them before I ever touched a pencil, and your picture
is the strongest instance of it I can recollect ; but I will say no
more, for I am a great egotist in whatever relates to painting.
Does not the cathedral look beautiful among the golden foliage ?
Its solitary grey must sparkle in it."
" Close, Salisbury, October 2\th.
"My dear Constable, — I had a most agreeable breakfast
this morning, your letter serving rae in lieu of the newspaper,
which is now too dull to read. I was glad to see your hand
writing so clear and smooth — a certain proof of a tranquil mind.
I shall be alone and disengaged on Saturday, the 3rd of
November, and continue so until the 26th of the sarae raonth. I
think the earlier you corae the better. I project, if the weather be
fine, to go and see Winchester Cathedral. The roof has been near
falling in, owing to the constant cutting away of the great sup
porting pillars to let in raonuraents (of folly and bad taste), . .
Our cathedral looks well this weather, but it is not so rauch
* The last picture he painted, and on which he was engaged on the last day of his
life, was a mill, with such accompaniments as are described in this letter.
P

io6 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. V.
relieved by the warm tints as you would imagine. Owing to the
moisture of the season, and the great and rapid decomposition of
the vegetation, there is a constant humid halo, which makes the
shadows at all hours very blue, and gives the landscape a cold
tone. I am sorry your children have been unwell. Mine are in
high health and good huraour. How many dinners a week does
your wife get you to eat at a regular hour, and like a Christian ? "
In November Constable visited Salisbury, where, notwith
standing the lateness of the season, he made some beautiful
sketches.

CHAPTER VI.
1822.
Constable's fourth large picture. — Farrington's house. — Studies of skies. — Illness.-^
Dread of a National Gallery.
Soon after his first arrival in London, Constable had become
acquainted with Mr. Samuel Lane, of Greek Street, Soho; and
this acquaintance ripened into a friendship which continued to
the end of his life. The following passage is from one of his
letters which Mr. Lane has permitted me to make use of: —
" February, 1822.
" My dear Lane, — I have been with my wife to look over
Mr. Farrington's house, which has left a deep impression on us
both. I can scarcely believe that I was not to meet the elegant
and dignified figure of our departed friend, where I have been
so long used to see him, or hear again the wisdom that always
attended his advice, which I do indeed miss greatly."
"Salisbury, March 2^th, 1822,
" My dear Constable, — Coxe is on the eve of publishing
' Correggio ' ; but he has some sad stuff in it about the manner
in which he is supposed to have mixed his colours, and talks
about his painting on gold leaf to produce a warra efifect. He
will send you, by my advice, the proof sheets of that part of his

io8 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. VL
work which treats of Correggio's art, for your correction. . . .
The above was written yesterday. I left ofif, trying to recollect
some anecdote I had to tell you. I have just recalled it to my
meraory. It is, as you know, part of the Apocalypse that the
just should reign a thousand years, and then the consuramation of
all things. During the tenth century, in consequence of this pre
diction, there was a universal expectation that the world was
about to end. The agitation of men's minds is described, by
conteraporary writers, as extreme. Among other efifects which
this expectation produced, was the neglect to repair their houses
and churches. So that when the dreaded period was past, their
buildings were found to be in a most dilapidated condition.
The eleventh century, therefore, was rauch occupied in building,
repairing, and beautifying. Hence we know, that few, very few
of our buildings can be older than that period; and that the
eleventh century and the beginning of the twelfth are probable
periods to which to refer back many of our raost beautiful struc
tures. It was the sarae cause that enriched the church and raade
it so powerful. Men, expecting the day of judgment, were glad
to compound for their sins by granting away their estates (which
would not rauch longer be of use to thera or their heirs) to
religious purposes. "J. Fisher."
" Keppel Street, April i^th, 1822.
" My dear Fisher, — I have not seen any of the sheets of
Mr. Coxe's ' Life of Correggio ' ; but I hear of a letter from him
to Jackson, expressing a desire that they may be seen by his
friend Constable. There is no doubt but it will be interesting ;
but as to painting on gold grounds, it is all over with the alchymy

i822.] COXE'S LIFE OF CORREGGIO.

jog

ofthe art I hope never to be revived again. Yet dark ages may
return, and there are always dark minds in enlightened ones. In
the early German and Italian pictures, gold was used for glories,
etc., and made to appear as a thing unconnected with the
painting, and so far supernatural ; and this has been done as late
as Carlo Dolci, and it sometimes appears very beautiful when
blended into transparent colour behind the heads of saints, &c.
But still it looks like trick, and Correggio was above all trick,
nor do I believe he ever resorted to any such nonsense to aid his
brightness, I have sent my large picture to the Academy, I
never worked so hard before. I do not know that it is better
than my others, but perhaps fewer vulgar objections can be
made to it." (The writing is here interrupted by a beautiful pen
sketch, which has the force of a mezzotint engraving.) " The
composition is almost totally changed from what you saw. I
have taken away the sail, and added another barge in the middle
of the picture, with a principal figure, altered the group of trees,
and raade the bridge entire. The picture has now a rich centre,
and the right-hand side becomes only an accessory, I have
endeavoured to paint with more delicacy, but hardly anybody has
seen it. I hear of some excellent pictures. I ara going into
Sufifolk about an altar-piece, a gift from a gentleman. 
is annoyed by your designating his Old Masters trash. He goes
by the rule of name.
" I have some nibbles at ray large picture of * The Hay Wain '*
in the British Gallery. I have an offer of ^70, without the
frarae, to form part of an exhibition in Paris. I hardly know what
* This picture is now in the National Gallery, the gift of Mr. Henry Vaughan.
In 1825, it was awarded the gold medal in the Louvre by the King of France.— Ed.

no THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. VL
to do. It might promote my fame and procure me commissions,
but it is property to my family, though I want money dreadfully,
and, on this subject, I must beg a great favour of you — indeed,
I can do it of no other person. The loan of twenty or thirty
pounds would be of the greatest use to me at this time, as
painting these large pictures has much irapoverished rae. If you
can, I know you will oblige rae. If not, say so. This summer I
shall devote to money getting as I have several coraraissions,
both landscape and otherwise. But a large picture, and if
possible a good one, was necessary this year. The next must
take its chance. I hope, indeed, I really believe I have never yet
done anything so good as the one now sent.
" Stothard has published his beautiful etching of the shield of
Wellington, three-and-a-half feet circle. Oblige me and my dear
old friend by purchasing one. My conscience acquits me of any
neglect to ray last picture. I have dismissed it with great
calmness and ease of raind."
Of this picture, another view on the Stour, and very near
" Flatford Mill," an admirable line engraving, by Mr. W. R. Smith,
is published in Messrs. Finden's "Gallery of British Art," and
a first sketch of the subject is engraved in the " English
Landscape." "Keppel Street, April i^th.
" My dear Fisher, — Accept my thanks for your very kind
letter. The contents will be highly useful, for, as I told you, I
had been so long upon unprofitable canvas that I was getting hard
run. But I am now busy on some minor works which will bring
things soon about again. My writing requires much apology.

* I

OH

>cr

i822.] FARRINGTON'S HOUSE. m
but I seldom sit down till I am already fatigued in my painting-
room, and near the post hour, and I must say of my letters, as
Northcote says of his pictures, ' I leave them for the ingenious to
find out.' I made two or three fruitless attempts to read the last
I sent you, and the postman ringing his bell at the raoment, I dis
missed it. I must work hard this summer, but I should like much
to take the Windsor coach to hear your sermon, though I can ill
spare a day, and now that I have an opportunity of earning a little
money, I must make it a religious duty to do it. I shall not let
the Frenchman have my picture. It would be too bad to allow
myself to be knocked down by a Frenchman. In short, it may
fetch my family something, one time or another, and it would be
disgracing my diploma to take so small a sura, less by near one-
half than the price I asked.
" Several cheering things have lately happened to me — pro
fessionally. I am certain my reputation rises as a landscape
painter, and that my style of art, as Farrington always said it
would, is fast becoming a distinct feature. I am anxious about
this picture. My neighbour  , who expects to be an Acaderai-
cian before me, called to see it. He has always praised rae ; now
he said not a word, till, on leaving the roora, he looked back and
said ' he hoped his picture would not hang near it.'
" I trust you will corae to London on your visitation ; I shall
be much disappointed if you do not. I am about Farrington's
house : I think this step necessary. I shall get more by it than
my family, in conveniences, though I am loth to leave a place
where I have had so much happiness, and where I painted my
four landscapes ; but there is no end to giving way to fancies ;
occupation is my sheet-anchor. My raind would soon devour

112 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap, VL
me without it. I felt as if I had lost my arms after my picture
was gone to the exhibition. I dare not read this letter over, take
it as one of my sketches." " April.
" My dear Fisher, — I have been to Farrington's this
morning ; they are sharp about the house, and wished me to
take the fixtures, and such of the furniture as I may like, at a
valuation. I have refused the latter, so stands the matter at
present; they will sell the Wilsons;* they are well worth sixty,
or eighty, or even a hundred guineas the pair,
" Tinney is confined to town by indisposition ; I have seen
him often, and he views me favourably for your sake, and is
deterrained to love painting as an intellectual pursuit of the
raost delightful kind, in preference to dirt, and old canvas,
varnish, &c. He has desired rae to paint him, as a companion to
his landscape, another picture, at my leisure, for a hundred
guineas.! If> however, I am offered rauch for it, even five
hundred guineas, I raay take it, and begin another for him.
This is very noble (when all the nobility let my picture come
back to me from the Gallery), and will enable rae to do another
large picture, to keep up and add to my reputation. . . .
How much I should like to be now at Osraington ; but work I
raust and will. If I recollect, the ashes have very beautiful
raosses, and their steras are particularly rich at Osraington. I
have never thanked you for your account of the middle ages and
the expectation of the last day. I was not aware that its influence
was so enormous."
* Two beautiful little views in Italy, now in the possession of Miss Rogers.
t This commission from Mr. Tinney was never executed ; why, 1 know not ; but 1
believe Constable afterwards painted for him one or two small pictu es.

1 82 2.] CONSTABLE'S PENCIL SKETCHES. j.?
In 1822, Constable exhibited at the Academy five pictures:
"Hampstead Heath," "A View on the Stour, near Dedham,"
" Malvern Hill, Warwickshire," " A View of the Terrace, Hamp
stead," and "A Study of Trees from Nature."
The next letter is from the Bishop of Salisbury : —
" Malmesbury, August ird, 1822.
" Dear Sir, — My daughter Elizabeth is about to change her
situation, and try whether she cannot perforra the duties of a wife
as well as she has done those of a daughter. She wishes to have
in her house in London a recollection of Salisbury; I raean,
therefore, to give her a picture, and I raust beg of you either to
finish the first sketch of my picture, or to make a copy of the
sraall size. I wish to have a raore serene sky. I ara now on my
visitation, and shall not be at Salisbury till the 20th, but my
letters follow me," " Osmington, October ist.
"My dear Constable, — . . . Captain Forster, a gentleman of
property near Windsor, is an admirer of your art. He is to meet
you at Salisbury ; he was first caught by a sketch-book of yours
which I had. Your pencil-sketches always take people, both
learned and unlearned. Surely it would answer to publish a few
of them. Get one done on stone, as an experiment, unless it is
derogatory from the station you hold in the art, , , ,
"J. Fisher."
" Hampstead,
" To Archdeacon Fisher, " October jth, 1822.
" My dear Fisher, — Several adverse circumstances had yielded
to my wishes', and I had determined on meeting you at Salisbury

114 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. VI.
on the day appointed ; but things have changed again, and I know
not how to come so far as Weymouth. The loss of four days on
the road is serious, and I am now In the midst of a great struggle,
and time is my estate. I have got several of my commissions
into tolerable forwardness, especially two kit-cat landscapes for
Mr, Ripley, and I ara determined to overcorae all ray difificulties
while a great deal of health and some little youth remains to me.
I have got things into a train, by following which they are made
coraparatively easy. Such a journey would turn me inside out, and
a visit to your coast would wash my brains entirely, I must wait,
and still hope to raeet you when quite convenient to yourself, and
when you return to the Close. I shall send you some picture to
look at. ' Green Highgate ' has now changed its frame, and
become a very pretty picture, and deserves a better, or at least a
new, narae. I have raade about fifty careful studies of skies,
tolerably large to be careful. I do not regret not seeing Fonthill ;
I never had a desire to see sights, and a gentleraan' s park is my
aversion. "It is singular that I happened to speak of Milman ; no doubt
he is learned, but it is not fair to encumber literature. The world
is full enough of what has been already done ; and, as in the art
there is plenty of fine painting but very few good pictures, so
in poetry there is plenty of fine writing — and I am told this
is such — and, as you say, ' gorgeous.' But it can be compared.
Shakspeare cannot, nor Burns, nor Claude, nor Ruysdael ; and
it has taken me twenty years to find this out. This is, I
hope, my last week here, at least this summer. It is a ruinous
place to me; I lose time here sadly. One of my motives for
taking Charlotte Street was to remain longer in London, In

'!¦ ^- '

i822.] STUDIES OF SKIES. ,15
Keppel Street we wanted roora, and were like ' bottled wasps
upon a southern wall,' but the five happiest years of ray life were
passed there."
Twenty of Constable's studies of skies raade during this
season are in my possession, and there is but one among them in
which a vestige of landscape is introduced. They are painted in
oil, on large sheets of thick paper, and all dated, with the tirae of
day, the direction of the wind, and other raemoranda on their
backs. On one, for instance, is written, " 5th of September,
1822. Ten o'clock, morning; looking south-east; brisk wind at
west. Very bright and fresh, grey clouds running fast over a
yellow bed, about half-way in the sky. Very appropriate to the
' Coast at Osmington.' "*
" 35, Charlotte Street, Fitzroy Square,
" October -^ist, 1822.
" My DEAR Fisher, — We left Hampstead a fortnight ago last
Friday, and I have not yet had my pencil in my hand, I got laid
up attending bricklayers and carpenters at six and seven in the
morning, leaving a warm bed for cold damp rooms and wash-
houses, for I have had immense trouble to get the house
habitable; but, though I am now quite well, I am aware that the
time is past in which it was convenient for you to receive me.
It has proved a very great disappointment to me, and I fear
that my not coraing has vexed you, especially as I have not
heard frora you. I have got the large painting-room into
* The accompanying illustration is from one of the finest of these studies, given
me by my father. The memoranda on the back of another in my possession is ;
"August 26th, 1822, noon, under the sun. Very hot and bright, looking S.W."— Ed.

,¦6 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. VL
excellent order; it is light, airy, sweet and warm; I at one time
despaired of attaining either of these qualities. I have now two
six-footers in hand — one of which I shall send to the Gallery at
^200. " The art will go out ; there will be no genuine painting
in England in thirty years. This will be owing to pictures driven
into the empty heads of the junior artists by their owners,
the directors of the British Institution, &c. In the early ages of
the fine arts the productions were more affecting and sublirae, for
the artists, being without huraan exemplars, were forced to have
recourse to nature ; in the latter ages of Raphael and Claude, the
productions were raore perfect, less uncouth, because the artists
could then avail themselves of the experience of those who were
before them; but they did not take them at their word, or as the
chief objects of imitation. Could you but see the folly and ruin
exhibited at the British Gallery you would go mad. Vander
Velde and Gaspar Poussin and Titian are made to spawn raulti-
tudes of abortions ; and for what are the great masters brought
into this disgrace > Only to serve the purpose of sale, Hofland
has sold a shadow of Gaspar Poussin for eighty guineas, and it Is
no more like Gaspar than the shadow of a man on a muddy road
is like himself,"*
A letter from the Bishop of Salisbury to Constable, dated
* The directors of the British Institution are assuredly not accountable for the
abuse of the privileges they grant annually to artists of making copies from the Old
Masters at their Gallery ; a privilege of which some of our best painters have availed
themselves with advantage to their own practice, and of which Constable had himself
intended to make use. He did not sufficiently consider that those who are content to
spend much of their time in copying pictures are not of that class who would advance
©r even support the art under any circumstances.

i822.] " THE MASTER cow:

117

Noveraber 12th, contained a draft, with these words: " Lawyers
frequently receive retaining fees, why should not painters do the
sarae?" The picture he was engaged on for the Bishop was
finished and exhibited in the following spring. It is an extreraely
beautiful work, and one with which he took great pains — a view
of the Cathedral from the Bishop's Grounds, In the foreground
he introduced a circumstance familiar to all who are in the habit
of noticing cattle. With cows there is generally, if not always,
one which is called, not very accurately, the master cow, and there
is scarcely anything the rest of the herd will venture to do
until the master has taken the lead. On the left of the picture
this individual is drinking, and turns with surprise and jealousy
to another cow approaching the canal lower down for the same
purpose. They are of the Sufifolk breed, without horns ; and it is
a curious mark of Constable's loudness for everything connected
with his native country, that scarcely an instance can be found
of a cow in any of his pictures, be the scene where it raay, with
horns. " Charlotte Street, " December 6th.
" My dear Fisher, — There is nothing so cheering to me as
the sight of your handwriting, yet I ara dilatory in answering
you. I will gladly do all I can for R  * and his picture,
but you know I can only send it ; I possess no favour in that
place, I have no patron but yourself, and you are not a grandee ;
you are only a gentleman and a scholar, and a real lover of the
art. I will raention R  's picture to Young, and this is all
* a young artist of Salisbury who had sent a picture to town for exhibition at the
British Gallery.

ii8 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. VL
that is in ray power. Is it not possible to dissuade him from
coming to London, where he will be sure to get rid of what
little local reputation he may have ? But perhaps he prefers
starving in a crowd, and if he is deterrained to adventure, let hira
by all means preserve his flowing locks, they will do hira raore
service than even the talents of Claude Lorraine, if he possessed
thera, "  shall have his picture when I can find an oppor
tunity of sending it. Had I not better grirae it down with slime
and soot, as he is a connoisseur, and perhaps prefers filth and
dirt to freshness and beauty ?
" I have been to see David's picture of ' The Coronation of
the Empress Josephine.' It does not possess the common lan
guage of the art, much less anything of the oratory of Rubens or
Paul Veronese, and in point of execution it is below notice ; still
I prefer it to the productions of those among our historical
painters, who are only holding on to the tail of the shirt of Carlo
Maratti, simply because it does not remind me of the schools.
I could not help feeling as I did when I last wrote to you of
what I saw at the British Institution. Should there be a
National Gallery (which is talked of) there will be an end of
the art in poor old England, and she will becorae, in all
that relates to painting, as much a nonentity as every other
country that has one. The reason is plain ; the manufacturers
of pictures are then made the criterions of perfection, instead of
nature." Here, as well as in his reraarks on the system of copying
pursued at the British Gallery, Constable's inference seems hasty.
Neither connoisseurs nor legislators can promote the rise, or

i822.] CONSTABLE' S DREAD OF PICTURE-WORSHIP. ng
hasten the decline, of the arts in any material degree. A multi
tude of concurring circumstances, varying in every age and nation,
contribute to these ; meantirae it is something that a collection of
fine pictures should be accessible to the public ; and if the
National Gallery should help, only in a small degree, to keep our
young artists from the dissipation of their time, and the injury
their unformed minds receive while running all over Europe in
quest of the art, which can only be acquired by years of
patient and settled industry, it may efifect sorae good.* Constable,
at this moment, forgot what at other times he fully admitted, that
good pictures are the necessary interpreters of nature to the
student in art.
If the reader will turn to the end of the book he will find
in the remarks on Claude, in the lecture he delivered on the
2nd of June, 1836, at the Royal Institution, and on Rembrandt
at the close of the next lecture, his settled opinions on this
subject. But that his dread of picture-worship should lead him
to express himself as he did in the letter last quoted, I can well
understand, knowing, as I do, the notions prevailing among the
artists and amateurs with whora he lived. Araong the last may
be particularly mentioned the amiable and accomplished Sir
George Beaumont, at that tirae the leader of taste in the fashion-
* Those who are old enough to compare the present state of painting among us,
with what it was before the Continent was thrown open to our artists, cannot but have
misgivings as to the advantage of foreign travel to British students. If, as it may be
feared, we are more and more losing sight of nature, it may be less owing to the in
fluence of the National Gallery than to the example from abroad of — I will not call it
imitation — but mimicry of early art. This is so easy a thing to succeed in, and is so
well calculated to impose on ourselves and others a belief that we possess the spirit
ofthe primitive ages of art, that we cannot too carefully guard against its seduction.
The purity of heart belonging to childhood is, no doubt, as desirable to the painter as
to the Christian, but we do not acquire this by merely imitating the lisp of infancy.

120 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. VL
able world. Few raen better discrirainated, than did Sir George,
the various excellencies of the Old Masters ; but he never con
sidered how raany beauties raight reraain in nature untouched by
their pencils, and, consequently, he was averse to any deviation
frora their raanner. It is curious that, throughout the whole of
his intercourse with Constable, Sir George assuraed the character
of a teacher.

CHAPTER VII,
1823,
Picture of Salisbury Cathedral. — ^Visit to Archdeacon Fisher. — Fonthill. — Visit to Cole-
Orton Hall. — Sir George Beaumont. — Return to London.
Constable was prevented by illness frora finishing either of the
large pictures he had on hand in tirae for the exhibitions of 1823
and even from writing again to Fisher, until the ist of February in
that year, when he thus resumed their correspondence : —
" My very dear Fisher, — Ever since Christmas my house
has been a sad scene of serious illness ; all my children* and two
of my servants laid up at once. Things are now, thanks to God,
looking better, but poor John is still in a fearful state. I am unfor
tunately taken ill again myself, but to-day I ara better, and deter
mined to write to you. What with anxiety, watching, nursing, and
my own indisposition, I have not seen the face of my easel since
Christmas, and it is not the least of my troubles that the good
Bishop's picture is not fit to be seen ; pray, my dear Fisher, pre
pare his Lordship for this; it has been no fault of my own. Your
excellent mother and family, hearing of our distress, most kindly
called here. The sight of Mrs. P, Fisher always does one good ;
her looks say we should patiently submit to all things, and this is
confirmed in her own conduct, for she can,"
* He had now two sons and two daughters, John, Maria, Charles, and Isabel.
R

X2Z THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. VIL
"Charlotte Street, February 21st.
" My dear Fisher, — I was cheered by your letter and kind
inquiries. I am now at work again, and some of our children are
better ; but my poor darling boy John is in a sad state indeed ;
God only knows how it will end. Baillie and Gooch see him con
tinually, and are not without hope ; but I am worn with anxiety.
. . . . I ara weak and much emaciated. They took a great
deal of blood frora rae which I could ill spare. I have fretted for
the loss of time, and being away from ray easel, but most of all for
my poor dear boy; but I will leave my house, and go into my
painting-roora ; I have put a large upright landscape in hand, and
I hope I shall hold up to get it ready for the Academy, with the
Bishop's picture.
" I am sorry to see you again haunted by that phantom, ' The
Church in Danger ' ; it does not speak a just state of mind or
thinking. That the vultures will attack it, and everything else
that is valuable, is likely enough ; but you say * they have failed
on the State ' ; that, therefore, still stands between the Church
and them, for they can only fall together. The nobility know the
value of intellect, and endeavour to arm themselves from the same
sources as you do — the Universities ; and consider the ages they
have stood and the storms they have weathered, ... I look
forward to coming to you at Gillingham to do soraething at the
mill." "May gth.
" I had many interruptions in my works for the exhibition, as
you know, so that I have no large canvas there. My cathedral
looks uncommonly well ; it is much approved of by the Academy,
and, moreover, in Seymour Street. I think you will say when you

1823.] CALLCOTT— WILKIE.— FUSELI. ,23
see it that I have fought a better battle with the Church than old
Henry Brougham and all their coadjutors put together. It was
the most difificult subject in landscape I ever had on ray easel.
I have not flinched at the windows, buttresses, &c., but I have
still kept to my grand organ colour, and have, as usual, made
my escape in the evanescence of the chiaroscuro, I think you
will like it, but you could have done me much good, I ara vexed
to see the good Bishop looking ill ; it may be a temporary cold,
but he breaks, no doubt. This has been a fearful winter for old
and young; Callcott admires my Cathedral; he says I have
managed it well, Wilkie's pictures are the finest in the world.
Perhaps the outdoor scene is too black,* Fuseli came up to him
and said, ' Veil, vat is dis ? is dis de new vay, de Guercino
style ? ' Speaking of me, he says, ' I like de landscapes of Con
stable ; he is always picturesque, of a fine colour, and de lights
always in de right places ; but he makes me call for my great coat
and umbrella,' This may arause you, when contemplating this
busy but distant scene ; however, though I am here in the raidst
of the world, I am out of it, and am happy, and endeavour to
keep myself unspotted, I have a kingdom of my own, both fertile
and populous — ray landscape and my children. I have work to
do, and my finances must be repaired if possible. I have a face
now on my easel, and may have more."
Speaking in this letter of Italy, Constable continues, " ' Oh
dear, oh dear, I shall never let my longing eyes see that famous
country ! ' These are the words of old Richardson, and, like him,
I am doomed never to see the living scenes that inspired the
? The "Parish Beadle." The other was the small whole-length portrait of the
Duke of York, painted for Sir Willoughby Gordon.

124 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. VIL
landscape of Wilson and Claude. No, but I was born to paint
a happier land, ray own dear old England; and when I cease
to love her, raay I, as Wordsworth says,
' Never more hear
Her green leaves rustle, or her torrents roar.'*
I went to the gallery of Sir John Leicester to see the English
artists, I recollect nothing so rauch as a large, soleran, bright,
warra, fresh landscape by Wilson, which still swims in my brain
like a delicious dream. Poor Wilson ! think of his fate, think of
his raagnificence. But the mind loses its dignity less in adversity
than in prosperity. He is now walking arm in arm with
Milton and Linnseus, He was one of those appointed to show
the world the hidden stores and beauties of nature,"
With the picture of Salisbury Cathedral from the Bishop's
Garden, Constable exhibited at the Academy, " A Study of
Trees : a Sketch," and " A Cottage " ; and to the British Gallery
he sent a picture of Yarmouth Jetty.
" Gillingham, Shaftesbury, May gth.
"My dear Constable, — , , . I dined yesterday at
the house built by Sir Godfrey Kneller, that man of wigs and
drapery. On the staircase hung a beautiful portrait of Pope, by
hira. How unlike his usual efforts ! I long to hear how you
have succeeded in the exhibition. The Courier raentions you
• "Oh, England ! dearer far than life is dear,
If I forget thy prowess, never more
Be thy ungrateful son allowed to hear
Thy green leaves rustle, or thy torrents roar ! "
{Thanksgiving Ode on the General Peace )

YARMOUTH, NORFOLK.

1823.] SIR WILLIAM CURTIS.

I2S

with honour, ' Constable has some admirable studies of land
scape scenery.' .... "J. Fisher."
" Gillingham, May i8th.
"My dear Constable, — .... Coxe showed me the
proof sheets of his ' Life of Correggio.' It is really very
nicely done. He has got over the critical part better than I
expected. But he has, evidently, not quite a clear idea of
chiaroscuro. He has no notion that harmony and brilliancy of
efifect are connected with light and shade ; or that Correggio's
great originality lay in that department. But still, his book is
well done. He proves, I think very satisfactorily, that Correggio
did not die in poverty or of the load of copper. He shows that
he had bought houses and property in the city of Correggio.
And, what is more, gold was the currency of the country, and
they never paid in copper. It would not have been a legal
tender. . . . "J. Fisher,"
In a letter to Mr, Fisher, dated July 3rd, after speaking of
some purchases which he had made for that gentleman, one of
which was a Flemish picture of fruit, &c,. Constable says : " I
have been for a day or two at Southgate, at Judkin' s. We dined
with Sir Williara Curtis; he is a fine old fellow, and is now
sitting for his portrait to Lawrence, for the King, who desired it
in these words, * D — n you, ray old boy, I'll have you in all your
canonicals, and then I can look at you every day,' He is a
great favourite — birds of a feather. Let me know your wishes
about the picture."

'26 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. VIL
" My dear Constable, — Where real business is to be done,
you are the most energetic and punctual of men. In smaller
matters, such as putting on your breeches, you are apt to lose
time in deciding which leg shall go in first. I thank you heartily
for the speed with which you have executed both my coraraissions,
I have never had this picture out of ray eye since I saw it. Still-
life is always dull, as there are no associations with it ; but this is
so deliciously fresh that I could not resist it. If you have one of
your coast windmills hanging on your wall framed, I wish you
would put it up with the fruit piece.
" And now with regard to our meeting. I am unwilling to
put ofif your visit to the old age of summer, when all the asso
ciations are those of decay; I will therefore work hard at the
Infirmary serraon, which I am to preach at the Cathedral in
September, and get it finished by the 20th of August, about
which time I shall expect you, and I care not how long you stay.
I have discovered three mills, old, sraall and picturesque, on this
river. " I have a great desire to possess your ' Wain,' but I cannot
now reach what it is worth, and what you raust have ; but I
have this favour to ask, that you will not part with it without
letting rae know. It will be of the most value to your children
by continuing to hang where it does, till you join the society of
Ruysdael, Wilson, and Claude. As praise and money will then be
of no value to you, the world will liberally bestow both. Tinney
says his picture is inferior to raine. He cannot find out that
mine hangs alone, and that his is hurt, as is always the case, by
villainous company, "J. Fisher,"

1823.] MR. FISHER'S PURCHASE OF A FLEMISH PICTURE. 127
" July loth.
" My dear Fisher, — I am always pleased with myself when
I have pleased you. You have made an excellent purchase of a
most delightful work ; it is a pearly picture, but its tone is so deep
and mellow that it plays the very devil with my landscapes;
but I shall make my account of it, as I am now working for tone.
The painter is C. de Vris, an artist contemporary with Rubens.
De Heem painted his excellent fruit and flower pieces at the same
time, but this painter's works are more scarce, and, Mr. Bigg
thinks, more excellent. I have stripped it of its trurapery border,
which was cemented on the surface of the picture, and hid two
inches all round, to the great injury of the composition. It has
cost me sorae trouble to make good the background, but it was
well worth recovering, as the want of an efficient field crowded the
composition. I count much on our meeting ; it will be my only
holiday. The time you speak of will do exactly for me. My wife
is amused with your temptation ; you think three mills irresistible,
but it is you I want. I have a proposal to raake to Tinney ; he
must let me have his picture and fifty or sixty guineas, and I will
paint hira another, raore for the ladies and old hums. Sir William
Curtis has a hankering after my ' Wain,' but I am not sanguine,
and you I should much prefer ; we can talk about it when we
meet. It was born a companion to your picture ; it must be yours.
It is no small corapliraent to the picture, that it haunted the raind
of the Alderman from the time he saw it at the Institution ; but
though a man of the world, he is all heart, and really loves nature.*
* Constable told me of Sir William Curtis that, during an illness, he had a fine
picture, by Gainsborough, hting in his chamber, that he might see it through the
opening of his bed curtains.

128 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap, VII.
It does rae a great deal of good where it now is, therefore let it
reraain for the present. Should Tinney and I agree, it will enable
me to paint another large picture for the exhibition ; I am hurt
this year for the want of one.  showed me a pretty picture
he is painting, but it is insipid, and far too pretty to be natural
Sir George Beaumont has just left rae ; he is pleased with a large
wood I have toned."* " Charlotte Street,
" August i8th.
" My dear Fisher, — Astley Cooper often arrives an hour sooner
than the tirae fixed for perforraing an operation, by which the
patient is spared the anticipation of the approaching raoraents. I
had fixed Wednesday, the 20th, to corae to you, and I now make
it Tuesday, the 19th. Your beautiful fruit-piece has left my house,
but it will not arrive soon enough at Salisbury to meet us. You
will not grudge what it has cost you ; it is lovely, and always puts
me not only in good humour, but in the humour for painting. I
have not the sea-piece ; I gave it to Gooch for his kind attention
to my children, for which he would receive no fee. Half-an-hour
ago I received a letter frora Woodburne to purchase it, or one of
my sea-pieces ; they are much liked, and you have my sketch of
Osmington. I have a great deal to say, which must be deferred
till to-morrow. I leave my family with great pleasure because
they are all so well. My wife laughed much at your saying, ' But
I don't expect you to come.' I was at the Countess of Dysart' s
fete champetre, at Ham House. I have pleased her by painting
two portraits lately, and she has sent me half a buck."
* A large sketch of the dell in Helmingham Park.

1823.] FONTHILL.

129

" Gillingham, Dorsetshire,
" To Mrs. Constable, " 2gth August.
" My dearest Love, — I was at Fonthill yesterday. It was very
good-natured of Fisher to take rae to see that extraordinary place.
The ticket to admit two persons is a guinea, besides impositions
afterwards. Fisher says, there have been great changes in the
articles since last year ; so that it is quite an auctioneer's job.
Many superb things are now not there and raany others added —
especially pictures. One ofthe latter (or I am greatly mistaken),
a battle by Wovermans, I saw at R  's just before I left
town. Yesterday, being a fine day, a great many people were
there. I counted more than thirty carriages, and the sarae
number of gigs, and two stage coaches ; so that, in spite of the
guinea tickets, there was a great mixture of corapany, and indeed
very few genteel people. There was a large roora fitted up with
boxes like a coffee-house, for dinners, &c,, &c. Mr.  's
narae (the auctioneer's) seemed here as great as Buonaparte's.
Cards of various kinds, and boards, were put up, ' Mr. 
desires this,' ' Mr.  takes the liberty of recomraending the
following inns for beds,' &c,, &c. But I observed raany long
faces coraing away frora the said inns.
" I wandered up to the top of the tower. Salisbury, at
fifteen miles ofif, darted up into the sky like a needle, and the
woods and lakes were magnificent ; and then the wild region of
the downs to the north. But the distant Dorsetshire hills made
me long rauch to be at dear old Osmington, the reraerabrance of
which must always be precious to you and me. The entrance
to Fonthill and the interior are beautiful. Imagine Salisbury
Cathedral, or, indeed, any beautiful Gothic building, magnificently
s

130 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. VIL
fitted up with crirason and gold, ancient pictures, and statues in
almost every niche; large gold boxes for relics, &c., and looking-
glasses, some of which spoiled the efifect. But, on the whole, it
is a strange, ideal, romantic place ; quite fairy-land. The spot
is chosen in the midst of mountains and wilds. We have had
such sad weather that I have been able to do but little, but I
have made one or two attacks on the old mill." "September 2,0th.
" My dear Fisher, — I should have thanked you before now
for ray delightful visit ; but I found on my return so much
occupation that my writing has been too long delayed. But I
trust forras will weigh as little with you as with me, in a friend
ship which is at once the pride, the honour, and the grand
stimulus of my life. My Gillingham studies give great satis
faction ; Dr. Bigg likes them better than anything I have yet
done. I found my wife and children all well ; better than I have
ever had them. I am now pretty full handed, but my difificulty
lies in what I am to do for the world next year ; I must have a
large canvas. I must write to Tinney about his picture, which I
wish to have up ; I shall be glad of it, frame and all. 
asked me to see his picture; it is such art as I cannot talk
about; heartless, vapid, without interest. I was at the private
view of the Diorama ; it is in part a transparency. The spectator
is in a dark chamber, and it is very pleasing, and has great
illusion. It is without the pale of the art, because its object is
deception. The art pleases by reminding, not by deceiving.
The place was filled with foreigners, and I seeraed to be in a
cage of magpies."

i823.] CRITICISM.

'3'

" Salisbury, October 2nd.
" My dear Constable, — Tinney consents to let his picture
corae to London, but he does it, he confesses, because he can
deny you nothing. He dreads you touching it. L  , the
engraver, says it ' has a look of nature which seems diffused
over the canvas as if by magic, and this Constable may in an
unlucky moment destroy, and he will never paint another picture
like it, for he has taken to repeat himself.' I know not whether
this reraark was his own, or merely the echo of what he had
heard said by other artists ; in either case it is right you should
be told of it. I must repeat to you an opinion I have long held,
that no man had ever more than one conception. Milton emptied
his mind in his first book of ' Paradise Lost,' all the rest is
transcript of self. The ' Odyssey' is a repetition of the ' Iliad.'
When you have seen one Claude you have seen all. I can
think of no exception but Shakespeare ; he is always varied,
never mannered." " October igth.
" My dear Fisher, — Thank you for your kind, arausing,
and instructive letter. I shall always be glad to hear anything
that is said of me and my pictures. My object is the improve
ment of both. L  , like raost men living on the outskirts of
the art, and like followers and attendants on armies, &c,, is a great
talker of what should be, and this is not always without malignity.
Such persons stroll about the foot of Parnassus, only to pull down
by the legs those who are laboriously climbing its sides. He
may be sincere in what he tells Tinney ; he wonders at what is
done, and concludes the picture cannot be made better because
he knows no better. I shall write to Tinnej and request the

132 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. VIL
picture, but with a proraise not to meddle with it, even if I see
anything material that would iraprove it, without first inforraing
hira of ray intention.
" By the time you receive this, I shall be at breakfast with Sir
George and Lady Beauraont, at Cole-Orton Hall, Leicestershire,
near Ashby-de-la-Zouch. I look to this visit with pleasure and
the hope of improvement. All Sir George's beautiful pictures
are there, and if I can find time to copy the little Claude,
evidently a study frora nature,* it will much help me. Sir
George will not possess these things longer than until a roora
can be got ready, at the British Museum, to receive them. After
my delightful visit to you, I should have been content. But Sir
George so much desired to see me, and is such a friend to art,
that I thought it a duty to myself to go. . . . I want to get
back to my easel in Town, and not to witness the rotting, melan
choly dissolution of the trees, which two raonths ago were so
beautiful. I raust talk to you about ' Coxe's Life of Correggio ' ;
he has raade such confusion and nonsense about art, with the
letter of A. Caracci, and the letter itself is so beautiful."
" Cole-Orton Hall,
" To Mrs. Constable, " October 2\th.
" My very dear Love, — I hasten to fulfill ray proraise of
writing to you on ray arrival here, though Sir George and Lady
Beauraont wish me to defer it to another day, as he wants me in
his painting-roora, . , , O dear ! this is a lovely place
indeed, and I only want you with me to make my happiness
* Now in the National Gallery. This picture he mentions again, as " The
Little Grove."

1823.] ADVENTURE IN LEICESTER. ,33
coraplete. Such grounds, such trees, such distances, and all
seeras arranged to be seen from the various windows of the
house. All looks like fairy-land.
" I wish you to write to Mrs. Whalley, she will take it
sisterly and kind. Tell her what an adventure I had at Leicester,
as I was determined not to go by without seeing Alicia.* I did
not choose to dine at Northarapton, but counted rauch on tea at
Leicester. Just as it was made, and almost poured out, I ran to
Miss Linwood' s, and found that she and all her young ladles
were at the theatre (about half-past eight). Thither I hastened,
saw Alicia, shook hands, kissed her ; she looked delightfully—
her hair curled and beautifully parted on her fair round forehead —
her cheeks rosy, owing to being so surprised, her chin dimpled,
and her teeth beautifully white. Saw three strange figures on
the stage, who had just ended a strange song, the audience were
all clapping their hands, and all this took place in half-a-minute.
Hastened back to the inn to finish my tea — party broken up,
coach driving ofif — and myself nearly left behind. Will not this
amuse her ? Copy it, and your letter will be almost formed.
" Only think, I am now writing in a room full of Claudes (not
Glovers, but real Claudes), Wilsons, and Poussins. But I think
of you, and am sad in the midst of all. And, ray ducks — my
darling Isabel, my Charley boy, my Minna, and my dear, dear
John. "J. C."
" Cole-Orton Hall, November 2nd.
"My very dear Fisher, — ^Your letter is delightful, and
its coraing here serves to help rae in the estiraation of Sir George
* Mrs. Whalley's daughter, who was at school at Leicester.

13+ THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. VII.
and Lady Beaumont. Nothing can be more kind, and in every
possible way more obliging, than they both are to me. I am
left entirely to do as I like, with full range over the whole house,
in which I may saturate myself with art ; only on condition of
letting them do as they like. I have copied one of the sraall
Claudes ; a Breezy Sunrise, a raost pathetic picture.* Perhaps
a sketch would have served ray present purpose, but I wished for a
more lasting remembrance of it; and a sketch of a picture is
only like seeing it in one view; it will not serve to drink at
again and again. I have likewise begun the little grove by
Claude ; a noon-day scene which ' warms and cheers, but which
does not inflame or irritate.' Through the depths of the trees
are seen a waterfall, and a ruined temple, and a solitary shepherd
is piping to some goats and sheep.
' In closing shades and where the current strays.
Pipes the lone shepherd to his feeding flocks.'
I draw in the evening, and Lady or Sir George Beaumont reads
aloud. Sir George has known intimately many persons of talent
of the last half-century, and is full of anecdote. This is a
magnificent country, abounding in the picturesque. The bell is
now going for church. Sir George and lady Beauraont never
miss, morning and evening, every Sunday, and have family
prayers. . . . In the breakfast-room hang four Claudes, a
Cozens, and a Swaneveldt ; the sun glows on them as it sets.
In the dark recesses of the gardens, and at the end of one of the
walks, is a cenotaph erected to the memory of Sir Joshua
Reynolds, and on it some beautiful lines by Wordsworth.
* The " Cephalus and Procris," another of Sir George Beaumont's valuable gifts
to the National Gallery.

1823.] HABITS OF SIR GEORGE BEAUMONT. 135
There is a magnificent view from the terrace over a mountainous
region, and there is a winter garden, the thought taken by
Sir George from ' The Spectator.' " * " November 2nd.
" To Mrs. Constable.
" The weather has been bad, but I do not at all regret being
confined to the house. The mail did not arrive yesterday till
many hours after the time, owing to some trees being blown and
the waters out. ... I ara now going to breakfast before
the Narcissus of Claude. How enchanting and lovely it is ;
far, very far, surpassing any other landscape I ever beheld.
Write to rae. Kiss and love ray darlings. I hope ray stay will
not exceed this week,"
In one of his letters from Cole-Orton to his wife. Constable
says : " Sir George rises at seven, walks in the garden before
breakfast, and rides out about two, fair or foul. We have had
breakfast at half-past eight, but to-day we began at the winter
hour — nine. We do not quit the breakfast-table directly, but chat
a little about the pictures in the room. We then go to the
* Wilkie, who, in company with Mr, Haydon, visited Cole-Orton Hall in August,
1809, thus describes the house and its situation : " Dance, who designed it,
has acquitted himself well. We found it most spacious and magnificent. We
entered first through a large portico into the lobby which leads into a splendid hall
lighted from the ceiling. Round the hall is a suite of rooms, fitted up in the most
elegant manner. The rooms above are chiefly bedrooms, while at the top of all is
the painting-room of Sir George himself. . , , The country around is picturesque
and rather richly wooded ; and as we have the advantage of seeing it from an
eminence, the distance softens it to the eye, and helps to render it less rugged than
any other part of the country we came through between this and London." Wilkie
also speaks of a ruined abbey in the neighbourhood, rendered interesting by being
the birth-place of Beaumont, who wrote in conjunction with Fletcher, and whose
brother was an ancestor of Sir George.

136 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. VIL
painting-roora, and Sir George most manfully sets to work, and
I by his side. At two the horses are brought to the door, I have
had an opportunity of seeing the ruins of Ashby, the raountain
stream and rocks (such Everdingens) at Grace Dieu, and an old
convent there. Lord Ferrars', a grand but melancholy spot. At
dinner we do not sit long ; Lady Beauraont reads the newspaper
{The Herald) to us, and then to the drawing-roora to tea, and
after that coraes a great treat. I ara furnished with sorae port
folios full of beautiful drawings or prints, and Sir George reads a
play in a manner the most delightful. On Saturday evening it
was As You Like It, and I never heard the ' seven ages ' so
adrairably read before. Last evening, Sunday, he read a serraon,
and a good deal of Wordsworth's ' Excursion,' Some of the land
scape descriptions in it are very beautiful. About nine, the ser
vant comes in with a little fruit and a decanter of water, and at
eleven we go to bed, I always find a fire in my room, and make
out about an hour longer, as I have everything there, writing-
desk, etc, and I grudge a raoraent's unnecessary sleep in this
place. You would laugh to see ray bedroora ; I have dragged
so many things into it — books, portfolios, prints, canvases, pic
tures, etc," " November gth.
" How glad I was, my dear love, to receive your last kind
letter, giving a good account of yourself and our dear babies.
. . . Nothing shall, I hope, prevent ray seeing you this week.
Indeed, I ara quite nervous about my absence, and shall soon
begin to feel alarmed about the exhibition. ... I do not
wonder at your being jealous of Claude. If anything could come
between our love, it is hira. I am fast advancing a beautiful

1823.] MISS SOUTHEY' S ALBUM. 137
little copy of his study frora nature of a little grove scene. If
you, my dearest love, will be so good as to make yourself happy
without me for this week, it will, I hope, be long before we part
again. But, believe me, I shall be the better for this visit as
long as I live. Sir George is never angry, or pettish, or peevish,
and though he loves painting so much, it does not harass
him. You will like me a great deal better than you did. To
morrow Southey is coming, with his wife and daughter, I know
you would be sorry if I were not to stay and meet him, he is such
a friend of Gooch's; but the Claudes, the Claudes are all, all,
I can think of here, . . . The weather is so bad that I can
scarcely see out of the window, but Friday was lovely. I shall
hardly be able to make you a sketch of the house, but I shall
bring rauch, though in little compass, to show you. . . Thurs
day was Sir George's birthday. Sixty-nine, and married almost
half-a-century. The servants had a ball, and I was lulled to sleep
by a fiddle." " November i8th.
" My dearest Love, — . . . I was very glad to hear a very
nice account of you and ray dear babies. ... I shall finish ray
little Claude on Thursday ; and then I shall have soraething to do
to some of Sir George's pictures, that will take a day or two
more, and then home. ... I sent you a hasty shabby line by
Southey, but all that morning I had been engaged on a little
sketch in Miss Southey' s album, of this house, which pleased all
parties here very much. Sir George is loath to part with rae.
He would have rae pass Christraas with him, and has named a
small coraraission which he wished me to execute here, but I have
declined it, as I ara so desirous to return. Sir George is very
T

138 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap, VIL
kind, and I have no doubt meant this little picture to pay my
expenses. I have worked so hard in the house that I never went
out of the door last week, so that I am getting quite nervous.
But I ara sure my visit here will be ultimately of the greatest
advantage to rae; and I could not be better eraployed to the
advantage of all of us by its making me so rauch raore of an
artist. . . . The breakfast-bell rings. I now hasten to finish,
as the boy waits. I really think seeing the habits of this house
will be of service to rae as long as I live. Everything is so
punctual. Sir George never looks into his painting-room on a
Sunday, nor trusts himself with a portfolio. Never is irapatient.
Always rides or walks for an hour or two, at two o'clock ; so will
I with you, if it is only into the square. I arause myself every
evening, making sketches frora Sir George's drawings about
Dedhara, &c. I could not carry all his sketch books. ... I
wish I had not cut myself out so rauch to do here — but I was
greedy with the Claudes."
In his next letter to his wife, Constable deplores the facility
with which he allowed his time to be consumed by loungers in his
painting-roora, an evil his good nature to the last entailed on him.
Mrs. Constable in one of her letters had said, Mr.  was
here nearly an hour on Saturday, reading the paper, and talking
to himself. I hope you will not admit him so often. Mr.  ,
another lounger, has been here once or twice,"
" Cole-Orton Hall, November 21st.
" My dearest Love, — I am as heart-sick as ever you can be
at my long absence from you, and all our dear darlings, but which
is now fast drawing to a close. In fact, my greediness for pictures

1823.] WORK AT COLE-ORTON.

'39

made me cut out for myself much more work than I ought to have
undertaken at this time. One of the Claudes would have been all
that I wanted, but I could not get at that first, and I had been here
a fortnight before I began it. To-day it will be done, with perhaps
a little touch on Saturday morning. I have then an old picture to
fill up some holes in. But I fear I shall not be able to get away
on Saturday, though I hope nothing shall prevent rae on Monday,
I can hardly believe I have not seen you or ray Isabel, or ray
Charley, for five weeks. Yesterday there was another very high
wind, and such a splendid evening as I never before beheld at
this time of the year. Was it so with you? But in London
nothing is to be seen, worth seeing, in the natural -^diy.
" I certainly will not allow of such serious interruptions as I
used to do from people who devour my time, brains, and every
thing else. Sir George says it is quite serious and alarming. Let
me have a letter on Sunday, my last day here, as I want to be
made comfortable on my journey, which will be long and tiresome,
and I shall be very nervous as I get near horae ; therefore, pray
let rae have a good account of you all. I believe some great folks
are coming here in December, which Sir George dreads, as
they so much interfere with his painting habits ; for no artist can
be fonder of the art." " November 2^th.
" My very dearest Love, — I hope nothing will prevent ray
leaving this place to-morrow afternoon, and that I shall have you
in my arms on Thursday morning, and my babies ! O dear ! how
glad I shall be. I feel that I have been at school, and can only
hope that my long absence from you may ultimately be to my
great and lasting improvement as an artist, and, indeed, in every-

140 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. VIL
thing. If you have any friends staying with you, I beg you will
disraiss thera before ray arrival,"
Though Sir George Beauraont and Constable agreed, gener
ally, in their opinions of the Old Masters, yet their tastes differed
materially on sorae points of art, and their discourse never
languished for want of "an aniraated no," A constant com
munion with pictures, the tints of which are subdued by time,
no doubt tends to unfit the eye for the enjoyraent of freshness ;
and Sir George thought Constable too daring in the raodes he
adopted to obtain this quality ; while Constable saw that Sir
George often allowed himself to be deceived by the efifects of
time, of accident, and by the tricks that are, far oftener than is
generally supposed, played by dealers, to give mellowness to pic
tures ; and, in these matters, each was disposed to set the other
right. Sir George had placed a sraall landscape by Gaspar
Poussin on his easel, close to a picture he was painting, and
said, "Now, if I can raatch these tints I am sure to be right,"
"But suppose. Sir George," replied Constable, "Gaspar could
rise from his grave, do you think he would know his own picture
in its present state ? or if he did, should we not find it difificult to
persuade him that soraebody had not sraeared tar or cart-grease
over its surface, and then wiped it iraperfectly ofif ? " At another
time, Sir George recoraraended the colour of an old Creraona
fiddle for the prevailing tone of everything, and this Constable
answered by laying an old fiddle on the green lawn before the
house. Again, Sir George, who seemed to consider the autumnal
tints necessary, at least to some part of a landscape, said, " Do
you not find it very difificult to determine where to place your

1823.] " THE BROWN tree:'— A GREAT STORM. 14.1
brown tree ? " And the reply was, " Not in the least, for I never
put such a thing into a picture." But however opposite in these
respects their opinions were, and although Constable well knew
that Sir George did not appreciate his works — the intelligence,
the wit, and the fascinating and amiable manners of the Baronet
had gained his heart, and a sincere and lasting friendship sub
sisted between them.
During his visit to Cole-Orton, besides his admirable copies
of the Claudes, he made a sketch from a landscape by Rubens, a
large sketch of the front of the house, and a drawing of the
cenotaph erected to Sir Joshua Reynolds.
Constable had never been, nor was he ever again, so long
separated frora his wife and children as on this occasion ; and his
anxiety to return, and, at the same time, his wish to complete the
copies he undertook at Cole-Orton, confined him so much to his
easel that his visit proved an injury, instead of a benefit, to his
health. " Salisbury, December 12th.
" My dear Constable, — ... I know not how to advise
you for the exhibition. The ' Waterloo ' depends entirely on the
polish and finish given to it. If I were the painter of it I would
always have it on my easel, and work at it for five years — a touch
a day, " The great -Storra played destruction at Gillinghara, It blew
down two of my great elras, bent another to an angle of forty-five
degrees with the ground, and stripped a third of all its branches,
leaving only one standing entire. This I have taken down, and
your wood exists only in your sketches. The great elm in the
raiddle of the turf is spared.

1 42 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. VII.
" Southey is a friend of the Establishment ; but in one point I
think him (with diffidence) wrong. He would adopt the Methodist
preacher into the Church as an inferior servant. This was the
very cause of the corruptions and downfall of the Roman Catholic
Establishraent, For the sake of peace and unity they adopted
enthusiasts, received their errors into the creeds of the Church,
and then had to defend thera. You cannot make use of the men
without receiving their opinions.
" Varley is here, teaching drawing to the young ladies.
* Principles: he says, ' are the thing. The warm grey, the cold
grey, and the round touch:
"John Fisher."
"December i8th.
" My dear Fisher, — Your kind and welcome letter, as usual,
breathes nothing but good humour, friendship, and understanding.
I wanted just such a one ; as almost from the time of my return I
have been laid up, and am quite disabled by pains in the bones of
my head and face, probably originating in the teeth. It began at
Gillingham. However, they have condemned one this morning,
who, though not the principal, was still an accessory before the
fact. Perhaps I may look for some ease, but I have lived on
suction for the last fortnight. ... I shall now turn to your
letter to see what requires noticing.
"First: I am settled for the exhibition. My 'Waterioo'
must be done, and one other— -perhaps one of Tinney's, * Dedham,'
but more probably my ' Lock.' I must visit Gillingham again for
a subject for the other next summer.
" Second : How much I regret the grove at the bottom of your

1823,] SOUTHEY.

143

garden. This has really vexed me. I had promised myself
passing the suraraer hours in its shade.
" Third : I ara glad the great elm is safe.
" Fourth : What you say of Southey is wise, just, moderate,
and undeniable. Though he can say much, he cannot gainsay
that short sentence of yours. It marks you raaster of your own
profession ; and every hour's experience proves to me that no
man, not educated from his early youth to a profession, can fully
and justly enter into it."

CHAPTER VIII.
1824.
Picture of Waterloo Bridge. — Two Pictures bought by a Frenchman. — Brighton
described. — The Venetian Secret. — French criticism on Constable.
" To John Constable, Esq.
"Dear Sir, — I am very sorry to hear you have been so unwell
since your visit to Cole-Orton, and am afraid it arose from too
intense application. You must do rae the justice to tell Mrs.
Constable that I never failed daily proposing riding or walking.
I am quite sure artists save tirae in the end by allowing the neces
sary interruptions for air and exercise. However, now it is over,
I hope it will be a warning, and in the meantime I must say your
time was not passed unprofitably, and your industry has acquainted
you with many of the arcana of Claude's mysterious and magical
practice. I thank you for the trouble you have taken in sending
my colours, &c,, and, finally, wish you success in the application
of the result of your studies. I hope you feel no remains of your
illness, and will go on raerrily with your preparations for Somerset
House ; but remember, air and exercise, or you may be interrupted.
At all events, it must injure you in the long run, for I am con
vinced that many artists bring on various complaints, and shorten
their lives, from inattention to this point. It does not surprise me
to hear that Sir Thomas Lawrence has delivered an excellent
discourse, and it adds to my pleasure to hear that it is to be printed.

1824.] CONSTABLE'S SEDENTARY HABITS.

'45

and also that, with his usual liberality of feeling and good taste, he
has spoken in high terms of Mr, West, I beg my compliments to
Mrs, Constable, and request her to inforra you from me, with her
influence superadded, that unless you take more air and exercise
you will never reach ray age.
" I reraain, my dear Sir, with every good wish, truly yours,
" G. Beaumont, Cole-Orton Hall, January 6th, 1824.
" How are your copies approved ? "
Whatever good efifects Sir George's advice may have produced
were not lasting, for Constable never adhered to any plan of
regular exercise. In town he was often obliged to quit his easel ;
but even when called out, so constantly was his attention drawn to
passing objects, that he loitered rather than walked, and his pace
could scarcely be quickened into exercise unless he was late for
some appointment.
A letter to Constable, from the Bishop of Salisbury, dated
January 6th, enclosing a draft, concludes thus : " Our new year
opens under many pleasing circumstances: fine weather, returning
plenty, public quiet, and the appearance of general peace. May
you and yours have many happy returns of such a year."
" January ijth.
" My dear Fisher, — The Frenchman who was after my
large picture of ' The Hay Cart ' last year is here again. He
would, I believe, have both that and ' The Bridge,' if he could
get them at his own price. I showed hira your letter, and told him
of my promise to you. His object is to make a show of them at
Paris, perhaps to my advantage. I should like to advise with you
u

,46 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. VIII.
about the large ' Waterloo ' ; it is a work that should not be
hurried. I ara engaged on ray upright ' Lock,' and, I hope, one
of Tinney's new ones. I only want to work harder to be comfort
able. My success in life seems pretty certain, but no raan can get
much by study and the labour of his own hands." "January i8th.
"My dear Constable,— Thurtell said* — but, perhaps, you
are as sick of his name as you were of the Queen's, so we will
change the subject. , , , Let your 'Hay Cart' go to Paris, by all
means, I am too rauch pulled down by the agricultural distress to
hope to possess it, I would, I think, let it go at less than its price
for the sake of the eclat it raay give you. The stupid English
public, which has no judgment of its own, will begin to think there
is something in you if the French make your works national
property. You have long lain under a mistake ; men do not
purchase pictures because they admire them, but because others
covet them. . , ,
" Did you know the fact in natural history that rooks prefer
to build in elm trees before all others, and that they seldom, or
never, frequent chestnuts ? When we were felling our elms at
GiUingham, some rooks flew over and were clamorous. Whether
deprecating our work of destruction or not I cannot tell.
" In the new novel attributed to Sir Walter Scott (' St. Ronan's
Well ') is the following passage : ' There are very well-bred
artists,' said Lady Penelope; 'it is the profession of a gentleman.'
' Certainly,' answered Lady Binks ; ' but the poorer class have
often to struggle with poverty and dependence. In general society
• This is a humorous hit at the importance attached to everything said or done by
a convicted murderer.

1824.] SIR WALTER SCOTT— NEWSPAPERS. 147
they are like commercial people in presence of their customers ;
and that is a difificult part to sustain. And so you see thera of all
sorts— shy and reserved when they are conscious of merit, petu
lant and whimsical by way of showing their independence;
intrusive in order to appear easy, and sometimes obsequious and
fawning when they chance to be of a mean spirit.' Are either
you or  acquainted with Sir Walter Scott ?
" I am shut up in lodgings here — the walls covered with Old
Masters. I suffer like the martyrs of old, who had their eyes put
out with hot brazen basins held before their faces. But I am
relieved by one picture, which I guess to be a genuine Vander-
hayden — is not that the name of the man who painted brick build
ings so minutely ? It is very true and delicate, and with pretty
light and shadow, but the sky looks as if it had been touched up.
"J. Fisher."
" January 22nd.
"My dear Fisher, — . . . I have done the little 'Waterloo,'
a small baloon to let ofif as a forerunner ofthe large one, . . "
Mr. Fisher, in a letter dated "Weyraouth, Febmary 12th,"
says : "I beg to congratulate you on the appearance of your
narae in the newspapers. Do not despise thera too rauch. They
cannot give fame, but they attend on her. Smoke gives notice
that the house is on fire. I shall be in town Wednesday or
Thursday next." "April le^th.
" My dear Fisher, — I have been for some time desirous of
writing to you, but I was never more fully bent on any picture
than that on which you left me engaged. It is gone to its audit,

,48 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. VIII.
and my friends tell me it is ray best ; it is a good subject, and an
adrairable instance of the picturesque, I hear there are sorae
fine pictures this year at the Academy from some of the old, as
well as some of the new Academicians, On Saturday I shall go
for a few days into Sufifolk ; I wish to see what they are about,
and Lady Dysart wants me to look at the woods which she has
given into the care of my brother, that I raay bring a report to
her, as he cannot leave them, I have had the Frenchman again
with me; we have agreed as to price— two hundred and fifty
pounds the pair — and I give him a sraall picture of ' Yarraouth '
into the bargain,
" I dined the other day with  , to be introduced to a lady
paintress, ' with whora I should be rauch pleased,' I found a laugh
ing, ignorant, fat, uncouth old woman, but very good-natured,
and she gave me no trouble as she wanted no instruction from
me. When she told me of an oil proper for painting, I told her
it would not do, but she assured me it would, and that she could
give me no greater proof of it than that one of her pictures was
painted entirely with it,"
Constable exhibited but one picture this year — " A Boat
passing a Lock," The scene of this subject is close to Flatford
Mill, and was often painted by hira from different points of view.
An early picture of it, in which the lock is on the right of the
foreground, forras one of the raost coraplete subjects of the
"English Landscape," The Httle wooden bridge, a principal
feature in the engraving entitled the "River Stour, Sufifolk," is
here introduced at a greater distance, with the whole of the pic
turesque cottage near it.

zooo

1824.J EXHIBITION, i%2^.—" THE LOCK."

149

" May 8th.
" Dear Fisher, — I have just deposited ray picture in its
place, and opposite, and as a companion to, one by Mrs.  .*
To what honours are some men born ! . . . My Frenchman
has sent his agent with the money for the pictures ; they are now
ready, and look uncommonly well, and I think they cannot fail to
melt the stony hearts of the French painters. Think of the
lovely valleys and peaceful farmhouses of Sufifolk forming part of
an exhibition to amuse the gay Parisians. My ' Lock ' is liked at
the Acaderay, and indeed it forms a decided feature, and its light
cannot be put out, because it is the light of nature, the mother of
all that is valuable in poetry, painting, or an5rthlng else where an
appeal to the soul is required. The language of the heart is the
only one that is universal ; and Sterne says he disregards all
rules, but makes his way to the heart as he can. But my execu
tion annoys most of them, and all the scholastic ones. Perhaps
the sacrifices I make for lightness and brightness are too great ;
but these things are the essence of landscape, and my extreme is
better than white-lead and oil, and dado-painting. I sold this
picture on the day of the opening for one hundred and fifty
guineas, including the frame, to Mr. Morrison. I do hope my
exertions may tend towards popularity ; but it is you who have so
long held my head above water. Although a good deal of the
devil is in me, I do think I should have been broken-hearted
before this time but for you. Indeed, it is worth while to have
gone through all I have for the hours and thoughts we have had
together, I am in high favour with all the Seymour Street
family, and I look continually back to the great kindness shown
* The lady described in the last letter.

ISO THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. VIIL
to me in my early days, when it was truly of value to me ; for long
I tottered on the threshold, and floundered in the path, and there
never was any young man nearer being lost ; but here I am, and
I raust now take heed where I stand." " Gillingham, May loth.
"My dear Constable,— I adraire your lion-like generosity
in passing over my long silence without vituperation. I am glad
you did not ask rae for a reason, for I can assign none, except
that I was always thinking of you, daily intending to write, and
daily neglecting to put ray intention into execution. Your last
letter is evidently written in a tone of great exultation, and with
reason. Your fame and fortune are both advanced ; and for both
you are indebted but Lo Providence and your own exertions, I
am not surprised that ' The Navigator ' sold on a first inspec
tion, for it was one of your best pictures. The purchase of your
two great landscapes for Paris is surely a stride up three or four
steps of the ladder of popularity. English boobies, who dare not
trust their own eyes, will discover your merits when they find
you admired at Paris. We now must go there for a week. , ,
I generally leave you wiser than I came to you, and some
of your pithy apothegms stick to my memory like a thorn, and
give me a prick when I fall a-dozing. ' A raan is always grow
ing,' you said, "either upwards or downwards.' I have been
trying to grow upwards since we parted. When I consulted
you about the Lancastrian Sunday School in my parish, you
advised rae to 'be quiet and do all the good I could.' I took
your advice, and the Quakers have, unsolicited, dropped the
offensive rules. "J. Fisher,"

1824.] THE CHURCH.

151

"Gillingham, May nth.
" My dear Constable,— . , . They have had one or
two sraart brushes at the Church in Parliaraent, but have been
triumphantly defeated. One meraber said, ' If half the industry
had been used to bring to light the good done by the clergy,
which has been used to raalign thera, the Church would need no
defender.' However, I ara indifferent to such attacks. I ara at
my post, and intend to be found at it, happen what will. The
people of this place are given to my charge, and I will dis
charge the duty, with or without the tithes. What has become of
' Waterloo ' ? I am ready to receive you at Salisbury, at any
moment. Will you go with me on my visitation ? "J. Fisher,"
" My dear Fisher, — I have counted on the pleasure of
seeing Berkshire again with you, but that is not possible this
year. I have just now engaged to get seven pictures of a small
size ready for Paris by August. The large ones are to be
exhibited at the Louvre, and my purchasers say they are much
looked for at Paris. The Director of the Academy at Antwerp,
Mr. Vanbree, has been here ; he says they will make an impression
on the Continent." " Brighton, May 2gth.
" The dignitary of the Church seems to have forgotten the
dignitary of the easel. ... I am busy here, but I dislike the
place, and miss any letter from you. I ara, however, getting
on with ray French affairs ; one of the largest is quite complete,
and is my best in sparkle with repose, which is my struggle just
now. Brighton is the receptacle of the fashion and off-scouring

IS 2 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. VIIL
of London. The magnificence of the sea, and its, to use your
own beautiful expression, ' everlasting voice,' is drowned in the
din and tumult of stage-coaches, gigs, flys, &c., and the beach
is only Piccadilly, or worse, by the seaside. Ladies dressed and
undressed ; gentlemen in morning-gowns and slippers, or without
them or anything else, about knee-deep in the breakers; footmen,
children, nursery-maids, dogs, boys, fishermen, and Preventive
Service men with hangers and pistols ; rotten fish, and those
hideous amphibious animals, the old bathing women, whose
language, both in oaths and voice, resembles men, all mixed
together in endless and indecent confusion. The genteeler part,
or Marine Parade, is still more unnatural, with its trimmed and
neat appearance, and the dandy jetty or Chain Pier, with its long
and elegant strides into the sea a full quarter of a mile." (Here
the writing is interrupted by a sketch,) " In short, there is
nothing here for a painter but the breakers and the sky, which
have been lovely indeed, and always varying,* The fishing-boats
here are not so picturesque as the Hastings boats ; the difference
is this," (Here a sketch.) " But these subjects are so hackneyed
in the exhibition, and are indeed so little capable of the beautiful
sentiraent that belongs to landscape, that they have done a great
deal of harra. They forra a class of art much easier than
landscape, and have, in consequence, almost supplanted it. While
in the fields, for I ara at the west of this city, and quite out of
it, I met with a most intelligent and elegant-minded man, Mr.
Phillips, We became intimate, and he contributes much to our
pleasure here. He is a botanist, and all his works on Natural
* On the back of one of Constable's oil sketches, made in the summer of this year
at the west end of Brighton, is written : "The neighbourhood of Brighton consists of
London cowfields and hideous masses of unfledged earth called the country."

...^^SfeT^- - '-

BRIGHTON BEACH, 1825.
FKOM A PENCIL SKETCH LENT BY J- P. HESELTINE.

^U

*<•«

1824.] MRS. SOBER.— CONSTABLE AND THE FRENCHMAN. 153
History are instructive and entertaining, calculated for children
of all ages ; his ' History of Trees ' is delightful. We are at
No, 9, Mrs, Sober' s Gardens, so called frora Mrs. Sober, the lady
of the raanor. She has built a Chapel ; and a raan who was taken
before the magistrates quite drunk, when asked what he was, said
he was ' one of Mrs. Sober' s congregation.' Last Tuesday, the
finest day that ever was, we went to the Dyke, which is, in fact,
the remains of a Roraan encarapment, overlooking one of the
grandest natural landscapes in the world, and consequently a
scene the raost unfit for a picture. It is the business of a painter
not to contend with nature, and put such a scene, a valley filled
with iraagery fifty miles long, on a canvas of a few inches ; but
to make soraething out of nothing, in attempting which he must
almost of necessity becorae poetical — but you understand all this
better than I. My wife and children are delightfully well."
In June, Constable returned to London with young Dun
thorne, leaving his faraily at Brighton, While in town he kept a
diary, which he sent at intervals to Mrs, Constable, and frora
which the following are a few extracts : —
" Wednesday, June i6ih. — . , . A French gentleman and
his wife called ; they were much pleased, could talk a little
English, and we got on very well. He ordered a little picture,
and wished to know if I would receive any commissions from
Paris, where he said I was much known and esteemed, and if I
would go there the artists would receive me with great Mat.
He was delighted with Tinney's picture, which now looks very
beautiful on the easel ; it is of service to me to have so good a
work to show. Jackson told me that Lord Fitzwilliam would
X

IS4 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap, VIIL
certainly have bought ray picture if it had not been sold to Mr,
Morrison. Fisher called and dined. Leslie called to ask me to
pass the evening with him. He stayed to tea. Fisher and Leslie
had a good deal of talk about Washington Irving. A new book
of his just out. Fisher is quite plea.sed with Irving."
" 2ist June. — . . . Collins called ; he says I am a great
man at Paris, and that it is curious they speak there of only three
English artists, namely Wilkie, Lawrence, and Constable. This
sounds very grand. He was quite struck with the look of
Tinney's picture. He hopes it will go to the Gallery."
"June 22nd. — , . . Had a letter from Paris. Mr. Arrow-
smith informed rae of the safe arrival of ray pictures, and how
rauch they were adraired. He talks of coming again at the end
of next month ; I shall be ready for him. His letter is flattering,
but I have no wish to go to Paris,"
" June 2\th.  called. He did not want to see rae, but
had something to say to a man he had with him, and, if I would
give hira leave, would take hira into the parlour. He easily
raakes hiraself at horae,"
" June 2^th. — After breakfast called on the Bishop by his
wish. He had to tell me that he thought of my improving the
picture of the Cathedral, and mentioned raany things. ' He
hoped I would not take his observations amiss.' I said, * Quite
the contrary, as his Lordship had been my kind raonitor for
twenty-five years.' I ara to have it horae to-raorrow. He says
I must visit the Colonel,* at Charleton, this or next month, for
a day or two ; I do not wish it, as I begin to be tired of going to
school. The good Bishop had been at Dedham, and found the
* A relation of the Bishop, an amateur landscape painter.

156 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. VIII.
"July 2 «<^.— Received a letter from the Institution offering
prizes for the best sketches and pictures of the Battles of the
Nile and Trafalgar ; it does not concern me."
" July 2,rd. — Mr. Ottley called this morning, I was introduced
to him by Sir George Beaumont. He was rauch pleased and
stayed a long tirae, and looked at a good many things ; he is
more of a connoisseur than an artist, and therefore full of
objections, A good undoer, but little of a doer, and with no
originality of mind. He invited me to drink tea with him,
Mr. Appleton, the tub-maker, of Tottenham Court Road, called
to know if I had a damaged picture which I could let him
have cheap, as he is fitting up a room up one pair of stairs.
, , , Went to tea with Mr, Ottley. Saw sorae beautiful prints.
Such a collection of Waterloo's etchings I never saw. There
was also an abundance of his own things, which gave me a
great deal of pain ; so laborious, so tasteless, and so useless,
but very plausible. They were all of the single leaf,* and
chiefly laurels, weeds, hops, grapes, and bell vines ; and ten
thousand of them. He is a very clever writer and a good
man. He says he has lost a great deal by his publications
on art," " July Ith. — Took tea with Rochard, The Chalons and
Newton there, A pleasant evening. Saw a newspaper on the
table, a paragraph mentioning the arrival of my pictures in Paris,
They have caused a stir, and the French critics by profession are
very angry with the artists for admiring them. All this is arausing
enough, but they cannot get at me on this side of the water, and I
shall not go there,"
* He means that every single leaf was drawn without attention to the masses.

1824.] THE VENETIAN SECRET. 155
wretched  's all at daggers drawn. He reconciled them,
and insisted on their shaking hands, which they did. Mr. Neave
called this evening about five. He is always the most agreeable
person in the world. He was quite astonished at the picture on
the easel (Tinney's), and hoped I would always keep to the pic
turesque, and those scenes in which I am ' so entirely original.'
Mrs. Hand tells me that Owen always speaks so very highly of
me, in every way, that it is quite delightful."
" June 28th. — F. Collins called to ask me to a party; but Sir
George Beauraont had sent rae tickets for the British Institution
this evening, and I thought it would be a treat to Johnny Dun
thorne to see so many fine ladies."
" June 2,0th. — Sir George Beaumont called to know if I would
undertake a singular commission. There is a lady who has de
voted herself to the discovery of what is called the Venetian secret
of colouring. She has been at it these twenty years, and has at
length written to the Secretary of State to desire proper trials
may be made of it by some eminent artists. Sir George asked
me to try it, saying I should be paid for my time, &c., and think
ing that, as the lady is now at Brighton, it might not be incon
venient to me. I shall see him again to-morrow ; the lady's name
I forget." "July ist.— I am glad to find the lady who has discovered
the Venetian secret decHnes submitting it to any one artist. She
wants the Governors of the British Institution to send many
artists, and to offer very high premiums for their success, so Sir
George hopes there will be an end of it. Mrs.  saw the
exhibition, and was delighted with my picture, which, she says
" flatters the spot, but does not belie nature."

1824.] DIARY.— SWAN AND DUCK. 157
" July loth. — Dressed to go to Leslie's to dinner. It is a
very fit house for an artist, but sadly out of the way. But it
is quite in the country,* Willes and Newton there. After dinner
took a walk in the fields and to the new church, St. John's
Wood, where ray poor uncle, David Pike Watts, is buried.
Saw the torab, A lovely evening,"
In another part of this journal. Constable describes the
familiarity of some of his neighbour's pigeons. They came into
a room where John Dunthorne was working, and perched on the
easel ; and he continues : " Mary Constable told rae a funny story
of one of her swans and a duck that had young ones. He
poked his long neck towards some of her brood, and she attacked
him with fury, and after a great to-do, and splashing, and noise,
and hissing, and flapping of wings, she drove him ofif, and rode
away in triumph on his back." "Brighton, July i8th.
" My dear Fisher, — I have often attempted to write to you,
but in London I have so many occupations and interruptions
that I was glad to put it ofif till I arrived here, whither I am
come to seek some quiet with my family. . , , I have formed a
plan of receiving no commission under twenty guineas, however
small, as the picture must be complete, and the subject as good
as one on a six-foot canvas. We have received a letter from
the wise men of the Institution : they offer a good thing ; it is
to receive some pictures from living artists which are in private
hands, to form an exhibition next year instead of the Old
* My father then lived in St. John's Place, Lisson Grove— far enough from any
fields to-day.— Ed.

isS THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap, VIIL
Masters. I have to beg that Tinney's picture may be one, and, as
it is already in my possession, it is convenient, , , , The French
critics have begun with me, and that in the usual way, by com
parison with what has been done. They are angry with the artists
for admiring these pictures, which they ' shall now proceed to
examine,' &c. They acknowledge the efifect to be ' rich and
powerful,' and that the whole has the look of nature, and the
colour, their chief excellence, to be true and harmonious; but
shall we admire works so unusual for these excellencies alone ?
What, then, is to become of the great Poussin ? They then caution
the younger artists to ' beware of the seduction of these English
works.' All this comes of being regular critics. The execution
of my pictures, I know, is singular, but I like that rule of Sterne's,
' Never mind the dogmas of the schools, but get at the heart as you
can ; ' and it is evident soraething like this has been attained, by
the irapression these pictures have raade on raost people who have
seen them here and abroad. I have the paper, and will send it to
you. I am planning sorae large landscape, but I have no inclina
tion to pursue my ' Waterloo ' ; I am irapressed with a notion that
it will ruin me, I want to see you at Salisbury, but how or when I
know not. I ara looking for a month's quiet here, and have brought
with me several works to coraplete. What a blessing it is thus to
be able to carry ray profession with rae. My wife is rauch better
and stronger for the change,"
Constable's youngest brother, Mr, Abram Constable, with
whom he kept up a constant correspondence, in a letter dated
August 2nd, says ; " I fully coincide in your opinion of John
Dunthorne. He Is certainly the most extraordinary young man

" -.<^'

1824.] JOHN DUNTHORNE.— WASHINGTON IRVING. 159
within my knowledge. So clever, so active, so innocent — 'tis
marvellous. I assure you I had not overlooked his conduct. . . .
Johnny has made every inquiry about the elm called 'Buck's
elm,' and no intention is entertained of its coming down at
present; but a look out shall be kept to prevent it, if possible.
'Tis of no value when down, and I hope that circumstances will
prevent it. . . . John Dunthorne is too good to pass his life
among dissolute workmen."
Immediately on alighting from the coach after one of his
journeys either to or frora Brighton, Constable raade the beautiful
sketch frora which the engraving in the " English Landscape,"
called " Sumraer : Afternoon after a Shower," was taken. It
was the recollection of an efifect he had noticed near Red Hill.
" Gillingham, Shaftesbury, September 8th.
" My dear Constable, — . . . You recollect, probably, a
conversation we had with Leslie respecting Washington Irving.
I said that Irving had not done justice to the present character
of the clergy. That they were a class of raen who rauch
adraired his works, and had literary reputation much at their
disposal. In his new work, the ' Tales of a Traveller,' he has
made us ample amends. I copy the following from page 3 1 6,
vol. I. : ' He was a good man : a worthy specimen of that
valuable body of our country clergy, who silently and unosten
tatiously do a vast deal of good ; who are, as it were, woven into
the whole system of rural life, and operate upon it with the
steady, yet unobtrusive, influence of temperate piety and learned
good sense.' The rest of the volume is on the same subject, and
gives a pretty picture of the serene tranquility and decorum of

i6o THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. VIIL
a Cathedral city, and a most amiable hint at the character of a
Prebendary. Is this accident ? Take an opportunity to let Leslie
know that the compliment has not been lost on the body. . . .
I have a great mind to dress up your description of Brighton and
send it to John Bull. It is an odious place. "J. Fisher."
" November 2nd.
" My very dear Fisher, — I ara deterrained to write to
you, though scarcely equal to it. . . . All ray indispositions
have their source in ray mind. It is when I am restless and un
happy that I become susceptible of cold, damp, heats, and such
nonsense. I have not been well for sorae weeks, but I hope soon
to get to work again. . , . " "November 2nd.
" My dear Constable, — Association of ideas is soraetiraes
very singular. What is there in coramon between you and
Alderman Wood ? and yet seeing his name at the head of a
paragraph in a newspaper made me think of you. I found that
his son had been elected to sorae living in the city, and that
J  had been a rival candidate. The narae of J 
called that of Constable to my mind by an intiraate association,
and so I stole a few raoraents to write to you on the spur of the
recollection. — November /^th. I had written thus far when,
yesterday, I received your distressing letter. I was very sorry to
perceive, both frora the raatter and the handwriting, that you were
very much out of order. But I tmst the cold weather, and your
temperate habits, will soon restore nature to her healthy action,
. . . Everybody has been ill, Abernethy says there is not

r824.] JOHN DUNTHORNE.— NINE TELESCOPES. 161
a healthy raan in London ; such is the state of the atmosphere
and mode of life. . ; . I copy you a passage from ' D' Israeli's
Anecdotes,' in the absence of news : * In all art, perfection
lapses into that weakened state too often dignified as classical
imitation. It sinks into mannerism, wantons into affectation, or
shoots out into fantastic novelties. When all languishes in a
state of mediocrity, or is deformed by false taste, then some
fortunate genius has the glory of restoring another golden age of
invention.'- — History of the Caracci. " J. Fisher."
" November i2,th.
" My dear Constable, — This moist, muggy weather seems
to have deranged everybody, and, among others, your humble
servant. I have been, as the old women say, 'quite poorly' this
last week, and not equal to the energy of a letter. ... I hope you
will diversify your subject this year as to time of day. Thomson,
you know, wrote, not four Summers, but four Seasons.^ People
get tired of mutton at top, mutton at bottom, and mutton at the
side, though of the best flavour and smallest size. When you
write again give us a little history of your wife and children.
"J. Fisher."
"Charlotte Street, November ijth.
" My dear Fisher, — Thank you for your letter of yesterday.
. . . John Dunthorne is here ; he cheers and helps me so much
that I could wish to have him always with rae ; he forwards me
a good deal in subordinate parts, such as tracing, squaring, &c.
This morning a gentleman called on rae who has nine telescopes ;

1 62 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. VIIL
you may judge how thick they soon got.* It is John's forte, he
is to see them to-morrow. I am planning a large picture, and I
regard all you say, but I do not enter into that notion of varying
one's plans to keep the public in good huraour. Change of
weather and effect will always afford variety. What if Vander
Velde had quitted his sea-pieces, or Ruysdael his waterfalls, or
Hobberaa his native woods ? The world would have lost so many
features in art. I know that you wish for no material alteration,
but I have to combat from high quarters — even from Lawrence —
the plausible argument that subject makes the picture. Perhaps
you think an evening efifect might do ; perhaps it might start me
some new admirers, but I should lose many old ones. I iraagine
rayself driving a nail ; I have driven it some way, and by per
severing I may drive it home ; by quitting it to attack others,
though I may arause rayself, I do not advance beyond the first,
while that particular nail stands still. No man who can do any
one thing well will be able to do any other different thing equally
well ; and this is true, even of Shakespeare, the greatest master of
variety. Send me the picture of the shady lane when you like.
Do you wish to have any other ? The sketch-book I ara busy
with for a few days ; it is full of boats and coast scenes. Subjects
of this sort seera to rae more fit for execution than for sentiment.
I hold the genuine pastoral feeling of landscape to be very rare
and difificult of attainment. It is by far the most lovely depart
ment of painting as well as of poetry, I looked into Angerstein's
the other day; how paramount is Claude. . . . Can anything
exceed the villainy of the newspapers ? After having said every-
* Young Dunthorne, who was very ingenious, was fond of astronomy. His father
showed me, in 1840, the remains of a large telescope made by him.

1824.] MR. BROCKEDON— ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE. 163
thing bad of  , most of which is true, they are now endeavour
ing to turn justice from its course. I met Sir  several tiraes
at Brighton. He is a strong, sensible, stupid, clever, foolish,
vulgar dog ; very arausing, no doubt a great liar, has long been
carried about on the shoulders of the world, and his raind is filled
with all the dirt of life. I fear you will be annoyed by this ill-
written rigmarole letter. But forgive it, as it has afforded much
arauseraent to ray raind to write it. My wife wants some account
of Mrs. Fisher and your children."
" My dear Constable, — You will find in the enclosed some
remarks upon your pictures at Paris. I returned last night and
brought this with me. The French have been forcibly struck by
them, and they have created a division in the school of the
landscape painters in France. You are accused of carelessness
by those who acknowledge the truth of your efifect ; and the
freshness of your pictures has taught them that though your
means may not be essential, your end raust be to produce an
imitation of nature, and the next exhibition in Paris will teem
with your imitators, or the School of Nature versus the School of
Birmingham. I saw one man draw another to your pictures
with this expression, ' Look at these landscapes by an English
man—the ground appears to be covered with dew.'
" Yours very sincerely,
" William Brockedon,
" December i^tL" "11, Caroline Street, Bedford Square,
Constable told me of a singular practice of a namesake of
his, who was not, however, a relation. Archibald Constable, the

1 64 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. VIII.
Edinburgh publisher, called on him, I think in this year, and
introduced himself, saying that wherever he was he made it a
point to call on every person he could find bearing his own
name, whora he had not previously known.
"Charlotte Street, December ijth.
" My dear Fisher, — .... How rauch I should like
to pass a day or two with you at Bath ; but after such an inter
rupted suraraer, and so rauch indisposition in the auturan, I find
it quite impossible to leave London — my work is so much behind
hand. We hear of sad illnesses all round us, caused, no doubt,
by the excessive wet. I have just received a letter from Sir
George Beaumont ; he has been seriously ill, and quite unable
until lately to touch a pencil. Everything which belongs to me
belongs to you, and I should not have hesitated a raoraent
about sending you the Brighton sketch-book, but when you
wrote my Frenchman was in London, we were settling about
work, and he has engaged me to raake twelve drawings, to be
engraved here and published in Paris, all from this book. I
work at these in the evening. This book is larger than my
others, and does not contain odds and ends, but all regular
compositions of boats or beach scenes ; there may be about
thirty of them. If you wish to see them for a few days, tell
me how I am to send them to you. My Paris affairs go on
very well. Though the Director, the Count Forbin, gave my
pictures very respectable situations in the Louvre in the first
instance, yet, on being exhibited a few weeks, they advanced in
reputation, and were reraoved frora their original situations to
a post of honour, two prime places in the principal room.

BRIGHTON LUGGER.
FUOM ft I'HNCIL SKE'lCH LENT BY J. P. HKSKLTINE.

1824.] CONSTABLE'S REPUTATION IN PARIS. 165
" I am much indebted to the artists for their alarum in my
favour; but I must do justice to the count, who is no artist,
I believe, and thought that as the colours are rough they should
be seen at a distance. They found the mistake, and now acknow
ledge the richness of texture and attention to the surface of
things. They are struck with their vivacity and freshness — things
unknown to their own pictures. The truth is, they study — and
they are very laborious students — pictures only ; and, as North
cote says, ' They know as little of nature as a hackney-coach
horse does of a pasture.' In fact, it is worse ; they make painful
studies of individual articles — leaves, rocks, stones, &c. — singly ;
so that they look cut out, without belonging to the whole, and
they neglect the look of nature altogether under its various
changes. I learnt yesterday that the proprietor asks twelve
thousand francs for them. They would have bought one, ' The
Waggon,' for the nation, but he would not part them. He tells
me the artists much desire to purchase and deposit them in a
place where they can have access to them. Reynolds is going
over in June to engrave them, and has sent two assistants to Paris
to prep§.re the plates. He is now about ' The Lock,' and he is to
engrave the twelve drawings. In all this I ara at no expense, and
it cannot fail to advance my reputation. My wife is translating
for me some of the criticisms. They are amusing and acute, but
shallow. After saying ' It is but justice to admire the truth, the
colour, and the general vivacity and richness of surface, yet they
are like preludes in music and the full harmonious warblings ofthe
.^olian lyre, which mean nothing ' ; and they call them ' orations
and harangues, and high flowery conversations afifecting a careless
ease, &c. However, it is certain they have made a stir, and set

1 66

THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. VIIL

the students in landscape to thinking. Now, you must believe
me, there is no other person living but yourself to whom I could
write in this manner, and all about myself; but take away a
painter's vanity, and he will never touch a pencil again."
The following is part of Mr. Fisher's reply to this letter: " I
am pleased to find they are engraving your pictures, because
it will tend to spread your farae ; but I ara alraost timid about the
result. There is, in your pictures, too much evanescent efifect
and general tone to be expressed by black and white. Your
charm is colour and the cool tint of English daylight. The burr
of mezzotint will never touch that."

CHAPTER IX.
1825.
" The Jumping Horse," — Gold Medal from France.— Picture of " The Lock." — '
"The White Horse " sent to Lisle,
In a letter, dated Januaty 5th, 1825, Constable speaks of sending
some ofhis Brighton oil sketches to Fisher, and says : " Perhaps
the sight of the sea may cheer Mrs, Fisher" (who was then
very ill); he adds, "I am writing this hasty scrawl in the dark
before a six-foot canvas, which I have launched with all my usual
anxieties. It is a canal scene, my next shall contain a scratch
with a pen." " January 22nd.
" My dear Fisher, — I am uneasy that I have not heard from
you. I hope your invalids have neither relapsed nor increased in
number. I write frora Woodraanstone, a village six miles south
east of Croydon. I am painting a group of three children with a
donkey, the grandchildren of Mr. Lambert, whose ancestors lived
here in 1 300. It is to go to the parents in the East Indies. The
children are here for their education, and spoke the language
imperfectly on their arrival. The butcher was driving home a
calf in his cart, when one of the boys exclaimed : ' Aunt, what for
one gentleman take away cow in gig ? ' You may suppose I left
home to execute this comraission very unwillingly. The large
subject on my easel is promising ; it is a canal, and full of the

1 68 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. IX.
bustle incident to such a scene when four or five boats are pass
ing in company; with dogs, horses, boys, men, women, and
children, and, best of all, old timber, props, water plants, willows,
sturaps, sedges, old nets, etc. I shall not object, if you do not,
to your picture going to the Gallery, but I shall try for Tinney's
when the tirae coraes, as I think it has more qualities for exhibi
tion among other pictures. I had this morning a letter from
Paris, informing me that, on the King's visit to the Louvre, he
was pleased to award rae a gold raedal for the raerit of my land
scapes. At the same time he made Sir Thoraas Lawrence a
Knight of the Legion of Honour. I have a pride and satisfaction
in mentioning this to you; but I can truly say that your early
notice of me, and your friendship for me in my obscurity, was
worth more, and is looked back to by me with more heartfelt
satisfaction than this, and all the other notice I have met with
put together. I left horae on Thursday, and shall be back by
the end of the week. My little group is on the canvas, and
makes a pretty picture. In the background is Woodmanstone
Church." (Here follows a pen sketch of the picture.) " Mr.
Larabert is the old country squire. His study contains pictures
of racers and hunters, guns, gaiters, gloves, turnscrews, tow,
gun-flints, etc. You cannot think how much I regret being here
to the neglect of my large landscape ; but I must not quarrel
with kind friends, and kick down the ladder." " Bath, January 2'jth.
" My dear Constable, — You have but too well guessed the
cause of my silence. Two of my children have been ill with
fever and inflaramation of the windpipe. . . . My wife, thank

1825.] BRIGHTON SKETCHES. 169
God, is entirely recovered ; and, for my own part, I have not
been so well for years. Your package arrived safe. Your
Brighton sketches* carried us down to Osmington in imagina
tion. I showed them to an artist living here; he wished to
know what colours you used. The Choiseul Gallery has been
of the greatest corafort to rae. I have copied, in lead pencil,
Ostade's butcher felling the ox, the boy looking out of window
into the sunshine, and a Vanderheyden. Thanks to you for
giving me the sixth sense — the power of receiving pleasure from
the chiaroscuro. It has whiled away raany an anxious hour. I
was impatient to hear how you fared at the visit of the King
of France to the Louvre. Your medal could not have given
you greater exultation than it did rae. Indeed, I always con
sider your fame as mine, and, as you rise in slow and permanent
estimation, pride myself that I have formed as permanent a
friendship with a man of such talent. But these things are
better felt than said. I shall be running up to London soon,
when I shall get a sight of your new six-foot canvas. My
wife observed that your enumeration of objects ' carried her down
to the river side.' I should like to see my picture at the Gallery.
I do think that an impression of your Cathedral would sell at
Salisbury ; but it entirely depends upon the brilliancy of the
engraving.  I began this letter two days ago ; since
then I have carried my two sick boys to a house on the top
of Lansdowne, and they begin to recover.
" I have been reading much lately on the subject of the
French revolution. The Due de Choiseul was principally, but
ignorantly perhaps, instruraental in bringing it about, protecting
* Most of these Studies are now at South Kensington.

170 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. IX,
and abetting Voltaire & Co. He little thought that, in patro
nising their licentious pens, he was laying the foundation of
the bloody insurrection which was to disperse his gallery of
pictures, and send them to be sold to the ' Nation of Shopkeepers.'
He it was who banished the Jesuits, the first and necessary step
to success in bringing about the change. He died the year
before the volcano burst  "John Fisher."
" Bath, April 8th.
" My dear Constable, — I rode yesterday out of the white
atmosphere of Bath into the green village of Bath-Easton, and
found rayself by instinct at the mill, surrounded by weirs, back
waters, nets and willows — with a sraell of weeds, flowing water,
and flour in my nostrils. I need not say that the scene brought
you to ray mind and produced this letter."
Mr. Fisher, after speaking of the serious illness of Mrs.
Fisher, continues : " I will send you, in a week or so, your sketches
back. In the same box I shall enclose two volumes of Paley's
posthumous sermons, which you may read to your family of a
Sunday evening. They are fit companions for your sketches ;
being exactly like them, full of vigour, fresh, original, warm from
observation of nature, hasty, unpolished, untouched afterwards.
There is, prefixed to a new edition of his works, a ' Life of Paley,'
by his son, in which the inner raan is laid open. If you can get
it, there are parts that will delight you. He appears to have
been a strong-minded, guileless, simple-hearted raan, who told
the truth and declared his honest opinion to every man he met
with — friend or foe. Hence he was sometimes in scrapes. I hope

i82S.] QUOTATION FROM SHARON TURNER. 171
to be able to get a peep at the metropolis and your picture about
the 2oth of June. ... In a letter I had frora the Charter
House it was raentioned that you were out of spirits, seemingly,
and had lost your usual glee in conversation. What cog of the
wheel wanted grease ? "J. Fisher."
Constable's answer to this letter is missing, but its tenor may,
in part, be seen by Mr. Fisher's reply: — "Bath, April loth.
" My dear Constable,—. . . . We are going on for the
present very prosperously. . . . My mind and spirits have
been much shaken ; and I received your voluntary offer, to come
down to Osmington, with an exhilaration that I have been long
unused to. We will wander home from the shore about dusk to
the remnants of dinner, as heretofore, and spend the evening
in filling up sketches. There is always room for you. Will you
accorapany rae on my visitation, the 14th, 15th, i6th June, and
return with me to Osmington ? . . . Why was not your
picture on your easel a few weeks longer ? I have looked over
your letter, but find no other observation to raake on it, so I will
conclude with a quotation that will please you. By-the-bye, you
never answer my letters ; you write as if you had not received
them. My extract is from Sharon Tumer's ' History of England,'
vol. I, page 424, 4to. He is speaking of our classical education,
that it stunts originality, contracts the mind, and makes men
knowing only in words. It is a coraplete illustration of your
saying that ' a good thing is never done twice.'
" ' It has been reraarked that great excellence has been usually

'7^ THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. IX.
followed by a decline. No second Augustan age is found to
occur, A Virgil emerges, and if he cast on his countrymen an
everlasting spell, no future Virgil appears — no second Horaer
or Euripides — no succeeding Pindar, Horace, Deraosthenes,
Thucydides, Tacitus, or Cicero. The fact is reraarkable. But it
is accounted for, not in a want of talent, but frora the destruction
of talent by injudicious education. It is in literature as in
painting : if we study departed excellence too intensely, we only
imitate ; we extinguish genius, and sink below our models. If
we make ourselves copyists, we becorae inferior to those we copy.
The exclusive or continual conteraplation of preceding raerit
contracts our faculties within, greatly within, its peculiar circle,
and raakes even that degree of excellence unattainable which we
admire and feed upon.'
" There is more on the subject, equally good, if you turn to
the book. It is a highly arausing work. Quite original itself.
"J. Fisher."
"Charlotte Street, April i^th, 1825.
" My dear Fisher, — Thank you for your second letter. You
say you ' are going on prosperously,' and this has relieved rae
from a sad feeling which has haunted me ever since I read the
second paragraph of your first. ... It is true I do not answer
your letters, but I read them over and over, and they generally
form answers to mine. All your quotations are good, and make
for my grand theory. It is the rod and staff of my practice, and
can never fail or deceive its possessor.
" They are overwhelmed with large pictures at the Academy.
What will becorae of raine I know not, but I am told it looks

THE LOCK.

FROM AN EARLY PROOF GIVEN BY CONSTABLE TO C. R. LESLIE, NOW IN THE
POSSESSION OF THE EDITOR.

1825.] PICTURE OF "THE LOCK."

>7-

bright. . . . My ' Lock ' is now on ray easel ; it is silvery, windy,
and delicious ; all health, and the absence of everything stagnant,
and is wonderfully got together ; the print will be fine. ... I
am so harassed and interrupted that I must now conclude alraost
as abruptly as I did my last. . . . The visit to Osmington I
much look to. Nothing shall readily occur to prevent it. I will
give up Paris first. ... I have rather a cheering account of my
picture at Somerset House. Its original feeling will support me
through all inaccuracies. But they should not be there, to raake
it raore academical, and to prevent the learned vulgar in our art
frora blowing their noses upon it. ... I ara summoned to tea
with my wife and new baby."*
Constable's description ofhis picture of "The Lock," and
some passages from other letters in a similar strain of exultation,
have been retained, contrary to the advice of a gentleman with
whose opinion on many points I am so fortunate as to coincide.
It appeared to me that, in raaking selections from letters not
intended for publication, if all that might seem egotistical were
omitted, the interest would be greatly and unnecessarily lessened,
and by this irapression I have been guided throughout my under
taking. The utterance of a man's real feelings is more interest
ing, though it may have less of dignity than belongs to a uniform
silence on the subject of self, while the vanity is often no greater
in the one case than in the other. In the present instance, the
artist's exultatio ton his most intimate friend at the accomplish
ment of his aira in one of his raost iraportant works is so natural,
and the qualities he had kept steadily in view while engaged on it
* His third daughter, Emily.

174 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. IX.
are so well described by him, that I cannot think I am doing as
much injustice to his meraory by preserving the passage as I
should do by its omission. I am enabled to add to what he
has hiraself said of " The Lock " the opinion of another person-
Reynolds, the admirable engraver, who was a good judge of
pictures, and whose praises of it in the following letter were
sincere, for he had undertaken to engrave it at his own risk.
" To Mr. j. Constable,
" My dear Sir, — I have, since the arrival of your picture,
been before it for the last hour, the light of a cheerful day through
the clean windows falling full upon it. It is, no doubt, the
best of your works — true to nature, seen and arranged with a
professor's taste and judgment. The execution shows in every
part a hand of experience : masterly without rudeness, and
complete without littleness. The colouring is sweet, fresh, and
healthy ; bright not gaudy, but deep and clear. Take it for all
in all, since the days of Gainsborough and Wilson, no landscape
has been painted with so much truth and originality, so much art,
so little artifice. " Yours very truly,
" S. W. Reynolds."
Reynolds was interrupted in the execution of his plate by ill
ness, and did not live to complete it ; but the same subject, from
a second picture, has since been most admirably engraved, on a
larger scale, by Mr, Lucas, and forms the corapanion to his print
of "The Corn Field,"
Constable exhibited three pictures this year at the Academy,
of which the one mentioned by him as the " Canal Scene" was the

o
I

i82S.] " THE LEAPING horse:' 175
largest. The chief object in its foreground is a horse, mounted
by a boy, leaping one of the barriers which cross the towing-
paths along the Stour (for it is that river, and not a canal), to
prevent the cattle from quitting their bounds. As these bars are
without gates, the horses, which are of a much finer race, and
kept in better condition than the wretched animals that tow the
barges near London, are all taught to leap ; their harness, orna
mented over the collar with crimson fringe, adds to their pic
turesque appearance, and Constable, by availing himself of these
advantages, and relieving the horse, which is of a dark colour,
upon a bright sky, made him a very imposing object. So care
fully did he study this subject, that he made, in the first place, two
large sketches, each on a six-foot canvas. One was, I believe,
intended to be the picture, but was afterwards turned into a
sketch — not an unusual occurrence with him. His other works
at the Academy were both landscapes, one of which was described
in a newspaper as "A scene without any prominent features of
the grand or beautiful, but with a rich broken foreground, sweetly
pencilled, and a very pleasing and natural tone of colour through
out the wild green distance."
These two last pictures were purchased by Mr. Francis Darby,
of Colebrook Dale. Constable was highly delighted that they
had attracted the notice of an entire stranger to him.
In the summer of this year the Directors of the British Insti
tution, instead of their annual display of works of the Old Masters,
collected, as they had proposed, some of the best pictures of living
artists, and Constable was enabled, by the kindness of Mr. Fisher
and Mr. Tinney, to send to this exhibition "The White Horse,"
and " Stratford Mill,"

176 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. IX.
Among Mr. Fisher's letters I found a sheet of paper dated
" Osmington, Weymouth, August 12th," and containing only a
pen sketch of an hour-glass with wings. That Constable was at
this time in a state of extreme anxiety on account of his eldest
son, who was very ill, will be seen by Mr, Fisher's next letter,
dated " Osmington, August 24th," in which he says, "It struck
me, after I had despatched my blank memorandum, that the ill
ness of yourself or some of your family was the cause of your non
appearance here. Your letter, with its uncomfortable details,
has just reached me. If you can get the consent of the mother,
bring your poor boy down here directly; or send him to my
house at Salisbury, and we will meet him there. He shall have
the best advice the country afifords, with sea air, sea bathing, and
good food. You must exonerate me from any responsibility
if anything happens ; and if he does well we will see what can
be done for him in the way of education.* This will relieve the
mind and spirits of your wife, who is not strong, and will give
you more leisure for your easel. . . . Bring your boy down
yourself by easy stages, or, if you prefer it, bring one of your
healthy boys, and leave him here to take his chance. As for
money matters, do not make yourself uneasy. Write for anything
you want, and send me any picture, in pledge, you think proper.
Your family or yourself shall have the difference whenever it is
called for. Whatever you do. Constable, get rid of anxiety. It
hurts the stomach more than arsenic. It generates only fresh
* Constable's eldest son, John, always delicate, did not long survive his father.
He was educating for the Church, and thinking it might prove helpful to him as
a clergyman, added medicine to his other studies, and died of scarlet fever at
college, caught in a hospital while engaged in that study. Extremely like his
father, both personally and in character, he was a great loss to the family. — Ed,

i82S.] GREAT KINDNESS OF MR. FISHER. 177
cause for anxiety, by producing inaction and loss of time. I
have heard it said of generals who have failed that they would
have been good officers if they had not harassed themselves by
looking too narrowly into details. Does the cap fit ? It does me.
. . I would have corae to Harapstead had I been able.
I could sooner do it now, and at this distance, and will corae if it
will do you any good.
" Pity rae. I am sitting in the shade, with my children by
me, writing to you, with a quiet stomach and a cool head ; and
I am obliged to leave all this to go ten miles to eat venison and
drink claret with a brother officer, whose head is filled with the
sarae sort of raaterials that his venison pasty is made of. Let
rae hear frora you again soon, and believe rae always,
" Faithfully yours, " John Fisher.
" . . , You want a staff yvisX. at present. Lean upon me
— hard:' " Charlotte Street, September loth.
" My very dear Fisher, — I was overcome by your kind
and raost friendly letter, which some changes here have prevented
my answering sooner. Your offer to receive my dear boy, indeed,
all your friendly suggestions are fully appreciated by my wife and
me, and we cannot sufificiently express our sense of them ; but the
distance to which you are frora us is so great, and you have such
a charge of your own, that we know not what to do. We deter
mined to give our poor boy the chance of the sea, and about a
week ago I took them all to Brighton. I ara now quietly at my
easel again ; I find it a cure for all ills. My coraraissions press in
on me, and I have sent for Johnny Dunthorne, who wishes to be
A A

178 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. IX.
here again. . . . But I crave your forgiveness on a serious
matter : your large picture, ' The White Horse,' is now exhibit
ing at the City of Lisle. Wilkie, Sir Thoraas Lawrence, and my
self were each applied to for picture by the Mayor of that city,
who, under Royal Authority, is the head of its establishments. It
will be safely returned about Christmas. Lawrence has sent sorae,
but Wilkie is abroad."
Frora the diary which Constable kept with great regularity and
minuteness, and sent at intervals to Mrs. Constable, the following
are a few quotations : — " September 4,th.
"Set ofif for Lady Dysart' s, and had a pleasant ride in the
Richmond coach. Received in the most agreeable manner,
and found there Miss Vernon, once maid of honour to Queen
Charlotte, Mrs. Charles Tollemache and her daughter, and Lady
Laura, We all walked in the garden before dinner, at which I
was placed at the bottora of the table, opposite Lady Dysart.
All sorts of conversation, but not rauch that I remeraber. They
talked of dress, and of the new large sleeves ; Lady D. did not
like them, nor the long waists that the ladies now wear. They
said I was very amusing, and Lady D, gave me a sovereign for
old Fontaine,* and Mrs. Tollemache half-a-crown. After tea.
Lady D. said, ' We shall shock Mr. Constable, we are going to
have a game of cards. 'f They played a four garae, I know not
what. I walked about the grounds, and plucked as much fruit as
I wanted." * The Swiss organist, who had become a regular pensioner of Constable.
t Constable never played. He said he " considered the time spent at a card-table
as a vacuum in life."

1825.] NORTHCOTE. — FOWLS, CATS, ROBIN RED-BREAST. 179
" September "jth.
" Got up early. Set to work on ray large picture,* took out
the old willow sturap by the horse, which has iraproved the picture
much ; made one or two other alterations. Leslie called and
wanted to see old Fontaine, thinking from my description he
would make a good Don Quixote. Indeed, he has the look of an
old gentleraan  Called at Haralet's for ray raedal; raet
there Richard Gubbins ; he was looking at sorae beautiful brace
lets, no doubt for his lady. My poor girl had none of these
pretty things, but they go but a little way towards happiness,
nor do they always insure a good husband; but Richard will
make a good husband, he is so good a son, , . ."
"September i^th.
"... In the evening went to Mr. Northcote' s, and had a
delightful conversation about painting, &c. It is wonderful to see
him with all the energy of youth. His eye sparkling so bright
and so sharp, ..." September i6th.
" This morning a grand epoch was ushered in by a prodigious
bustle with the fowls in the garden ; the black hen raaking a great
to-do, the cock strutting about, and Billy, the cat, looking at thera
in great astonishment from the back kitchen window. When all
was a little quiet, I looked into the brew-house, and saw her on the
nest I had made, and at breakfast Elizabeth brought rae a beau
tiful egg, probably the first ever laid in these preraises. How
much we have changed this house frora what it was in Mr.
Farrington's tirae : his attics turned into nurseries, a beautiful
* " The Leaping Horse," which had met with no purchaser.

I So THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. IX,
baby born in his bedroom, his washhouse turned into a brew-
house, his back parlour— which contained all his prints — into a
bedroom, and his painting-rooms raade habitable ; well done !
Billy is a raost laughable cat : he plays with the kit, pulls it out
of its basket, tosses it up, and holds it with his fore feet in a
most ridiculous raanner; the old Lady Harapstead* looking on
all the while, rather srailing than otherwise,
" Sir George Beaumont called. He liked what I was about,
but wanted me to iraitate pictures. . . . Took poor Mrs, H 
her raoney. I was told she was ill and in bed. How sadly this
poor artist's widow closes her days. Fortune seeras indeed blind
to give Miss Mellon so rauch, and this poor widow, who is really a
gentlewoman, so little. I went to the back drawing-roora to see
how Johnny was getting on, and a dear little robin was washing
hiraself in the pigeon's dish at the window ; dipping hiraself all
over and raaking such a dashing and shaking, and bobbing, and
bustle, that it was quite ridiculous. One coraes to Mr, Bigg's
garden and sings every night and morning quite loud and
beautiful. Does not this portend a hard winter ? We do a great
deal of painting, not going out, and I am getting ray sraall cora
raissions ofif ray hands as fast as I can, I will do as you advise —
'not undertake little things, but keep to ray large pictures,' But
I raust make my raind easy as to those I have on hand — ^naraely,
' Salisbury Cathedral,' Mr, Carpenter's picture, Mr, Ripley's,
Mr, Arrowsralth's, and Mr, Mirehouse's picture to be altered.
All these are paid for, and one raore fortnight will clear them all
ofif. How comfortable I shall then be, I am making my last
picture saleable, getting the outline on the 'Waterloo,' &c."
* The mother of the kitten.

1825.] STOTHARD.— PICTURE OF WATERLOO BRIDGE. 181
" Sunday, October 2nd.
"Our dear blessed wedding-day, owing to which we have five
babies. . . ." " October ^th.
" . . . . In the evening Mr. Stothard called. We walked to
Islington together. He came back to tea with me, and I
consulted him, fortunately, about the ' Waterloo Bridge,' in which
he suggested a very capital alteration. It will increase its con
sequence and do so much for it that I ara quite in spirits. Your
father wanted rae to go to St, Martin's Court to see three pictures
by Morland — one at nine shillings, the others at twelve each. If
I considered thera to be original I was to purchase them for him,
as he thought them very pretty paintings. I went and found
three coloured and varnished engravings from Morland, Mr,
Bigg, and Wheatley. The boxing ring is much on the decline,
let us hope it will become extinct. I am at work on my large
' Waterloo ' on the real canvas ; in the evening we are busy
setting my portfolios in order, &c.* ' Waterloo ' promises
delightfully." In one of Mrs. Constable's letters to her husband, she says :
" I have no treat like your journal and letters. ... I hardly
allow myself to wish for you, knowing how well and profitably you
are employed ; but I endeavour to make myself happy, as the
separation is for our mutual good. But when you do come, I
* No subject appears to have given Constable so much anxiety, doubt, and
disappointment as this flag-dressed flotilla of gilded state city barges. He was
carried away by the subject, but which, in its want of repose and sparkle of local
colour, was more suited to Turner. It is noteworthy that Constable never used his
palette knife so freely as on this picture, while, a year after his death, a dealer toned
it down with shoe-blacking. See end of Chapter XIV. — Ed.

,82 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. IX.
trust we shall enjoy our rides and walks. I long to go with you
to the Dyke, and to watch with you the flying shadows on the
downs. The Darbys are quite delighted with our cottage. They
say we have Hampstead with the addition of the sea."
" Osmington, September.
" My dear Constable, — ... I despair of ever seeing
you out of London, but I repeat that I have bed and board at
your service. The news is, that Mat. Parhara's {alias Perne's)
mill is burnt to the ground, and exists only on your canvas. A
huge misshapen, new, bright, brick, modern, improved, patent
monster is starting up In its stead. Do you recollect the situation
of Talbot's barn behind the old Manor House, near the church,
at Osmington ? It took fire on the 28th September, when it was
surrounded by fourteen large ricks at the distance of no more
than twenty yards. No water — no engines — straw on every side
— the barn full of wheat — and thatched cottages and corn-stacks
in every direction. Talbot lost his presence of mind, and every
body was at fault. The occasion called rae out of ray usual
indolence. I took the command, gave plenty of beer and good
words, worked hard myself, and in twenty minutes we smothered
the fire, with no other loss than that of the barn. It was distressing
to hear the poor rats squalling at one end of the barn as the fire
approached them. They could not escape."
"Charlotte Street, November 12th.
" My dear Fisher, — . . . What you say of Mrs. Fisher and
yourself and faraily makes rae very happy. I am just returned
frora Brighton, and ara glad that I can give you a good account
of my wife and children ; my poor boy has gained strength and

GILLINGHAM MILL.

1825.] JOHN DUNTHORNE. ,83
coraposure. I have been only occasionally with them, being very
busy here, where I have done a great deal. I am hard at my
'Waterloo,' which shall be finished for the next exhibition,
saving only the fatalities of life. I have nearly completed a
second Cathedral, and I think you will perhaps prefer it to the
first, but I will send it to Salisbury for your inspection. I have
much more to say about pictures, but you say I never answer
your letters. Your last delighted rae. The account of the fire
and the rats interested John Dunthorne and me alike. How
fortunate that you were there. I ara vexed at the fate of the
poor old raill. There will soon be an end to the picturesque in
the kingdora. I desire to corae to Salisbury, if only for two days,
to renew our friendship in those walks where it first took so deep
a root. I will corae. How did the fire originate ? Write for me
when you wish for rae. You set my raind at rest by the way
in which you speak of your picture being at Lisle ; they have
sent to know the price ; I have set them right on that head.
I ara uncommonly well; never in better health or spirits,"
"Charlotte Street, November igth.
" My dear Fisher, — . . . My expectation of the happiness
of seeing you at Salisbury will be but a vision. I am so hard
run in every way that I know not which canvas to go to first.
My ' Waterloo,' like a blister, began to stick closer and closer,
and to disturb my rest at nights. But I ara in a field that know^s
no favour or afifection. ' Go on ' is the only order heard. . . .
My name will not appear at the opening of the noble Institution
in Edinburgh. I should like to have struck a blow in that quarter ;
but I must submit to circumstances. . . . John Dunthorne and

1 84 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. IX.
I are delighted at the full occupation we have here. He is calm,
gentle, clever, industrious, full of prudence, and free frora vice."
"November 26th.
" My dear Fisher, — My new picture of Salisbury is very
beautiful, and I have repainted entirely that belonging to
Mr, Mirehouse : but when I thus speak of ray pictures, reraeraber
it is to you, and only in coraparison with rayself. These pictures
of the Cathedral have caused me of late to be alraost abiding
with you. My finances are sadly deranged, and this, I fear, will
cause rae to give up ray large work. I have just had a visit from
Mr, Bannister* to request a landscape ; he has long desired one
of me, frora which, as he says, ' he can feel the wind blowing on
his face,' Two chiraney sweepers were at my door, ' What,' he
said, 'brother brush,' "
In the journal written for his wife Constable says: —
" November 2^th.
" Painted all day on Mr, Mirehouse's little picture of 'The
Cathedral,' making in all three ' Cathedrums,' as pretty Minnaf
calls thera. Miss Bigg was here to know what we paid for asses'
milk, as they charge six shillings a quart at the Wellington
Ass Shop in the New Road, Mr. Strutt called to say that they
had orders for the play, Drury Lane, and asked rae to join
thera to see ' Dr, Faustus and the Devil,' I declined, so he
was kind enough to take Johnny Dunthorne, and he was rauch
pleased, though ' it was very terrible,' The Devil was of a
flaming red, and had a diabolical countenance, and it was shocking
to see how he led on his victim to perpetrate every crime, till he
was involved in Hell at last,"
* The inimitable " Jack Bannister." f His eldest daughter.

i82S.]

BILLY, THE CAT.

'8s

" November 28th.
" Master Billy kicked up a terrible rumpus in the yard to-day :
he wanted to have a garae of play with the fowls, but they took
it in earnest, and made a great noise, especially the cock, John
and I went to their assistance, Mr. Balmanno called, and was so
delighted with my ' Waterloo ' (though he only saw the sketch and
outline) that he says it will be my triumph, and that I shall
' certainly set the Thames on fire, if anybody can,' I am now
finishing a copy of my ' Lock,' which rejoices me a good deal ; it
is a very lovely subject. Mr, Bannister called, and saw all my
goings on. He is fond of my landscapes, and says he must have
one. I think he likes the ' Lock ' so rauch that I shall reduce it
to the size of Fisher's old mill ; how I shall please him, or when,
I do not know. He says he ' breathes the open air in my pictures ;
they are raore than fresh, they are exhilarating,'
" Miss Arnott called to ask rae, with her mother's compli
ments, to dine there on Christmas Day. I told her I had a wife,
and must needs go and see her."

B B

CHAPTER X.
1826— 1827.
Gold Medal from Lisle.— Picture of " The Corn Field."— Exhibition, 1826.— The Glebe
Farm.— Exhibition, 1827.— Removal of Constable's Family to Hampstead.
"Charlotte Street, January i\th, 1826.
" My dear Fisher, — I begin this hasty note by wishing you
a Happy New Year, hoping Mrs. Fisher and all your children are
well, and bearing up against this, to me, dreadful weather. All my
family are at Brighton, and I left them well on Thursday. I stayed a
fortnight with them, and painted there one of my best pictures, the
subject, ' The Mill ' (Perne's) at Gillingham. It is about two feet,
and is so very rich and pleasing that if you are at Salisbury and
would like to see it, I will beg the proprietor, Mr. Hand, to let me
send it to you ; Mere Church is in the distance. ' The White
Horse' * did me great credit at Lisle. I am honourably mentioned
in the final discourse of the Prefect, and a gold medal was voted
to me, which I received yesterday. The discourse is curious ; he
speaks of the ' raciness and originality of the style, which, being
* Either a replica, or copy of this picture, was exhibited some years back in one of
the Royal Academy Winter Exhibitions. Writing about which at the time. Constable's
second son, Captain Charles Constable, said, "There is nothing in this heavy, leaden,
brown-looking thing which could have led Mrs. Fisher to say ' she carried her eye from
it to the garden, and observed the same sort of look in both.'" He adds, '"The White
Horse ' was bought by Archdeacon Fisher, but somehow retumed to my father, and
hung in his gallery until his death, when it became the property of Archer Burton, Esq,
At his death it was sold, I believe, to Mr. Richard Hemming, and was exhibited at
Manchester in 1857. Since then I know nothing of it." Captain Constable was an
admirable judge of his father's pictures, and evidently thought the picture at the
Winter Exhibition of the Royal Academy, even if original, very inferior to " The White
Horse " he recollected either in his father's gallery, or at his uncle's, Mr. Archer
Burton's house. — Ed.

1826.] LETTERS OF NICOLO POUSSIN. 187
founded entirely in nature, is capable of much beauty, but dangerous
to all imitators.' So far the exhibition has extended my reputation,
and I trust you will forgive what I did. There are generally among
the works of an artist one, two, or three pictures on which hangs
more than usual interest; this is one of mine. All things con
sidered, the medal should be yours. Much pleasure had I at
Brighton, mixed with a sentiment of raelancholy, by a book in
French which my wife read to rae while I was painting ' The Mill ' :
' The Letters of Nicolo Poussin,' now first published, having
hitherto lain undiscovered. They are written to his employers in
Paris, and are to me replete with interest. My wife has discovered
that painters now and painters then are little different. The
letters contain apologies to friends for not finishing their pictures
sooner, anxieties of all kinds, insults from ignorance, &c. ; one of
them speaks of 'strange news from England, the beheading of
King Charles,' &c. My large picture is at a stand owing to the
ruined state of my finances. You richly deserve all I think of you
for your kindness about your picture. ... I ara executing all
my coraraissions, amounting in all to four hundred pounds ; two
months will complete thera, J. Dunthorne is painting portraits in
the country. u Charlotte Street, February ist.
" My dear Fisher, — Your picture is now standing in my
room, and without a speck of injury ; do not hurry its departure.
All this morning I have been engaged with a sitter — a dissenter,
but without knowing why, only that his wife will not let him go to
church, "Osmington, February ^th.
"My dear Constable,— I plead guilty to neglect, and feel
much humbled by the forgiving tone of your last letter. The truth

'88 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. X.
IS, my mind has been unusually occupied for the last six months.
I do not affect the plea that I could not find time, but I could not
find the disengaged mind. When I write to you, I do it with all
my heart ; and when its impulses are obstructed with care or busi
ness, I have no appetite for our agreeable correspondence. . . .
Bishop Burgess has, in a most flattering manner, reinstated rae in
ray old situation as chaplain, and I ara just where I was in ray
uncle's tirae. This is a very tall feather in ray cap, and I ara not
a little elevated by iL I sit at the bottom of the old table, but, I
confess, I painfully miss old faces. ... I shall be at Salisbury
for some days at the end of this month, and I should like much
to have Perne's 'Mill' there to look at. " T F "
Having laid aside the " Waterloo," Constable was engaged on
a subject more congenial to his taste, " The Corn Field," now in
the National Gallery. It had been seen by Mr. Phillips, of
Brighton, who suggested some raaterials for its foreground in a
letter of which the following is a part : — "if h /
" My dear Sir, — I think it is July in your green lane. At
this season all the tall grasses are in flower, bog-rush, bullrush,
teazle. The white bindweed now hangs its flowers over the
branches of the hedge ; the wild carrot and hemlock flower in banks
of hedges, cow parsley, water plantain, &c. ; the heath hills are
purple at this season ; the rose-coloured persicaria in wet ditches is
now very pretty ; the catchfly graces the hedge-row, as also the
ragged robin ; bramble is now in flower, poppy, mallow, thistle,
I^OP' &c." u ^p^'i 8^^_
" My dear Fisher, — I should not have reraained so long
silent after your last kind and friendly letter had I been wholly

i826.] PICTURES AT THE ACADEMY. 189
without news of you and yours. I am glad to find from my friends
in Seymour Street that you are all well, and that I may expect to
see you for some continuance of time in London, ' after the lilacs
have blossomed at Osmington,'
" I will endeavour to answer your letters in future, but when I
write to you I am always full of myself, which is indeed abomin
able ; but you must thank yourself for taking a greater interest in
all that concerns me than any other human being, ... I have
despatched a large landscape to the Academy, upright, of the size
of the ' Lock,' but a subject of a very different nature — inland corn
fields, a close lane forming the foreground. It is not neglected in
any part ; the trees are more than usually studied, the extremities
well defined, as well as the stems; they are shaken by a pleasant
and healthful breeze at noon :
' While now a fresher gale
Sweeping with shadowy gusts the fields of corn, &c.'
I am not, however, without my anxieties, though I have not neg
lected my work or been sparing of my pains. . , , I, at this
moment, hear a rook fly over my painting-room, in which I am
writing ; its call transports me to Osmington, and raakes me think
I am speaking and not writing to you. It reminds me of our happy
walks in the fields, so powerful is the voice of nature. My picture
occupied me wholly ; I could think of and speak to no one, I felt
like a relation of mine in the battle of Waterloo. He said he
dared not turn his head right or left, but always kept it straight
forward, thinking of himself alone.' I hear of some fine pictures
that are gone : Callcott has three ; Ward, a battle ; Collins's, I hear,
are very fine, but I have not seen thera ; Lawrence has but one
whole length, Shee only one, Jackson but one, and Phillips none ; so

igo THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap X.
there will be a dearth of large canvases. I ara not writing in the
best of spirits. To-day ray boy has gone to Brighton to school ;
John Dunthorne has gone with him, I saw him as far as Charing
Cross, and then left him to his fate, I hope for the best, and that
the air will do him good, I am rauch worn, having worked hard,
and have now the consolation of knowing I raust work a great deal
harder or go to the workhouse, I have sorae commissions, how
ever, and I do hope to sell this present picture,  threatens me
with having to paint his portrait —
' Angels and ministers of grace defend me ! '
He is hospitable, but there is a coarseness about him that is in
tolerable,"
" To Mr, Samuel Lane,
" I ara just returned from Sufifolk. I left London by the mail
of Wednesday night in great anxiety and alarm for the state of my
brother, who was suddenly attacked by fever. I returned on
Sunday morning. He was better, and I hope free from danger.
" 15M April." " Osmington, April 22nd.
" My dear Constable, — With this I send you your sketch
books, so long detained. But they have propagated your narae in
heavy soils, where your pictures would never have taken root. My
wife, to save the books from rubbing, sends some little memoranda
of kindness to our godchildren. ... I had rather see you here
than in London ; this is a country that the more you live in it the
more you discover its beauties. Did you ever look down the little
wooded valley of Sutton and Preston from the springheads in the
little amphitheatre formed by the hills ? It has a peep of the blue

i826.] VALLEY OF SUTTON AND PRESTON 19,
bay, with Portland in the distance, and two old forlorn ash trees in
the foreground ; the place is very sequestered, and is frequented by
kingfishers and woodcocks ; but fellows from Weymouth, with
padded chests and vacant faces, come there and let off guns, and
disturb the quiet genius of the place ; this in return for your rook.
When your pet, Belim,* repeats his Cathechism, we cannot make
him say otherwise than ' And walk in the same fields all the days of
my life.' He might have a worse idea of happiness."
" Charlotte Street, April 26th.
" My dear Fisher, — I received your letter and the books,
and the kind recollections of Mrs, Fisher and yourself towards
your godchildren have afforded me great pleasure. I shall pro
ceed to answer your letter. First, to say that you may have the
comfortable room next ours, with either a feather bed or raattress,
as you please, and for as long as you please. Secondly, the spot
you speak of, I well recollect, is lovely, the expanse around con
trasting with the deep recesses and solitudes below ; but in general
these subjects deceive on canvas. The anecdote of dear Belim is
very pretty ; epend on it, the love of nature Is strongly i mplanted
in raan, I have lately been into Suffolk, and have had some de
lightful walks • in the same fields: Bless the dear boy, our ideas
of happiness are the same, and I join with you in praying that he
may never seek it in less hallowed places,
" When ray mind is disturbed it stirs up the mud. How could
circumstances ever place me in such a situation as to write so
much stuff to an Archdeacon .¦\
? William.
t Constable here alludes to parts of his correspondence with Mr. Fisher relating to
a third person, and which for that reason are not published.

igz THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. X.
" lam now busy at the Academy, and am writing early, as after
breakfast I must be there. My wife is very good, and is at the
breakfast-table by eight ; she is now there, and as I have much to
do, I will put this letter into my pocket and finish it at Somerset
House, It is quite out of my power to describe the scene of dismay
and desolation the rooms present, I could quote Dante and
Milton : ' Dire was the tossing, &c.,'
but It is a delightful show. Turner never gave me so much pleasure
or so much pain before. Callcott has a fine picture of a picturesque
boat driven before the wind on a stormy sea ; it is simple, grand,
and afifecting. He has another large work not so good, rather too
quakerish, as Turner is too yellow ; but every man who distinguishes
himself stands on a precipice. Sir Thomas Lawrence's portraits of
Peel and Canning are very fine. He has a lady playing on a
guitar hanging by Turner, and you seem to hear its imperfect
sounds over his " wide watered shore," ' Canning ' is over the
fireplace, ' An Entombment,' by Westall, at the bottom of the room,
and Etty's 'Judgment of Paris' on the west side centre; the
details of this show we shall soon analyse together. Chantrey
loves painting, and is always upstairs. He works now and then on
my pictures, and yesterday he joined our group, and after exhaust
ing his jokes on ray landscape, he took up a dirty palette, threw
it at rae, and was off,* Presently he came back, and asked
me if I had seen a beastly landscape by  , It is so
* Sir Francis Chantrey began life as a carver in wood, and had a great feeling for
honest work, which made him hard upon some of the uncertain methods employed by
artists to obtain mysterious effects. And coming into the rooms ofthe exhibition on a
varnishing day, where some house-painters were engaged oak graining the wood-work,
said to the Academicians, "Look there, my boys, at those fellows ; there is not one
among you knows what he is about, and how to do it as well as they do." — Ed.

i826.] LAWRENCE.— CHANTREY.— A RUINED MAN. 193
indeed. The voice in my favour is universal, it is my 'best
picture.' "  has some of his heartless, atrocious landscapes in
Seymour Street, and has sent to consult me on them. How shall
I get out of such an infernal scrape ? Truth is out of the ques
tion. What part can I then play ? ' '
Constable exhibited with " The Corn Field " a sraaller land
scape, but I do not remember the subject.
" Charlotte Street, July ^th.
" My dear Fisher, — You will receive Dunthorne's Wilsons
to-morrow ; Mrs. Fisher cannot fail to be pleased with them. I
have added a little to your batch of Waterloos, making, I think,
a nice bargain for ten guineas. Have you done anything to your
walls ? They were of a colour formed to destroy every valuable
tint in a picture, . . , A poor, wretched man called to see me
this morning ; he had a petition to the Royal Acaderay for charitable
assistance, it was  , His appearance was distress itself, and
it was awful to behold to what ill-conduct may bring us ; yet
calamity has impressed even on this man an air of dignity — he
looked like Leslie's ' Don Quixote,' When I knew him at the
Bishop's he wore powder, had a soft, subdued voice, and always a
smile, which caused him to show some decayed teeth, and he carried
a gold-headed cane, with tassels. Now, how changed ! his neck
long, with a large head, thin face, nose long, mouth wide, eyes
dark and sunken, eyebrows lifted, hair abundant, erect, and very
greasy ; his body much emaciated and shrunk away from his dismal
black clothes, and his left arm in a sling from a fall, by which he
broke the left clavicle, I shall try the Artist's Fund for him, I
c c

194 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap, X,
cannot efface the image of this ghostly man from my mind, . . .
Poor Mr. Bicknell is in a sad state ; he had an attack of apoplexy
about ten days ago ; it was coming on when you saw him 
I have raade several visits to the terrace at Lord Perabroke' s ; it
was the spot of all others to which I wanted to have access.* I
have added two feet to ray canvas. My wife and all here are well.
I trust we shall not need a country excursion, in which we leave
this convenient house, and pay four guineas a week for the privilege
of sleeping in a hen-coop for the sake of country air." " September.
" My dear Leslie, — On returning to town this morning, and
once raore perusing your note, I find myself quite mistaken, I had
missed the date, and consequently missed '. Paul Pry,' a serious loss
to me ; but the word ' to-morrow,' instead of naming the precise
day, often leads to such mistakes on the side of the reader, the
writer being fully aware of what he means ; but it is my loss, and I
assure you I had not a little reckoned on seeing such a master of
humour in company with yourself I write in the forlorn hope that
possibly you and Mrs, Leslie did not go."
Few persons more thoroughly relished good acting than did
Constable, when he could be prevailed upon to witness it. Yet so
seldom did he visit the theatres, that he never saw either Kean or
Liston, though I had several times proposed to accompany him
when those great masters of their art were to perforra.
I have heard him give a ludicrous account of an accident that
happened during one of the few visits he ever paid to a theatre,
* Part of Lord Pembroke's house and terrace form the nearest objects in the picture
of " The Opening of Waterloo Bridge.'' Only recently pulled down for some improve
ment. — Ed.

i826,] A GHOST UNABLE I'O VANISH.

'9S

The play was Hamlet, and the ghost, frora some derangement of
the tnachinery, stopped in his descent, and remained for a con
siderable tirae presenting a half-length figure, shaken occasionally
by the efforts of the carpenters to complete his exit, which was at
length accomplished more rapidly than was desirable, amidst
roars of applause. Constable happened to mention the circum
stance some years afterwards to his neighbour, Mr. Pope, adding,
" I shall never forget it"— when the latter said, " Neither shall I,
for \ was that unlucky ghost." " Charlotte Street, September gth.
" My dear Fisher, — It is a very long time since I have heard
fron) you, and I have now no means of hearing of you elsewhere.
Lei; me have a line soon to dispel the thought that anything may
be ftmiss, or any part of your family out of health. You once said,
' Life is short' ; let us make the most of friendship while we can. I
hcive little to say of what belongs to myself, but that little is good.
My children are well, and my wife, for her, very tolerable ; they
are in a small house on Downshire Hill, to which it is an easy walk
f|rom home. I have just come back from a day or two at Brighton,
where I had been to return my boy to Mr. PhiUips. John Dun
thorne is still in Sufifolk very busy ; his last job isa large sign of the
Duke of Marlborough. I have written to hasten him ; he is wanted
here by myself and others. My last landscape is a cottage scene,
with the church of Langhara, the poor Bishop's first living ; it is one
of my best in colour, fresh and bright, and I have pacified it into
tone and soleranity. My friend, Mr. Phillips, is coraraencing a
literary journal at Brighton ; he wants rae to contribute sorae paper
on art — landscape, of course. What do you say ? . . . Roche-

196 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. X.
foucault says, 'Lovers are never tired of each other's company
because they always talk of themselves.' "
The cottage with Langhara Church was a pet subject with
Constable ; he repeated it frequently, and left one or two unfinished
pictures and sketches of it with considerable variations.* His best
picture of this pretty subject, and one of his raost perfect works, is
that frora which the engraving in the " English Landscape," with
the title of " The Glebe Farm," is taken. The rising ground and
trees on the right hand are imaginary, as the ground, in reality
descends rather steeply on that side of the church.
" Close, Salisbury, July ist.
"My dear Constable, — The two pictures arrived safe on
Friday, and within an hour were up in their places ; * The White
Horse ' looking very placid, and not as if just returned from the
Continent. It is wonderfully iraproved by Dunthorne's coat of
varnish. The cathedral looks splendidly over the chimney-piece.
The picture requires a room full of light. Its internal splendour
coraes out in all its power, and the spire sails away with the thunder
clouds."
"Maidenhead, September 2'jth.
" My dear Constable, — Do not accuse rae of neglect. You
were never more occupied in the month of April preparing for the
exhibition than I have been since the month of August, Last
week there was an ordination, and I preached the sermon, which
you will soon see in print, ... I write this, sitting in commis-
* My father had one of these lovely studies given him by Constable, who, on his
admiring it in his studio, sent it him the following day with a note, saying, " I send
this at once before I have time to spoil it." — Ed.

THE GLEBE FARM;

1826.] CONSTABLE ADVISED BY FISHER TO WRITE ON ART. 197
sion upon a dispute between a clergyraan and his parishioners, and
compose while the parties argue. There is a brother parson
arguing his own case, with powder, white forehead, and a very red
face, like a copper vessel newly tinned. He is mixing up, in a
tremulous tone, with an eager bloodshot eye, accusations, apologies,
statements, reservations, and appeals, till his voice sounds on my
ear, as I write, like a distant waterfall, . . .
" I am doubtful about your Brighton Gazette. You are in
possession of some very valuable and original matter on the subject
of painting, particularly on the poetry of the art. I should be sorry
to see this seed sown on an unvislted field, where it would blossom
in forgetfulness, while some thriving author, like a sparrow, would
fly ofif with a sample, and take the credit from you. Throw
your thoughts together as they arise, in a book, that they be not
lost ; when I come to see you we will look them over, put them into
shape, and do something with them. Pray do not forget to put
together the history of your life and opinions, with as many remarks
on men and manners as may occur to you. Set about it imme
diately ; life slips. It will, perhaps, bring your children in a
hundred pounds in a day of short commons, if it does nothing else ;
besides, I have been all along desirous of writing your life and
rise in the art. . . .
" I live with the new Bishop as son with father, or brother with
brother. Our habits of life similar, our pursuits similar, our modes
of thought similar, or only sufificiently different to increase the
pleasure of coraraunication. ... I have been unconsciously
acquiring, at Osmington, in long winter evenings, a greater share
of knowledge than I was myself aware of ; and find that I have no
reason to be discontented with the use I have made of my time.

igS THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. X,
The Bishop improves me and drives me on in my classical acquire
ments ; while in general divinity and comprehensive views of
history, I find myself' in easy circumstances,' He is urging me to
overcome my indolence and show myself in print, and before I die
I shall be out. I have got my nerves steadier, and my under
standing more under my control. My ambition is strongly
awakened, and I see glimpses of light through the wood."
" Charlotte Street, November 28th.
" My dear Fisher, — The rumour may have reached you that
I have another boy ; * the number of my children is now six, being
three of each,
" I gloried in your letter. Its friendship for me was, if possible,
forgot in the delight of seeing you at length properly appreciating
yourself You need never fear indulging too much in the exulting
tone it breathes. Take care that you launch your boat at the ap
pointed time, and fearlessly appear before the world in a tangible
shape. It is the only way to be cured of idle vapours and useless
fastidiousness, " My wife is at Hampstead, and both she and the infant are
doing well. I am endeavouring to secure a permanent small house
there, and have put the upper part of this house into an uphol
sterer's hands to let, made my painting- room warm and comfortable,
and have become an inhabitant of my parlours, I am three miles
from door to door, and can have a message in an hour, I shall be
more out of the way of idle callers, and, above all, see nature, and
unite a town and country life, and to all these things I hope to add
a plan of economy. . . .
* Alfred.

i826.] NORTHCOTE.— ORIGINALITY.

"39

" I passed last evening with Northcote ; he enjoys a green old
age, and is as full of vivacity as ever. He is always instructive and
amusing. Talking of excellence, he said, ' It should be the aim of
an artist to bring something to light out of nature for the first time.
Something like that for which in mechanics a patent would be
granted ; an original invention or a decided improvement. Patents
are not given for making a time-piece or a telescope as long as it
differs not from others.' He says, ' The failures and difificulties of
success in the arts and literature are, for the most part, caused by
our early habits and education. Virgil is driven into boys as the
height of excellence, whereas he is but a farthing candle compared
with Shakespeare.' The first book he (Northcote) ever read was
' Jack the Giant- Killer,' and he still believes it unequalled.
" I have taken your advice, and not written anything for the
Brighton Courier. I have seen an affecting picture this morning
by Ruysdael ; it haunts my mind, and clings to my heart, and
stands between you and me while I am talking to you. It is a
water-mill; a man and boy are cutting rushes in the running
stream (the tail-water) ; the whole so true, clear, and fresh, and
as brisk as champagne ; a shower has not long passed, I am de
lighted to see how you live with the Bishop ; that you avail
yourself of his great worth and understanding, and that he does not
use his rank nor the wisdom of age to trip up and overbear the
valuable qualities, the vigour and energy, to be found in youth
and middle age,"
In 1827, Constable sent to the Academy a large picture of" The
Marine Parade and Chain Pier at Brighton,'' and two smaller ones,
" A Water-Mill at Gillingham, Dorsetshire," and " Hampstead

200 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. X.
Heath," To the British Institution he sent his " Corn Field " and
" The Glebe Farm," " Sunday Evening, August 26th.
" My dear Fisher,— We sadly neglect much happiness that
lies within our reach. Weeks and months have passed since we met,
and no coraraunication, I know not where you are, and you know
not what I have been so long about. Your cares lay far and wide
apart, and I am not wholly without mine. Still we do amiss to re
main inactive towards each other for both our sakes. No worse
account can be given of life than to have neglected the social
duties. . , . We are at length fixed in our comfortable little
house in Well Walk, Harapstead, and are once raore enjoying our
own furniture, and sleeping in our own beds. My plans in search
of health for my family have been ruinous ; but I hope now that our
movable camp no longer exists, and that I am settled for life. So
hateful is moving about to me that I could gladly exclaim, * Here
let me take my everlasting rest ! ' The rent of this house is fifty-
two pounds per annura, taxes twenty-five, and what I have spent
on it ten or fifteen, I have let Charlotte Street at eighty-two
pounds, retaining my two parlours, large front attic, painting-room,
gallery, &.c. This house is to my wife's heart's content ; it is situated
on an eminence at the back of the spot in which you saw us, and
our little drawing-room coraraands a view unsurpassed in Europe —
from Westminster Abbey to Gravesend, The dome of St Paul's
in the air seems to realise Michael Angelo' s words on seeing the
Pantheon : ' I will build such a thing in the sky,' We see the
woods and lofty grounds of the East Saxons to the north-east, I
read Turner's ' History' continually, for two reasons: first, I think

IH<

i827,] PRESCRIPTION FOR WHOOPING-COUGH. 201
thereby of you, and secondly, its information is endless, and of the
best kind. I have Burnet's book on colour for you frora Car
penter's ; where shall I send it, or shall I meet you at Sarum
during your durance, and make a few auturanal sketches on spots
endeared to us both ? My ' Brighton ' was adraired on the walls,
and I had a few nibbles out of doors. I had one letter from a man
of rank, inquiring what would be its selling price ; is not this too
bad ? but this coraes of bartering at the Gallery. My Dr,
 * has paid, but nothing more ; no one will buy a schoolmaster,
for who would hang up a picture of the keeper of a treadmill, or a
turnkey of Newgate, who has been in either place ? Mr, Bannister
is my neighbour here : a very fine creature he is ; very sensible,
natural, and a gentleman.
" Lord de Tabley's English pictures have lately sold for eight
thousand pounds — two thousand more than he gave for them ; a
landscape by Wilson, five hundred pounds — query, had he fifty for
this truly magnificent and afifecting picture ? ' May this expiate ' !
John Dunthorne has completed a very pretty view of your lawn
and prebendal house, with the great elder and the Cathedral. He is
now in Sufifolk painting a portrait of  , whose ugliness is
portentous ; how John will get on with him I know not. We long
to hear news of you and Mrs. Fisher and your children. We are
well here. My pretty infant soon after you saw him was seized
with whooping cough. I find medical men know nothing of this
terrible disorder, and can afford it no relief, consequently it is in
the hands of quacks. I have been advised to put him three times
over and three times under a donkey, as a certain cure. ... I
have painted one of my best pictures here."
* An engraving from one ofhis portraits, probably Dean Wingfield.
D D

202 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. X,
" Close, Salisbury, September ird.
"My dear Constable, — , , . I am elected a raember of
the Royal Literary Society, and must appear in London in Decem
ber to be installed. I shall then have an opportunity of seeing
you at the bottom of Well Walk. The arrangement is good in one
particular. You will be less disturbed by morning flies than in
Charlotte Street. , . . I am worn to death with the incessant
visiting of the same persons, and the same prate of this busy-
idle place. The whole of the diocese is in my hands ; I educate my
own boys, and there you have sufficient reasons why I write so
seldom. "J. Fisher,"
Constable passed the remainder of this year happily with his
family at Hampstead, where he painted several small landscapes.

J^tfe '

.A'f

/ii

#*'••"

V .f-

I ^ i^\X

»^

4# •/''/"'"

1?
/J
s <
II-
<
oo
<
Io
^M- gPMt
CHAPTER XI.
1828— 1829.
Illness of Mrs. Constable. — Mr. Bicknell's Death. — His Bequest to Constable and
his Wife. — Exhibition, 1828.— Death of Mrs, Constable, — Constable elected aa
Academician, 1829, — Preparation of " English Landscape." — David Lucas.
In the spring of 1828 Constable was called to Flatford by an ill
ness of his brother Abram, Mrs, Constable being at the same
time extremely unwell. The following note to Mr. Samuel Lane
must have been written at this time : —
" My dear Lane, — I ara glad to hear of your return. I
hope we shall meet soon. My poor wife is still very ill at Putney,
and when I can get her home I know not. We talk of Brighton,
but we only talk of it. She can't make such a journey. I am
glad to remain quiet at my work, as I want to rid ray mind of
some troublesome jobs. I am just returned from Sufifolk, where I
was again called to see my brother, but I left him so much better
that I am cheered. I advised him to send away all his doctors.
They have left him in possession of his purse only — now empty
—and of himself, only his skeleton." "Charlotte Street, June nth.
" My dear Fisher, — Is it possible that I should have had
little or no tidings of you since we parted in November ? We do
sad injustice to our friendship. This silence is a bad thing, and

204 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap, XI.
I am determined not to let this (ray birthday) pass without
emancipating rayself frora what appears alraost a spell, for I never
felt a greater desire to write, nor ever had in reality more to say
to you, at least, of myself, than now. This has been to rae a
raost eventful year, for half of it has not yet passed, and three
things of raoraent to myself have occurred : first, the birth of a
baby boy, whom we have naraed Lionel Bicknell, 2nd of January ;
secondly, I have painted a large upright landscape, perhaps ray
best ; it is in the exhibition, and noticed as ' A Redeemer,' by
' John Bull,' and another, less in size, but equal in quality, pur
chased by Chantrey ; thirdly, and lastly, though not least, Mr.
Bicknell has left us a fortune that may be twenty thousand pounds !
This I will settle on my wife and children, that I may do justice
to his good opinion of me. It will make me happy, and I shall
stand before a six-foot canvas with a mind at ease, thank God !
"The exhibition is poor; but though the talent is small its
produce in money has been very great — a hundred and fifty
pounds per diem, perhaps, on an average. I have little tirae to
speak of it. Lawrence has raany pictures, and never has his
elegant afifettuoso style been raore happy. Jackson is the most
of a painter, but he does not rank with Lawrence in general
talent. Turner has some golden visions, glorious and beautiful ;
they are only visions, but still they are art, and one could live
and die with such pictures. Sorae portraits that would petrify
you. Newton has ' The Vicar of Wakefield,' raost afifecting. . . .
" My wife is sadly ill at Brighton ; her letter to-day is,
however, cheerful. Hampstead, sweet Hampstead, is deserted.
I ara at work here, and shall take ray boy and pretty Minna to
Brighton on the 20th."

1828.] DEATH OF ARCHDEACON COXE. 105
The upright picture mentioned in this letter was a view
of "Dedhara Vale," and the sraall one the "Hampstead
Heath." " Salisbury, June igth.
" My dear Constable, — .... Your legacy gave
me as rauch pleasure as it could have coramunicated to your
self. You will now be relieved from the carking cares of leaving
a young faraily to privation and the world. You will feel that
your fame and not your bread is dependant upon your pencil.
. . . Mr. Bicknell has paid you a high moral compliment.
. . . My plan of provision is to leave a home and bread to
eat, round which the weak and unsuccessful of my family may
rally. Perhaps this should be your plan.
*' Poor Coxe, as you probably know from Peter, is no more.
He died of old age. A raore irreproachable, friendly man did
not exist. He was always benevolently employed, and at his
funeral the congregation disturbed the service with sobs. After
a great dinner he used to steal into his kitchen and give his
cook a guinea. His doraestics never left hira ; a silent but
strong corapliraent. His regard to truth was remarkable. He
is the author of twenty-four quarto volumes, and has hardly
been convicted of a mistake. He was quoted as an authority in
his life-time — an event of rare occurrence. . . .
"J. Fisher."
Constable returned with his wife to Hampstead, frora whence
he wrote on the 22nd of August to John Dunthorne, junr., who
was at Bergholt : "I do hope things are not going on worse
here. On the contrary, I believe Mrs. Constable to be gaining

2o6 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XL
ground. Her cough is pretty well gone, and she has some
appetite, and the nightly perspirations are, in a great measure,
ceased. All this must be good, and I am a great deal cheered.
Still I ara anxious — she is so sadly thin and weak. I ara deter
mined to try and get her out. . . . The Neyland business
can soon be decided upon.* / hope you will do it, but only in
conjunction with your father, I think it requires not a moment's
hesitation. Take care of cold. Work with the door and windows
of the church open, even if that should make it colder. It will
drive out damp and sraell of graves, etc. Nothing so bad as
the air of a large apartraent, as it never changes itself, and it
always flies to the heart, liver, and lights. I was nearly killed,
copying Sir Joshua, at Lady Dysart's, Hyde Park Corner. . .
Remember Claude painted sham architecture in churches, and it
did not prevent his becoming a painter. But he fell ofif a scafifold."
In a letter to Mr. Dorainic Colnaghi, dated September 15th,
Constable writes : "I am greatly unhappy at my dear wife's ill
ness ; her progress towards amendment is sadly slow, but still
they tell me she does mend ; pray God this raay be the case !
I ara much worn with anxiety," And in a note to Mr. S.
Lane, dated October 2nd, he says : " . . . My dear wife con
tinues much the same ; I do hope she is not worse, and home
may yet do wonders."
The letter, to which the following is a reply, is missing. It,
no doubt, contained a desponding account of the state of
Mrs. Constable's health.
* This seems to have been that John Dunthorne should paint some ornamental
work in the interior of Neyland Church.

1828.] ILLNESS OF MRS. CONSTABLE— HER DEATH. 207
" Close, Salisbury, October \th.
" My dear Constable, — ^Your sad letter has just reached me,
and, I grieve to say, at a time when I fear I cannot raove. I am
expecting to be called into residence at this place, when I must
be a fixture until January. But, if this be not the case, and I
can get ray liberty, I will come and see you soon. I fear your
friendship makes you over-value the use I can be to you ; but
what I can give you shall have. ... I began this letter at
Salisbury, and I finish it at Osmington, and to-raorrow I
start for Salisbury again. Support yourself with your usual
manliness, and believe me always your most faithful and at
tached " John Fisher."
Mrs. Constable's sufferings, which she endured with that entire
resignation to the will of Providence that she had shown under
every circumstance of her life, were occasioned by pulraonary
consuraption. I was at Harapstead a few days before she breathed
her last. She was then on a sofa in their cheerful parlour, and
although Constable appeared in his usual spirits in her presence,
yet before I left the house he took rae into another room, wrung
my hand, and burst into tears, without speaking. She died on
the 23rd of Noveraber. " Osmington, Weymouth, November 2gth.
" My dear Constable, — I write with the hope and intention
of giving you comfort, but really I know not how ; yet if there be
any consolation to the heart of man to know that another feels
with him, you have that consolation. I do sympathise with you,
my old and dear friend, most truly, and I pray God to give ) ou

2o8 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XL
fortitude. I am additionally grieved that I cannot come and
say this in person, but I ara so entangled with my faraily and
numerous affairs that I cannot reach London until December.
Our new but estimable friend, Evans,* paid me a most flattering
visit. He travelled one hundred miles out of his way to come
and see me in my Arcadia for twelve hours only. He arrived
over night, and left rae next day at noon ; we had time, however,
to exchange a great deal of mind. Our conversation tumed, of
course, rauch upon you ; we agreed that for your comfort, during
the trial upon you for the exercise of your patience, you should
apply yourself rigidly to your profession. Some of the finest
works of art, and most vigorous exertions of intellect, have been
the result of periods of distress. Poor Wilson painted all his
finest landscapes under the pressure of sorrow.
" Let us talk of other things. I met, in Schlegel, a happy
criticism on what is called Gothic architecture. We do not
estiraate it aright unless we judge of it by the spirit of the age
which produced it, and compare it with contemporary productions.
The Gothic Minster was the work which gave birth to that
phenomenon, the Crusades, and realised that poetic beautiful
monster, the mailed knight ; who went forth in purity and honour
to preach the Gospel with his mouth, while he broke its laws with
his sword. The Minster was raised to hold such worshippers
while alive, and to contain their gorgeous tombs when dead ; and
we never look at the Cathedral aright unless we iraagine mitred
abbots and knights in chained armour, walking in procession
down its solemn aisles, I have put .Schlegel into our own language,
* Mr. Evans, of Hampstead, was the medical friend who had attended Mrs,
Constable.

1828.] SCHLEGEL.— SOCRATES.

2og

and have enlarged a little on his notion, since he only hints the
thing. What a propriety it gives to the tombs of the cross-legged
knights ! The monkish priests exacted the tribute of putting ofif
the knightly spur when the Cathedral was entered. Our choristers
fine anybody at this day coraing in with spurs, I do not know
what to go on writing to you about, I live here apart from the
world, and run into contemplative habits, Socrates considered
life only as a malady under which the nobler spirit was condemned
for a time to linger, and called living ' the learning how to die ' ;
he meant that the vexations of life raade death desirable. The
word malady explains the cock sacrificed to .(^sculapius ; death
was curing hira of his malady, and he sacrificed the fowl, in
playful allusion to this, to the god of physic. It is singular, but
this notion has much helped me under sorae very vexatious
circumstances. Christianity puts the argument higher, and makes
the malady preparative to better and lasting health. . . .
"J, Fisher,"
From this time to the end of his life Constable never ceased
to wear mourning. He returned with his children to his house
in Charlotte Street, but retained the one in Well Walk as an
occasional residence, " Osmington, December ith.
"My dear Constable, — As soon as my mother is fixed at
Hampstead I will come and pay you a visit, and help you to
bear your privation, , , . Evans's letter was so far satisfactory,
that he reported you to be in a state of coraplete self-possession,
I entreat you to retain it, for you have need only to look within
yourself and find satisfaction, I wish, if ' Brighton ' is not out
E E

210 THS LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XI.
of your possession, you would put it on your easel by your
side, and mellow its ferocious beauties. Calm your mind and
your sea at the same tirae, and let in sunshine and serenity,
I feel much for your situation, but cannot put these feelings
into words. You have a treasure in your new friend, Evans, who
is always at hand. . . . "J. Fisher."
[" January Sth, 1829.
" My dear Constable, — . . . . The tone of your letter
to me was very satisfactory. You appear to be smitten, but not
cast down. I will lend you any assistance in my power in the
education of your children. There is a little book published by
the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, which is all you
want for religious instruction, ' Grossman's Introduction,' to
which you may add 'Nelson's Practice of True Devotion.' It is
a most sensible book. . . . "J. Fisher."
"Charlotte Street, January 21st.
" My dear Leslie, — Do not believe rae to be either ungrate
ful or negligent in that I have not called on you, or taken any
notice of your kind attentions to me on my coming hither. You
know that I have seven children here. This is a charge I pray
God you raay never feel as I do. Six of the seven are in lovely
health, but I grieve to say ray darling boy John is in a sad state.
. . . In this sweet youth I see very much that reminds me of
his mother ; but I must not trust myself on this subject ; my
grievous wound only slumbers. I hope dear Mrs. Leslie and
your children are well. My thoughts are often en your infant.

1828.] ELECTED AN ACADEMICIAN. 211
for I well remeraber, on its being brought into my drawing-roorri
at Hampstead, the gleam of joy that overspread that countenance
which is never absent from my sight. ... I should like to
see you, and am anxious to pass an evening with you. I send
this note by a messenger that you may appoint any afternoon
that I can come to you. I have been ill, but I have endeavoured
to get to work again, and could I get afloat on a canvas of six
feet, I might have a chance of being carried away from myself.
I have just received a coramission to paint a mermaid for a sign
to an inn in Warwickshire. This is encouraging, and afifords no
small solace after ray previous labours in landscape for twenty
years. However, I shall not quarrel with the lady now, she may
help to educate my children." He then changes the subject, and
after sorae pleasantry goes on to say, " I would not write this
nonsense at all were it not to prove to you, my dear Leslie, that
I am, in sorae degree at least, rayself again."
Constable made a very pretty and finished sketch of the
*' Mermaid," but I do not think the raatter ever went farther. He
gave the sketch to Mr. Evans.
On the loth of February he was elected an Academician.
That this distinction should not have been conferred on him at a
much earlier period of his life is a proof that the progress of an
original style of art, in the estimation even of artists, is very slow.
Much as he was pleased at the attainraent of this honour, he
could not help saying, " It has been delayed until I am solitary,
and cannot impart it." He did not add with Johnson, " until I
am known and do not want it " ; for no painter of equal genius
was ever less known in his own country. Wilkie, who had been
for sorae tirae abroad, told rae that when he saw Constable's

*i2 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XI.
pictures in the Louvre he could not understand why the painter
of such raagnificent works had not long been a full raeraber of the
Acaderay.* "Lodge, Charterhouse, February nth.
" My dear Constable, — Although I fully expected the event,
your note telling rae that you are an Acaderaician gave me the
greatest pleasure. Your rewards are at last beginning to flow in
upon you, although (as everything is ordained in a state of trial)
the painful is mixed with the sweet. My mother sends her con
gratulations, which are worth the having. To-morrow I go with
you to call upon your friends. The event is in every way
iraportant to me, since my judgment was embarked in the sarae
boat with your success. " Most faithfully yours,
" John Fisher."
" My dear John Chalon, — -Accept ray thanks for your kind
message to me by your brother. I greatly rejoice in the event of
my election, as it is attended with so raany gratifying circum
stances ; but, I assure you, in none raore so than the certainty
* How true this was, and how little his art was understood by those who had just
elected him a member of their body, is shown by the following contreteTn^s which
befell him when first serving on the Council of the Academy as one of the judges
before whom the pictures of outsiders pass before being received for exhibition : — A
small landscape of his had, by mistake, got among the outsiders' pictures, and
so came before the Council. A simple bit of green river bank, bordered by low
willows, with nothing in subject or colour to arrest the more or less jaded eyes of the
Academic judges, and the picture was rapidly passed before them with the usual cry
of " Out ! out ! " by the majority, when one member said, " No, stop a bit. I rather
like the look of that. Why not say doubtful ? " Constable, who so far had been
silent, then owned the picture, and the Council at once, saw its merit. He would
not, however, allow their judgment to be reversed. This little picture is now at South
Kensington — No. 38. "Water Meadows, near Salisbury." — Ed.

1828,] CONGRATULATORY LETTERS AND VISITS. 213
that it cannot fail to promote and continue our esteem for each
other. I beg my kindest regards to your family. Believe me,
dear Chalon, your brother's kind and constant support of rae has
made an impression on my mind never to be done away by tirae
or circumstances. After he left me last night there came,
' though last not least,' Turner and Jones. We parted at one
o'clock this morning, mutually pleased with one another. I shall
take an early opportunity of calling at your house. . . .
" Ever, dear Chalon, believe rae to be most sincerely yours,
"John Constable,
" Charlotte Street, February nth:'
"34, Gerrard Street, Soho, February nth.
" My dear Constable, — Our friend Peter Coxe has just
called, in the highest glee, to tell me of your good fortune, or
rather of your having attained an honour which ought to have
been conferred on you long ago. It is now somewhere about
twenty-seven years since you and I first entered the Academy
together as students. Frora that period, in much intercourse, it
is to me a gratifying reflection that, never on a single occasion
did any cloud interpose to interrupt the sunshine of our friendship,
not even the shadow of a cloud, yet you have produced raany,
but always painted them so well that they have only increased
my great admiration of your very original genius. Our uniform
coincidence of opinions on men and things is equally remarkable.
Having gained this election, you have nothing higher to look up
to in this world. I would therefore, ray dear friend, take this
opportunity and the privilege of a friend, to direct your attention
more and more to another election, which we are all too apt to

2 14 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XI.
lose sight of, our election to a glory far above and beyond all
the kingdoms of this world, and to secure which is the great
purpose for which we are sent into it. I should have had the
pleasure of calling to congratulate you, but I am still confined
by illness. "Believe me to reraiin on all occasions, my dear Constable,
ever affectionately yours, "Andrew Robertson."
Constable called, according to custom, after the honour that
had just been conferred on hira, to pay his respects to Sir Thoraas
Lawrence, who did not conceal frora his visitor that he considered
him peculiarly fortunate in being chosen an Academician at a
time when there were historical painters of great merit on the list
of candidates. So kind-hearted a man as Lawrence could have
no intention to give pain ; but their tastes ran in directions so
widely different, and the President, who attached great impor
tance to subject, and considered high art to be inseparable from
historical art, had never been led to pay sufifi cient attention to
Constable's pictures to becorae irapressed with their real merit,
and there can be no doubt but that he thought the painter of,
what he considered, the humblest class of landscape, was as much
surprised at the honour just conferred on him as he was himself
Constable was well aware that the opinions of Sir Thomas were
the fashionable ones ; he felt the pain thus unconsciously inflicted,
and his reply intimated that he looked upon his election as an act
of justice rather than favour. What occurred at this visit, as well
as some ill-natured paragraphs in the newspapers, will explain a
passage marked by italics in a note to me, dated —

HADLEIGH CASTLE, NEAR THE NORE.

1829,] PICTURE OF "HADLEIGH CASTLE." 215
" Hampstead, April ^th.
" Since I saw you I have been shut up here, I have
forwarded my picture of ' Hadleigh Castle,' which I shall send to
Charlotte Street to-morrow morning. Can you oblige me with a
call to tell me whether I ought to send it to the exhibiton ? I ara
grievously nervous about it, as / am still smarting under my elec
tion. I have little enough either of prudence or self-knowledge,
as you know, and I am willing to submit to what you and others
whom I value may decide. I shall dine with the Dowager Lady
Beaumont to-day, and I hope I shall meet you, I could hardly
refuse, yet at this time (for I am in the height of agony about my
crazy old walls of the Castle) I would rather wish myself at
home, I beg an answer by bearer to tell rae how you all are.
My children are lovely, and all the better for being here. Last
Monday we had a little party, it being the birthday of two of mine,
and I sat down to table with fourteen, the eldest of whom was
only eleven." " Charlotte Street, April 22,rd.
" My dear Fisher, — I am glad that you can make this house
serviceable to your faraily on any occasion. My housekeeper
will provide all that is necessary, so that the sole attention of
your servant can be devoted to your little boy.* They could not
have corae more conveniently ; my own family having left this
house to-day, where they have been passing Easter ; the beds and
rooras are well aired. Mrs. Savage,t who is anything but what
her narae iraplies, proposes that the front bedroom, being large
• Who was sent to town to undergo a slight operation, the removal of a spot from
his lip
t His housekeeper.

2i6 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XI.
and having two beds, be theirs; one bed is so large that your
boy can either sleep with or from your servant ; a fire can be
kept constantly there or in the drawing-room for them for the
day. I live down here (in the parlour), and shall not be put at
all out of my way.
" I have just got a letter from the Academy. The Pande-
moniura opens on Saturday, in which we are allowed every excess
for six days (Sunday excepted).*
" Your sudden departure put rae out a good deal and made
me angry, and it was a disappointment to my friends in the
Academy. Propitiate them on your return, and then you may
leave me to myself I was sadly ill after you left me. I never
had so bad a cold before. However, Hampstead and a picture
set me tolerably well up. I have sent the great Castle, such as
it is, to the exhibition, and a rich Cottage. Nothing shall
prevent ray coraing to you at Salisbury in the summer; Evans
would be delighted, but he has suffering humanity on his hands.
I passed a day or two with my children at Ham House, the
Countess of Dysart's ; she was very kind to them, and pleased
with thera.
" Wilkie has eight pictures, Lawrence eight, Jackson, Phillips
and Pickersgill eight each. Callcott, though not eight, has
one eight feet long — a classical landscape. Turner has four.
They have an iraraense crash in the hall, and it is evident the
Devil must vomit pictures over London.-f . . . Poor old
Northcote was at the edge of death, but revived. I saw him
yesterday." * The varnishing days allowed to the members of the Academy.
t He alludes to the quantity of pictures rejected.

1829.] LONDON IN MARCH— WINDSOR. 217
" Osmington,
"April 21th.
" My dear Constable,— I shall be at Eton with ray boy
Osmond on the ist May, and must stay there a fortnight. I thank
you raost gratefully for your kindness in receiving ray little boy
Frederick and his nurse. ... I beg your pardon for using
you so ill when in London. But the cold, bitter, north-east
winds kept rae in such a state of irritation the whole of my stay
that I should have been a most unpleasant inmate to you, and
have disturbed your serenity. I felt this, and stayed purposely
away. I gave you all of ray company that I dare ; and at last
suddenly left London, and its windy streets, in a precipitate fit of
desperation. I have not yet recovered it. There is a deep
cellar in the infernal regions, reserved for the most desperate.
London, in March, is a type of it. See Milton's ' Cold Hell.'
Why did you turn out into an unwholesome room on my account ?
I cannot hold rayself responsible for such instances of unwise
hospitality. Your life is valuable.
"Will you run down to Windsor for a few days, between
May ist and 14th ? You will find rae there in lodgings. Pray
do ; and let us walk over those delicious scenes again of natural
and artificial magnificence; where parsons eat and stuff, and
dream of preferment; where pedagogues flog little boys, talk
burly, and think theraselves great raen in three-cornered hats ;
where statesraen . . . ; and where everybody seeras indifferent
to the splendid scenes that surround thera.
" Ever yours, somewhat cynically, "J. Fisher."

F F

2i8 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XI.
" Osmington, April 2,0th.
" My dear Friend, — I discovered in an old pocket-book this
day an extract from Milton's prose works. When I made it, and
from which of his works, I forget. But this I reraeraber, that I
meant to send it to you, saying what I now say : that it is the
principle upon which my friendship for you is founded. You know
that I do not use words in mere flattery. ' As to other points,
what God may have determined for me I know not. But this I
know, that if He ever instilled an intense love of moral beauty
into the breast of any raan. He has instilled it into raine. Ceres,
in the fable, pursued not her daughter with a greater keenness
of inquiry than I have, day and night, the idea of Perfection.
Hence, whenever I find a raan despising the false estiraates of
the vulgar, and daring to aspire — in sentiment, language, and
conduct — to what the highest wisdom, through every age, has
taught us as most excellent, to him I unite myself by a sort of
necessary attachment. And if I ara so influenced, by nature or
by destiny, that by no exertion or labour of ray own I raay exalt
myself to the summit of worth and honour, yet no powers of
heaven or earth will hinder rae from looking with reverence and
afifection upon those who have thoroughly attained to that
glory. . . ,' " My dear Constable, ever yours faithfully,
"John Fisher."
The " Hadleigh Castle," Constable's principal picture in the
exhibition of 1829, received rather rougher usage than usual from
the newspaper critics; but it finely embodied to the eye the

1829.] CHANTREY AND ASPHALTUM VERSUS DEW. 219
following lines from Thomson's " Summer," with which its title
was accompanied in the catalogue of the exhibition : —
"The desert joys
Wildly, through all his melancholy bounds.
Rude ruins glitter ; and the briny deep.
Seen from some pointed promontor)r's top,
Far to the blue horizon's utmost verge,
Restless, reflects a floating gleam."
I witnessed an arausing scene before this picture at the
Academy on one of the varnishing days. Chantrey told Con
stable its foreground was too cold, and, taking his palette from
him, he passed a strong glazing* of asphaltum all over that part
of the picture, and while this was going on. Constable, who stood
behind him, in sorae degree of alarm said to me, " There goes all
my dew." He held in great respect Chantrey's judgment in
most matters, but this did not prevent his carefully taking from
the picture all that the great sculptor had done for it.
" Charlotte Street, July \th.
" My dear Fisher, — I was most happy to receive Mrs.
Fisher's very kind letter, in which you are so kind as to wish to
see me with ray children. I have taken three places in the coach
for Wednesday next, the 7th, and we three shall be with you to
tea — I am told before six o'clock, so that we shall be able to
walk over the bridge before dark. The weather may be more
settled by the time I come to you, but the fine efifects of such a
season make ample amends for its inconvenience. My children are
all well, and I think I never felt in better health, thanks to Evans.
" I took a farewell look with him at the Academy on Thurs-
* Glazing is the process of using transparent colour alone.

220 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap, XI.
day. He is irapressed with my ' Castle.' . . . He will be
delighted to join us at Salisbury. His intellect and cultivation
are as you discovered, of the first class, and his integrity invalu
able. I have just done a small portrait of his mother. If you
have not your book of Claude's etchings at Salisbury, will you
procure it ? — as it contains his epitaph and some raeraoranda, and
I ara engaged to give a sketch of his character to prefix to a book
of engravings now making from the National Gallery.
" I passed the afternoon of yesterday with Jackson at his
villa alone. He used a definition which was useful and compre
hensive. He said, ' The whole object and difficulty of the art
(indeed, of all the fine arts) is to unite imagination with nature:
We were talking of  and  , &c., &c. The art is
now filled with phantasmagoria. More when we raeet."
" Salisbury, September 2,rd.
" My dear Constable, — Many thanks for your continual
reraerabrance of rae, which is worth raore than all ; but neverthe
less, raany thanks for your outward signs of remembrance, your
venison, and your revivification of the Claude. I shall be at
Windsor on Saturday night, Septeraber 5th, with ray boy. Now
either let rae see you there or hear frora you. I yearn to see you
tranquilly and collectedly at work on your next great picture,
undisturbed by gossips good and ill-natured ; at a season of the
year when the glands of the body are unobstructed by cold, and
the nerves in a state of quiescence. You choose February and
March for composition, when the strongest men get irritable and
uncomfortable, during the prevalence of the N.E. winds, the great
destruction of the frame in England.

1829.] THE " ENGLISH LANDSCAPE." 221
" Minny* is the nicest child in the house possible. Nobody
would know of her existence if she were not seen. She improves
in French and music (her ear is perfect), and she dances
quadrilles with the chairs like a parched pea on a drum-head.
"  and  have been together on the visitation for
three weeks. They have neither broken bread nor spoken
together, nor, I believe, seen one another. What a mistake our
Oxford and Carabridge Apostolic missionaries fall into when they
make Christianity a stern, haughty thing. Think of St. Paul with
a full-blown wig, deep shovel hat, apron, round belly, double
chin, deep cough, stern eye, rough voice, and imperious manner,
drinking port wine, and laying down the law as to the best way of
escaping the operation of the Curates' Residence Act. I need
not, I believe, sign ray narae. My hand is pretty well known
to you." Constable was now engaged in preparing the " English
Landscape " for publication, having secured the valuable
assistance of Mr. David Lucas ; and it led to the raagnificent
engravings that gentleman afterwards executed of " The Corn
Field," "The Lock," which Reynolds had contemplated, and the
"Salisbury Cathedral frora the Meadows," on a large scale, and
the " Stratford Mill " and " Hadleigh Castle" of a lesser size.
A prospectus of the " English Landscape" was printed, saying,
" It is the desire of the Author in this publication to increase the
interest for, and proraote the study of, the rural scenery of
England, with all its endearing associations, and even in its
most simple localities ; of England with her climate of more than
* Maria Constable.

22 2 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE, [Chap. XI.
vernal freshness, in whose sumraer skies and rich auturanal
clouds, ' in thousand liveries dight,' the observer of nature raay
daily watch her endless varieties of efifect." He was by this
time fully aware of the obstacles that existed to a just estimation
of his art, and he drew up a preface to his work, in which the
following passage seems to me to be a true statement of the case
between the public and hiraself: "In art, there are two raodes by
which raen aira at distinction. In the one by a careful application
to what others have accorapHshed, the artist imitates their works,
or selects and combines their various beauties ; in the other, he
seeks excellence at its primitive source — nature. In the first
he forms a style upon the study of pictures, and produces either
imitative or eclectic art ; in the second, by a close observation of
nature, he discovers qualities existing in her which have never
been portrayed before, and thus forras a style which is original.
The results of the one mode, as they repeat that with which the
eye is already familiar, are soon recognised and estimated, while
the advances of the artist in a new path raust necessarily be slow,
for few are able to judge of that which deviates from the usual
course, or are qualified to appreciate original studies,"
In the year 1814, when a collection of pictures by Wilson,
Hogarth, and Gainsborough was exhibited at the British Gallery,
in the Preface to the Catalogue it was said, " The merit of
Wilson's works is now justly appreciated ; and we may hope that,
since the period of his decease, the love and knowledge of art
have been so much diffused through the country that the
exertion of such talents may never again remain unrewarded
during the lifetime of him who may possess them," Who would
not say "Amen" to this? And yet, long after it was penned.

1829.] DAVID LUCAS.

223

Constable was as rauch neglected as Wilson had been, and so
will it again happen with genius equally original and natural in
landscape, until that branch of the art shall be better under
stood with reference to nature than it is by our dispensers of
fame. In one of Constable's sketch-books there is a draught of a
letter to Mr. Fisher, in which he says, " I know not if the land
scapes I now offer to your notice will add to the esteem in which
you have always been so kind as to hold me as a painter ; I
shall dedicate thera to you, relying on that afifection which you
have invariably extended to rae under every circurastance."
In another part of this memorandum he mentions Mr. Lucas,
of whora he says, " His great urbanity and integrity are only
equalled by his skill as an engraver ; and the scenes now trans
mitted by his hand are such as I have ever preferred. For the
most part, they are those with which I have the strongest
associations — those of my earliest years, when ' in the cheerful
morn of life I looked to nature with unceasing joy.' "
Mr. Fisher died before the work was published, and it
appeared without a dedication.
The first plate engraved was of " Dedham Mill," from a very
slight sketch; but Constable did not again place anything so
unfinished in the hands of Mr. Lucas. A few of the many notes
he wrote to that gentleman while the work was in progress, will
show how much he was disquieted by the undertaking, though
in itself of no great magnitude, owing to his fastidiousness in
the choice and execution of the subjects (five plates that were
finished being rejected by him), and to his discovering as he
proceeded that all chances of rerauneration for the tirae and

2 24 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XL
raoney he was spending upon it were hopeless. Indeed, the
"English Landscape" proved in the end to be, as Coleridge
said of a work of his own, "a secret confided to the public, and
very faithfully kept." "September i^th.
"Dear Lucas, — A total change has again taken place.
Leslie dined with rae yesterday; we have agreed on a long Land
scape, ' Evening,' with a flight of rooks, as a corapanion to the
' Spring,' and the 'Whitehall Stairs,' in place of the ' Castle.'
Prithee corae and see me at six this evening, and take the things
away, lest I change again. However, I like all the last affairs, if
you do, I will tell you the reasons for so changing. Pray come
at six. Bring soraething in your hand ; I don't care what."
The " Auturanal Sunset," the subject raentioned in this note
was sketched in his favourite fields near Bergholt. In the distance
towards the right is the tower of Stoke Church, and on the left
are Langhara Hill and Church.

•¦•i%;^#\ *

I-D<
CHAPTER XII.
1830— 1831.
Death of Sir Thomas Lawrence, — Constable on the Hanging Committee.— Exhibition,
1830.— Visitor in the Academy Life School.— Etty.— Wilkie.
I HAD asked Constable to allow my sister to copy the small
picture of " The Porch of Bergholt Church," which has been
described in the first chapter, and it carae to us with the following
note : — " January, 1830,
"My DEAR Leslie, — I send the 'Churchyard,' which my
friends in Portman Place are welcome to use for any purpose but
to go into it. . . . The motto on the dial is, ' Ut umbra, sic vita:
This note was singularly followed by his next : —
" January 8th.
" My dear Leslie, — I have just received the distressing
intelligence of the death of poor Sir Thomas Lawrence. This
sad event took place last night, in consequence of internal in
flammation. I could not help sending to you ; the Council is
called in consequence."
Constable, although always on friendly terms, had never
been very intiraate with Sir Thoraas Lawrence, but he felt, in
coraraon with every artist in the kingdom, the magnitude of the
loss of so eminent a painter, cut off with such apparent sudden-
G G

226 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Ch.ap. XII.
ness; at a time, too, when he was pursuing his art with all the
energy of youth, though in his sixty-fifth year; and when, indeed,
so far from betraying any diminution of power, he seemed to
be Improving on himself This, I think, was acknowledged by all
who had an opportunity of seeing the scarcely-finished, but very
fine, portrait of the Earl of Aberdeen in the exhibition at the
Academy that followed the death of its President,
When the painting materials of Sir Thoraas were sold. Con
stable purchased a palette which had belonged to Sir Joshua
Reynolds, and had been given by hira to Sir George Beaumont,
who gave it to Lawrence, He presented this interesting relic to
the Academy, with its history inscribed on a silver plate inlaid
upon it. " January 26th.
" My dear Lane, — Mr. Shee was elected last night by a
large majority of the Academy. We expect much frora his self-
devotion and chivalrous sense of honour, . . ,
" Yours ever truly, "J. C."
Constable lived long enough to witness the ample fulfilment of
the highest expectations formed on this occasion. " January ^ist.
" My dear Leslie, — I hope your toothache is better. It is
an entire illness with me whenever I ara so visited. It was a
grievous disappointraent to all of us not seeing you and Mrs,
Leslie, My little girls were all in ' apple-pie order ' to be seen.
My dear Maria had been practising her steps and rausic all day
that she might appear to advantage. All ray boys were in their

5D

i83o] NEWTON AND LANDSEER. 227
best, and had allowed a total clearance of the drawing-room of
their numerous ships, castles, books, bricks, drawings, &c., &c.,
&c. I missed you by going to the Gallery, where I had invited
Newton and Landseer to meet you, neither of whom carae ;
though, as I class them with the nobility — they having adopted
their habits — I sat up till twelve to receive thera. Not having a
tongue of my own I had ordered one, with two lovely fowls, for
you, and our best silver candlesticks for your sister. My pretty
Minna had ready a little present for my goddaughter, and to
prove to you and Mrs. Leslie that, though our disappointment was
severe, we are not angry, she begs to send it this afternoon."
" Charlotte Street, February 26th.
" Dear Lucas, — I am anxious to see you, to have farther talk
about the plates. First, I want to know how forward the
' Evening ' is, and the retouched ' Stoke,' I have not the wish to
become the possessor of the large plate of the ' Castle,'* but I
am anxious that it should be fine, and will take all pains with it.
It cannot fail to be so, if I raay judge from what I have seen. I
have taken much pains with the last proof of ' The Summerland,'
but I fear I shall be obliged to reject it. It has never recovered
its first trip up, and the sky with the new ground is, and ever will
be, rotten. I like your first plates far, very far, the best ; but I allow
much for your distractions since with those devils, the printers,
and other matters not in unison with that patient toll which
ought always to govern the habits of us both. Do not neglect
the ' Wood,'! as I am almost in want of the picture. Bring rae
another large 'Castle' or two, or three, for it is mighty fine,
* Hadleigh Castle.
t Helmingham Park.

228 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XII.
though it looks as if all the chimney sweepers in Christendom had
been at work on it, and thrown their soot bags up in the air. Yet
everybody likes it; but I should recollect that none but friends
see my things. I have no doubt the world despises them. Come
early to-morrow evening and bring what you can, and an account
of the next. I am nervous and anxious about them. I have
raade the upright windraill quite perfect. I should like the book
to consist of eight. Pray tell the writer not to complete his
sketch of the title ; I have raade another."
The engraving of the "Evening," one ofthe finest ofhis
small pictures, is the least successful of all Mr, Lucas's plates.
The scene is near Bergholt, with Stoke and Langham in the
distance. It may alraost be said that Constable knew every tree
in that neighbourhood by name ; the large one on the left in the
middle distance Dunthorne and he called the "wig tree," frora
its shape. This plate, the " Summerland," and the "Autumnal
Sunset," all represent the same fields, and from points of view
not far distant from each other. " March 2nd.
" Dear Lucas, — . . . , Shall I see you on Thursday ?
Alfred Chalon says: 'the "Castle" is a fine-looking thing,' I
am anxious to see a first proof of the ' Evening ' ; but take your
tirae. I will be very good and patient in future. I long to see
the Church, now that it is reraoved to a better spot — two fields
ofif. Take care to avoid rottenness — it is the worst quality of all.
Leslie has not the ' Stoke ' ; take hira one when you next prove
it, with the last alteration."
" Dear Lucas, — I send the ' Jaques' in a flat, yet feel assured
you will not make a flat of hira. I am much pleased with what

SUMMER EVENING.

1830.] CONSTABLE ON THE HANGING COMMITTEE. 229
we are about so far, only I fear if we do not mind we shall not
have enough of the pastoral. Leslie has just been here, and likes
much the sketch in a lane, which I send for you to look at. It
is a lovely subject, rich and novel, and what is better than all —
natural; it would be a glorious full subject."
The " Jaques " mentioned by Constable in this note was a
water- coloured drawing of the often-painted scene — The Wounded
Stag, Of this subject he made many sketches, and contemplated
a large picture — the only imaginary landscape he ever thought of
painting. As a newly-elected Academician, he was now on the Committee
of Arrangement of the Exhibition, and, in a note to Mr, Lane, he
says : " I am sadly harassed, and not being able to call on you
is raost vexatious, I cannot go out lest ray picture and my fire
should go out too. How get you on ? ... I shall be over
whelmed with pictures, especially portraits, the painters of thera
all believing they can easily fill the shoes of Lawrence."
In a note to me, written soon after, he says : " I regret the
entire confinement I have been in since I saw you. My picture
has been, and is, plaguing me exceedingly, for it is always
impossible to know what a picture really wants till it comes to
the last. However, it shall go. It would amuse you to see how
I am beset : I have poets — earls — dukes — and even royalty at my
feet; all painted canvas, of course." His own pictures this
year were the " Dell in Helmingham Park," a small landscape,
and " A View of Hampstead Heath." While assisting in the
arrangement, he found rauch trouble from the excessive size of
some of the frames ; and on remonstrating with an exhibitor on
this point, who defended hiraself by saying that his frames were

230 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XII.
raade exactly on the pattern of those of Sir Thoraas Lawrence,
he could not help replying, " It Is very easy to ira.itate Lawrence
in his frames:'
I have often observed, with surprise, how readily Constable
would make alterations in his pictures by the advice of persons of
very little judgment. While finishing the picture of " The Dell,"
he was one day beset with a great many suggestions frora a very
shallow source, and after adopting some of them he felt inclined
to make a stand, which he did by saying to his adviser, " Very
true ; but don't you see that I might go on and make this picture
so good that it would be good for nothing." " May.
" My dear Leslie, — Can you take a chop with me at five, or
a dish of tea at six, on your wa)^ to the Academy to the General
Meeting, where I hope you will be ? The debate raust be learned,
as we are to decide whether plaster casts corae under the head of
marbles, which they were not able to do at Edinburgh, I shall
get there by seven to look round the exhibition. I feel like the
old woraan who kept a stall at a fair, who ' hoped the King would
not die during the show,' "*
"August.
"My dear Leslie, — Will this fine weather tempt you to a walk
over the fields to my pretty dwelling in Well Walk ? If it should,
and you can make it the afternoon to dinner, you will find Mr.
Bannister and Newton. Prithee corae ; life is short (and so is
my notice) ; we raeet too little,"
Mr, Bannister was unable on this occasion to dine with
Constable, who received frora him the following characteristic
note : — *Thi5 was written during the last illness of George IV.

1830.] MR. BANNISTER AND GOUT— PAINTERS' ASSISTANTS. 231
"August 11 th.
" My dear Sir, — To prevent my place being unsupplied, pray
allow me to send you a lame excuse. Certain gouty symptoms
convince me that I shall not be able to join your party. My
apprehension, however, of mortification, my surgeon says, ' is a
mere farce ' ; and adds, ' Can't you be contented with the gout ? '
My only mortification will be in declining your kind invitation.
" Believe me, ray dear friend, yours most truly,
"J. Bannister."
A young friend of mine, a student of the Academy, whom I
had introduced to Constable, had called to ask his advice on
the subject of engaging himself as an assistant to an eminent
portrait painter; and to this matter the following note chiefly
alludes : — " Charlotte Street, December 2gth.
" My dear Leslie, — K. F  calling on me this morning
on his way to you, I send you my second number of the
' Landscape,' the first yet sent out. I have carefully looked
out a fine one, and beg you will receive all these trifles as marks
of my affection, and, if so, they are no longer trifles in my esti
mation. Poor F  has much to say to you about himself and
 . I know not how to advise.  is an honourable
man, and his art is sound and good, but what F  will be
able to earn with him will, I fear, but ill requite the loss of time.
These kind of engagements are seldom attended with satisfac
tion to either party, because they both want to make all they can
of each other. I was much delighted with my day at your house

232 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XIT.
on Sunday, and, to complete it, I passed the evening with Turner,
at Torakison's." Though Constable strenuously objected to any style in art,
however excellent, being looked at as an object to be attained,
rather than as a raeans towards the attainraent of what is always
better than the best style — nature, yet he well understood how
important it is that the student should be directed to nature by
the assistance of previous art. In the month of January, 1831,
he was visitor In the Life Academy. It is the duty of the visitors
to determine the attitude of the model, and to give advice to the
students ; and he placed every figure, during his attendance, from
sorae well-known one by a great master, beginning with an " Eve "
from Raphael, and allowed no evening to pass without a short
lecture addressed to the students.
" Dear Leslie, — I set my first figure yesterday, and it is much
liked. Etty congratulates me upon it ; do, dear Leslie, come and
see it. I have dressed up a bower of laurel, and I told the
students they probably expected a landscape background from
me. I am quite popular in the Life ; at all events I spare neither
pains nor expense to become a good Academician. My 'Garden
of Eden ' cost me ten shillings, and my raen were twice stopped
coraing frora Harapstead with the green boughs, by the police, who
thought (as was the case) they had robbed some gentleman's
grounds, , , . The fun is, ray garden at the Acaderay was
taken for a Christmas decoration, holly and mistletoe, Wilkie
called yesterday, I was unfortunately at the Acaderay ; but he
good-naturedly came in, and asked to see my children, and was
delighted with my dear girl, who was teaching the lesser ones ;

i83i.] PARADISE IN THE ACADEMY LIFE SCHOOL. 233
he ' hoped they were all good children,' Jackson also called, I
leave home at half-past five every evening at the latest. Come
and walk down with me. It is no sraall undertaking to raake a
Paradise of the Life Academy."
In another note Constable says, " I shall look for you this
evening at five, or you will look in on me in my den ; but I must
say my lions are exceedingly well-behaved. Sass and Etty are
never absent; they set an excellent example. ... I have
been reading an amusing lecture to my children over the print
of your ' Sir Roger de Coverley going to Church.' I was
delighted to find how much I was agreeably reminded of poor
dear old Bigg."*
Constable set two raale figures at the Academy frora " The
Last Judgment," of M. Angelo ; he afterwards set a female figure
which he called an " Amazon." " January 2'jth.
" My dear Leslie, — I hope you will find an evening to come
down to the Academy and see my ' Amazon.' My labours finish
there on Saturday. This figure is liked best of all. Etty is so
delighted that he has asked me to breakfast to meet sorae friends,
among them Mr. Stothard."
Mr. Lucas was interrupted in the work he was engaged on,
by the illness of Mrs. Lucas and one of his children, and in a
note to him, dated January 4th, Constable says, " I am so very
anxious to hear how things are going on in your house, that I
* Mr, Bigg, R.A,, sat to me for the face of Sir Roger. I thought him an
admirable specimen, both in look and manner, of an old-fashioned English gentle
man. A more amiable man never existed.
H H

2 34 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XII.
send my man, who I trust will bring me some better account,
though for the poor little fellow I cannot feel sanguine. I feel
for your distress, and I trust you have seen Dr, Davis ; for if
human means can avail they are his. Don't think of me or my
concerns for a moment; your business is with yourself. I
mention this only to reheve your mind from all other anxiety,
as I well know your great integrity, and that you are always
too ready to devote yourself to others, or at least to me."
The early part of the spring of every year was a time of
anxiety to Constable, as it is to most of our artists, who are
just then finishing their works for the exhibition. He too often
found himself behindhand, and the redoubled application that his
pictures demanded, as the time of sending them to the Academy
drew near, fatigued his mind, and this, with the efifects of the
easterly winds of the season, and the increased irregularity of
his meals, generally disordered his health. His usual tirae for
dining was in the middle of the day, but when very busy it
varied, and I have known him eat a few oranges while at work,
and sit down to dinner, ill with exhaustion, when it was too dark
to paint. In addition to all this, his uneasiness about his book had
now a share in producing the illness of which the next note speaks.
"March I2th.
" Dear Lucas, — My indisposition sadly worries me, and
makes rae think (perhaps too darkly) on alraost every subject.
Nevertheless, ray seven infants, my time of life and state of health,
and other serious matters, make rae desirous of lightening my
mind as much as possible of unnecessary oppression, as I fear it
is already too overweighted. I have thought much on my book.

1831.] SLOW PROGRESS OF THE "ENGLISH LANDSCAPE." 235
and all my reflections on the subject go to oppress me ; its dura
tion, its expense, its hopelessness of remuneration, added to which
I now discover that the printsellers are watching it as their
lawful prey, and they alone can help me. I can only dispose of it
by giving it away. My plan is to confine the number of plates
to those now on hand ; I see we have about twenty. The three
present numbers contain twelve ; others begun are about eight or
ten more, some of which may not be resumed, and we must begin
the frontispiece. It harasses my days, and disturbs my rest at
nights. The expense is too enormous for a work that has nothing
but your beautiful feeling and execution to recommend it. The
painter himself is totally unpopular, and ever will be on this side
the grave ; the subjects nothing but the art, and the buyers wholly
ignorant of that. I am harassed by the lengthened prospect of its
duration ; therefore, I go back to my first plan of twenty, including
frontispiece and vignette, and we can now see our way out of the
wood. I can bear the irritation of delay (from which I have
suffered so much that I attribute my present illness in part to it)
no longer ; consider, not a real fortnight's work has been done
towards the whole for the last four months. Years must roll on
to produce the twenty-six prints, and all this time I shall not sell
a copy. Remember, dear Lucas, I mean not, nor think one reflec
tion on you. Everything, with the plan, is my own, and I want
to relieve my mind of that which harasses it like a disease. Do
not for a raoraent think I blame you, or that I do not sympathise
with you in those lamentable causes of hinderance which have
afflicted your home. Pray let me see you soon. I am not wholly
unable to work, thank God ! I hope poor Mrs. Lucas is better,
Dr, Davis has been to see me and my poor boy John, who is very

236 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XII.
ill. Mr. Drew gives me pills, so that both their medicines (which
I take together) may get me well in double quick tirae."
" March 2ird.
" Dear Lucas, — Let rae know when I shall see you. I am
very anxious that you should call, as I am sadly lonely, and do
not get well ; but I am very much better. I have formed the wish
to add a windraill to the set, leaving the title and vignette distinct,
and to be given in, which will look handsorae. I have made a
drawing of the title for you to see, and I wish you to choose the
windraill. I have raade a great impression on my large canvas.
. . . Beechey was here yesterday, and said, ' Why, d  n it.
Constable, what a d  d fine picture you are making ; but you
look d  d ill, and you have got a d  d bad cold ! ' so that
you have evidence on oath of my being about a fine picture, and
that I am looking ill. I hope Mrs. Lucas is better, and yourself
well." With the large picture of " Salisbury Cathedral frora the
Meadows," the one spoken of in the last note, and which will often
again be mentioned. Constable exhibited at the Academy this
season a smaller one of " Yarmouth Pier," and when the anxiety
of preparing for the exhibition was over, his health improved.
British art, which had so recently sustained great losses by the
deaths of Owen and Lawrence, now again suffered heavily by the
death of Jackson, who had stood with them, and occasionally,
perhaps, before either of them, in the first rank of portraiture.*
* His portrait of Canova, painted for Chantrey, and the one of Northcote, painted
for the Earl of Carlisle, will, I think, bear me out in saying this. As a colourist,
Lawrence certainly never approached him.

1831.] DEATH OF JACKSON. 237
He had lingered for some time in a decline, and, as his residence
was near mine. Constable heard of his death from me.
" June 2nd.
" Dear Leslie, — Your note this morning first inforraed rae of
the departure of poor dear Jackson. One is so apt to believe that
all things which give us pleasure are always to continue, that
when these sad events do come, and come they must, we are the
more appalled and afflicted. It seeras impossible that we are to
see that dear fellow no raore. He is a great loss to the Academy
and to the public. By his friends he will be for ever missed, and
he had no enemy. He did a great deal of good, much more, I
believe, than is generally known, and he never did harm to any
creature living. My sincere belief is that he is at this moment
in Heaven. " The papers still abuse the exhibition and the painters. A
book, ' The Library of the Fine Arts,' has been just left here, in
which they speak very properly of your pictures, and perhaps
fairly of my ' Chaos,' as they term the Salisbury ; they say, after
much abuse, ' It is still a picture from which it is impossible to
turn without admiration.'
" I shall hope to see you very soon, but Hampstead breaks me
up. I will, if I can, walk round to-morrow ; I want to see Lord
Grosvenor' s Gallery by you. I must say I like to see my friends
in difificulties ; no good comes without thera ; but I can hardly
understand what yours can be. I cannot beheve your patron
and you have chosen a canvas sufficiently large to do you justice,
but I will not pre-judge. I hear a good account of Fisher ; he
is preaching at Salisbury."

2 38 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XII.
" July Sth.
" My dear Leslie, — I returned from Sufifolk yesterday to
attend the Council. I left my little girls with my family there,
very happy and ' corafordil.' Nothing can exceed the beauty of
the country ; it raakes pictures appear sad trumpery, even those
that have most of nature ; what must those be that have it not ? "
The following letter is addressed, not to the erainent Acade
raician, but to another gentleman of the name of Ward, who was
at that time practising portrait painting in London : —
"Charlotte St're^t, July 22nd.
" Dear Ward, — Our mutual loss in poor Northcote makes
one cling to what is left, and I now raore than ever value the
stores you possess of his delightful conversation. Do you (as I
trust you do) ever raean to give them to the world ? they contain
a mass of information, especially on the art. I do think in that
respect they are above all things calculated to be useful in guiding
students in the right way of thinking and regulating their lives
and habits. Let rae have the pleasure of seeing you soon.
" I am, dear Ward, always sincerely yours,
"John Constable."
I had asked Constable to look at a copy of a Watteau, " The
Ball," frora the Dulwich Gallery, on which I was then engaged at
the Acaderay ; and to this his next notes alludes.
"Dear Leslie,' — I raissed you on the day we should have
met at the School of Painting by about half-an-hour. Your
Watteau looked colder than the original, which seemed as if
painted in honey — so mellow, so tender, so soft, and so delicious ;

1831.] A HAUNCH OF VENISON. — WATTEAU.— GREUZE.

239

SO I trust yours will be ; but be satisfied if you touch but the hem
of his garment, for this inscrutable and exquisite thing would
vulgarize even Rubens and Paul Veronese. ... My dear little
girls are beautifully bronzed ; they have had a happy visit. We
are all here. Come to us to-morrow evening," " August.
" My dear Leslie, — . . . Lady Dysart has sent me half
a buck ; and I hope to see the President and Howard and
Mr. Bannister to partake of it about the middle of next week ;
will you come ? One thing I much want your help in ; a request
is made to me by a lady (a relation) to make a copy of Mr. Wells's
picture of 'The Girl and Pigeon,' by Greuze. This friend of
mine had a dear little daughter taken from her ; she pines for
her child. The picture is the exact image of the soft, lovely girl,
of whom she is bereft without any memorial. Give me your
advice how to act. I called on Landseer, who is now, I find, on
a visit to Mr. Wells, and might possibly aid me. Could the pic
ture be left with me after the close of the Gallery ; I would copy
it, and ensure its .safety. ... I looked into the National
Gallery yesterday. Carr's Rembrandts are fine, and the large
Gaspar magnificent ; indeed, nowhere does landscape stand
higher than under that roof. . , ." " August 22nd.
" My dear Leslie, — On Thursday next, at six o'clock, they
tell me Lady Dysart's haunch will be in perfection ; at all events,
it will be on my table at that hour. It is, indeed, very kind of
you to name my gallery to  . But should your endeavours
draw him into it, can you give him understanding ? ' One man

240 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XII.
may lead a horse to the pond, etc' I should be delighted, how
ever, to have him in my room, as it would be nuts to me to
see him so puzzled. Lord N  is a better creature, but
he esteems * our own Glover ' too much to like our disowned
Constable. One picture he had of Glover, the foreground of
which consisted of one hundred flower-pots all in a row, as thus "
(here a sketch) ; " the sun was shining bright, but they cast no
shadow. " Varley, the astrologer, has just called on me, and I have
bought a little drawing of him. He told rae how to ' do land
scape,' and was so kind as to point out all my defects. The price
of the drawing was ' a guinea and a-half to a gentleman, and a
guinea only to an artist: but I insisted on his taking the larger
sura, as he had clearly proved to me that I was no artist."
" September gth.
" My dear Leslie, — My servant told you of my being at the
Coronation. I was in the Abbey eleven hours, and saw with my
own eyes the crown of England put on the head of that good
man, William IV. ; and that, too, in the chair of a saint ! I saw
also the gentle Adelaide crowned, and I trust what may now be
called the better half of England's crown has sought its own
wearer in this instance. I saw also Brougham with his crown on,
a sight than which nothing could be more ridiculous, for, as his
coronet was perched on the top of an enormous wig, he bore the
external shape of a Jack-in-the-Green as he stood with his back
towards me for a full hour." (Here the writing is interrupted by
a sketch.) " I sat so that I coraraanded a view of all the peers
placed in raised ranks in the south transept. The moment the

i83i.] A HAONTED CHAMBER. 241
King's crown was on, they all crowned themselves. At the same
instant the shouts of ' God save the King,' the trumpets, the band,
the drums of the soldiers in the nave, and last, though not least,
the artillery, which could be distinguished araid all this din, and
the jar even felt raade it eminently imposing. The white ermine
of the peers looked lovely in the sun ; I shall sketch some of the
effects ; the tone of the walls was sublime, heightened, no doubt,
by the trappings, like an old picture in a newly-gilt frarae."
" September 12 th.
" My dear Leslie, — Accept my third nuraber with my best
regards. I hope Mrs. Leslie was not the worse for her visitors
yesterday. Her dear infant has never been a moment from my
sight since I left you ; they were happy days with rae when I had
infants. Will you come any day when we can look at the Old
Masters in Pall Mall together ? I sleep in town to-night. I am
glad I saw the show in the Abbey ; it was very delightful, and I
can now say I have seen a coronation. Everybody seemed
amused with Brougham ; the annoyance to him must have been
great."
" September 26th.
" My dear Leslie, — I have been passing a day or two with
Digby Neave, at Epsom. I slept on Friday night in the room
in which Lord Lyttelton saw the ghost.* But I neither saw nor
heard anything of the lady or the bird. It is a beautiful and
* Thomas, the second Lord L3^telton, had great parts and ambitions. He had
all his father's foibles, but without his sound principles of religion and morality, for
want of which he fell into great enormities and vices. His pleasures were restrained
by no ties of relationship, friendship, or decency. He was a great lover of gaming ;
in his younger years he was unsuccessful, but he afterwards became more artful, and
at his death he was supposed to have acquired thirty thousand pounds by play. His
constitution was feeble, and by his vices so enervated, that he died an old man at the
I I

H* THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XIL
romantic old house ; deeply fixed in trees and dells, and filled
with marble statues, dolphins, cupids, &c. . . . This mom
ing I have seen  's studies in Italy and Greece, temples,
trees, statues, waterfalls, figures, &c., &c. ; excellent of their
kind, and done wholly for the understanding ; bald and naked —
nature divested of her chiaroscuro, which she never is under
any circumstances, for we never see her but through a medium.
Yet these things have wonderful merit, and so has watch-making:*
One of Constable's sketch-books contains a beautiful drawing
in water-colours of the house, formerly Lord Lyttelton's, now
belonging to Digby Neave, Esq. The view is taken from the
lawn, which is decorated with statues, urns, &c.
Araong the engravings made for the " English Landscape "
which Constable afterwards rejected, when he came to arrange
them with the others, was a very powerful one, a View on the
Orwell, with two vessels hauled up on the beach, and of this
plate the next note speaks.
age of thirty-five. He was, like his father, a believer in ghosts, and many stories are
told, with considerable confidence, which have relation to his death. About three
days before he died, a female figure with a bird on her hand appeared to him, as he
imagiiied, and told him he should die in three days. The day of this supposed
appearance he went to the House of Lords, and spoke with great earnestness on some
business then in agitation. The next day he went to a villa he had at Epsom,
apparently as well as he had been for some time before. The succeeding day he
continued there, and was in as good health and spirits as usual, though the apparition
still hung upon his mind. He spent the evening in company with the Miss Amphletts,
Admiral Wolesely, Earl Fortescue, and some other persons ; he seemed perfectly well,
and, pulling out his watch, said jocularly it was ten o'clock, and if he lived two hours
he should /ociffjy the ghost. In about an hour he retired to his chamber, and ordered
his valet to bring his powder of rhubarb, which he frequently took at night. His
servant brought it, and, forgetting to bring a spoon, was going to stir it with a key,
upon which his lordship called him a dirty fellow and bid him fetch a spoon.
Accordingly he went, and, retuming in a few minutes, found his lord in the agonies of
death." — Supplemejit to Nash's "History of TVorcestershire."

1 83 1.] OLD SARUM.

243

" September 2'jth.
" Dear Lucas, — I fear that we must now engrave the
' Waterloo.' The ships are too common-place and vulgar, and
will never unite with the general character of the book. Though
I want variety, I don't want a hotch-potch. We must not have
one uncongenial subject ; if we have it, it cannot fail to tinge
the whole book."
In another note he says :
" Dear Lucas, — ^You will be surprised and pleased with the
touch proofs ; they quite tempt one to proceed, so clever and
artful is the devil ! ' '
Constable was now beginning to feel symptoms of what soon
proved a very serious illness ; and in a note to Mr. Lucas, dated
October 27th, he writes : "I think myself better, but don't
much care; it gives me an excuse to be idle. Keep the new
' Old Sarum ' clear, bright, and sharp, but don't lose solemnity."
A city turned into a landscape, independently of the historical
associations with Old Sarum, could not but be interesting to
Constable; and not satisfied with Mr. Lucas's first engraving of
it, in which its mounds and terraces were not marked with
sufficient precision, he incurred the expense of a second plate.
Sir Thomas Lawrence, who had seen the first, greatly admired
the treatment of this subject, and told Constable he ought to
dedicate it to the House of Comraons.
The plate of " Old Sarum " was accompanied with letter
press, of which the following are passages : " This subject,
which seeras to embody the words of the poet, 'Paint me a
desolation,' is one with which the grander phenomena of nature

244 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XII.
best accord. Sudden and abrupt appearances of light — thunder
clouds — wild autumnal evenings — soleran and shadowy twilights,
* flinging half an iraage on the straining sight ' — with variously
tinted clouds, dark, cold and grey — or ruddy and bright — even
conflicts of the eleraents heighten, if possible, the sentiment
which belongs to it.
" The present appearance of Old Sarum, wild, desolate,
and dreary, contrasts strongly with its former splendour. This
celebrated city, which once gave laws to the whole kingdom, and
where the earliest parliaments on record were convened, can only
now be traced by vast embankments and ditches, tracked only by
sheep-walks. ' The plough has passed over it.' In this city the
wily Conqueror, in 1086, confirmed that great political event, the
establishraent of the feudal systera, and enjoined the allegiance of
the nobles. Several succeeding monarchs held their courts here,
and it too often screened thera after their depredations on the
people. In the days of chivalry it poured forth its Longspees and
other valiant knights over Palestine. It was the seat of the
ecclesiastical government, when the pious Osmond and the
succeeding bishops diffused the blessings of religion over the
western kingdom ; thus it becarae the chief resort of ecclesiastics
and warriors, till their feuds and mutual animosities, caused by
the insults of the soldiery, at length occasioned the separation of
the clergy and the removal of the cathedral frora within its walls,
which took place in 1227. Many of the raost pious and peaceable
of the inhabitants followed it, and in less than half-a-century
after the corapletion of the new church the building of the bridge
over the river at Harnhara diverted the great western road, and
turned it through the new city. This last step was the cause of the

1831] OLD SARUM.— THE REFORM BILL. 245
desertion and gradual decay of Old Sarum. The site now only
remains of this castle, with its lofty and embattled towers, whose
churches, with every vestige of human habitation, have long since
passed away. The beautiful imagination of the poet Thomson,
when he raakes a spot like this the haunt of a shepherd with his
flock, happily contrasts the playfulness of peaceful innocence with
the horrors of war and bloodshed, of which it was so often the
scene : ' Lead me to the mountain's brow,
Where sits the shepherd on the grassy turf.
Inhaling healthful the descending sun.
Around him feeds his many bleating flock
Of various cadence ; and his sportive lambs,
This way and that convolved, in friskful glee
Their firolics play. And now the sprightly race
Invites them forth ; when swift the signal giv'n
They start away, and sweep the massy mound
That runs around the hill, the rampart once
Of iron war.' "
In a note to Mr. Benjamin Dawson, of Hampstead, Constable,
speaking of Old Sarum, says : " Who can visit such a solemn
spot, once the raost powerful city of the West, and not feel the
truth and awfulness of the words of St Paul : ' Here we have no
continuing city ! ' "
Towards the end of October, Constable becarae very unwell,
and was greatly depressed in spirits. I had called on hira, and
found hira in a state of raind which magnified every anticipation
of evil. The Reform fever was then at its crisis, and he talked
rauch of all that was to be feared frora the measure. I endea
voured to quiet his mind, but fearing that I had done hira raore
harm than good by prolonging the conversation, I wrote to him
a day or two afterwards —

246 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XII.
" My dear Constable, — I have heard of you twice since I
saw you ; once from Lucas, and once from Vaughan, and I now
want to hear that you were not the worse for attending the
Council. I came away from you with the uncomfortable feeling
that I had excited you to talk too much, and on an irritating
subject. I have not a doubt but that at the present time, as it
always has been when parties have run high, the evils on both
sides are tremendously exaggerated, and I trust you will soon
find your fears about the security of the funds to be groundless.
... It is grievous to rae to think that a raind like yours may be
harassing itself with useless apprehensions of the future, to no
other end than that of impairing your health, which is of the
greatest consequence to yourself, your children, and your friends.
There is no evil more certain than the dread of uncertain ones.
Don't trouble yourself by writing to me unless, as I sincerely
hope, you are a great deal better; but send me word that you
did not suffer by going to the Academy."
" Dear Leslie, — Greatly do I lament going to the Academy.
I am much worse than when you and Mrs. Leslie were here. The
truth is I have long been getting ill, and it will surprise you to
hear that I have always had the worst tongue possible. The
mischief that has been so long hatching has at length come to
a head. Evans tells me I must take great care of my health
for my children's sake; I much doubt if my life is of any use to
them, but I love thera and they love rae, so the parting, at least,
will be sad. . . What makes rae dread this tremendous attack on
the constitution of the country is, that the wisest and best of the
Lords are seriously and firmly objecting to it ; and it goes to give

1831.] THE REFORM BILL.— THE DUKEOF WELLINGTON, ETC. ^i,-j
the government into the hands of the rabble and dregs of the
people, and the devil's agents on earth — the agitators. Do you
think that the Duke of Wellington, the Archbishop of Canterbury,
and Copley, and Eldon, and Abbot, and all the wisest and best
men we have, would oppose it, if it was to do good to the country?
I do not. No Whig government ever can do good to this peculiar
country." " Charlotte Street, November /^th.
" My dear Leslie, — I know not how enough to thank you
and dear Mrs. Leslie for the kind interest you both take in me.
I ara now, perhaps, quite well, and I can give you no greater
proof of it than by telling you that the Reform Bill now gives
me not the least concern. I care nothing about it, and have no
curiosity to know whether it be dead or alive ; or, if dead, whether
it will revive from its ashes. I hope to pass a quiet and
domestic winter. My illness was much increased by fretting and
pining for my children, of whom I saw little or nothing. I shall
now call Hampstead my home, Charlotte Street my office. Only
think— I had the children here only three or four months all
last year, and then took them to Hampstead looking like par
boiled rabbits. I have begun the copy of Mr, Wells's picture."
" November 26th.
" My dear Leslie, — I am sending to poor Lucas, fearing
he must be ill, as I have not heard of him so long. ... I
shall bring my children to Chariotte Street at Christmas, where I
shall have a pleasant party, and I hope often to see you and
Mrs. Leslie. I was delighted to have Edwin Landseer on Sunday

24" THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XII.
at my retreat ; besides, he fell in love with my eldest daughter,
and I could not say nay ; it was to paint her."
"Well Walk, December i^th.
" My dear Leslie, — I cannot let Lucas depart without a
wretched line or two to you. I have not been in London since
we parted last at the Academy. My sad illness has a good deal
returned, and the worst is, it is accompanied by an attack of acute
rheumatism which has quite disabled me. Thank God, this right
hand is left rae entire ; rerainding rae, if I could ever forget it, of
your dear child's surprise at 'the poor gentleraan who was all
shot away but his hand ' ; * but ray left side and arra prevented
ray working, by pain and helplessness. Fourteen leeches, how
ever, on that shoulder dislodged part of the enemy, but only that
he should raake a lodgment in my knee, and now I can't stand ;
but I am so much better in general health that I bear it with a
tolerable gr^,Q.e, for me:'
" Charlotte Street, Tuesday, December 28th.
" My dear Leslie,— .... I have parted with my dear
little Maria for a week on a visit to Putney, a great sacrifice on my
part ; I miss her exceedingly ; she is so orderly in all her plans,
and so full of method— so ladylike by nature, and so firm and yet
so gentle that you cannot believe the influence this heavenly
little raonitor has on this whole house, but raost of all on me, who
watch all her dear ways with mingled smiles and tears. This
calls to my recollection two Hnes of an epitaph in a country
churchyard, written by a gentleman on his wife :—
* On seeing an engraving of an antique fragment.

'831-1 MARIA CONSTABLE. 149
' The voice of all who knew her this confest.
But chief the voice of him who knew her best.'
Should I live, and this dear image of her mother be spared to me,
what a blessing and corafort to my old age ; I have, indeed, much
to be thankful for. ... I must put Mrs. Leslie's name to this
paper, or how can I convey to you and her my sincere good
wishes for the season ? I hope you and she may be happy for
many, many Christmases. For rayself, I am always happy if my
children are well, which, thank God, is the case now."
''December 2gth.
" I shall try all I can to get well, and come to you on Monday
with my two little girls, who I am sure will be much delighted.
But I am still a poor devil ; however, to-day I have been paint
ing, and to-morrow I hope to get the Greuze finished. My
pretty Minna dressed up my raantelpiece with Christmas boughs,
and set out a little table in the dining-room that I might look
pretty in her absence, which I scrupulously forbid to be dis
turbed,"

K K

CHAPTER XIII.
1832.
Illness.— Picture of Waterloo Bridge.— The Palette Knife.— Exhibition, i S3 2. —Death
of Archdeacon Fisher — and of John Dunthorne. — E. Landseer.
" Hampstead, January, 1832.
" My dear Leslie, — We intend reaching Charlotte Street,
pack and package, with my seven children, about Thursday. I
am not certain, however, of myself, for Evans says I raay not be
fit for removal by that time. He is a skilful and honest doctor, a
very sensible man with great acquirements, and a raost sincere
friend, so that I have raany blessings yet. I am not sorry to have
missed the visitorship in the Life this year, and next year I shall
be ineligible ; my youth being gone, I can hardly stand the fags I
lay on myself I hope all is well with you."
The painful illness from which Constable had lately suffered so
severely had not yet left him, I had written from Petworth
describing some of the pictures there, and received the following
letter, dictated by him, for he was disabled by rheumatisra in his
hand from holding a pen.
" From my bed, Charlotte Street, January i/\.th.
" My dear Leslie, — Accept my thanks for your kind letter. I
rejoice to hear that you and Mrs. Leslie and the dear children got
through your journey so comfortably. For myself, I have had

1832.] TURNER.— CLAUDE.— HOBBEMA. 251
rather a severe relapse, but I passed last night almost wholly free
from pain — the first, I believe, for these three weeks. I had great
pleasure in seeing my brother, by whom I was much excited on
family matters, he entering with great cordiality into all my wishes
regarding my children. The exertion was, no doubt, too great for
me, but Evans assured me last night he had not seen me so well.
I am much interested with your account of the pictures at Petworth.
I remember most of Turner's early works, amongst them was one
of singular intricacy and beauty ; it was a canal, with numerous
boats making thousands of beautiful shapes, and I think the most
complete work of genius I ever saw. The Claude I well know,
grand and solemn, but cold, dull, and heavy — a picture of his old
age, Claude's exhilaration and light departed from him when he
was between fifty and sixty, and he then became a professor of the
' higher walks of art,' and fell in a great degree into the manner
of the painters around him — so difificult to be natural, so easy to be
superior in our own opinion. When we have the pleasure of being
together at the National Gallery, 1 think I shall not find it difificult
to illuitrate these remarks, as Carr has sent a large picture* of the
latter description. Hobbema, if he misses colour, is very disagree
able, as he has neither shapes nor composition,
" Your mention of a solemn twilight by Gainsborough has
awakened all my sympathy ; do pray make me a sketch of it, of
sorae kind or other, if it is only a slight splash,
"As to meeting you in these grand scenes, dear Leslie,
remember the Great were not made for me, nor I for the Great ;
things are better as they are. My limited and abstracted art is to
• The subject of this picture, which is called " Siuon before Priam," is evidently
David at the cave of Adullam.

2S2 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE- Chap, XIIL
be found under every hedge and in every lane, and, therefore,
nobody thinks it worth picking up ; but I have my admirers, each
of whom I consider an host. My kindest regards to Mrs. Leslie."
" My dear Leslie,— After three weeks' inability to hold my
pen, I resume it for the first time to write to you  So
far had I written when your letter arrived, I am now recovering,
I may say fast, and am beyond the fear of relapses ; but certainly,
as you say, ' excitement under illness is a rauch worse thing than is
generally iraagined,' I sat up yesterday, dressed, by the fire, and
ate a sraall fish for ray dinner, to the great delight of Alfred, who
would dine with me, as he it was, he said (and truly), ' who nursed
me so well.' How heavenly it is to wake, as I do now, after a
good night, and see all these dear infants about my bed, all up
early to know how papa passed the night. Even little Lionel puts
out his little face to be kissed, and smacking his lips, says : ' Are
you well, better to-day ? ' I am often inquired after by kind
friends, and the sympathy of my real, own, and dear friends is
great indeed. I have got my ' Church ' from Harapstead, to hang
at the foot of my bed to amuse me.
" How kind of you to think of the * Gainsborough. The fLord
Rodney I remember at Mr. Bigg's, who did it up very well, and
of whom Lord Egremont bought it. Bigg had it to sell for a
gentleman ; he showed it to Lord Egremont, who seemed hardly
to notice it, but on going away he suddenly turned round at the
door and said, ' You may send me the admiral.' I knew the
grandson of Lord Rodney, who was enough like the picture to have
sat for it. * Of which 1 was making a sketch for him .
+ By .Sir Joshua Reynolds ; one of his finest pictures.

'^32] EDWARD IRVING.— STANFIELD.

253

"I had a terrific visit from K. Fisher on Sunday morning.
He was brushed up and ' bearded like the pard,' and going to
hear Irving, who, he said, was the only man to preach the Bible,
explain the prophecies, &c, I cautioned him against enthusiasm in
religion, which, as it has no foundation, is apt to slip frora under
a man, and leave infidelity or madness ; but I talked to a tree.
However, touching his picture of ' Circe ' told better, and he went
away with a ghastly smile, neariy crushing my hand in that grasp
of his. This visit really did excite me, and I fell into a passion,
which did me good. , . , P  has just been here, accom
panied by Newton's dog, who has presented me with two fleas, lest
I should now sleep, God bless you all, Alfred close at my elbow.
. , , , Jones likes my preface. ... I have seen Stan
field, and am much struck with him altogether as a sound fellow ;
he has great power.'' " March ird.
" My dear Leslie, — Many thanks for your visit yesterday. 1
have got my large ' Waterloo ' beautifully strained on a new frame,
keeping every inch of canvas. It gives me much pleasure in the
present occupation, but how long that will last I know not. Arch
deacon Fisher used to compare himself in some situations to a
lobster in the boiler, very comfortable at first, but as the water
became hotter and hotter, grievously perplexed at the bottom.
P  called yesterday.* I joked with him at first on the folly
of fighting with windmills, but he is quite confirmed in the boundless
notions he entertains on the wrong side of everything. My best
* A friend of Constable's and of mine, whose good heart and strong understanding
should have kept him aloof from that class of politicians who would overturn the
established institutions of the country.

2H THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XIIL
regards ; I shall soon corae and see you, I am quite tired and out
of patience at being so long ill and disabled." " March /[th.
"My dear Leslie, — I have not the power to come so far as
your house, but I want much to see you, and to thank Mrs, Leslie for
her very kind note of yesterday, of which Alfred has taken possession
for his ' real own,' as he says it was intendedfor him, for he is men
tioned in it, Mrs, Leslie was so good as to speak of me in the
usual kind way in which you are both pleased to consider me, to
Mr, Lawley* who called yesterday afternoon, and nothing could
be more agreeable than we both were to one another ; he admiring
my pictures, and I admiring him for doing so ; but he has not
admired only, he has taken a great fancy to my ' Heath,' and to
my book, which is now assuming a tangible shape. , . , He
desired the India copies of my book to be put up for him, and he
will send one of his ' lazy fellows ' for them on Monday morning ;
all this is very delightful to rae. He was much pleased with my
Harlequin' s Jacket, '\ and said he should often call and and see it,
* Afterward Sir Francis Lawley.
+ In his autobiography my father relates how this picture was placed in the Royal
Academy next a sea-piece by Turner — a grey picture with no positive colour in it.
Constable's "Waterloo" seemed as if painted with liquid gold and silver, and
Turner came several times into the room while he was brightening with vermilion and
lake the decorations and flags ofthe city barges. Turner stood behind, looking from
the " Waterloo " to his own picture, and at last brought his palette from the great room
where he was touching another picture, and putting a round daub of red-lead some
what bigger than a shilling on his grey sea, went away without saying a word. The
intensity ofthe red-lead, made more vivid by the coolness ofhis picture, caused even
the vermilion and lake of Constable to look weak. I came into the room just as Turner
left it. " He has been here," said Constable, " and fired a gun." On the opposite
wall was a picture by Jones, of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego in the furnace.
"A coal," said Cooper, "has bounced across the room from Jones's picture, and set
fire to Turner's sea." The great man did not come again into the room for a day and
a-half ; and then, in the last moments allowed for painting, he glazed the scarlet seal
on his picture, and bhaped it into a buoy.

1832.] ALFRED CHALON— CALLCOTT. 155
for it was ' a most amusing picture, the houses, the bridge, St,
Paul's, the numberless boats, &c, I wish I could get to your house,
but my knee is so bad I could not walk to the top of my own
street." In a note to Mrs, Leslie, dated March 28th, Constable, speaking
of Alfred Chalon's very fine water-colour drawing, the whole length
portrait of Mrs, La Touche, says : " Has Leslie seen Chalon's old
lady in black ? it is the grandest ' II Penseroso ' ever done in the
world,"
" April gth.
" My dear Leslie, — I hope you get on with your picture to
your liking ; I am in a dreadful state about mine, for I am deter
mined to send it, I should like much to see yours, but that has
not been possible, as you will do me the justice to believe. I met
Callcott at dinner the other day, he said he regretted much that
you had determined not to send the ' Sterne ' ; I regret it also. He
said it ' was quite fit, and very fit for the exhibition ' ; I think so too.
At all events, I thought you might like to hear his opinion, and I
assure you it was the only one in which we did agree during the
evening. He thinks I do not believe what I say, and only want to
attract attention by singularity ; but my pictures being my acts,
show to my cost that I am sincere, for —
' He who hang.s, or beats his brains,
The devil's in him if he feigns.'
But he is on the safe side. , , , My boys are all here. I saw
my little girls on Sunday all well, so the world is light as a feather
to me."

2s6 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XIII.
" Charlotte Street, April 24M.
My dear Leslie,— All my little giris are here. Can Mrs.
Leslie and your sister and yourself come and pass an hour with us
on Thursday, at seven or so? On Wednesday, the levee, which they
are to view from a window in St. James's Street. If they see only
the soldiers they are worth the seeing, and ' little things are great
to little rainds.' I have never been raore restless about a picture
than with the premature dismissal of this, and it has not even
my redeeming quality— the rural,"
Two opposite modes of proceeding are adopted by painters in
the execution of their works. With some it is the practice to
finish part by part as the picture proceeds, so that while it is in
progress portions entirely, or very nearly, corapleted are seen on a
canvas, the remainder of which is blank. Other artists carry on
the whole together ; beginning with a faint dead colour, in which
the raasses only are laid in, and proceeding with the details
gradually, and without suffering one part to advance rauch beyond
the rest, until the whole is finished. The first mode is the most
favourable to precision of touch, the last to richness of surface and
truth of tone. I need not say this was the mode adopted by
Constable. Indeed, in landscape it seems impossible that those
almost inperceptible gradations of colour and light and shadow,
which form so much of its charm, should be obtained by any other
process. It has, however, the disadvantage of tempting the artist
at times to sacrifice parts too much to the general efifect. With
Constable, chiaroscuro was the one thing to be obtained at whatever
cost. " I was always determined," he said, " that my pictures
should have chiaroscuro, if they had nothing else." In the pursuit

1832.] CHIAROSCURO.— THE " WATERLOO BRIDGE'.' 257
of this indispensable quality, and of that brightness in nature which
baffles all the ordinary processes of painting, and which it is hardly
possible to unite with smoothness of surface, he was led by degrees
into a peculiar mode of execution, which too much offended those
who were unable to see the look of nature it gave at the proper
distance. In the " Waterloo Bridge " he had indulged in the
vagaries of the palette knife (which he used with great dexterity)
to an excess. The subject challenged a comparison with Canaletti,
the precision of whose execution is wonderful, and the comparison
was made to Constable's great disadvantage ; even his friend, Mr.
Stothard, shook his head and said, "Very unfinished, sir," and the
picture was generally pronounced a failure. It was a glorious
failure, however, I have seen it often since it was exhibited, and I
will venture to say that the noonday splendour of its colour would
make almost any work of Canaletti, if placed beside it, look like
moonlight. But such pictures ought not to be compared, each has
its own excellence ; and nothing can be more true than Constable's
remark, that " fine pictures neither want nor will bear comparison:' *
It might be at this time that he wrote what I found on a scrap of
paper among his memoranda : " My art flatters nobody by imitation,
it courts nobody by smoothness, it tickles nobody by petiteness, it is
without either fal-de-lal or fiddle-de-dee ; how then can I hope to
be popular ? "
With the "Waterloo Bridge" Constable exhibited a very small
picture of" Sir Richard Steele's Cottage, Hampstead" ; with two
others, " A Romantic House, Hampstead," and "Moonlight," and
four drawings, araong which was the " Jaques and the Wounded
Stag." • See Chapter XV,
L L

258 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XIII.
When the following note was written, every thought of art was
banished from Constable's mind by the sudden illness of his eldest
daughter with scarlet fever. "Charlotte Street, June 22nd.
" My dear Leslie, — Thank you for your kind note. I knew
you would be anxious, and I regret to say this note of raine will
not allay your anxiety. My dear child is alarmingly ill ; her pulse
to-day is at a hundred and fifty. My hope is this may be the worst
day, so Evans hopes also. Mr. Haines says her throat is not worse
to-day than yesterday, but God only knows how it will terrainate.
I have, as you and Mrs. Leslie know, looked to this sweet infant as
the hope and comfort of my old age ; but hope is futile, and on
what joy can we reckon on this side the grave ? . . . I am also
very anxious about the two other little dears, who must remain at
school, it being not advisable to have them home or even away.
All our endeavour is to keep this most cruel disorder out of the way
of my boys. How providential it was that she was not already at
home ; she is managed far better where she is, but it is a case of
hard necessity, and poor Roberts* is crying all day at not being
able to administer to the dear darling child's comfort. Poor John
Dunthorne f is getting daily, nay hourly, worse ; he cannot long
remain to me, I do not contemplate a happy old age, even if I
should attain to it." " June 24/A.
" My dear Leslie, — I send you a packet which I had made up
last night for Lucas to take to you, but he did not come. I think
* Her nurse.
+ Constable's young friend had been for some time suffering from a disease of the
heart.

1832.] PICTURE OF " THE CORN FIELD."

259

I have rather a better account to send you of my little girl ; it is
not impossible, but the worst is past. To-day her pulse is
lessened and her throat better, but she is in a fearful state. It is
cruel I cannot see her, and it is hard for the other little girls that
they cannot come home ; but little Emily told Miss Noble that it
was not ' near so disagreeable and nasty to stay the holidays as she
expected,' , , . " " June 25th.
" Dear Lucas, — I send you the picture with my best hopes
and wishes, and which, I assure you, are not slight nor disin
terested ; but I am more anxious for your sake than my own ;
anxious that your enthusiasm may not be thrown away nor prove
unpropitious. My dear little girl is better, God be praised ! and
with His blessing she may recover. She got some sweet sleep
yesterday, but otherwise it was my most anxious day, though the
fever was greatest (pulse one hundred and fifty) on Friday. I am
full of anxiety about the other two little dears, who of necessity
must be left at the school, but apart from her."
The picture mentioned in this note was " The Corn Field,"
now in the National Gallery, which Mr, Lucas undertook to en
grave at his own risk; the plate was afterwards purchased and
published with its companion, " The Lock," by Mr, Moon,
I received the following letter at Brighton : — " July 6th.
" My dear Leslie, — I was rauch delighted with your letter
this morning, and lose no time in replying to it. My dear child,
thank God, is wonderfully recovered ; I can take her away safely to
herself, though not to others, next week. Which to do, I know

26o THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap XIII.
not — take her to Brighton or Sufifolk. I fear raost for my boys.
Poor dear John Dunthorne is very rauch worse ; he had several
doctors with hira yesterday, who have relieved hira a little, but this
state of things cannot last long. It makes me sadly melancholy.
I shall lose a sincere friend, whose attachment to me has been like
that of a son, from his infancy. He is without fault, and so much
the fitter for Heaven, I wake in the night about him. . . .
Pray make my kindest regards to Mrs. Leslie, and God bless the
dear children ! I trust you have not thrown the lovely baby into
the sea; it has been the ruin of thousands of young infants. . .
Some noble pictures at the Gallery, along with a good deal of
rubbish.'' " July gth.
" My dear Leslie, — Our meeting at the Academy was to
address the King on his 'happy and providential escape,'* The
plan of a new house is quite flourishing, and at present there is no
obstacle save what may be apprehended from the Commons House,
it being possible it may be filled with common minds. K, Fisher
was with me when your letter was put into my hands. He seemed
amused at your mode of life ; he, chivalrous man, goes on
' Scorning delights, living laborious days,'
and so far he realises the poet's words, in that he finds ' no guerdon.'
He is an excellent fellow. His drawings are now before me, and
he certainly sees and feels the grandeur of the great painters in the
Gallery, I have presented him with a set of proofs of my work,
I shall send my little girl to Brighton as soon as she is able to be
removed. Miss Noble will go with her and take charge of her, in
* A stone had been thrown at the King, at Epsom.

1832,] DEATH OF ARCHDEACON FISHER. 261
a postchaise, as I should not like any other dear child who might
be in a stage-coach to take any harm. To-day I thought she
looked like herself ; this is only the second time of my seeing her.
The other little prisoners are as yet well, . . . Evans is to be
married on Saturday. No man deserves more happiness, and so
far as we short-sighted mortals can promise it to ourselves, he has
every prospect of it ; but as Archdeacon Fisher's father's coachman
told him, ' It is all a mystery, this same matrimony,' , , . Poor
dear John Dunthorne is so very ill that I do fear his time is now
short indeed. My visits to him are so raelancholy that I do not
get over them all day ; still he works a little, A nice friend and
relative is now staying with him, and this is a great comfort,"
While Constable's mind was agitated by the near prospect of
losing John Dunthorne, to whom he had been a useful patron,
having assisted to establish and to procure him employraent as a
picture cleaner, he heard of the death of that friend who had been
his own and only patron, when patronage was of the greatest im
portance to hira, " September \th.
"My dear Leslie, — You will be grieved to hear that I have
lost my dear friend. Archdeacon Fisher. He went with Mrs.
Fisher to Boulogne, hoping there to find some relief from a state
of long and severe suffering. He was benefited at first, began to
take an interest in what was about him, and poor dear Mrs, Fisher
was cheered with the prospect of his being speedily restored to
health and spirits, when on Friday, August 24th, he was seized
with violent spasms, and died on the afternoon of Saturday, the
25th. This sudden and awful event has strongly affected me. The

2 62 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XIII.
closest intimacy had subsisted between us for many years ; we loved
each other, and confided in each other entirely, and his loss makes
a sad gap in my worldly prospects. He would have helped my
children, for he was a good adviser, though impetuous, and he was
a truly religious man, I cannot tell you how singularly his death
has afifected me. I shall pass this week at Hampstead, to copy the
' Winter,' * for which, indeed, my mind is in a fit state. Evans
has returned with his nice bride,"
Hoping to amuse Constable, I had sent him a copy of a small
picture by De Hooge, of which a sunbeam, and that alone, may be
considered the subject; but it shines through a window on the
wall of a clean little Dutch room, from which it is reflected on the
return of the wall and other objects with extreme elegance, and a
degree of truth perfectly illusive, " September 22nd.
" My dear Leslie, — I came here last evening and saw the pic
tures, I am delighted with the copy of De Hooge. How com
pletely has he overcome the art, and trampled it under foot, yet
how full of art it is. No painter that ever lived could change a
single thing in it, either in place, or light, or dark, or colour, warm
or cold. Such things are, in short, quite above the art, and it is a
blessing they are done, I must take the De Hooge to Hamp
stead,'' " October 1st.
" Dear Lucas, — I have sad accounts indeed of poor John Dun
thorne from Suffolk, He is confined to his bed, and cannot write,"
" Dear Lucas, — I have added a Ruin to the little * Glebe
* By Ruysdael, belonging to Sir Robert Peel.

<
o

1832.] DEATH OF JOHN DUNTHORNE.

263

Farm,'* for not to have a symbol in the book of myself, and of the
work which I have projected, would be missing the opportunity.
The proof of the new ' Old Sarum ' looks well this morning, half-
past seven, October 2nd, — J. C." " November 6th.
"My dear Lucas, — I go to Suffolk on Thursday to attend
the last scene of poor John Dunthorne; but he 'fought a good
fight,' and I think must have left the world with as few regrets as
any man of his age I ever met with. . . . His fond father, who
has been here to-day, is gone back entirely broken-hearted ; he
was so proud of him, and well he might be. Do not cut the plate
of the new ' Old Sarum ' yet. I have touched another proof to-day,
and it looks so well I think you may like it, and perhaps adopt it.
I did it on seeing poor John Dunthorne's rainbow this morning.
. . . They like the Stonehenge. I mean Leslie and the gen
tleman who lectured on it, and tried to prove it antediluvian ; the
thing was ingenious."
" Well Walk, November i/[th.
" My dear Lucas,— I returned last night, after seeing the last
of poor John ; no one can supply his place with me. God's will be
done ! The text of the sermon of the Rev, D. C. Rowley for
poor John was from Isaiah, chap, iv., ver, 2 : ' In that day shall the
branch of the Lord bs beautiful and glorious, and the fruit of the
earth shall be excellent and comely for them that are escaped of
Israel,' . . . To-day is dear Alfred's f birthday, and they have
kept me a willing guest. ... An angry neighbour has killed
* This was a plate rejected by Constable, and which its general masses enabled
him to turn into a view of Castle Acre Priory. It was not published, though I believe
he intended it, with some other plates, to form an appendix to the book.
t Constable's third son, Alfred, who though he never took up art seriously, was very
fond of painting and etching. He was unfortunately drowned by the upsetting of a boat,

264 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XIII.
my fine black cat, who used to call me up in the raorning, but she
had been naughty and killed one of his ducks, . . , In the
coach yesterday, coming frora Sufifolk, were two gentlemen and
myself, all strangers to each other. In passing the vale of Ded
ham, one of thera remarked, on my saying it was beautiful, ' Yes,
sir, this is Constable's country.' I then told hira who I was, lest
he should spoil it,"
The lovely engraving in the English landscape called " Sura
raer Morning," is a view of Dedham Vale, very much as it is seen
from the high road. Its foreground and sky were greatly altered
by Constable while the plate was in progress. The plough, the
two cows, and the milkmaid, were introduced in the place of a
single figure of a man with a scythe on his shoulder.
" Well Walk, November 20th.
" My dear Leslie, — My man is going from here to Lucas,
and I avail myself of the opportunity to return the De Hooge,
which has afforded me much pleasure. These mutual communica
tions of study are a great help to the happiness of life, . . .
I shall send my god-daughter Bishop Horne's ' Serraon on a Kiss '
when she is a little bigger.* I was in Charlotte Street, fortunately,
in which he and his brother Lionel were crossing the Thames just above Goring Mill
weir. It was in November, 1853, on a dark, frosty evening, and, though able to swim,
he sank before reaching the river bank, overcome probably by cold and shock. His
brother Lionel narrowly escaped being carried over the weir, and, on looking round
after reaching shore, was horrified to find that Alfred, who was following him, and to
whom he had just before spoken, had disappeared. — Ed.
* In the following year he presented her with the first and best book ever written
expressly for children, ¦' Dr. Watts's Songs." It is illustrated by wood-cuts from
Stothard, and Constable not only coloured them very beautifully, but added some de
signs of his own : as a bird singing over its nest to the song against quarrelling, and
a bee settling on a rose to that of industry ; while over the lines beginning " Let dogs
delight to bark and bite," he wrote with a pencil, " For Landseer."

>s

^

' 'H

C3

S

1832.] NEWTON— JOHN CONSTABLE, JUN. 265
yesterday when Newton called with his wife, and was pleased to
see a lady so genteel and so amiable, and so free from affectation
or false pride. ... It is delightful to see Landseer' s unaffected
kindness to his sisters."
Constable's eldest son seemed now to have outgrown the
ailments that had caused so much anxiety to his parents, and in
a note to me, dated December 4th, he says, " This is dear John's
birthday. Poor dear Maria, if she could see hira now! . . . ."
" Charlotte Street.
" My dear Leslie, — It is long since I have seen you or
heard of you and Mrs. Leslie ; but we have got settled here after
the agony of three days' moving. The first detachment of my
forces went off with Roberts, and consisted of all ray boys, and a
servant or two besides, and I followed with my girls and innumer
able boxes, ships, dolls, fire-engines, pictures, easles, and other use
less lumber ; and now we are all looking round with astonishment at
having been so long away from so comfortable a house as this. I am
in possession of half a doe, which I shall not at all enjoy unless you
and Mrs. Leslie and your sister partake of iL My wish is to entrap
Newton and his bride, I have not been out into the street since
my return, but have finished, or shall to-morrow, a small wood and
a head, both commissions of long standing, and so far I secure
some peace of mind. As to the exhibition, the ' House that Jack
Built ' will be enough to me,"
Constable had recently formed an acquaintance with a
gentleman of his own name, though not a relation, Mr. George
M M

266 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XIII.
Constable, of Arundel, and this was the beginning of a warm
friendship, which contributed rauch to the happiness of the last
years of his life. The next letter is addressed to this gentleman.
" Charlotte Street, December i\th.
" My dear Sir, — I beg to send the copies of ray work for your
choice. The proofs that are sealed have had ray close inspection ;
but I send those you had last evening to compare with the India
ones. I send also the prints, which are equally good, for all are
printed by ourselves.* I should feel happy in the belief that my
book should ever remunerate itself, for I am gratifying my vanity
at the expense of my children, and I could have wished that they
might have lived on me, not the reverse. My only consolation is
that my fortune has not sheltered me in idleness, as my large
canvases, the dreams of a happy but unpropitious life, will prove.
Pray forgive the unreserved tone of this hasty scrawl,
" I remain, dear sir, always your obliged servant,
"John Constable."
He was now engaged on a portrait of Englefield House, Berk
shire, for its possessor, Mr. Benyon de Beauvoir ; and of which,
though the subject was unpromising, he made a beautiful picture.
The comraission had been obtained for hira by the recommendation
of Mr. Samuel Lane.
" December i jth.
" My dear Leslie, — I was sadly disappointed at missing you
and Mrs. Leslie here on Tuesday. I am glad Bonner showed you
what I am about with the house, as it produced your very kind
* Mr. Lucas had fitted up a press in his own house.

1832.] PICTURE OF ENGLEFIELD HOUSE. 267
note. It reached me at tea-time that day, and before bed-time I
had made all the cows in the foreground of the house picture
bigger, and put in another bigger than all the rest. This has had
the effect you anticipated, and sent the house back, and also much
recovered and helped to realise my foreground, which, indeed, this
blank canvas wants to aid it ; but I must try at one of the elements,
namely, air, and if that include light, I ought not to despair.
What you say generally of my canvases is too delightful for me to
dispute ; I ought to be satisfied that you think so. To please one
person is no joke, nowadays."

CHAPTER XIV,
1833-
Alfred and John Chalon. — Picture of " The Cenotaph." — Stothard. — The Academy,
1833. — Lecture on the History of Landscape. — Notes to David Lucas.
"My dear Leslie, — , . , I called on the Chalons ; John's
landscape is very promising — one of his best. As to Alfred's
* Samson,' it is just what Paul Veronese would have made it, if he
could have corabined expression with colour ; it is full of power,
full of splendour. They are both adopting the palette knife, while
I have laid it down, but not till I had cut my own throat with it.
The Dalilah is lovely in her supplicating posture. January, 1833."
The dexterity with which Constable used the palette-knife has
been mentioned, and when he speaks of having " cut his own
throat with it," he alludes to a recent charge brought against his
pictures, that they consisted " only of palette-knife painting,"
But if he had now laid the knife down, he very soon took it up
again, " January nth, 1833,
" My dear Leslie, — . . . I have had a friendly visit from a
much greater man than the Duke of Bedford, Lord Westminster,
Lord Egremont, the President of the Royal Academy, or even
the King himself, Mr, Seguier !* He seemed rather astonished
* Mr. Seguier was supposed to be the principal director of the taste of the nobility
and gentry in all that related to pictures. He was a good-natured and honest man.

1833.] MR. BEAUCHAMP'S FACTORY. 269
to find so good an appearance, or rather, an appearance so far
beyond his expectation, and bestowed much praise, such as, * Did
you do this ? really ! Who raade that drawing — you ? really !
very good indeed.' . . , John Chalon has spread a report respecting
myself that has reached rae frora two or three quarters rauch to
my advantage, namely, that he actually saw four small sable
pencils in my hand, and that I was bond fide using them in the art
of painting, ... I raust give up  on Saturday raorning, as
I have so much to do to the great ' Salisbury,' and am hard run
for it, I have written to  to beg off hearing for the hundredth
time that his are the best pictures in the world."
I had introduced Constable to Mr, Beauchamp, to whose
manufactory of British plate in Holborn he paid a visit with his
sons, of which he gave rae the following arausing account : —
" January 20th.
" My dear Leslie, — I went with John and Charles to Mr.
Beauchamp's last evening ; their delight was great, not only at
the very great kindness of Mr. and Mrs. Beauchamp and their
boys, but at the sight of all that was to their heart's content :
forges— smelting pots— -metals — turning lathes — straps and
bellows— coals— ashes— dust— dirt— and cinders ; and everything
else that is agreeable to boys. They want rae to build them just
such a place under my painting- room ; and had I not better do
so, and give up landscape painting altogether? Poor Mrs.
Beauchamp was suff'ering with the tooth-ache, but her politeness
made her assure me that I succeeded in talking it off.
" I have called on poor Lee. I did not think his things were
quite so bad. They pretend to nothing but an iraitation of

270 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XIV.
nature ; but then it Is of the coldest and raeanest kind. He is
imraersed in white lead, and oil, and black, all of which he dashes
about on the canvas without the sraallest reraorse. All is, thence,
utterly heartless." " Charlotte Street, February i2,th.
" Dear Leslie, — . • . May I beg of you to let your servant
take the little parcel to Edwin Landseer ; it is the first nuraber,
in which is the ' Mill ' he wanted, I have sent it with the four
other prints, which is like getting rid of a bad shilling araong
half-pence," In a note to rae, not dated, but written in the early part of
this year. Constable says : "I have laid by ' The Cenotaph '* for
the present. I am determined not to harass ray raind and health
by scrarabling over ray canvas as I have too often done. Why
should I ? I have little to lose and nothing to gain, I ought to
respect myself for my friend's sake, and my children's. It is
time, at fifty-six, to begin, at least, to know one's self — and I do
know what I ara not. . . ." He then speaks of the qualities at
which he chiefly aimed in his pictures — " light — dews — breezes —
bloom — and freshness; not one of which," he adds, "has yet
been perfected on the canvas of any painter in the world."
" April 2nd.
" Dear Leslie, — Do not pass ray door if you corae to town,
I have brushed up my ' Cottage ' into a pretty look, and my
' Heath ' is alraost safe, but I must stand or fall by my ' House,'
I had on Friday a long visit frora Mr,  alone ; but my
pictures do not come into his rules or whims of the art, and
* He had begun a picture of " The Cenotaph " erected by Sir George Beaumont to
the memory of Reynolds.

1833] AN AFFRONTED TASTE.

271

he said I had ' lost my way,' I told him that I had ' perhaps
other notions of art than picture admirers have in general, I
looked on pictures as things to be avoided, connoisseurs looked
on thera as things to be imitated; and that, too, with such a
deference and humbleness of subraission, araounting to a total
prostration of raind and original feeling as raust serve only to fill
the world with abortions,' But he was very agreeable, and I
endured the visit, I trust, without the usual courtesies of life
being violated. What a sad thing it is that this lovely art is so
wrested to its own destruction ! Used only to blind our eyes, and
to prevent us frora seeing the sun shine, the fields bloora, the
trees blossora, and frora hearing the foliage rustle ; while old —
black — rubbed-out and dirty canvases take the place of God's own
work.s. I long to see you, I love to cope with you, like Jaques,
in ray ' sullen raoods,' for I ara not fit for the present world of art,
, , , Lady Morley was here yesterday. On seeing the ' House,'
she exclairaed, ' How fresh, how dewy, how exhilarating ! ' I told
her half of this, if I could think I deserved it, was worth all the
talk and cant about pictures in the world."
Constable often did hiraself harra by atterapting to set
right those whom he might have known, from the very consti
tution of their minds, it was irapossible to set right in raatters
of taste. Such strong expressions as those raentioned in the last
letter, though easily coraprehended by the few who understood
his views of art, only gained hira the character of a dealer in
paradox with those who did not. An affronted taste is very
unforgiving, and he not only wasted his tirae, but too often made
enemies by attempting to " cut blocks with a razor."

272 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XIV.
" To Mr. George Constable. " April 12th.
"My dear Sir, — I ara delighted to hear of the steady
iraproveraent of your health, and I most sincerely hope it will
continue to iraprove; the coming season is in your favour. I have
always heard of the autumn being the painter' s season, but give me
the spring, though ' With tears and sunshine in her fickle eyes.'
I send the drawing by Varley, and I venture to accompany it
with two others ; they all belonged to ray poor friend  , who
died in the auturan, leaving a widow and dear little girl ; the
disposal of these drawings would essentially serve them. That
by Varley is six pounds, the others two pounds each ; they would
be pretty accompaniments to the ' Curfew ' on a mantlepiece ;
they are by Ziegler. ... I beg ray best compliments to Mrs.
Constable, and believe me, my dear sir, with sincere regards,
" Yours truly, " John Constable."
" To Mr. George Constable. "April ijth.
" My dear Sir, — Accept my best thanks for your very kind
letter, which I received this morning, enclosing ten pounds, which,
with great pleasure, I transmitted to Mrs.  . I feel assured
your friend will never repent the possession of those very beautiful
drawings. I hear the exhibition will be excellent ; the quantity
sent exceeds all precedent. Wilkie and Leslie are strong, Phillips
and the President are strong, Landseer is strong, and so on ; but
perhaps you wish me to speak to you of rayself; Constable is weak
this year. We shall probably all know our fate on Thursday
se'n-night, and the public may sabre us at their pleasure on the
first Monday in May. ... I passed an hour or two with Mr.

1833] DEATH OF MRS. FOLKHARD. 273
Stothard on Sunday evening. Poor man ! the only Elysium he
has in this world is found in his own enchanting works. His
daughter does all in her power to make him happy and comfort
able. Lucas has been so busy about the portrait of Sir Charles
Clark, that till now he could not take up my appendix, which I
shall be happy to present to you when ready. I am, my dear sir,
always your obliged friend, "John Constable,"
" To Mr, Thomas Dunthorne,* "April igth.
" Dear Sir, — I was prepared to receive the melancholy
account of the death of poor Mrs. Folkard,t which Mr. Wright
has just told me of. How truly melancholy is the history of all
this excellent family ! How well I remeraber the birth of all of
them — Ann, James, poor John, and Hannah — little thinking I
should live to lament the death of every one. My poor old
friend, the father of this hapless race, must be in a fearful condi
tion. But since the death of poor John I well know he has made
up his mind to everything that can happen. He now neither
cares to stay or go. He told me he did not care how soon he
was laid in the same grave with poor John, J There seemed an
unsoundness in the constitution of all, from the raother probably.
There has been a young lady here to inquire for John, to whom
he gave lessons. She wished to know if anything was owing to
him, and, had he been living, to have had more lessons, . . .
"With the kindest regards, I am truly yours, " J. Constable."
• Brother of Constable's early friend, J. Dunthorne, senr.
t A daughter of J. Dunthorne, senr.
X Mr. Dunthorne survived until October, 1844.
n n

2 74 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XIV.
" April.
" Dear Leslie, — I send Pitt to know how you are all getting
on, R  assured me that  and all of them did all in
their power to help me to a change of the place of my picture,
but could not manage it. They have iraraense trouble this year,
but I am easy now, and they all say it looks very well. But S 
and H  are so strictly academical that they deny the painter
the power of raaking a picture out of nothing, or out of a subject
not to their liking, though they do not deny it to the poet. The
fraraes have annoyed them beyond measure, and the cold-blooded
selfishness of  more than all. The Council have written to
him two raild letters, entreating hira to change a raonstrous piece
of gilded wood as it ruined the hopes of at least five others,
who only look for the crumbs that fall from the academic table,
while at the sarae time it spoiled his own picture ; but he would
not comply,  's fraraes are shameful, or, rather, shameless.
The Council are determined to regulate these things next year.
My ' Heath ' is admired, and is well placed.' '
" Dear Leslie, — I send to know how your dear family and
yourself get on, . , , John Chalon has just been here. He is
full of anxiety about his picture, I told him I would change
places with hira at a venture. , . . Thank you, dear Leslie, for
your kind note. One ambition I will hold fast. I am determined
never to deserve the praise of S  , H  , C  , D  ,
W  , R  , &c., &c., &c."
Constable's pictures at the Academy this year were—" Engle
field House, Berkshire : raorning " ; " A Heath : showery, noon " ;
"Cottage in a Corn Field"; landscape: "Sunset"; and three

<
XhD
05

1833.] CONSTABLE'S PICTURES AT THE ACADEMY, i%ii. 275
drawings in water-colours — namely, "An Old Farmhouse," "A
Miller's House," and " A Windmill : squally day." "May i\th.
" Dear Lane, — Thank you for your admiration of my book ;
the intention is good. I wish it gave me the same unalloyed plea
sure ; but the extravagant, useless, and silly expenditure I have
been led into distracts me, now that the hour of reflection is
come. . . . The Morning Post speaks beautifully of my
' House.' S  told me it was * only a picture of a house' and
ought to have been put into the Architectural Room. I told him
it was a * picture of a summer morning, including a house: "
Mrs. Leslie had seen in Charlotte Street a proof impression
of the "Weymouth Bay," in some respects imperfect, but in
others very beautiful, and had expressed a wish to have it, to
which I objected, thinking it was of value to Constable. He sent
it the next day with the following note : —
" Dear Mrs. Leslie, — I have no idea that husbands should
control their wives any more than that wives should control their
husbands, at least, in trifles ; I therefore make no scruple to send
you what is good for nothing. It is, I hope, a sufficient excuse
for me that you expressed a wish for it, and I felt at the same
time assured that its being useless was the reason of your doing
so; thus 'much ado about nothing.' I shall now, to give value
to the fragment I send you, apply to it a line of Wordsworth :
' This sea in anger, and that dismal shore.' *

* From "Elegiac Stanzas, suggested by a picture of Peele Castle in a storm,
painted by Sir George Beaumont." The death of Captain Wordsworth is also alluded
to, in another most affecting poem, by his brother, addressed " To the Daisy."

276 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XIV.
I think of Wordsworth, for on that spot perished his brother in
the wreck of the Abergavenny:'
That Constable's next note may be understood, I must mention
that I contemplated taking my faraily to Araerica, with the pro
bability of reraaining there. " June I Ith.
" My dear Leslie, — As it may not be ordained that I write
to you again on my birthday (at least in England), I cannot
omit the occasion, though the pleasure is a melancholy one in
every way to me. . . . The loss of you is a cloud casting its
shade over my life, now in its autumn. I never did admire the
autumnal tints, even in nature, so little of a painter am I in the
eye of common-place connoisseurship. I love the exhilarating
freshness of spring. My kindest regards to Mrs. Leslie. I hope
all your children are well. . . . Remember I play the part
of ' Punch ' on Monday at eight, at the assembly-room at Harap
stead." " The part of Punch " alludes to his first appearance as a
lecturer. His subject was "An Outline of the History of Land
scape Painting," which he afterwards filled up in a course of four
lectures delivered in London. " June.
" Dear Leslie, — . . . My godchild is a delightful little
creature, and I shall be glad to live long, if it is only to cross the
Atlantic to give her away. When Captain Cook stood sponsor for
a little girl in Barking Church, he said, ' If this infant lives I will
marry her' ; and he fulfilled his promise, and she was living until
lately. Only think of the vicissitudes of life ; what raay we not

i833-] VISIT TO SUFFOLK.

m

hope and almost expect; you may return.* Don't separate any
ties in this country. Keep your diploma,"
"Well Walk, August i6th.
" My dear Leslie, — I have wished much to write to you, I
have not thanked you for your long and delightful letter, but I am
not now so much master of tlcidit cceur dejoie which used to cheer
me, especially when I took pen in hand to write to you. The
thought that I ara to be deprived of the consolations of your
and Mrs, Leslie's society — of such happy hours as you and I have
passed together — and of our coraraunications on art, and every
thing else, weighs heavy on rae ; so much so, indeed, as to
depress my mind, and prevent the enjoyment of even the little
that remains of our personal intercourse ; this is not right on
my part, I know.
" I had a delightful visit into Suffolk, We ranged the woods
and fields, and searched the crag-pits for shells, and the bones
and teeth of fossil animals for John ; and Charles made drawings,
and I did nothing at all, but I felt happy to see them enjoy
themselves. All my family were very kind to the boys, , , , I
have just lost a valuable Suffolk friend. Sir Thomas Ormsby, who
would have served me always. He was son-in-law to General
Rebow, an old friend of ray father's ; thus I am almost daily
bereft of some friend or other, , , , I am glad you are going to
Lord Egremont's; he is really a great patron of art, , . , I
can hardly write for looking at the silvery clouds ; how I sigh for
that peace (to paint them) which this world cannot give (to me at
least). Yet well I know * happiness is to be found anywhere or
* He did return the following spring.

278 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XIV,
nowhere ' ; but this last year though, thank God, attended with
no calamity, has been most unpropitious to my happiness. To
part with my dear John is breaking my heart, but I am told it
is for his good."
Constable's two eldest sons were about to leave him for a
school at Folkestone. " Well Walk,
" To Mr, George Constable, " December gth.
" My dear Sir, — I am grieved at the letter I have received
from you. To have had such a serious accident,* and at a time,
too, when your health was so much improving, is extremely dis
tressing, as it must prevent your general habits of enjoying the
air, and of exercise. Gigs are bad things, one is so much at
the mercy of the horse, I hope, however, from the almost
cheerful tone in which you have dictated your letter, that all will
do well with you, and that your next letter will bring satisfactory
accounts ; at least, that the inflammation is gone, and the bone
set. The former is much within the reach of the professors, our
friends of the ditches, the leeches. These humble creatures have
the power and the will, too, to render raankind essential benefits ;
and this grateful arguraent will hold good of everything in
nature, raore or less. I have been sadly ill, and during the last
week particularly so ; still I have ventured to embark on a large
canvas, and have thus set forth on a sea of troubles ; but it is a
sea that generally becalms as I proceed, I have chosen a rich
subject, . , . To-morrow I pass a long evening at the
Acaderay, the loth being its anniversary. We give the prizes
* Mr. G. Constable had been thrown out of a gig, and his left arm was broken
above the elbow-

1833] ACADEMY MEDALS.

279

for all kinds of art. I lamsnt to say we raust give away an
abundance of our beautiful medals to little purpose. How are
we to account for this ? Perhaps, as Fuseli once told me, " as
the conveniences and instruments of study increase, so will
always the exertions of the students decrease.' Now, my dear
sir, how can I oblige you, or contribute to your amusement
during your sad calamity? Can I send you anything to
look at?" " Well Walk, Hampstead,
" To Mr. George Constable. "December 17th.
" My dear Sir, — I would not have kept you so long in sus
pense, had it been in my power to do otherwise; but I can't get
well. I have been long in a disordered state of health, and my
spirits are not as they used to be. I have not an idea that
I shall be able to part with the ' Salisbury ' ; * the price will, of
necessity, be a very large one, for the time expended on it was
enorraous for its size. I am also unwilling to part with any of
my standard pictures; they being all points with me in my
practice, and will much regulate my future productions, should I
do any more large works. The picture by Cuyp which you send
is agreeable, and its colour and sunshine will, no doubt, please
many ; I wish not, however, to add any raore old pictures to my
stock. If you wish for any information about its money value, I
can get some professional friends to see it ; of that I am no
judge ; I only know good from bad things in art, and that goes
but little way in being of use to my friends. I shall greatly
rejoice to hear that you are so far recovered as to be out again.
* One of his repetitions of the beautiful picture of the "Cathedral from the
Bishop's Grounds."

28o THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XIV.
I will look for some little matters to return with the Cuyp, when
you desire to have it." "Arundel,
" To Mr. John Constable. "December i8th.
"... I sincerely wish I could prevail on you to take a trip
to Arundel, I am sure you would derive great benefit from it. I
am, from experience, quite satisfied that the occasional removal
frora the monotony of domestic scenes and circumstances is very
beneficial both to mind and body. . . . Respecting one of your
pictures, I shall certainly do ray utraost to possess what I think
your best, in sorae respects, the ' Salisbury Cathedral ' ; but raore
on this subject when I have the pleasure of seeing you. Could
you, without much trouble, enclose me a bit of your sparkling
colour to copy, I should be more than I can express obliged.
" I am, my dear sir, your sincere friend,
" George Constable."
" Well Walk, Hampstead,
" To Mr. George Constable. "December 20th.
" My dear Friend, — I thank you most sincerely for your
kind and friendly letter. I ara sadly out of order, but you seem
determined that I shall not knock under. I am too unwell to go
to town, but my friend Bonner has just set off to Charlotte Street
to pack your picture and forward it ; it is a beautiful representa
tion of a suraraer's evening — calra, warra, and delicious; the
colour on the raan's face is perfect sunshine. The liquid pencil
of this school is replete with a beauty peculiar to itself. Never
theless, I don't believe they had any nostrums* but plain linseed
* Though averse to all quackery in art. Constable's technical knowledge of it
probably equalled, if it did not exceed, that of most men of his day. Some of this
was, no doubt, acquired from his early friend, Dunthorne, the house painter. While

I833-] NOSTRUMS IN PAINTING. 281
oil — ' honest linseed: as old Wilson called it. But it is always
right to reraeraber that the ordinary painters of that day used, as
now, the sarae vehicle as their betters, and also that their works
have all received the hardening and enamelling effects of time, so
that we raust not judge of originality by these signs always. Still,
your picture has a beautiful look, but I shall not collect any raore.
I have sent most of my old men to Mr. Davidson's Gallery in
Pall Mall to be sold. I find my house too much encumbered with
lumber, and this encumbers my mind. My sons are returned from
Folkstone for Christraas. John is delighted with the collection *
you have sent hira ; he says they are very valuable indeed, and he
highly prizes thera. To rae, these pieces of ' time-mangled
matter ' are interesting for the tale they tell ; but, above all, I
esteem them as marks of regard to my darling boy, the darling,
too, ofhis dear mother."
Perhaps the following notes to Mr. Lucas, without date, may
not be far from their proper place here.
" Dear Lucas, — Poor infatuated printer, . . .-f- has done
nothing for me for three weeks not a single India copy nor one
plain one can I get. But he has sent me a large piece of wedding-
later in life he was constantly in communication with Mr. George Field, then the prin
cipal maker of the finest class of artists' colours, of which Constable always had a
large store, in the form of powder, chiefly of the various shades of ochres, madders,
ultramarine, and the lovely greys known as ultramarine ash ; he also, like Wilson, to
obtain a full liquid touch, used what is called fat-oil, i.e., cold drawn linseed oil,
which, after long exposure to light in an open vessel, had become bleached in colour,
with the thickness and drying qualities of maguilp ; and I think the splendid state of
his pictures to-day in the National collections, proves the soundness of his practice
compared with that of some of his contemporaries. — Ed.
* Of fossils.
t The printer of the letterpress to the " Enghsh Landscape."
O O

2 82 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XIV.
cake, and this, too, just as he has been begging assistance to buy
bread and butter ! The devil undoubtedly finds much fun in this
town, or we should never hear of such acts of exceeding folly,"
" Dear Lucas, — All who have seen your large print like it
exceedingly ; it will be with all its grandeur full of detail. Avoid
the soot-bag, and you are safe ; Rembrandt had no soot-bag, you
may rely on it. Be careful how you etch it, that you do not hurt
the detail ; but there is time enough. I hope you will not injure
your faraily by so large a print."
"Dear Lucas, — I should think the 'Yarmouth' would make by
far the best corapanion to ' Old Sarum.' At the sarae tirae ' Old
Billy Lott's House,' if it could be regrounded at the sides, is a
lovely subject. The Lord Mayor's Show, I do believe, is too good
a joke to be received into our church. Nothing can raake it
either apostolic or canonical, so uncongenial is any part of this
hideous Gomorah, J. C. And yet, after all, the ' Waterloo ' is a
faraous composition, and ought to give much pleasure ; but it is
the devil, and I am sore perplexed,"
By the "Lord Mayor's Show" he means the "opening of
Waterloo Bridge'' (his lordship's barge being a conspicuous object
in that picture). The reader cannot fail to have observed how
uncertain Constable always felt of the success of this composition.
In the year 1819, it first entered his mind to paint it ; and between
that tirae and 1832 (when it was exhibited) it was often taken up
and as often laid aside, with many alternations of hope and fear.
The expanse of sky and water tempted him to go on with it,
while the absence of all rural associations made it distasteful to

1833-] THE "WATERLOO BRIDGE" TONED! 283
him ; and when at last it came forth, though possessing very high
qualities, composition, breadth, and brightness of colour, it wanted
one which generally constituted the greatest charm of his pictures,
sentiment, and it was condemned by the public ; though perhaps
less for a deficiency which its subject occasioned than for its
want of finish. What would he have felt, could he foresee that,
in little more than a year after his death, its silvery brightness
was doomed to be clouded over by a coat of blacking, laid on by
the hand of a picture dealer ! Yet that this was done by way
of giving tone to the picture, I know from the best authority,
the lips of the operator, who gravely assured me that several
noblemen considered it to be greatly improved by the process.
The blacking was laid on with water, and secured by a coat of
mastic varnish.

CHAPTER XV.
1834— 1835,
Illness of Constable's Son.— And of Himself. — Pictures at the Academy, 1834. —
Arundel. — Petworth. — Lord Egremont. — Constable's Habits, — Cozens. — Second
Lecture.— Charles Constable.
" Well Walk, January 20th, 1834.
" My dear Leslie, — I have been sadly ill since you left
England, and my mind has been so much depressed that I have
scarcely been able to do any one thing, and in that state I did
not like to write to you. I ara now, however, busy on a large
landscape ; I find it of use to rayself, though little noticed by
others. Still, the trees and the clouds seera to ask me to try
and do something like them. Poor John has been very ill.
Walking in his sleep at school, he fell and brought on erysipelas ;
he was six weeks in bed, and on his return to Hampstead for the
holidays, he took a rheumatic fever, and was confined for a month.
I do not think I shall send the boys again to Folkestone. Bonner
is still with me, and Alfred and Lionel are getting on in their
studies with hira. ... I dined with Mr. Bannister, who is much
delighted with your print of ' Uncle Toby and the Widow,'* . . .
Poor Sir William Beechey has lost Lady Beechey ; she was taken
ill on a Saturday, and died the next day ; but so happy a death.
It was raore like a translation. She said : ' Now I have no raore
* Mr. Bannister sat for the face of Uncle Toby.

1834.] SEVERE ATTACK OF RHEUMATIC FEVER. 285
to do or to say. I have done my best for you all here, and I will
go and see ray three dear children in Heaven ' ; those she had
lost early. . . . The Chalons were here on the Heath for six
weeks, and it was delightful weather. ... I have been busy in
making a fly-leaf to each of my prints, and I send a specimen
or two that are ready, to know what you think of that plan.
Many people can read letterpress who cannot read mezzotinto.
I shall send you my discourse. They want me to preach again in
the same place. ... I dine with Sir Martin to-morrow ; Chalon
will be there."
Constable had another and very painful illness, which is thus
described by Mr. Evans in a note addressed to Mr. Wm. Purton,
of Hampstead: " It was a severe attack of acute rheumatism (or
rheumatic fever, as it is usually called), which began in February,
and lasted for the greater part of two months. In the early part
of this period the suffering was very great ; all the joints became
the seat of the disease two or three times over, and the pain and
the fever were of the raost aggravated kind. These sufferings he
bore with great patience for one of so sensitive a frarae ; and on
the occasion of my visits to him his cheerfulness was generally
restored, and his conversation was of the same delightful character
which you know so well. I only wish I could recollect all that
I heard from his lips on these and on all similar occasions. I
think he was never so well after this severe illness ; its effects
were felt by hira and showed themselves in his looks ever after
wards ; so that I think it raay be said to have had sorae share in
his removal from us."
Araong the most valuable friendships Constable formed

286 THE LIFE OF JQHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XV.
during the last years of his life was that with the gentleraan
to whom Mr. Evans's note is addressed. Fond of devoting his
leisure hours to landscape painting, and wholly uninfluenced by
that "cant of criticism," against which Constable waged
unceasing war, Mr. Purton was led by the study of nature
alone to forra a just estimate of the art of his new friend.
In 1834 Constable exhibited three pictures at the British
Gallery—" A Cottage in a Field of Corn," " A Heath," and the
"Stour Valley, with Dedham and Harwich in the distance."
These had all been exhibited before. His long-continued ill-
health disabled him from sending any large work to the Academy,
where he exhibited drawings only — three in water-colours — " The
Mound of the City of Old Sarum," " Stoke Pogis Church, the
scene of Gray's elegy," "An Interior of a Church," also an
illustration of the elegy,* and a large drawing in lead pencil, " A
Study of Trees made in the grounds of Charles Holford, Esq.,
at Hampstead." I returned to England in tirae to see this
exhibition. " Charlotte Street,
" To Mr. George Constable. " July 2nd.
" Your prompt and very kind reply to ray dear boy raakes us
quite happy ; he is exceedingly irapatient to be with you, and to
be introduced to his young friend. I am sorry that a meeting
of the Artists' General Benevolent fund, of which I ara a Vice-
President, will take place on Monday evening ; it is for the relief
of cases, many of which are of my own recomraendation, and if
I ara not present it may be materially to their disadvantage ;
* These beautiful drawings of the church were purchased by Mr. Rogers.

STUDY OF TREES.
FROM PENCIL DRAWING AT SOUTH KENSINGTON.

I834-] VISIT TO ARUNDEL. 287
therefore I can't come to you on the day you name, but we have
arranged, if it is quite agreeable to yourself and Mrs. Constable,
to take a place for John on Saturday, and that I follow him on
Tuesday, by which he will get two or three days the start of me
in the pleasure of our visit. I am brushing up my ' Waterloo
Bridge,' and shall make it look something before I have done
with it. The difificulty is to find a subject fit for the largest of ray
sizes. I will talk to you about one, either a canal or a rural affair,
or a wood or a harvest scene ; which, I know not, but I could
hardly choose amiss ; certainly not if, as Wilkie says, it could be
•painted well.'* I rejoice to hear such a good account of your
health." " Arundel, July i6th.
" My dear Leslie, — In all my walks about this delightful spot
I think of you, and how much I should like you to enjoy with me
the beautiful things that are continually crossing ray path. The
chalk cliffs afford John raany fragments of oyster-shells and other
matters that fell from the table of Adam, in all probability. Our
friend, Mr. George Constable, is fond of all raatters of science,
and he has won John's heart by a present (the arrival of which
in Charlotte Street I shall dread) of an electrifying raachine.
The castle is the chief ornaraent of this place, but all here sinks
to insignificance in comparison with the woods and hills. The
woods hang from steeps and precipices, and the trees are beyond
everything beautiful. Sorae parts of the Castle, such as the keep
and sorae of the old walls, are as grand as possible, but the
more modern part is not unlike a London show place. The
* If a young artist consulted Wilkie as to what he should do to a picture, his
usual answer was " Paint it well."

288 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap, XV.
Baron's Hall is a grand roora, though strangely vulgarised by
sorae hideous figures larger than life on painted glass. These
rufifian-looking fellows look like drunken bargeraen dressed up as
Crusaders, and are meant to represent the ' Barons bold,' the
forraer lords of the estate, who spread the English narae over
Palestine ; but ' how are the mighty fallen ! ' you would take
thera to be the very raen who are watering the streets of London
this hot weather. These things raake true what Horace Walpole
says, in speaking of the painters of the middle or dark ages, as
we call thera : ' It would not be easy to know where to go to
order a painted window ' like one he was describing. The meadows
are lovely, so is the delightful river, and the old houses are rich
beyond all things of the sort ; but the trees are above all, yet
everything is beautiful. Only last night I stumbled on an old
barn situated amid trees of iraraense size, like this " (here the
writing is interrupted by a sketch) ; " it is of the tirae of King
John. " But we have been to Petworth, and I have thought of noth
ing since but that vast house and its contents. The Earl was
there ; he asked me to stay all day, nay raore, he wished rae to
pass a few days in the house. I excused myself, saying I should
like to make such a visit when you were there, which he took very
agreeably, saying, ' Be it so, then, if you cannot leave your friends
now ' ; he came to us two or three times. I had a very kind
letter of introduction to him from Phillips."
On his return to London, in a letter of thanks to his amiable
host at Arundel, Constable speaks of his visit as one of the most
happy and intellectually delightful he ever paid. " You thought,"

i834-] PETWORTH. 289
he says, " of everything you could to make John and me happy,
and the same motive actuated every member of your delightful
and kind family." "35, Charlotte Street, July 2gth.
" My dear Purton, — Should you have tirae to look in to
morrow or next day I should be glad. I have done wonders with
my great ' Salisbury ' ; I have been preparing it for Birmingham,
and I am sure I have much increased its power and effect. I do
hope you will say so, I should much like you to see it, because
as you are so good as to look at my things at all, I argue you
see something to admire in them, and I have no doubt of this
picture being my best now. . . .
" I am, dear Purton, yours most truly,
"John Constable."
In Septeraber Constable accepted an invitation to Petworth,
where I was at that time with my family, sharing with other guests
— among whom were Mr. Phillips, R.A., and his family — Lord
Egremont's hospitality.
" My dear Leslie, — I was happy to receive your kind letter,
and I hope in a few days to avail myself of Lord Egremont's kind
ness. I have been two days at Ham. Lady Dysart is old, and
rather more infirm, but well. You and I must go there together.
It seems as if its inmates of a century and a-half back were still
in existence, and on opening the doors some of them would
appear. ... I shall write to say when I hope to be at Pet
worth, which, as they want to see me again at Ham on Sunday or
Monday, will, I think, be about Wednesday or Thursday. How
p p

290 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XV,
I long to be again in that house of art where you are. I amused
Lady Dysart with the story of the sky-rocket; at all events, it
proved she had been taught where God was to be found.*
, , . The Gainsborough was down when I was there. I placed
it as It suited me, and I cannot think of it even now without tears
in my eyes. With particulars he had nothing to do ; his object
was to deliver a fine sentiment, and he has fully accomplished it ;
mind, I use no comparisons in my delight in thinking of this
lovely canvas ; nothing injures one's raind more than such modes
of reasoning ; no fine things will bear, or want, comparisons ;
every fine thing is unique." " September 6th.
"My dear Leslie, — I hope nothing will happen to prevent
my being with you on Tuesday. Perhaps it is now unnecessary
to write to Lord Egremont to say that I am coraing, but if you
think I ought, write on receipt of this. You see how awkward
I am with the great folks. . , . I wish I had said nothing about
pictures in my letter. So much has expression to do with words,
that writing and talking are not the same thing, I did not in
the least misunderstand you. I should like to have a keen eye'f
* Constable alludes to my having told him of the exclamation of one of my children
on seeing some fireworks in Petworth Park. As the rockets ascended she said,
"Won't God be shot?"
t I was painting a picture at Petworth for Lord Egremont, and I had said in my
reply to Constable's last letter, " I do not think I shall show you what I am about, as
I fear your keen eye." The passage in the letter to which this note refers is, I think,
worth quoting as an instance of my father's characteristic openness and fulness of
acknowledgment. — " Petworth, Se;ptem,ber i<,th. — My dear Constable, — I hope you
will not put ofi" coming later than Thursday, as soon after that we think of retuming
to London, and I do think you will enjoy your visit. The Gainsborough which you so
truly feel is still on the ground, and there is a very fine Wilson,which perhaps you did
not see. There is a gem of a Basan also, which came from London since you were
here, and which Lord Egremont allows me to have in my room. I am afraid you did
not quite understand what I meant h-y your keen eye. I am only afraid of it because

i834-] DR. JOHNSON— CUYP.

291

for myself and for ray friends, as a thing I should prize above
all the attributes of our profession; only I don't think in that I
deserve your good opinion to the degree you believe. How
beautifully, how justly does Dr. Johnson soraewhere speak of
epistolary correspondence*; but he cautions the writers against
compliraenting each other, and warns thera of the danger of its
self-deception. See what the evangelicals have done to one
another in this way, till at last they have forgotten the first
principles of Christianity, and treated the rest of the world with
conterapt. I am going to-morrow to Ham ; we must see it
together. I expect always in wandering through the rooms there
to raeet either King Charles IL, or the Duke of Marlborough,
or Addison. It has the art, in portraiture, on its walls frora
Cornelius Jansen to Sir Joshua Reynolds, including Hopkins and
Cooper in miniature. There is there a truly sublime Cuyp, still
and tranquil ; the town of Dort is seen with its tower and wind
mills under the insidious gleam of a faint watery sun, while a
horrid rent in the sky alraost frightens one, and the lightning
descends to the earth over some poor cottages with a glide that
is so much like nature, that I wish I had seen it before I sent
away my 'Salisbury.' " " September 8th.
" My dear Leslie, — Calculating from your letter that there
was a coach to Petworth every day, I sent for a place for Tuesday,
I know no fault can escape it. Do not for a moment imagine I am insensible of my
obligations to it. You not only did me the greatest service in inducing me to enlarge
my ' Sancho,' but you entirely composed my ' Sterne and the French Woman ' ; that
is, you composed the light and shadow for me. I am not aware that I have painted
a picture since I have known you that has not been in some degree the better for
your remarks, and I constantly feel that if I could please you with what I do, I should
be sure to please myself. . . ."
* He probably alludes to a passage in " The Life of Pope."

292 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XV.
when I found the coach was on alternate days, therefore I have
taken one for Wednesday next. I have not thought it worth
while to trouble Lord Egremont about this trifling change of a
day, and I hope you will set the raatter right for me. I have
my picture back from Worcester, and my house is now full of
old jobs and luraber. My glass is very low, but I hope we
may still have fine weather. I shall put off Worcester, as I hope
to be better engaged. I have almost determined to attack another
canal for ray large frarae. How beautiful did old Father Tharaes
look yesterday, scattered over with swans above Richmond ! and
when they flew over the water the clapping of their wings was
very loud indeed. How lovely the trees are just now ! "
" Petworth,
" To Mr. George Constable. " September la^th.
" I am much obliged by your kind letter. If I can see you
at Arundel before I leave this, I shall be delighted, but of that,
as my time is short, I can say nothing. I ara glad you are so well,
but how could you send your boys to France? I don't think
I could ; but I dare say you are right. I act so sadly always
on ray prejudices. Leslie has comraenced a picture here, a
corapanion to his ' Duchess.* Mr. Phillips leaves this place in a
few days. Mrs. Phillips is going to take rae to see a castle
about five railes off. Yesterday I visited the river banks, which
are lovely indeed ; Claude nor Ruysdael could not do a thousandth
part of what nature here presents.
'" Yours, my dear sir, always truly,
"John Constable."

1 834- J CONSTABLE AT PETWORTH.

293

Lord Egremont, with that unceasing attention which he
always paid to whatever he thought would be most agreeable
to his guests, ordered one of his carriages to be ready every
day, to enable Constable to see as much of the neighbourhood
as possible. He passed a day in company with Mr. and
Mrs, Phillips and myself, among the beautiful ruins of Cowdry
Castle, of which he made several very fine sketches; but he
was most delighted with the borders of the Arun, and the
picturesque old mills, barns, and farmhouses that abound in the
west of Sussex. I recollect spending a morning with hira, he
drawing the outside, while I was sketching the interior, of a lonely
farrahouse, which was the raore picturesque from its being in a
neglected state, and which a woman we found in it told us was
called " wicked Hammond's house " ; a man of that name,
strongly suspected of great crimes, having formerly been its
occupant. She told us that in an old well in the garden some
bones had not long ago been found, which the doctor said " were
the arra bones of a Christian:' While at Petworth, where
Constable spent a fortnight, he filled a large book with sketches
in pencil and water-colours, some of which he finished very
highly. It was on this occasion only that, as an inmate of the same
house, I had an opportunity of witnessing his habits. He rose
early, and had often made some beautiful sketch in the park
before breakfast. On going into his room one morning, not
aware that he had yet been out of it, I found him setting some of
these sketches with isinglass. His dressing-table was covered
with flowers, feathers of birds, and pieces of bark with lichens and
mosses adhering to them, which he had brought home for the

294 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XV.
sake of their beautiful tints. Mr. George Constable told rae that,
while on the visit to hira, Constable brought from Fittleworth
Coraraon at least a dozen different speciraens of sand and earth,
of colours from pale to deep yellow, and of light reddish hues
to tints almost crimson. The richness of these colours con
trasted with the deep greens of the furze and other vegetation
on this picturesque heath, delighted him exceedingly, and
he carried these earths home carefully preserved in bottles,
and also many fragments of the variously - coloured stone.
In passing, with Mr, G, Constable, some sliray posts near an
old raill, he said, " I wish you could cut off and send their tops
to me." On the 1 6th of October the Houses of Parliament were
burnt ; and Constable witnessed the scene frora a hackney coach,
in which, with his two eldest sons, he took a station on West
minster Bridge. The evening of the 3 ist he spent with me ; and,
while describing the fire, he drew with a pen, on half a sheet of
letter paper, Westminster Hall, as it showed itself during the
conflagration ; blotting the light and shade with ink, which he
rubbed with his finger where he wished it to be lightest. He then,
on another half-sheet, added the towers of the abbey, and that of
St. Margaret's Church, and the papers, being joined, form a very
grand sketch of the whole scene.
He was now again at work on the " Salisbury, from the
Meadows." This was a picture which he felt would probably in
future be considered his greatest ; for if among his smaller works
there were raany of raore perfection of finish, this he considered as
conveying the fullest impression of the compass of his art. But
it met with no purchaser.

i834-] SALISBURY FROM THE MEADOWS. 295
" December ^th.
" My dear Leslie, — I have never left my large ' Salisbury '
since I saw you. It would much delight me if, in the course of
to-day or to-morrow, you could see it for a raoraent. I cannot help
trying to believe that there may be soraething in it that, in sorae
measure at least, may warrant your too high opinion of my land
scape in general."
" December i^th.
" My dear Leslie, — I write to beg of you to let me put off
our visit to  for a little, I was all day on Saturday at
Ham, and shall be all this day with Wilkie, and I can hardly
spare so much of my valueless time, for though my life and occu
pation are useless, still I trifle on in a way that seeras to myself
like doing something ; and ray canvas soothes rae into a forgetful
ness of much that is disagreeable, I could not get on with
 ; how could I ? you will say. . . ."
Constable was at this time much disturbed by some transac
tions with the last person raentioned in this note, and with sorae
other unpleasant occurrences, and which, as it generally hap
pened, his iraagination magnified, and he continued : " Every
gleam of sunshine is withdrawn from me, in the art at least.
Can it be wondered at, then, that I paint continual storms : * ¦
' Tempest o'er tempest roll'd.'
Still the darkness is majestic, and I have not to accuse myself
of ever having prostituted the moral feeling of the art. . . .
I saw Mr. Bannister yesterday, so well, so happy, and more
* One of the objections made to his pictures by those who could not deny them
nature. He was fond of representing the passing shower, but I know of no other
instance in his pictures of a storm, and here it is breaking away.

296 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XV.
delightful than ever. I told him I had venison in the house, and
that I wanted you and Mrs. Leslie to dine with me, if he would
but come; he did not say no." " December I'jth.
" My dear Purton, — I ara obliged to you for the quotations;
the second is excellent,* and shall be used in the title-page of
ray book ; but I raust take care of being an author, it is quite
enough to be a painter. I beg ray best respects to Mrs. Purton.
I shall like to see what you are doing, and will try to catch a
gllrapse by daylight, but I ara in a terrible turraoll with all my
things. I seem foolishly bent on a large canvas. I was at
Wilkie's all day on Monday ; he has painted a noble picture,
' Columbus with the Monk,' when he shows him his plan for
overtaking another world."
Constable had been asked by Wilkie to sit for one of the
heads in the picture of ' Columbus,' that of the physician, Garcia
Fernandez. Among his papers I found a slight pencil sketch
of the whole composition of that fine picture, no doubt made
frora recollection while describing the subject to some friend.
Wilkie also asked Constable to sit to him for a portrait, and it
is rauch to be regretted that he declined doing so.
The following letter to Mr. Dunthorne accompanied a present
of Mr. Lucas's large engravings of " The Lock " and " The
Corn Field" :—
" My dear Friend, — I hope you will receive the prints
safe. Mr, Lucas bids me tell you that he shall send two more
* From Crabbe. " It is the soul that sees, &c." Constable made use of this in
the third lectnre he delivered at the Royal Institution.

THE VALLEY FARM.

1835-] THE VALLEY FARM BOUGHT BY MR. VERNON. 297
which he is now about — ' Salisbury ' and ' Stratford Mill,' If
you can lend me two or three of poor John's studies of the ashes
in the town meadow, and a study of plants that grew in the
lane below, Mr. Coleman's, near the spouts which ran into the
pond. I will take great care of them, and send thera safe back to
you soon. I am about an ash or two now. The prints will come
to you from Flatford, as I have sent a pair to Abram.
" Yours very truly,
"John Constable,
"Charlotte Street, February i\th:'
"March.
" My dear Leslie, — Our friend Bonner* is on his way to
bid my children good-bye, at Hampstead, He is going to
Germany, whence his family originates, and he cannot leave
England without shaking you by the hand, I have been wholly
shut up, so much so that I do not know what is going on since
you have been here. My picture must go, but it is wonderfully
deficient in places. Yesterday Mr.  called, and though he
said ' perhaps it is a little better,' yet he added, ' you know I
like to be honest ' ; but, fortunately for me, I am sure it was not
at all to his liking. Mr. Vernon called soon after with the
Chalons ; he saw it and bought it. It is his, only I must talk
to you about it ; he leaves all to me. . . . Constable told
me that Mr. Vernon asked him if the picture on his easel was
painted for any particular person, to which he replied : ' Yes,
sir, it is painted for a very particular person — the person for
whom I have all my life painted."
* Mr. Bonner had been for some time domesticated with Constable as private
tutor to his sons.
Q Q

2q8 the life OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XV.
" April 8lh.
" To Mr. George Constable.
" Your trips to France raust be delightful, and John bids me
tell you that of all things he should like to go with you at some
tirae or other. At present, however, it is impossible, as all his
lectures now are in regular course; he is a pupil of Farraday's,
at the Institution in Albemarle Street, on chymistry ; he is also a
pupil at the London University in surgery and physiology, and he
is attending a course of lectures on anatoray in Windmill Street.
To all these things he is as regular as a clock ; all I pray for is,
that his health will continue to bear it ; nevertheless, he must take
sorae trips in the suraraer, and he, as well as I, look with great
pleasure to a repetition of our raost unalloyed and delightful visit
to Arundel. " Having spoken of the young chyraist and surgeon, let me
speak of the old landscape painter. I have got my picture into a
very beautiful state. I have kept my brightness without my
spottiness, and I have preserved God Almighty's daylight, which
is enjoyed by all raankind, excepting only the lovers of old
dirty canvas, perished pictures at a thousand guineas each, cart
greese, tar, and snuff of candle. Mr,  , an admirer of com
monplace, called to see my picture, and did not like it at all, so I
am sure there is something good in it. Soon after, Mr, Vernon
called, and bought it, having never seen it before in any state,"
This beautiful work, a view of Willy Lott's house frora an
early sketch, had the rare luck when exhibited of pleasing even
some of the newspaper critics ; it was the only picture Constable
sent to the Academy this year.

'^35] JOHN COZENS.

299

"Charlotte Street,
" To Mr. George Constable. ^'¦June 6th.
" John has declared this morning that if I defer writing to you
any longer he will never speak to me again. I have had almost
every sort of occupation, and if I do not write almost directly to
any letter I receive, I am too apt to delay it for a very long time,
as you, my dear friend, have so often experienced, and so often
been kind enough to forgive. The exhibition is a successful one;
it is profitable and productive ; I speak now of pictures under the
line, the large pictures are very so so. . . . But there are
some excellent works of art on the walls. ' Columbus and his
little Son,' ' The Gulliver,' ' The Scotch Drovers,' and Eastlake's
'Pilgrims.' Turner's light, whether it emanates from sun or
moon, is exquisite. Collins's skies and shores are true, and his
horizons always pretty."
" My dear William Carpenter, — Sorae years ago a lady
got away my copy of ' Bryan's Dictionary,' and this has ever since
been an inconvenience to me. I want to know when the younger
Cozens* was born ; his name was John, and he was the greatest
genius that ever touched landscape. He was the son of Alex
ander Cozens, drawing-master, of Eaton, and John died in 1796,
* " This artist was the son of Alexander Cozens, a Russian by birth, who estab
lished himself in London as a landscape painter and drawing-master about the year
1770. He followed the same profession, and with great ability and elegance. He pro
duced some drawings which possessed extraordinary merit, executed in a style which
was afterwards adopted and improved by the ingenious Mr. Girtin. He died in 1799."
— " Bryan's Dictionary," Appendix, Vol. IL, p. 680. In an octavo edition of" Pilking-
ton's Dictionary," printed in 1829, speaking of John Cozens, it is said : " His drawings
were sold at Christie's in 1805 for five hundred and ten pounds. He died in a state of
mental derangement in 1799." I think Pyne, in those articles he contributed to The
Literary Gazette, under the title of " Wine and Walnuts,'' gave some notices of
Cozens,

joo THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XV,
still rather young, I want this for my lecture on Monday to be
given at Harapstead, My best regards to your father.
" Very truly yours, " J. Constable.
" Perhaps Days or Edwards raentions his birth."
What Constable here says of Cozens is startling, although all
who are acquainted with the beautiful works of that truly original
artist will adrait that his taste is of the highest order ; but the
reader raust have observed that in other instances Constable
speaks in sirailar unqualified terras of adrairation of that which
at the raoraent engaged his attention. " The Longest Day.
" My dear Leslie, — 'Tis true we have got you back from
America, but you are still too far away, too far for indolent
friends like me. . . . Alfred, to my surprise and delight,
seeras quite happy at Mr. Brooks's. He plays first fiddle there
at everything but his books. But, poor dear boy, his whole life
has been one of affliction,* which, as well as his drollery, has
endeared hira to me, perhaps unduly. I have been closely shut
up, doing — nothing. Lord N  saw my pictures at Tififins' ; he
wanted the * Church' , and offered his ' Hobbema ' for it. I dare
say his ' Hobbema ' is good for nothing. All this time the
painter is to be had, but they still wait for his quiet depar
ture. . . . I have seen David's pictures ; they are indeed
loathsome, and the roora would be intolerable but for the urbane
and agreeable raanners of the Colonel. David seeras to have
forraed his mind from three sources, the scaffold, the hospital,
a.id a brothel. ... I give my lecture at Hampstead to-
* From ill-health.

2
O
O

i835-] SECOND LECTURE AT HAMPSTEAD.

301

morrow evening at quarter before eight, I have sent up young
Unwin's beautiful copy of Ruysdael ; it will be of infinite service
to me; also Partridge's 'Peter Martyr.' I have written little, and
shall depend most on being conversational, I have got a lovely
drawing of young Bone's of Guido' s ' Aurora.' ... I never
saw the elder-bushes so full of blossom, and some of the flowers,
foreshortened as they curve round, are extreraely elegant; it is a
favourite of mine, but 'tis melancholy; an emblem of death."
The pictures by David mentioned in this letter were of
" Buonaparte crossing the Alps," " Mars and Venus," " The Death
of Marat," and some drawings of revolutionary scenes which were
exhibited in Leicester Square ; and " The Colonel " was a French
gentleman who attended in the room during the exhibition.
Of Constable's second lecture delivered at Hampstead, I
have preserved no notes ; but the reader will find rauch of it
incorporated with what I have been able to preserve of those he
gave in London. I reraember that the sky was magnificent on
the day on which it was delivered ; and as I walked across the
West End Fields to Hampstead towards evening, I stopped
repeatedly to adraire its splendid corabinations and their effects
over the landscape, and Constable did not omit in his lecture to
speak of the appearances of the day.
Perhaps I cannot more appropriately introduce the engraving
called "Noon " than here, as it represents those fields seen under
such a sky ; -the windmill in the distance is that which stood on
the Edgware Road, near Kilburn.
Mr. Lucas was now proceeding with his large plate of the
" Salisbury Cathedral, from the Meadows," which Constable had

302 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XV.
comraissioned him to undertake, and it is of this the next note
speaks : — " June 2,0th.
" Dear Lucas, — I should be glad if you would leave the
plate here a day or two. Leslie is so much impressed with the
proof that he would give any money to possess one ; so am I,
and would give anything to possess two, at least. Now would you
mind printing a few, five or six ? Would it hurt the plate ? I
know you don't like to do so, but I would gladly pay all expenses.
It never can nor will be grander than it is now ; it is awfully so.
You shall be amply paid for this indulgence. I do think with you,
it is well to stay your hand with my works when these large ones
are all done, and pause for sorae time ; and if you take up a por
trait or so, it may be advisable, lest that branch of the art should
be shut out frora you, and your forraing a connection that raay be
cut off. All this I meant to say yesterday, but you availed
yourself of Rembrandt's 'light and shadow,' and were lost."
Mr. Lucas had parted from Constable in a crowded Exhi
bition Room containing the drawings by Rerabrandt, which formed
part of the Lawrence collection. "35, Charlotte Street,
" To Mr. George Constable, "July 2nd.
" I had the pleasure of seeing the lady yesterday bearing your
note, in which you speak so highly of the services she has
rendered your dear children, I can, indeed, well appreciate such
benefits, as my own dear girls have received thera at the hands of
ray friend. Miss Noble, for seven, eight, and nine years. I agree

i83S] CONSTABLE IN COURT.

303

with you in its being the least we can do to express our gratitude
to such benefactors. This excellent lady introduced herself to rae
by saying she had ' had two hundred and fifty children,' I was
alarmed — but an explanation soon took place, and I told her the
contents of your note. My poor boy John and myself are panting
for a little fresh air. He is gone to Hampstead to look for a
mouthful, leaving me with a promise that I write to you this
evening, to say that, if it is quite agreeable to yourself and Mrs.
Constable, he and I will corae to you on Tuesday to pass a few
days, and if also agreeable I will bring my eldest girl with me.
I long to be among your willows again, and in your walks and
hanging woods ; araong your books of antiquities, and enjoying
your society as I did before ; without reserve, restraint, coldness,
or form. I am much worn with a long and hard winter and spring
campaign, though a successful one, I gave my lecture last
Monday week at Hampstead, and did it much better this time, I
was thanked by the committee ; it was all conversational ; but all
this wears me ; and to crown the whole, I was led up to the stake
in a Court of Justice (for it proved one in this instance) to give
evidence about a Claude,"
" To Mr. George Constable. " August ird.
" I have been sadly vexed with myself for not writing to you
long ago ; but I am sorely perplexed with sundry matters which
day after day eat up ray tirae. I have been with Maria to Kings
ton, and have just brought her horae; and now that all my girls
and my little boys are safely deposited at school, I begin to
breathe, and to recollect that I was a week or two ago at Arundel,
passing a most delightful time with my dear friends, and araid

30+ THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap, XV,
most heavenly scenery ; or was It a dream ? for it seems much like
one. John was determined that this day should not pass without
my writing to you ; his words are, ' Papa, remember how happy
you were, and how kind Mr. and Mrs. Constable were.' I have no
news, excepting that the exhibition was prosperous. But the
attacks on the Royal Academy have coraraenced, and a Mr. Foggo
has written a pamphlet, and a comraittee in the House of
Coraraons are inquiring into our affairs. I should say that the
country, ignorant and ungrateful as it is in all liberal matters, does
not deserve the Academy. My picture is in my room ; it is going
to its destination in Mr, Vernon's great house in Pall Mall,"
The thoughts and wishes of Constable's second son, Charles,
had been turned towards the sea from his childhood ; he seeraed,
indeed, to have been born a sailor as certainly as his father was
born a painter. It cost Constable raany pangs to conquer his
repugnance to such a destiny for his boy, but he found it fruitless
to oppose it, and placed hira under the care of Captain Hopkins,
of the Buckinghamshire, East Indiaraan.
" Dear Leslie, — I send you a proof of the great ' Salisbury '
in its pristine grandeur. My poor Charley's tirae is now very
short in the land of comfort. The ship sails this week, and the
house has been long in a stir with his outfit. There is no end to
his wants. What would Diogenes, or an old sow (much the
same thing), say to all the display of trousers, jackets, &c., by
dozens ; blue and white shirts by scores ; and a supply of ratline
for his hammock, as he expects to be often cut down. Poor dear
boy ! I try to joke about him, but my heart is broken at parting
with him."

i33S-] CHARLES CONSTABLE.

305

" Charlotte Street,
" To Mr. George Constable. " September 1 2th.
"John's retum, and so exceedingly well, has raade me quite
happy. He is delighted with his tour, and with your and Mrs.
Constable's great kindness to him. I know not how I can be
sufificiently thankful to you and her. It has set up his health, and
it is essential to his ensuing winter's studies that he should be
strong enough to raeet the fag, I have had, as you may suppose,
a raost anxious and busy time with Charles, I have done all for
the best, and I regret all that I have done when I consider that it
was to bereave me of this delightfully clever boy, who would have
shone in my own profession,* and who is now doomed to be
driven about on the ruthless sea. It is a sad and melancholy life,
but he seeras raade for a sailor. Should he please the ofificers
and stick to the ship it will be more to his advantage than being
in the navy — a hateful tyranny, with starvation into the bargain.
Barrow told me, not long ago, that they had twelve hundred
midshipmen they did not know what to do with at the Admiralty,
In the midst of my perplexities I have made a good portrait, and
finished and sold my little ' Heath,' Mr, Vernon has luckily paid
me, for it has cost me two hundred pounds to get Charles afloat.
My pictures have come back frora Worcester. I wish I could get
off going there to lecture, especially as C  has been drivelling
a parcel of sad stuff in the Worcester paper in the narae of
Lorenzo, God knows, not Lorenzo de Medici ; but it is all about
ideal art, which in landscape is sheer nonsense as they put it.
Even Sir Joshua is not quite clear in this."
• Charles Constable drew and etched beautifully for so young a practitioner.
R R

306 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XV.
" Charlotte Street, September i/^th.
" My dear Leslie, — Nothing but ray alraost entire occupa
tion within doors by ray poor Charley, and various other matters,
could have caused rae so long to delay writing to you.* I have
several letters frora Charles frora the ship, and at length a final
one off Start Point, when the ship was leaving the land. He is
a true sailor, and raakes up his mind to combat all difificulties in
calms or storms with an evenness of mind that little belongs to
me, a landsman. They have had a rough business of it so far.
He says : ' I write in haste in a gale of wind, having just corae
down frora helping to take a reef of the raizen top sail, when the
ship made a heavy lurch, her main-chains going under water, and
pitching forecastle in at every wave, during which I lost my cap
when on the yard, and my right shoe, both going far to leeward ;
but,' he adds, ' Captain Hopkins is a delightful man.' . . . Poor
Charles hung about rae when I parted from him ; Roberts and
Alfred were with me. He asked if I could stay in the ship till
next day, but I knew we must part, so we shook hands, and I saw
him no raore. It is a noble ship, the size of a seventy- four. . . .
John is returned frora France, rauch pleased and wonderfully
strong and well, ready and willing for a winter fag in London,
where he enters his course of chyraistry, anatomy, and materia
medica. He was amused with France, but with the food he was
annoyed, as he says they put vinegar into everything they eat and
drink. I have made a beautiful drawing of Stone Henge; I
venture to use such an expression to you. I called on Mr.
Bannister, who is well, but sadly low about the poor young raen
who were drowned ; they were brothers of his son's wife. The
* I was then out of town.

'^35-] LORD EGREMONT

307

Academy has given Mrs.  forty pounds, so I hope Parlia
ment will not put it down. I raust go to Worcester, or they
will think rae shabby and a charlatan. I have got my picture
back ; they tell me I played first fiddle. John tells me of Lord
Egremont shooting three brace of partridges and a hare on the
ist of September; wonderful at his age."
" To Mr. j. j. Chalon. " October 2gth.
" I much regret not seeing you last night, but I want raost to
see you by daylight, as I have been very busy with Mr, Vernon's
picture. Oiling out, making out, polishing, scraping, &c,, seem
to have agreed with it exceedingly. The ' sleet ' and * snow '
have disappeared, leaving in their places silver, ivory, and a
little gold, I wish you could give me a look, as it will go in
a few days. I am glad you are all on the return, and I was
exceedingly glad to hear you are all well."
" To Mr. George Constable. "November nth.
" We shall be delighted to see your son and any part of your
family ; John has a bed to spare in his own room. For myself
I wish only to be left to ray painting-roora. I do not think of
much canvas this year; a size smaller will be better, and more of
them, such as will suit ray friends' pockets; though 'tis too late
in life for me to think of ever becoming a popular painter. Be
sides, a knowledge of the world, and I have little of it, goes farther
towards that than a knowledge of art." " December ist.
" My dear Leslie, — Will you be so kind as to call in on your
way to-morrow, so that we raay go to the Acaderay together,
and this will give me a fair opportunity of begging you to look

3o8 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XV.
at Mr. Vernon's picture by daylight. I don't wonder at your
working so rauch on the sarae picture, now that I see what can
be done by it. I want you, of all things, to see it now, for it
has proved to rae what my art is capable of when tirae can be
given sufficient to carry it horae. So rauch you will take
frora me." " December gth.
"My dear Leslie, — I have had a letter from your sister, with
another from Mr. Carey,* who has desired me to send hira a pic
ture which I have not got, nor ever had. Through the kindness
of your sister, he has seen my book, and has taken a liking to
' The Sea Beach,' thinking, no doubt, it was done from some
thing more than a sketch. I know not what to say — perhaps you
will call on me to-morrow evening, and we will go together to
hear Sir Martin. Mr. Vernon's picture is not yet gone to hira ;
he wants it, but it never was half so good before, and I will do as
I like with it, for I have still a greater interest In it than anybody
else." " To Mr. William Carpenter.
"Dear Sir, — Accept ray best thanks for the book, 'James's
Italian School,' which I return. The 'Dictionary' is a raost
valuable work, but, as I go on referring to it, I occasionally meet
with errors ; and how can it be otherwise, when the sources from
whence the information is derived are so often erroneous ? I
shall not fail, however, to make raeraoranda when I raeet with
thera, to subrait to you. My character of Ruysdael I have not
* Mr. Edward Carey, of Philadelphia, U.S.

Io
<

t83S.] first sketch OF ARUNDEL MILL.

309

yet found, but I can always write it for you, and better and
better.* I have never ceased to work on Mr. Vernon's picture
since I saw you ; it is at present with him in Pall Mall, but is
coming back by the bearer for ' more last words.' My painter's
library is now getting very considerable. I wrote a long note to
you the other day, full of nonsense, which my man lost by the
way." " Charlotte Street,
" To Mr. George Constable. "December 16th.
" We shall be delighted to see you and any of your family ;
our plans are thus. My daughters come home to-morrow, and
will go in a few days to their aunt at Wimbledon, John and I
have engaged to eat our Christraas dinner at Bergholt, with ray
own faraily. We shall leave town on the 24th, and stay a week ;
in the second week of January, therefore, we shall look for you.
Can you bring with you the little Gainsborough, and the sketch
I raade of your ' Mill ' ? John wants me to make a picture of
it, I had a nice excursion to Worcester, and got on quite well
with my serraons ; you will see my placards, and how well they
are arranged, I would make a book, but I recollect the saying,
' O that mine eneray would write a book,' John is now at the
door, by which I know it is exactly ten rainutes past four."
* I regret to say it was not found among his papers.

CHAPTER XVI.
1836-37.
Mr. Vernon's Picture.— Breakfast with Mr. Rogers. — Lecture at Royal Institution. —
Exhibition, 1836.— Clouds and Skies.— Picture of Arundel Mill.— Declining Health.
—His Death.
" To Mr. George Constable. "January 12th, 1836.
" . . , , I have never left my picture till now, when Mr,
Vernon has allowed it to go to the British Gallery, and I am glad
to get it there in its present state as you will be able to see it.
When you come, will you bring the little sketch of * Arundel Mill,'
as I contemplate a picture of it of a pretty good size,"
" Charlotte Street, February 6th.
" Mv dear Purton, — I ara sure these dear children would be
disappointed were they not to have the pleasure of joining the
young folks at your party on Saturday. We all, therefore, gladly
avail ourselves of your and Mrs. Purton's kind invitation, and will
be with you at four o'clock that day, John, myself, and the sailor ;
though for myself there is always an uncertainty, I like to be
poking about among my luraber, and loathe to go from home, I
am glad you encourage me with ' Stoke,' What say you to a
summer raorning, July or August, at eight or nine o'clock, after a
slight shower during the night, to enhance the dews in the
shadowed part of the picture, under
' Hedgerow elms and hillocks green ' ?

Q
2
<

a:
oI-

1836.] STOKE CHURCH.

311

Then the plough, cart, horse, gate, cows, donkey, &c., are all good
paintable material for the foreground, and the size of the canvas
sufficient to try one's strength and keep one at full collar. Now,
pray keep to your canvas, and get up a heath scene, to which you
are now fully competent, having the advantage of previous experi
ence of that kind of practice on your large picture,* I am happy
with these boys about me. My raonitor, John, I always give up
to, he is always in the right. Charley is a good boy, but a straw
will draw hira aside — his character is easily mistaken. He is every
other night with his navigation master. Both boys are now reading
their studies by my side."
The large picture of Stoke was never painted ; but a sketch of
the subject furnished a plate for " The Engli.sh Landscape." Of
his intention in this sketch. Constable says : " The impressive
solemnity of a summer's noon, when attended as it often is during
the heats of the season, by thunder clouds, is attempted to be
expressed in this picture ; at the same time, the appearance of a
noon-day rainbow is hinted at, when the arc it describes is at its
lowest, Suffolk, and many of the other eastern counties, abound
in venerable Gothic churches, raany of thera of a size which
cannot fail to strike the stranger with admiration and surprise ; and
a melancholy but striking characteristic of these churches is their
being found in situations now comparatively lonely, some of them
standing in obscure villages containing a few scattered houses only,
and those but ill according with such large and beautiful structures ;
but it is thus accounted for : these spots were the seats of those
flourishing manufactories once so numerous in these counties, where
» Constable said to Mr. Purton, "A large canvas will show you what you cannot do,
a small one will only show you what you can."

312 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XVL
they had from a remote period been established, and were during
the reign of Henry VIL* and VIII. greatly increased by the
continual arrival of the Flemings, who found here a refuge from
the persecutions of the Low Countries ; as well as afterwards in
the reisfn of Elizabeth, whom the course of events had raised to be
the glory and the support of Protestant Europe, The vast size of
these noble structures, with the charm that the raellowing hand of
time has cast over them, gives them an aspect of extreme solemnity
and grandeur ; and they stand lasting raonuraents of the power and
splendour of our ecclesiastical government, as well as of the piety
and skill of our ancestors. Stoke, though by no means one of the
largest, certainly ranks with the churches alluded to. It was
probably erected about the end of the thirteenth century. The
length of the nave, with its continuous line of embattled parapet,
and its finely proportioned chancel, may challenge the admiration
of the architect, as well as its majestic tower, which from its com
manding height may be said to impart a portion of its own dignity
to the surrounding country. In the church are many interesting
monuments; and here, as well as at Neyland, are many of the
tombstones of the clothiers ; being raostly laid in the pavement
they are much defaced, but are known to belong to them by the
small brasses still reraaining," " February i^th.
" My dear Lucas, — The ' Salisbury ' is rauch adraired in its
present state, but still it is too heavy, especially when seen between
' The Lock' and ' The Drinking Boy,' Yet we raust not break
it up, and we must bear in recollection that the sentiment of the
* Dedham Church was built by Margaret Tudor, the mother of Henry VIL, and
bears her initials in many of its ornaments.

1836] MR. ROGERS.

313

picture is that of solemnity, not gaiety ; nothing garish, but the
contrary ; yet it must be bright, clear, alive, fresh, and all the front

seen,"

"March 18th.
" My dear Leslie, — I never had such a morning in my life as
that which I passed with Mr, Rogers, I long to see you, but the
grievous place* in which you are cuts off everything. All that
know you agree that the spot is fatal to your friendships ; you will
justly say, what are such friendships worth ? But I am angry
because I have wanted of late so very much to see you, Mr,
Rogers thinks I am in the right road in my pursuit of landscape.
He likes my plan of its history, and says ' nobody can do it so well.'
This is encouraging. He was pleased with my pointing out the
falling or shooting star in his exquisite Rubens,t But he is very quiet
in his likes and dislikes, a delightful man, all intelligence, all benevo
lence and justice, and a generous upholder of art, living and dead.
What pictures he has got ! the best in London ; and he has some
noble old woodcuts. It was pleasing to see him feed the sparrows
while at breakfast, and to see how well they knew him. But he
has some melancholy ideas of human nature. He said, ' It is a debt
genius raust pay to be hated.' I doubt this in general, but there
is something like it in nature. I told him if he could catch one of
• My father then lived at 12, Pine Apple Place, a little beyond old Kilburn Gate,
on the Edgware Road, and a visit to him was considered quite a country excursion.
The house had then an open stretch of sweet- smelling hay-fields in front of it, extend
ing to Harrow-on-the-Hill , and I can see Constable now as he used to sit on a
summer evening in the front room, sipping what he called "a dish of tea," and admir
ing a sunset beyond a row of fine oaks and elms. After which he and my father spent
the rest of the evening in the painting-room.— Ed.
t A moonlight ; a scene of such perfect stillness that the entire orb of the moon is
reflected in a pool of water. There is a horse in the foreground, and you seem to hear
him cropping the grass. S S

314 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap, XVL
those sparrows, and tie a bit of paper about its neck and let it off
again, the rest would peck it to death for being so distinguished:'
"March 26th.
" My dear Leslie, — I send you a few skies such as we thought
might suit your picture. Perhaps a mountain ash araong the
shepherds might be useful, I send a rough sketch of one I raade
from a bedroom window where I slept ; they are pretty with the
berries. , , . I am sorely perplexed with concerns not my
own, in the picture way ; I have in my house several works
supplicating for places in the exhibition ; they are sent to me
because it is well known what a fool I am.* . . , What stuff I
am writing to you, but the worst is, I am really serious in all I ask
of you, I enclose a card of the Royal Institution, that you may be
convinced of ray folly and activity, but I am not yet selling spruce
beer in the streets, like  ,"
" To Mr, George Constable. "May 12th.
" I am pretty full-handed and sorely perplexed for time, owing
to the numerous irons I have put in the fire, I have engaged to
deliver four lectures, as the card I enclose will let you see ; they
will comprehend a pretty full account of the history of landscape,
, . . I got up a tolerably good picture for the Academy, not
the ' Mill,' which I had hoped to do, and which was prettily laid in
as far as chiaroscuro, but I found I could not do both ; and so I
preferred to see Sir Joshua Reynolds' narae and Sir George
Beaumont's once raore in the catalogue, for the last time at the old
house. I hear it is liked, but I see no newspaper, not allowing
one to come into my house, I send you a catalogue, and marked,
* I was then on the Arranging Committee at the Academy.

1836]. WILKIE — TURNER.— " THE CENOTAPH." 315
I believe, pretty fairly. The exhibition is much liked, Wilkie's
pictures are very fine, and Turner has outdone himself; he seems
to paint with tinted steam, so evanescent, and so airy. The public
think he is laughing at them, and so they laugh at him in return.
The non-members are very powerful. Charles Landseer, Herbert,
Partridge, Knight, and Roberts. The president was never better,
but his health gives way under his duties. I dined with Wilkie
last week, and met Allan, who is very entertaining. Wilkie
recommended to me to paint a large picture for over the line next
year." The picture mentioned in the beginning of this letter was of
" The Cenotaph " erected by Sir George Beaumont to the memory
of Reynolds. It might seem as if Constable had consulted the taste
of his late friend in choosing the autumnal tints for the foliage of
a scene taken from Sir George's grounds, but his doing so arose
naturally from his having made his studies from it late in the
autumn. In this fine picture, every way worthy of so interesting
a subject. Constable introduced nothing living, except a deer in
the foreground, and a robin redbreast perched on one of the
angles of the monument. In describing " The Cenotaph" in the
catalogue, he quoted the lines on it, written by Wordsworth at
Sir George Beaumont's request : —
" Ye lime trees ranged before this hallo'd urn.
Shoot forth with lively power at spring's return ;
And be not slow a stately growth to rear
Of pillars branching off from year to year.
Till they have learned to frame a darksome aisle.
That may recall to mind that awful pile
Where Reynolds, mid our country's noblest dead.
In the last sanctity of fame is laid.
There, though by right the excelling painter sleep,
Where death and glory a joint sabbath keep.

3i6 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XVL
Yet not the less his spirit would hold dear
Self-hidden praise and friendship's private tear ;
Hence in my patrimonial grounds have I
Raised this frail tribute to his memory ;
From youth a zealous follower of the art
That he profess'd, attached to him in heart;
Admiring, loving, and with grief and pride
Feeling what England lost when Reynolds died."
Constable exhibited with this picture a magnificent drawing in
water-colours of Stone Henge* of a large size.
He was now wholly occupied in preparing the lectures which he
delivered in the summer of this year at the Royal Institution, Albe
marle Street, beginning on the 26th of May. The ticket mentioned
in the following note was an admission to these lectures : —
" Dear William Carpenter, — I send a ticket, as you
requested, to Mrs. Carpenter ; and if your son is, as I sincerely
hope, better, he may accompany her and yourself, as both may
possibly be included among her friends. Don't trouble yourself
about Lanzi any farther, as I have now pretty well done with him.
He is an old twaddler, but the labour he spares is immense, and
certainly his arrangeraent, his history, and the marking of the
epochs is admirable and very useful. Yours truly, "J. Constable."
" Charlotte Street,
" To Mr. George Constable. " September 16th.
" My dear Friend, — It is a very long time since I have written
to you, or since I have had the pleasure of hearing from you. I am
anxious to know how you and Mrs. Constable and all your family
are, and what have been your occupations in the way of the arts, in
* Now at South Kensington. The plate is from an oil sketch formerly in my father's
possession, a distant view across Salisbury Plain. — Ed.

o2

2O

1836.] CHARLEY, THE YOUNG SAILOR. 317
antiquities, and in natural history. My dear John is always engrossed
with some study or other ; he is remarkably well, and is wholly
devoted to Latin and Greek. I know not, nor does he know himself,
exactly what he will ultimately be, but either a clergyman or a phy
sician. He is brushing up for Cambridge ; this I regret, but it is a
selfish feeling; I cannot bear to part with him. I live a life of more
solitude than you would suspect for the midst of London, and in
such a pursuit, so wide a field as the arts. My son Charles * is
returned from the East Indies ; the voyage has been a hard one,
but it is all for the best. All his visionary and poetic ideas of the
sea and a seaman's life are fled, the reality only remains; and
a sad thing the reality is. But in the huge floating mass there is
an order, and an habitual good conduct, which must be of advan
tage to a youth of ardent mind, and one who has never been con
trolled. Charley is preparing for another voyage, and the ship
sails in the middle of November for China. ... I have not
been out of town once this year, but for an hour or two. I dislike
to leave home, but enjoy an excursion very rauch when I am away.
I have an invitation to the Isle of Wight, but I dare say I shall
not go. I must go into Suffolk, and take my sailor boy with me.
John was there this summer for five weeks; he was a great
favourite with his aunt and my brothers ; indeed, John is sure to
win his way, for he never gives offence to any living creature. I
have lately painted a ' Heath ' that I prefer to any of my former
efforts; it is about two feet six, painted for a very old friend,
an amateur, who well knows how to appreciate it, for I cannot
* Charles Constable entered the East India Company's service, and was employed
for many years in command of a smart brig upon the survey of the Persian Gulf. On
the Imperial Government taking over the Indian Navy he retired with the rank of
Commander, R.N.

3i8 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XVL
paint down to ignorance. Leslie was here to-day ; he is going to
Petworth in ten days, I have never seen such scenery as your
country affords ; I prefer it to any other for my pictures, woods,
lanes, single trees, rivers, cottages, barns, mills, and, above all,
such beautiful heath scenery." " October 2gth.
" My dear Leslie, — It seeras a very long tirae since we raet,
or that I have heard from you, I should, as you will believe, be
delighted to have a letter, if it is only to give me a hint of what is
going on at Petworth, I trust you will hardly quit so hospitable
a roof till this ebullition of premature winter is passed ; the snow
is very deep indeed, and all since four o'clock this morning. My
boys are very good boys, I have not left home for a day, nor can
I till John is at Cambridge and Charlie is at sea. O what a
raelancholy, dirty life is a sailor's ! but he is going out again with
the ship to China. There are to be twelve or thirteen midship
men, and where they find a pighole for so many, I know not.
. . I hear a sad account of poor Mr, Bannister, who will
never leave his room again, nor see any more of his friends, nor
sing any more of his delightful songs."
" My dear Leslie, — , , . My poor Charley has had sad
weather in his progress to the Downs, where he is now possibly
wind bound. The frightful gale on Tuesday is well described by
him. The ship was anchored by the Nore light, and rode out the
storm with little damage ; but the wrecks around and within two
hundred yards were shocking ; one large ship floated past, bottora
upwards, and after the gale he saw seven large hulls in tow with
steamboats. In their passage to the Downs they saw some on the
Goodwin Sands, and some on the beach under the Foreland."

1836.] " THE GLEBE FARM." — NOTES ON SKIES.

3")

" December 8th.
" My dear Leslie, — . . . Mr. Sheepshanks means to
have ray ' Glebe Farm ' or ' Green Lane,' of which you have a
sketch ; this is one of the pictures on which I rest ray little pre
tensions to futurity. ... I hope you are all well, and safely
returned, and the better for the excursion. Will you come to the
last lecture given in the old house ? if so, call and dine here.
. . . Poor Westall ! "
" To Mr. George Constable. "December 12th.
" I return the book which you lent me so long ago. My
observations on clouds and skies are on scraps and bits of paper,
and 1 have never yet put them together so as to form a lecture,
which I shall do, and probably deliver at Hampstead next summer.
I wish I had secured your fine old willow, which you say is no
more (what a pity), for my lecture on trees. If you want anything
more about atmosphere, and I can help you, write to me. Foster's
is the best book ; he is far from right, still he has the merit of
breaking much ground. . . . Poor Westall ! I went to his
funeral on Saturday." "December 2,0th.
" My dear Leslie, — I am vexed with myself for having so
long delayed to write to you, to thank you for your kind invitation
to these dear children. This fearful weather intimidates me, but it
seeras little likely to change; and all my dreads, and all I can say
about the danger of such an excursion into the country at such a
time, gives no alarra whatever to the children, and they insist on
my coming out of my lurking place, where I thought I had lain up
for the winter, and so I raust accompany them to your house on
Monday to keep New Year's Day, Now all this I do, and let them

320 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XVL
do, only on condition that Mrs. Leslie and you dine with me on
Wednesday, We have venison from my old friend, Lady Dysart,
and are almost alone ; only Mr, and Miss Spedding, very old and
esteemed friends of my poor wife. Prithee come, ' life is short,
friendship is sweet ; ' these were the last words of poor Fisher to
me in his last invitation. My month in the Life School is March,
I have concluded on setting the three figures of the ' St, Peter,
Martyr,' for I am determined to sift that picture to the bottom,* I
have by rae a very old print of the subject five years before Titian's
picture, done from the one which occupied the same place in the
Dominican Church, The picture was by Jacobo del Fiore, or
' Jemmy of the Flower ' ; the flower stands for his name in the
print, forming a very expressive figure."
The invitation contained in this letter was Constable's last
written one to me. Without attaching to coincidences such as these
any superstitious importance, they are too affecting to pass un
noticed. The expression, also, which follows, with regard to
March, which proved to be the last month of his life, is very
remarkable. In a note to Mr, Lucas, after thanking him for some proofs of
the " Salisbury," and making some remarks on them, he continues :
" God preserve your excellent wife, and give her a happy hour ; I
have not forgotten my own anxieties at such times, though they are
never ro return. I beg to thank you again and again for the most
lovely winter piece I ever saw.f You have caused the last of the
* His lectures, in which he says much of the " Peter Martyr," will explain thig.
t An impression of the " Salisbury," taken when the plate was imperfectly filled with
ink, and which had accidentally the appearance of winter. Mr. Lucas had sent it to
Constable as a curiosity.

'836.] ARUNDEL MILL.

321

old year to slip away from me with pleasurable feelings ; we have
now only a quarter of an hour left of the year 1836 ! Farewell,"
" January igth, 1837,
"Dear Lucas, — We must keep this proof as a criterion, and get
as much of it as we can. The bow is grand whole, provided it is
clear and tender. How I wish I could scratch and tear away with
your tools on the steel, just as old  * wanted to fly up to
Langham Hill, and tear the trees and hedges all up by the roots ;
but I can't do it, and your way is, I well know, the best and only
way," " 7b Mr, George Constable. "February ijth.
" , . . I cannot give much account of myself, but we have all
been well, and have escaped this sad influenza, which has been the
desolation of so many hundreds of all ages. John is the most
tender of us all ; he works hard, as he wishes so much to get him
self fit for Cambridge. I believe he goes in October. As the
spring gets up he would be delighted to pass a few days with you ;
he looks for an hour at his old fishing place near the Black Duck.
For myself, I am at work on a beautiful subject, Arundel Mill, for
which I am indebted to your , friendship. It is, and shall be, my
best picture — the size, three or four feet — it is safe for the ex
hibition, as we have as much as six weeks good. We hold our
first General Meeting at the new house on Monday, and a very
noble house it is,t I am visitor next month in the Life Academy,
• A farmer, who, by his restless, grasping disposition having made some of his
neighbours as well as himself very uncomfortable, uttered this singular wish.
+ Constable never joined in the popular cry against the architect of the National
Gallery, for not building a larger house than the ground given for the purpose per
mitted,
T T

322 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XVL
which I regret, as it cuts up my time ; but I relieve, by exchange.
Turner. My great Salisbury print is done ; I shall call it ' The
Rainbow'; you shall soon receive a proof of it. Remeraber me
most kindly to Mrs. Constable, and all your family. Pray write
to me soon; I long to know that all is well with you."
" February 2^th,
" My dear Leslie, — I know not how to reply to your kind re
quest to come to you on Monday, as I am engaged with my assassin
on that day, and shall be employed with him all the week ; in other
words, I commence my visitorship at the Academy, and I shall set
Titian's figure ofthe assassin in the ' Peter Martyr.' I shall turn
Fitzgerald into the fallen saint, and the remaining figure of the
monk I give to Emmet, who is an obliging and well-behaved man,
and anxious for a turn at the Academy ; will not this flying monk
sicken him .¦* I have been sadly hindered, and my picture is not
worth anything at present. Roberts was at Hampstead on Thurs
day. All my little girls are well and happy, and I really believe
they cannot be in better hands than with that excellent woman,
Miss Noble." "March i8th.
" Dear Lucas, — Mr. Cook, the Academician, said yesterday
that the ' Salisbury ' was a grand looking thing. I hope that
obliging, and most strange and odd ruffian, your printer, will be
allowed to have just his own way in printing the plate, for I now
see we must not be too full, otherwise it will, as he says, ' only be
fit for a parcel of painters.' " No date.
"Dear Lucas, — The print is a noble and beautiful thing;
entirely improved and entirely made perfect : the bow is noble, and

'837-] A KNOWING RUFFIAN. 323
is now a neck or nothing business— it is startling and unique. I
have mentioned to your clever and agreeable rufifian, who is in high
good humour, two things— the light on the tower under the trees
must be made thus " (here a sketch) ; " instead of thus " (another
sketch) ; " also the little spot on the cloud your rufifian will show you,
and he pointed out a good way of doing it, half an hour will alter
both. Thank you for the pains you have taken with the bow, it is
lovely. I hope you are better. I raust now disraiss the rufifian,
for he is getting too knowing for John and rae."
" Dear Lucas, — Your man has told rae that there is every
reason to know that the ' Salisbury ' will print both full and rich.
Tone, tone, is the most seductive and inviting quality a picture or
print can possess ; it is the first thing seen, and like a flower, invites
to our examination of the plant itself . . . Your man is a
droll fellow. I have given him two shillings, but it was before he
had told me that he ' is given to break out of a Saturday night, but
it does not last long, and generally goes off on a Sunday morning.'
He cannot help it, he cannot even account for it, but so it is. This
is his own gratuitous account of himself. What a creature is man,
either cultivated or not, either civilized or wild. I offered him
some rum and water, and gin and water, all of which he refused
almost with loathing ; perhaps his hour is not yet come,"
" To Mr, Samuel Lane, "March.
"My dear Lane, — , , , Pray keep your children within
doors this grievous weather ; I am told nothing breeds whooping
cough so much as such bitter easterly winds as are now prevailing,
I am out every evening from five to nine at the old Academy,
visitor in the Life."

324 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XVL
The recollection that Constable was very sensitive to atmo
spheric influences, and that his health had many times suffered in
the early part of the spring, recalls to my mind the passage from
Shakespeare I have most often heard hira repeat —
" Daffodils
That come before the swallow dares, and take
The winds of March with beauty."
They were now, indeed, winds of ominous import to him.
He was the last visitor who ofificiated in the Life Acaderay
within the walls of Soraerset House, On the concluding evening
of his attendance, he raade a short address to the students, pointing
out to them the many advantages our Academy affords, and
cautioning thera not to be in too great haste to exchange these for
instruction in the schools of France, Gerraany, or Italy. He was
of opinion that the best school of art will always exist in that country
where there are the best living artists, and not raerely where there
are the greatest number of works of the old masters. He did not
admit that the French excel the best of the English artists in
drawing, a point generally conceded to them ; and in support of
his own opinion he quoted that of Mr. Stothard, who said, " The
French are very good mathematical draughtsmen, but life and
motion are the essence of drawing, and their figures remind us too
much of statues. In the slightest pen and ink sketches of Raphael,
however irregular the proportions, you have the real principle of
good drawing — his figures live and move."
This is but a recollection, at some distance of time, of what
Constable told rae he said. I wrote to Mr, Maclise, who was then
a student in the Life School, to ask if he could help rae to anything
more, and that gentleman very kindly sent me the following note.

"^.*

.^¦r;

JOHN CONSTABLE, R.A.
FROM A SKETCH UV D. MACLISE, K.A., WHEN A STUDENT IN THE LIFE SCHOOL.

^^37] DR. MACLISE. 325
enclosing a pencil sketch he had made of Constable in the
Academy, " 14, Russell Place.
" My dear Sir, — I cannot call to mind the substance of any
particular address of Constable when he was visitor, but I recollect
that he constantly addressed us collectively ; or rather, whatever
observation he had to make, he made aloud ; and this was very
frequent. Every evening he said something, generally relating to
the raodel he had set, and in favour of certain picturesque accom
paniments which he thought might always be introduced with pro
priety ; * he was, with the students, a most popular visitor. The
little sketch was made under the disadvantage of my being on the
upper and back seat, looking down on him as he sat on the front
and lower one in the Life School, and must have been when he set
the Eve, although I should not have thought it was so long ago as
1830." " I remain, very faithfully yours,
"D. Maclise,"
"March 2gth.
" Dear Lucas, — I am greatly pleased to see how well you are
preparing for the new bow ; f the proof is about what I want ; I
* This reminds me of what I have often heard Constable say, that he " never could
look at any object unconnected with a background or other objects," and he thought
the students might, very advantageously to themselves, be taught at an early age to
look at nature in this way. For this reason all his figures were set with backgrounds
and other accompaniments, A difference of opinion exists as to the expediency of
this method of teaching, and it is one of the charges brought against the Academy
that the students are placed under the care of various instructors, who have each their
own notions. And yet this may possibly be an advantage, when it is considered that
the opinions of any one man can scarcely be right on all points ; and also that the
Life is the highest school in the Academy, and that in which the students maybe supposed
to have arrived at an age to judge in some measure for themselves ; and that they are
not placed under more than one master until they have entered the Life School,
t From the manner in which this is expressed it would appear that the rainbow
had been taken out, and a new one was to be put in, but this was not the case; the

326 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XVL
mean that you took hence. I took from the elder-bush a blossom
to the left, you will possibly do the same. Go on as you think
proper, 1 go to a General Meeting on Thursday, to-morrow
evening, and 1 dine at the Charterhouse on Saturday, We cannot
fail with a proper bow. The rufifian is so delightful, that no one
would for a moment judge him to be one ; so bland, so delighted
with John, and John with him ; they are both in the room,"
This note may, perhaps, be the last Constable ever wrote.
The engagement mentioned in it to dine with Dr, Fisher, the
father of Archdeacon Fisher, at the Charterhouse, was for Satur
day, the ist of April, but the dawn of that day he never saw. His
constitution was undermined to a degree of which he was not
himself aware, far less his friends ; for sedentary and irregular as
were his habits, he had not the look of a valetudinarian, nor would
his age have been easily guessed from his appearance. Not long
before the time of which I am writing, I had remarked to him that
I should guess him to be younger than he really was, to which he
answered — " In my youth I never did apply
Hot and rebellious liquors to my blood," &c.
But the reader has seen how far his mind was from being an
equable one. In reference to his art, he would sometimes say he
"thanked Heaven he had no imagination," though in reality, few
men ever had more ; and if it heightened all his enjoyments, it
greatly deepened all his sorrows. He had fully proved the truth
of Burns' lines — " Dearly bought the hidden treasure.
Finer feelings can bestow ;
Chords that vibrate sweetest pleasure
Thrill the deepest notes of woe."

" new bow " was the one with which Constable had before expressed himself so much
pleased.

1837-] THE BODY WORN BY THE MIND. 327
Had Constable been even less sensitive, the perpetual activity of
a mind that could not rest must have affected his constitution at
no very late period. His very amusements consisted of study. I
do not think he ever read a novel in his life. It was on no narrow
principle that he objected to works of fiction, but they did not
interest him, I remember, soon after the death of Mrs, Con
stable, when books were proposed to him as a relief to his mind,
he said, " I should be delighted to read ' Tom Thumb,' if it could
amuse me," If her loss had been but that of an assistant in his
parental duties, and a partaker of the cares of a family, he must
have felt it daily ; how much more heavy, then, must have been
his affliction for the loss of a wife in whom no hope formed by him
during the days of courtship had been disappointed, excepting the
hope of her longer continuance on earth. His married years were
unquestionably the happiest of his existence. In Fisher and the
younger Dunthorne he was also bereft of friends whose places
were never supplied to hira ; and his professional life had been a
continual struggle for the estimation which he felt he deserved, but
which he had now ceased to expect. If his intimate friends w^ere
but imperfectly acquainted with the real state of his feelings, those
who knew him but slightly, and who seldom saw him unless sur
rounded by smiles of his own creating, could not have believed
how much he was now a prey to melancholy and anxious thoughts ;
thoughts, no doubt, in part, both the cause and effect of declining
health. The reader will remember a passage in one of his letters
to Mr. Fisher, in which he says, " All my indispositions have their
source in ray mind. It is when I am restless and unhappy that 1
become susceptible of cold, damp, heats, and such nonsense."
On Thursday, the 30th March, I raet him at a General

328 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE- [Chap. XVT.
Assembly of the Academy, and as the night, though very cold,
was fine, he walked a great part of the way home with me. The
most trifling occurrences of that evening remain on my memory.
As we proceeded along Oxford Street, he heard a child cry on the
opposite side of the way ; the grief of childhood never failed to
arrest his attention, and he crossed over to a little beggar-girl who
had hurt her knee ; he gave her a shilling and some kind words,
which, by stopping her tears, showed that the hurt was not very
serious, and we continued our walk. Some pecuniary losses he
had lately met with had disturbed him, but more because they in
volved him with persons disposed to take advantage of his good
feelings than from their amount. He spoke of these with some
degree of irritation, but turned to more agreeable subjects, and
we parted at the west end of Oxford Street, laughing, I never
saw him again alive.
The whole of the next day he was busily engaged finishing his
picture of " Arundel Mill and Castle," One or two of his friends
who called on him saw that he was not well, but they attributed
this to confinement and anxiety with his picture, which was to go
in a few days to the exhibition. In the evening he walked out
for a short time on a charitable errand connected with the Artists'
Benevolent Fund. He returned about nine o'clock, ate a hearty
supper, and feeling chilly, had his bed warmed, a luxury he rarely
indulged in. It was his custom to read in bed. Between ten and
eleven he had read himself to sleep, and his candle, as usual, was
removed by a servant. Soon after this his eldest son, who had
been at the theatre, returned home, and while preparing for bed
in the next room, his father awoke in great pain, and called to him.
So little was Constable alarmed, however, that he at first refused

i837-] HIS DEATH AND FUNERAL.

329

to send for medical assistance ; he took some rhubarb and mag
nesia which produced sickness, and he drank copiously of warm
water, which occasioned vomiting ; but the pain increasing, he de
sired that Mr. Michele, his near neighbour, should be sent for, who
very soon attended. In the meantirae Constable had fainted, his
son supposing he had fallen asleep. Mr. Michele instantly ordered
some brandy to be brought ; the bedroom of the patient was at
the top of the house, the servant had to run downstairs for it, and
before it could be procured life was extinct ; and within half-an-
hour of the first attack of pain.
A post mortem investigation was made by Professor Partridge
in the presence of Mr. George Young and Mr. Michele, but, strange
to say, the extreme pain Constable had suffered could only be
traced to indigestion ; no indications of disease were anywhere dis
covered sufificient, in the opinion of these gentlemen, to have pro
duced at that time a fatal result. Mr, Michele, in a letter to me,
describing all he had witnessed, says, "It is barely possible that
the prompt application of a stimulant might have sustained the
vital principle, and induced reaction in the functions necessary to
the maintenance of life."
Constable's eldest son was prevented from attending the funeral
by an illness, brought on by the painful excitement he had suffered ;
but the two brothers of the deceased, and a few of his most inti
mate friends, followed the body to Hampstead,* where some ofthe
gentlemen residing there, who had known Constable, voluntarily
joined the procession in the churchyard. The vault which con-
* I cannot but recall here a passage in a letter to Mr. Fisher, written by Constable
nearly ten years before his death, in which, after speaking of having removed his family
to Hampstead, he says, " I could gladly exclaim, ' Here let me take my everlasting
rest ! ' " U U

330 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Ch.\p. XVL
tained the reraains of his wife was opened, he was laid by her
side, and the inscription which he had placed on the tablet over it,
" Eheu ! quam tenui e filo pendet
Quidquid in vita maxime arridet ! "
might well be applied to the loss his family and friends had now
sustained. The funeral service was read by one of those friends,
the Rev, T, J, Judkin, whose tears fell fast on the book as he stood
by the tomb.
The following extracts frora my father's own autobiography,
while they give some interesting details of Constable as he lay after
death in that small attic in Charlotte Street, show also how keenly
my father was affected by his death,
" On the ist of April, 1837, as I was dressing, I saw from my
window Pitt — a man employed by Constable to carry raessages —
at the gate. He sent up word that he wished to speak to me, and
I ran down expecting one of Constable's amusing notes, or a mes
sage from him ; but the raessage was from his children, and to tell
me that he had died suddenly the night before. My wife and I were
in Charlotte Street as soon as possible, I went up into his bed
room, where he lay looking as if in a tranquil sleep. His watch,
which his hand had so lately wound up, ticking on a table by his
side, on which also lay Southey's 'Life of Cowper,' which he had
been reading scarcely an hour before his death. He had died as he
lived, surrounded by art, for the walls of the little attic were covered
with engravings, and his feet nearly touched a print of the beautiful
moonlight by Rubens, belonging to Mr. Rogers, I remained the
whole day in the house, and the greater part of it in his room,
watching the progress of casts made from his face by his neigh
bour, Mr. Joseph, and by Mr. Davis,

i837-] CONSTABLE' S LOVABLE QUALITIES. 331
" I felt his loss far less then than I have since done — than I do
even now,
" Its suddenness produced the effect of a blow which stuns at
first and pairts afterwards ; and I have lived to learn how much
more I have lost in him than at that time I supposed. Those per
sonal qualities that attached me to him gained more and more on
me while he lived, and the examination of his papers and letters
since his death, has increased my esteem for him in proportion as
they gave me a deeper insight into his character. It is a gratifica
tion to me to believe that some of my feelings and tastes are like
his ; indeed, if this be not true I know not how to account for
the great delight his pictures give me, a delight distinct from,
and I almost think superior to, that which I receive frora any
other pictures whatever,
" Among all the landscape painters, ancient or raodern, no one
carries me so entirely to nature, and I can truly say that since I
have known his works I have never looked at a tree or the sky
without being reminded of him, , , . The bodily sufferings that
immediately preceded Constable's death, though acute, were of
very short duration, and he was spared a world of anxiety, which
the thought of leaving his children young, and orphans, must have
occasioned, had he lingered on a sick bed with no hope of recovery
—anxiety which, with such feelings as his, would have been
extrerae." "I have said," continues ray father in another place, "that
Constable was a gentleman, everywhere and at all times, and as
much to the humblest as to the greatest people. He even con
ciliated that untractable class, the hackney coachman ; for in his
time there were no cabs. He would say on getting into a coach.

3}i THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XVL
' Now, my good fellow, drive me a shilling fare towards so-and-so,
and don't cheat yourself Not long after his death I was leaving
his house, and sent for a coach frora the stand near it. When I
got home the driver said, ' I knew Mr, Constable ; and, when I
heard he was dead, I was as sorry as if he had been my own father
— he was as nice a man as that, sir, ' ' '

CHAPTER XVII,
"Arundel Mill and Castle" Exhibited, 1837.— Presentation °^ " The Corn Field" to
tJhe Nation, — Constable's Character, — Selections from his Memoranda. — Forgeries
of his Pictures. — Author's Visit to Bergholt in 1840.
By a law of the Royal Academy, works, not before exhibited, of
a deceased artist, are allowed to appear in the first exhibition,
and that one only, which follows his death ; and Constable's
picture of "Arundel Mill and Castle" was considered by his
friends sufificiently corapleted to be sent to the Academy, He
had begun two sraaller pictures, but they were not forward
enough to be admitted even as sketches; and the "Mill" was,
therefore, the only work of his pencil that graced the Exhibition
of 1837, the first in Trafalgar Square, The scene was one
entirely after his own heart, and he had taken great pains to
render it complete in all its details ; and in that silvery brightness
of effect which was a chief aim with him, in the latter years of
his life, it is not surpassed by any production of his pencil. It
remains in the possession of his children, being one of those
reserved from the sale of his works by his eldest son.
Before the property Constable left, in pictures, was dispersed
it was suggested by Mr, Purton that one of his works should be
purchased by a subscription among the admirers of his genius,
and presented to the National Gallery, He proposed that the
large picture of "Salisbury from the Meadows" should be
chosen as being from its magnitude, subject, and grandeur of
treatment, the best suited to the public collection. But it was
thought by the majority of Constable's friends that the boldness
of its execution rendered it less likely to address itself to the

334 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XVIL
general taste than others of its works, and the picture of "The
Corn Field," painted In 1826, was selected in its stead.* As I
felt much interested in this proceeding, I wrote on the subject
to those of Constable's friends whora I thought likely to join in it,
and from among the replies I received I trust Mr. Andrew
Robertson will forgive the publication of his.
"19, Berners Street, August 21st, 1837.
My dear Sir,— I have had this day the raelancholy gratifica
tion, if I may combine such terms, of again visiting the gallery of
our lamented friend. Constable. The great nuraber of his works
left in his possession proves too clearly how little his raerits
were felt by those who could afford, and ought to have possessed
thera ; and that unless some such a measure had been adopted
as that which, to the honour of his friends, has been carried into
effect, it is too probable that his works would have fallen into the
hands of artists only, for a mere trifle, and remained compara
tively buried, till dug up as it were and brought to light in
another age. Much, indeed, should I regret to have lost the
opportunity of having my name enrolled in the. list of those who
bear testimony to the merits of genius so original, so English, so
• It was mainly, if not entirely, owing to my father's strenuous efforts that the
subscription was raised for the purchase of " The Corn Field " for the nation, and his
correspondence touching that purchase makes up a goodly bundle of MS. The price
of the picture, sanctioned by Constable's administrators, was 300 guineas, and the
committee appointed to carry out the purchase, &c., consisted of the following
gentlemen : — Sir William Beechey, R.A., Chairman.
Wm. Carpenter, Esq. Richard Cook, R.A. John Murray, Esq.
Samuel Cartwright, Esq. Wm. Etty, R.A. William Purton, Esq.
A. E. Chalon, R.A. E. S. Hardisty, Esq. J. Sheepshanks, Esq.
J. J. Chalon, A.R.A. F. R. Lee, R.A. C. Stanfield, R.A.
Dominic Colnaghi, Esq. C. R. Leslie, R.A. George Young, Esq.
—Ed.

HOGARTH AND CONSTABLE COMPARED. 335
alive to the beauties of simple nature, and of whom it may be
said so truly that he was —
' Nullius addictus jurare in verba magistri.'
He had his peculiarities, but they were not in conception,
nor in the way in which he looked at nature ; he saw clearly, and
not through a glass darkly, nor through other raen's eyes. His
peculiarities were only in his execution, and, in the adrairable
picture selected for his monument in the National Gallery, we
find all his truth of conception, with less of the manner that was
objected to, than in most of his later works.
" I remain, my dear Sir, always truly and sincerely yours,
"A. Robertson."
In some points of Constable's character a striking resemblance
may be traced to that of Hogarth. Though their walks of art
were wide apart, yet each formed a style more truly original
than that of any of his contemporaries, and this in part prevented
each from enjoying the fame to which he was entitled.* They
both incurred the imputation of vanity, perhaps from much
vainer men, because they vindicated their own merits. Hogarth
expressed in a witty etching) " The Battle of the Pictures ") his
sense of the injustice he suffered from the connoisseurs, and
Constable spoke his opinions openly of the critics ; and with
point, truth, and freedom, as did Hogarth, of contemporary
artists, and erch by so doing made bitter eneraies. In conclusion,
they were both genuine Englishraen, warraly attached to the
character and institutions of their country ; alike quick in detecting
* Hogarth's prints were popular ; for his wit, his satire, and his matchless power
of expression were felt ; but the taste and richness of his compositions, and the beauty
of his colour, in other words his art, was not. One circumstance alone proves this —
he could not obtain for the six pictures of the " Marriage i la Mode," together, more
than one hundred and ten guineas.

336 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XVII.
cant and quackery, not only in religion and politics, but in taste
and in the arts ; and though they raay sometimes have carried the
prejudices of their John BuUIsm too far, they each deserved well
of their country, as steady opponents to the influence of foreign
vice, folly, and bad taste ; in which, however, Hogarth's class of
subjects enabled him to exert hiraself with far the most effect.
The object I have endeavoured to keep in view throughout
the preceding pages being to give an account of Constable's
life and occupations, as much as possible in his own words, my
extracts from his letters have been necessarily limited to passages
relating chiefly to himself; but had not this, and the reserve due
to other persons, prevented ray quoting these papers more at
length, it would be seen that in very many of thera his own affairs
occupied the least part of his attention. Many, indeed, of his
notes and letters have been entirely unavailable to rae on this
account, excepting in as far as they have added to the high
opinion I had before forraed ofthe kindliness ofhis nature.
My friend, Mr. George Field, who knew hira long and inti
mately, says. In a letter to me, " Of Constable's benevolent feelings
and acts, a volume of instances might be recorded, and no better
proof of his genuine worth can be adduced than that affluence
did not spoil the artist, while it very rauch improved the raan."
In another of his obliging communications to rae, Mr. Field
says, " At all times of the day, at night, and in all seasons of the
year. Constable had inexpressible delight in viewing the works of
nature. I have been out with him after all colour of the land
scape had disappeared, and objects were seen only as skeletons
and masses, yet his eye was still active for his art. ' These were
the things,' said he, ' that Gainsborough studied, and of which we

LETTERS FROM MR. GEORGE FIELD. 337
have so many exquisite specimens in his drawings.* Constable
found undecorated beauties in the nakedness of winter when he
lavished adrairation on the anatomy of trees, &c. He well knew
the langtiage of a windmill, and by its expressions could tell you of
the winds, and of the skies, and besides this he knew many other
tongues that are not written, and are too little studied and under
stood for the boundless authorities they furnish to artists, to poets,
to philosophers, and all true lovers of the wisdom of nature. To
this attachment to nature and adverseness to factitious studies,
he probably owed the originality of thought, expression, and
manners by which he was distinguished, which, however, some
times savouring of rusticity and destitute of the artifice and con
vention of society, were marked by an unrestrained amiableness
and real refinement which were his own. This clash of nature and
artifice appears also to have given rise to the incessant workings
of a humorous satire, by which he continually levelled the preten
sions of others, which, although not entirely Inoffensive, was
generally just, and few ventured to face it. It subjected him and
his peculiarities, however, to assailments from anonymous injudi
cious, and pointless criticism, which a less genuine and more
courtley carriage might have saved him from, or transformed into
praise or fame, patronage or profit These anonyraous attacks
served hira for a spur, and his satirical humour for a theme, with
which he entertained his friends at the time, although his heart
was naturally too affectionate to all the world to be insensible to
praise, for affection seeks affection, and praise is love. It is
remarkable of our most eminent landscape painters, in coraraon
• Several very fine sketches by Gainsborough, in black and white chalk, hung
in Constable's parlour.
X X

338 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XVIL
with genius in other shapes, that they have been subjected by this
natural independence of thought and action to frequent mispraise
and neglect during their lives, and the incomparable Wilson was
an instance of it. But in hira this quality wrought raore asperity
than in Constable. Was this to be attributed to difference in
the circumstances of fortune, or of disposition in these great
painters ? "
These extracts, frora the letters of Mr. Field, contain but a
part of the assistance with which he has favoured me.
In the winter seasons, after he could afford it. Constable
frequently sent clothes and blankets to be distributed among the
poor of his native village ; indeed no feature of his character was
more amiable than his sympathy with the sufferings of the
humbler classes, and his consideration for their feelings in all
respects. He possessed that innate, and only real gentility, of
which the test is conduct towards inferiors and strangers ; he
was a gentleman to the poorest of his species, a gentleman in a
stage-coach, nay, more, a gentleraan at a stage-coach Inn dinner."
A mind like Constable's, united to a nervous teraperament
so sensitive, could not be indifferent to music. In his youth he
was a good flute player, but he laid the instrument aside as he
found that painting required his whole attention. Preferring
siraplicity and expression to an ostentatious display of art, I
remeraber that at a musical party during a trio in Italian, with
which his ears were stunned, and which was only fit for the vast
area of the Opera House, he whispered to me, "I dare say it
is very fine, for it is very disagreeable ; but if these people
were to make such a noise before your door or mine, we should
send for the police to take thera away."

MUSIC. 339
The following raay be placed here as connected with this
subject. I found it among his papers in his handwriting ; and it
was no doubt a draught of a paragraph inserted by him in a
provincial newspaper : —
"Died on the 29th ult., at Great Wenham, Thomas Cheverton,
aged 48 years, leaving a widow and nine children. This individual,
although in the humble condition of a day labourer, raay fairly
claim some further notice in our obituary from the circurastance
of his being gifted with a raost extraordinary voice ; one of the
fullest, richest, and sweetest counter tenors ever perhaps heard.
He could with ease ascend to D, and even to E in Alt. His
knowledge in the science of music was by no means inconsiderable,
and his appearance in the humble choirs of the village churches
in his immediate neighbourhood was always hailed with silent
satisfaction even by the best educated people. He was gentle and
affectionate to his family, who are now thrown on a world, too
busy, it is feared, to cast a look on beings so humble, or to
extend the hand of charity to objects so unobtrusive and
friendless. — August ist, 1831."
Among the papers with which I found this, were many
separate scraps, containing notes, memoranda, and quotations,
many of them, no doubt, intended to assist hira in his lectures.
The following are selections frora them, and from a few of his
unpublished letters : —
" When young I was extremely fond of reading poetry, and
also fond of rausic, and I played myself a little ; but as I advanced
in life and in art, I soon gave up the latter ; and now after thirty
years, I must say that the sister arts have less hold on my mind In

340 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XVIL
its occasional ramblings from my one pursuit than the sciences,
especially the study of geology, which, more than any other,
seems to satisfy ray raind. — November loth, 1835."
" The difference between power and truth is very raaterial in
painting, as it is in other raatters of taste. It raay be illustrated
by an anecdote of Barry and Garrick. Few actors had more
power than Barry; indeed, he was able for some time to
divide the admiration of the town with Garrick. They played
Lear in competition fifty nights ; but the public were set right by
an epigram, which placed the distinction between thera in the
proper light, the last line of which was
' To Barry we give loud applause ; to Garrick only tears ! ' "
" 'System can by no means be thrown aside. Without system
the field of nature would be a pathless wilderness ; but system
should be subservient to, not the main object of, our pursuit' —
White, of Selborne:'
" This iraitation of an elegantly touched drawing by Waterloo
was one of my earliest instructors. — J. C. Presented to me by
J. T. Smith, 1798." — {Written on the back of a pen drawing.)
" Connoisseurs think the art is already done.''
"I have never seen anything in the art yet with which I have
been entirely satisfied. The least mannered, and consequently the
best pictures I have seen, are some of the works of De Hooge,
particularly one of an out-door subject at Sir Robert Peel's.
His in-doors are as good, but less difificult, as being less
lustrous."* * Constable would not have said that such works were the greatest achievements of
art ; he merely meant that they were the most perfect, in the sense in which some minor
poems may be considered more perfect than " The Iliad" or the " Paradise Lost."

SELECTIONS FROM CONSTABLE'S PAPERS- 341
" The world is wide; no two days are alike, nor even two
hours ; neither were there ever two leaves of a tree alike since
the creation of the world ; and the genuine productions of art,
like those of nature, are all distinct from each other."
" In such an age as this painting should be understood, not
looked on with blind wonder, nor considered only as a poetic
aspiration, but as a pursuit, legitimate, scientific, and mechanical."
"The old rubbish of art, the musty, commonplace, wretched
pictures which gentlemen collect, hang up, and display to their
friends raay be compared to Shakespeare's
' Beggarly account of empty boxes, alligators stuffed,' &c.
Nature is anything but this, either in poetry, painting, or in the
fields." " Barry thought to be great he must reject the attributes of
painting ; hence the iron-bound outline and brazen lights of his
pictures in the Adelphi."
" The raost perfect of all raasters of real chiaroscuro are
Claude and Ostade. The chiaroscuro of Rembrandt is decidedly
an artificial feature in his works ; he painted expressly for it ; it
was his own peculiar language, and used by him to express the
sentiraent." " What were the habits of Claude and the Poussins ? Though
surrounded with palaces filled with pictures, they raade the fields
their chief places of study."
" Cowper numbered it among his advantages as a composer
that he had read so little poetry; for 'imitation,' said he, 'even
of the best models is ray aversion ; it is servile and mechanical ;

342 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XVIL
a trick that has enabled many to usurp the name of author, who
could not have written at all if they had not written upon the
pattern of somebody indeed original."*
" The folly of imitation is well shown in the fable of ' The
Ass and the Lapdog,' "
" ' I hate e'en Garrick when at second-hand,' — Churchill."
" Mr, W  is conscious of being a great raannerist, and
that he is thought so. He was told how rauch trouble his
picture had given the Council on that account, for that it would
hang with nothing else ; he was hurt, and said, " Manner might
be either good or bad ' ; but Fuseli makes the true distinction
between style and manner:''
"Lord Bacon says : ' Cunning is crooked wisdora. Nothing is
raore hurtful than when cunning men pass for wise,' This is
mannerism in painting. The mannerists are cunning people, and
the misfortune is, the public are not able to discriminate between
their pictures and true painting,' '
" Manner is always seductive. It is more or less an iraitation
of what has been done already, therefore always plausible. It
promises the short road, the near cut to present fame and
emolument, by availing ourselves of the labours of others. It
leads to alraost immediate reputation, because it is the wonder
of the ignorant world. It is always accompanied by certain
blandishraents, showy and plausible, and which catch the eye.
*The last book Constable had been reading, and on which his attention had
probably been engaged little more than an hour before his death, was a volume of
Southey's " Life of Cowper," containing the poet's letters.

SELECTIONS FROM CONSTABLE' S PAPERS. 343
As manner coraes by degrees, and is fostered by success in the
world, flattery, &c,, all painters who would be really great should
be perpetually on their guard against it. Nothing but a close
and continual observance of nature can protect them from the
danger of becoming raannerists."
" 'Is it not folly," said Mr. Northcote to rae in the exhibition,
as we were standing before  's picture, 'for a raan to paint
what he can never see ? Is it not sufificiently difificult to paint
what he does see ? '* This delightful lesson leads me to ask.
What is painting but an imitative art? an art that is to realize,
not to feign. I constantly observe that every man who will not
submit to long toil in the imitation of nature, flies off, becomes
a phantora, and produces drearas of nonsense and abortions.
He thinks to screen himself under ' a fine imagination,' which is
generally, and almost always in young men, the scape-goat of
folly and idleness."
" ' Rien est beau que le vrai.' — Boileau."
" ' Observe that thy best director, thy perfect guide, is
Nature. Copy from her. In her paths is thy triumphal arch.
She is above all other teachers ; and ever confide in her with
a bold heart, especially when thou beginnest to feel that there is a
sentiment in drawing. Day after day never fail to draw something,
which, however little it raay be, will yet in the end be rauch ;
and do thy best.' "
" Extracted from Cennino Cennini's book on painting, written
*Northcote's objection did not apply to the supernatural in painting, but to the
unnatural. The picture before which they stood professed to be a real scene, but
treated in what the artist conceived to be a poetic manner.

344 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XVIL
four hundred years ago, now first printed in 182 1, frora the manu
script in the Vatican. He was a pupil of Angiolo Gaddi, whose
father painted under Giotto twenty-four years."
"None of the greatest painters were eccentric in their works.
They were too consistent with themselves to merit such a epithet ;
too sensible of what they were about."
" The rage of what may be called protigiism among the rich
and great, arising from the expectation either of being the first to
discover genius in obscurity, or of turning some young man of
ordinary talent into a genius, though it may now and then be of
use, is far raore often prejudicial to the real interests of art, and
even to the individual so patronised. Very worthy raen, possessed
with this vanity, become completely blinded to the injustice they
corarait to all who have fairly won the field, and whom they would
not hesitate to drive from it, to make room for some favourite of
their own, who is, by their instruction as well as patronage, to be
placed on the pinnacle of fame. Thus Rassalas, in recalling the
visions he had indulged in of a perfect government when he
should come to the throne, acknowledges that he afterwards was
startled to think with how little regret he had contemplated the
death of his father and elder brothers."
"There should be a moral feeling in the art, as well as in
everything else, and it is not right in a young man to assume
great dash, or great completion, without study or pains."
" There has never been a boy painter, nor can there be. The
art requires a long apprenticeship, being mechanical, as well as
intellectual,"

SELECTIONS FROM CONSTABLE'S PAPERS. 345
" It was at Rome Claude became the real student of Nature.
He came there a confirmed mannered painter. But he soon found
it necessary to ' become as a little child,' and he devoted himself
to study with an ardour and a patience of labour perhaps never
before equalled. He lived in the fields all day, and drew at the
Academy at night, for after all art is a plant of the conservatory,
not of the desert." '"D.O.M.*
claudio . gellee . lotharingo .
ex . loco . de . champagne . orto .
pictori . eximio .
qui . ipsos . orientis . et . occidentis .
solis . radios . in . campestribus .
mirifice . pingendis . effinxit .
hic . in . urbe . ubi . artem . coluit .
summam . laudem . inter . magnates .
consecutus . est .
obiit . ix . kalend . decembris . mdclxxxii .
aetatis . suae . anno . lxxxii .
joann . et . josephus . gellee .
patruo . charissimo . monum . hoc .
sibi . posterisque . suis .
poni . curarunt .'
" ' To Claude Gellee Lorraine, a most eminent painter, born in
the province of Champagne, who, in painting landscape, repre
sented to admiration the very rays of the rising and setting
sun. In this city, where he practised his art, he obtained
the highest celebrity among the great. He died the 9th of the
Kalends of December, 1682 {i.e., 23rd of November), aged 82.
"'John and Joseph Gellee caused this monument to be
erected to their beloved uncle for themselves and their posterity.
* Diis omnibus manibus. " To all the infernal Gods." So the ancient Romans
inscribed their monuments. This inscription was tumed by the Christians into Deo
Optimo maximo, "To the good and great God," thus preserving the same initial
letters.
Y Y

346 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XVII.
" The above inscription was on the raonuraent of Claude
Lorraine (now destroyed) in the Church of the Trinita al Monte, at
Rorae. Sir George Beaumont, who had seen it, and again sought
for it when there about 1820, informed rae that it was raural,
and raoderately ornamented, having a palette and pencils carved
on it. Had he been successful in finding the fragments, it was
his intention to have brought them to his seat at Cole Orton, and
put them up in the Church or on his grounds." *
Constable seldora failed to penetrate the real characters of
raen through the disguises of manner. In an unpublished letter
he says, of one of a class of persons not very uncommon, " More
overbearing meekness I never raet with in any one raan."
To these few gleanings frora Constable's papers, I will add
sorae recollections of his sayings. His manner of talking was
perpetually digressive, yet he never lost sight of the subject with
which he set out, but would always return to it, though often
through a long and circuitous path. This rambling habit made
his talk, which was amusing enough in itself, soraetiraes still
more so, but it unfitted him in a great degree for an extempora
neous lecturer. His conversation might be corapared to a dis
sected raap or picture, of which the parts, as seen separately,
appear to have no connection, yet each is capable of being so
placed as to form a complete whole.
In reply to an application to my friend Collins for his assist-
* My friend, Mr. T. Uwins, has obliged me with the following account of the
destruction of Claude's monument : — " When the French republican troops devastated
Italy in 1798 their great delight was to turn out the monks and nuns from the convents
and other religious houses, which houses they converted into barracks. This happened
to the Church and Convent of the Frati Minori on the Trinita al Monte at Rome, and
it was during this barbarous occupation that Claude's monument was obliterated."

CONSTABLE'S CONVERSATION. 347
ance in this part of my undertaking, I received the following
note : —
" Dear Leslie, — I have been cudgelling my brains on the
subject of the Constable anecdotes, and the result is the recollec
tion of a great number of good things, calculated, alas, only for
table-talk among friends. This, as I told you, I feared would be
the case. The great charm of our laraented friend's conversation
upon art was not only its originality but its real worth, and the
evidence it afforded of his heartfelt love of his pursuit, independent
of any worldly advantages to be obtained by it. , , . I men
tioned to you his admirable remark upon the coraposition of a
picture, namely that its parts were all so necessary to it as a whole
that it resembled a sum in arithmetic ; take away or add the
smallest item, and it must be wrong. His observations, too, on
chiaroscuro were all that could be made on that deep subject.
How rejoiced am I to find that so many of the great things he did
will at last be got together for the benefit of future students."
The comparison mentioned by Mr, Collins of a picture to a
sum in arithraetic, was intended by Constable to expose the
unpardonable liberties soraetiraes taken by the possessors of the
works of deceased artists in cutting, enlarging, or otherwise
altering thera, "Would you take from or add," he would say,
" to a physician's prescription ? , . . " Another proceeding,
perhaps not more justifiable, may be here adverted to — the
employraent of artists to finish pictures left incoraplete by their
predecessors. The best painters know that a work of any value
can only be carried through by the head and hand of hira who
planned it, and, consequently, those only undertake to complete

348 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XVII.
unfinished pictures who are the least capable of divining the
intentions of their authors.* Sorae of Constable's sketches have
thus been finished into worthlessness, and what is a still greater
injury to his reputation, entire forgeries have been raade of his
works. Multitudes of these I have seen, and with astonishment
that their wretchedness should impose upon the purchasers. But
they are put forth, in safe reliance on the little real knowledge of
his style that, at present, exists among our connoisseurs.
To return from this digression to the raore agreeable subject
of Constable's conversation, I reraeraber to have heard him say,
" When I sit down to make a sketch from nature, the first thing
I try to do is to forget that I have ever seen a picture:' '\ He well
knew that, in spite of this endeavour, his knowledge of pictures
had its influence on every touch of his pencil, for in speaking of
a young artist who boasted that he had never studied the works
of others, he said, " After all, there is such a thing as the art."
On hearing somebody say of the celebrated collection of
Raphael's drawings that belonged to Sir Thomas Lawrence,
" They inspire," he replied ; " they do more, they inform."
The amiable but eccentric Blake, looking through one of
Constable's sketch-books, said of a beautiful drawing of an
avenue of fir trees on Harapstead Heath, " Why, this is not
drawing, but inspiration ; " and he replied, "I never knew it
before ; I raeant it for drawing,"
* I have known some deplorable instances of the ^???!r/%z«^ of Wilkie's incompleted
pictures, and many more of works, so left, by Lawrence.
t A curious proof of the stillness with which he had sat one day while painting in
the open air, was the discovery of a field mouse in his coat pocket.

RECOLLECTIONS OF HIS SAYINGS. 349
" My pictures will never be popular," he said, " for they have
no handling. But I do not see handling in nature."
He said also, " Whatever raay be thought of my art, it is my
own ; and I would rather possess a freehold, though but a cottage,
than live in a palace belonging to another."
To a lady who, looking at an engraving of a house, called
it an ugly thing, he said, " No, madam, there is nothing ugly.
/ never saw an ugly thing in my life ; for let the form of an object
be what it may — light, shade, and perspective will always make
it beautiful. It is perspective which improves the form of this."
Speaking of the taste for the prodigious and the astounding, a
taste very contrary to his own, he made use of a quotation from
the ist Book of Kings: "A great and strong wind rent the
mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks before the Lord ; but
the Lord was not in the wind : and after the wind an earthquake ;
but the Lord was not in the earthquake : and after the earthquake
a fire ; but the Lord was not in the fire : and after the fire a still
small voice:'
There were many occasions on which Constable quoted the
aphorism of Dr. Johnson : " That which is greatest is not always
best." His fondness for children has been mentioned. I have often
heard him say, but as a quotation (I think frora Plato), " Children
should be respected:'
He was asked how soon a relish for the works of Domenichino
raight be acquired, and replied, " In about the same time in
which you may acquire a relish for the works of Horaer."

350 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XVIL
An artist who undervalued every class of art but the heroic,
said in his presence, " that he could not conceive to what Jan
Steen owed his great reputation, unless to the high encoraiums
Sir Joshua Reynolds had passed on his style." "And could
he," replied Constable, " owe it to a better authority? "
He was struck with a remark of Dr. Gooch, that he found
" every individual case of disease a new study." Constable
applied this to painting, and said, " In like manner every truly
original picture is a separate study, and governed by laws of its
own ; so that what is right in one would be often entirely wrong
if transferred to another."
A friend of Constable, expressing to hira his dissatisfaction at
his own progress in art, received (as he told me) the greatest en
couragement to proceed he ever met with, in the following answer :
" If you had found painting as easy as you once thought it, you
would have given it up long ago."
He could not easily resist the temptation of making an un
expected reply,* and when Archdeacon Fisher, one Sunday, after
preaching, asked him how he liked his sermon, he said, "Very
much Indeed, Fisher ; I always did like that sermon." But
* On an amateur painter making a great noise one day in the hall of the Royal
Academy about his picture not being so well hung as he expected, my father, in his
autobiography, says : " Constable and I went down to try and pacify him. He
accused some of the members of jealousy, and said, ' I cannot but feel as I do, for
painting is a passion with me.' ' Yes,' said Constable, ' and a bad passion.' "
On another occasion, when standing before a picture of Standfield's on a var
nishing day, that artist, hoping to forestall his criticisms, said : " There, Constable,
don't speak, I know what you're going to say ; you are going to say my foreground
looks like putty." He replied, " Oh no, Standfield, not at all, putty is a very nice
thing ; I rather like putty."— Ed.

RECOLLECTIONS OF CONSTABLE'S SAYINGS. 351
Fisher had too much wit himself not to relish this ; and if he
kept any account of such hits with his friend, it was, no doubt, a
fairly-balanced one.
If Constable had occasion to find fault with a servant or a
tradesman it was seldom unaccorapanied with a pleasantry, though
often a sharp one. To the person who served his family with
milk, he said, " In future we shall feel obliged if you will send
us the milk and the water in separate cans,"
A picture of a murder sent to the Academy for exhibition
while he was on the Council was refused admittance on account
of a disgusting display of blood and brains in it ; but he objected
still more to the wretchedness of the work, and said, " I see no
brains in the picture," *
I regret that araong his papers I have not raet with the obser
vations on skies and clouds, which he mentions In a letter to
Mr, George Constable, I recollect hearing, at different times,
remarks by him on atraospheric effects, but I can scarcely call to
raind anything he said with sufificient distinctness to repeat it,
I remeraber that he pointed out to me an appearance of the sun's
rays, which few artists have perhaps noticed, and which I never
saw given in any picture, excepting in his "Waterloo Bridge."
When the spectator stands with his back to the sun, the rays
may be soraetiraes seen converging in perspective towards the
opposite horizon. Since he drew my attention to such effects, I
* This recalls to my recollection a saying, still better, which is related of
Opie, who, when a young artist asked him what he mixed his colours with, replied
"¦Brains ! "

3,2 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XVII.
have noticed very early in the morning the lines of the rays
diminishing in perspective through a rainbow,
I have seen him admire a fine tree with an ecstasy of delight
like that with which he would catch up a beautiful child in his
arms. The ash was his favourite, and all who are acquainted
with his pictures cannot fail to have observed how frequently
it is introduced as a near object, and how beautifully its dis
tinguishing peculiarities are raarked, I reraeraber his pointing
out to rae, in an avenue of Spanish chestnuts, the great elegance
given to their trunks by the spiral direction of the lines of the
bark. He would never adrait of a distinction which is soraetiraes
made between poetry and truth. He felt that the supernatural
need not be the unnatural.* Neither did he admit that the con-
ventional in art, though it raay be found in the works of the
greatest masters, was to be considered in any other light than as
an evidence of human imperfection. He looked upon the imita
tion by modern painters of that which is conventional in the
works of their predecessors as one great cause of the deteriora
tion in art, "Raphael and Michael Angelo," he said, "would
be greatly astonished, could they rise frora their graves, at the
theories on which it has been supposed their works were forraed ;
as, for instance, that the charms of colour, or chiaroscuro, would
detract from the intellectual dignity of their inventions." f He
* Why do "the Gods of Homer continue to this day the gods of poetry," but
because they are endued with human passions ? And for the same reason do the
weird sisters, the Oberon, Titania, Puck, Ariel, and Caliban interest us,
t Such a theory, it appears to me, may be overturned at once by two remarks
of Fuseli : " The ' Jeremiah among the Prophets ' glows with the glow of Titian, but
in a breadth unknown to Giorgione and him." And "The 'Eve under the Tree'
has the bland, pearly harmony of Correggio."

DANGER OF THE CONVENTIONAL IN ART. 353
has often pointed out to rae, even in the imperfect engravings we
have from the Sistine Chapel, the admirable conduct of the light
and shade ; and he told me that Stothard, looking at these things
with him, said, " Michael Angelo always coraposed for chiaro
scuro," Constable considered that the union of various excel
lences proposed by the Carracci, might not be impossible, but that
their failure, where they did fail, was mainly owing to their atten
tion being too rauch confined to the works of their predecessors.
He preferred the advice given by Wilkie when consulted by young
artists, "paint it well:' to the elaborate recommendations con
tained in the sonnet of Agostino Carracci,* He considered the
analogy to hold good in all respects between religion and taste.
He told me that one of Sir Joshua Reynolds's Discourses had
been turned into a sermon, and was found not to require any
alteration in the general scope of the arguments.
When the opinions scattered through Constable's letters are
compared with those expressed in his lectures, it will not be
necessary for rae to say that his love of nature did not blind him
to the real value of art. I never remember to have stood with him
before a fine picture, either ancient or modern, without his
directing my attention to some excellence in it which I had not
before noticed ; and if his intimate acquaintance with nature
made hira more than usually fastidious in his admiration of pic
tures, it gave him a relish for the best, of which no mere con
noisseur can form the least conception. But the light in which
Constable considered works of art was exactly that in which
Lord Bacon places the sciences, when he says, "It is a fatal
mistake to suppose that they have gradually arrived at a state of
* See Fuseli's Second Lecture.
Z Z

354 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XVIL
perfection, and then been recorded by sorae one writer or other;
and that as nothing better can afterwards be invented, raen need
but cultivate and set off what is thus discovered and corapleted ;
whereas, in reality, this registering of the sciences proceeds only
frora the assurance of a few, and the sloth and ignorance of
many." And again, " As water ascends no higher than the level
ofthe first spring, so knowledge derived from Aristotle will, at
most, rise no higher again than the knowledge of Aristotle. And,
therefore, though a scholar must have faith in his raaster, yet a
man well instructed must judge for hiraself; for learners owe to
their raasters only a temporary belief, and a suspension of their
own judgment till they are fully instructed, and not an absolute
resignation, or perpetual captivity. Let great authors, therefore,
have their due ; but so as not to defraud tirae, which is the author
of authors, and the parent of truth."
Need I mention how very little Constable cared for the usual
classifications of art ? He judged as all who have taste, and who
give their taste fair play, judge of pictures, by their intrinsic merit
alone. Good art was with him high art, however humble the
subject ; and mediocre art, let the attempt be ever so sublirae,
was, in his estimation, low art.*
In the summer of 1840, I accompanied Mr, Purton on an
excursion to Suffolk, We were received at Flatford with the
greatest hospitality by Mr. Abrara Constable and his sisters, and
* All men of genius have something in common, however dissimilar their produc
tions, but genius and mediocrity have nothing in common ; Raphael and Ostade may
be classed together, but never Raphael and Carlo Maratti. Since this note was first
printed, I have met with the following passage in Cunningham's Life of Wilkie.
Speaking of Raphael and M. Angelo, Wilkie says, " They have that without which
the Venus and Apollo would lose their value, and with which the forms of Ostade and
Rembrandt become instructive and sublime ; namely, expression and sentiment."

CONSTABLE'S NATIVE SCENERY. 355
were accomraodated with facilities for exploring what to us was
classic ground, in which we had the advantage of being accora
panied by Constable's eldest son, and his nephew, the Rev.
Daniel Whalley.
We visited the house in which Constable was born. It was
a large and handsorae mansion, at that tirae untenanted, and has
since been pulled down. A view of the back of it forras the
frontispiece to the "English Landscape," with these lines
inscribed under it : —
" Hie locus aetatis nostrse primordia novit
Annos felices Isetitiseque dies :
Hie locus ingenuis pueriles imbuit annos
Artibus et nostrse laudis origo fuit."
Of which, in one of his sketch-books, is the following translation
by Mr. Fisher : —
" This spot saw the dayspring of my life.
Hours of Joys and years of Happiness ;
This place first tinged my boyish fancy with a love of the arts.
This place was the origin of my Fame."
We found that the scenery of eight or ten of our late friend's
raost iraportant subjects raight be enclosed by a circle of a few
hundred yards at Flatford, very near Bergholt ; within this space
are the lock which forms the subject of several pictures, Willy
Lott's house, the little raised wooden bridge and the picturesque
cottage near it, seen in the picture engraved for Messrs. Finden's
work, and introduced into others, and the meadow in which the
picture of "Boat-building" was entirely painted. So startling
was the resemblance of sorae of these scenes to the pictures of
them, which we knew so well, that we could hardly believe we
were for the. first tirae standing on the ground frora which they

356 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XVII,
were painted. Of others we found that Constable had rather
corabined and varied the materials, than given exact views. In
the larger compositions, such as " The White Horse" and " The
Hay Wain," both from this neighbourhood, he has increased the
width of the river to great advantage; and wherever there was
an opportunity, he was fond of introducing the tower of Dedham
Church, which is seen from many points near Flatford, At
Stratford we missed the picturesque little water-mill, with which
the picture given by Fisher to Mr, Tinney has made us acquainted,
in place of which now stands a large brick building. We visited
Stoke ; and at Neyland, which adjoins it, we saw the altar-piece
of the Saviour blessing the elements ; we saw, likewise, the altar-
piece at Brantham ; and visited Langham, where all is so rauch
changed excepting the Church, that we could scarcely recognise
it as the scene of "The Glebe Farra." The appearance of Dedham
Mill is greatly Iraproved in every picture Constable painted of it,
by his showing the water-wheel, which in reality is hidden.
In the education of an artist, it is scarcely possible to fore
see what circumstances will prove advantageous, or the reverse ;
it Is on looking back only that we can judge of these things.
Travelling is now the order of the day, and it may sometimes
prove beneficial — but to Constable's art there can be little doubt
that the confinement of his studies within the narrowest bounds
in which, perhaps, the studies of an artist were ever confined,
was in the highest degree favourable ; for a knowledge of atmo
spheric effects will be best attained by a constant study of the
sarae objects under every change of the seasons and of the tiraes
of day. His arabltion, it will be borne in raind, was not to paint
many things imperfectly, but to paint a few things well.

REMARKS BY MR. PURTON ON CONSTABLE'S ART. 357
The impression made on the minds of Mr, Purton and myself
by these beautiful scenes was, that Constable being born among
them, and being born a painter, was alraost of necessity born a
landscape painter. As we were leaving thera, ray companion
made some reraarks which seeraed to me so just and so happily
expressed, that I begged he would give them to rae on paper,
and his kind compliance with my request enables me to add them
to this brief account of our excursion.
" In looking," says Mr. Purton, "at such faithful transcripts
of nature as are exhibited in the landscapes of Constable, it
would be difificult to point out any one quality or excellence
which pre-eminently distinguishes thera ; and, perhaps, it will be
found that this oneness or individuality constitutes their prin
cipal charm : one pervading animus, one singleness of intention
runs through the whole ; and this, it may be observed, has been
pronounced, on the best authority, the sine qua non in poetical
composition : ' Denique sit quidvis simplex duntaxet et unum.'*
Whether he portray the solemn burst of the approaching tempest
¦ — the breezy freshness of raorning — or the deep stillness of a
suraraer noon — every object represented, frora the grandest
masses to the smallest plant or spray, seems instinct with, as it
were, and breathing the very spirit of the scene. His figures,
too, seera naturally called forth by, and forra part of, the land
scape ; we never ask whether they are well placed — there they are,
and unless they choose to raove on, there they must remain.
His quiet lanes and covert nooks never serve to introduce a
* " In a word, it may be what you will, only let it be simple (or rather single) and
one." — Horace on The Art of Poetry.

358 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XVIL
romantic or sentimental episode to divide, not heighten, the
interest ; all is made subservient to the one object in view, the
embodying of a pure apprehension of natural effect. Hence it is
that the true lover of nature adraires not at sight the beauty of
the lines, or the truth of colouring displayed in his works ; his
first impulse is, as with Fuseli, to call for his umbrella, or with
Banister, he feels the breeze blowing on his face.* I do not
presume to point out what high qualities of art he must have
attained, or what difificulties overcome, before he could have
effected so deep a feeling of the natural; but I imagine that the
highest attainments of art, even all his patient study, had been
vain, had they not been engrafted on the purest and warmest
adrairation and affection for the scenes and effects which he
represented. An extreraely interesting portion of Constable's works is
known only to his intimate friends — I mean the contents of his
numerous sketch-books. In these are many complete landscapes
in miniature, often coloured, and when not tinted the chiaroscuro
is generally given in lead-pencil, sometimes with great depth of
effect, and always with exquisite taste. The name of nearly every
spot sketched is added, and in looking through these books one
thing is striking, which may be equally noticed of his pictures,
that the subject of his works forra a history of his affections —
Bergholt and its neighbourhood, Salisbury, Osraington, Hamp-
* The reader will reraember Mrs. Fisher's remark on the arrival of " The White
Horse " at Salisbury, that she carried her eye from the picture to the garden, and
observed " the same sort of look in both ; " and Lady Morley's exclamation on seeing
the view of Englefield House, "How fresh, how dewy, how exhilarating ! " It was for
those who feel and ju Ige in this way Constable painted ; but connoisseurs, and even
artists, are not always such judges.

CHIAROSCURO. 359
Stead, Gillingham, Brighton, Folkestone (where his boys were at
school), and scenes in Berkshire, visited by him with Mr. Fisher.
With the exception of his excursion in Derbyshire, and after
wards to the English lakes, he never travelled expressly for
subjects. Chiaroscuro, as I have said, was an all-important thing
in his estimation. Many artists see it nowhere, but Constable saw
it everywhere, and in all its beauty. Why then should he go in
quest of subjects, when the spots endeared to him from his infancy,
or from the associations of friendship, had not only in general
great attractions of their own, but where they had least of beauty
could be elevated by this power to sublimity ?

CHAPTER XVIII.
Notes of Six Lectures delivered by Constable on Landscape Painting,
The lectures Constable delivered at the Harapstead Assembly
Rooms, at the Royal Institution at Albemarle Street, and at
Worcester were never written. He prepared sorae brief notes
only, but he depended raore on a collection of copies and
engravings frora the pictures to which he had occasion to allude,
with large placards containing the names of the principal painters
who had contributed to the advancement of landscape painting,
chronologically arranged. These sufificiently served to refresh a
meraory well stored with inforraation on the subject of his lectures.
Many of his friends urged hira, after the delivery of his first
Discourse, to write it, and he probably intended to araplify the
following abstract, which was found araong his papers, and which,
he says, "is little raore than a recollection of a Discourse delivered
at the Harapstead Asserably Rooms in June, 1833 " : —
" In offering a few observations on the history of landscape
painting to the raembers of the Literary and Scientific Society of
Hampstead, it will be necessary, before I proceed, to exonerate the
gentleraen forming the committee from blarae for the appointment
to this task of one so inefficient, at least as a speaker; and
perhaps I cannot better excuse their choice, nor illustrate the

LECTURE AT HAMPSTEAD— JUNE, 1833, 361
position in which both the comraittee and myself are placed, than
by the following words of Lord Bacon : —
" 'He who questioneth much will learn much; and will content
much ; but especially if he apply his questions to the skill of those
whom he asketh ; for he shall give them occasion to please them
selves in speaking,' And again, ' There is small doubt but that
men can write best and most really and sincerely on their own
professions ; only there is one vice which accompanies them that
write on their own professions, that they magnify them in excess ;
but generally it were to be wished as that which would make
learning indeed solid and fruitful, that active men would or could
become writers.'
" In tracing the history of landscape, although my limits
necessarily permit me to give but an outline, I shall endeavour to
render it clear, useful, and interesting by pointing out the epochs
which raark the developraent, progress, and perfection of this
departraent of art — a departraent than which there is none raore
efficient, irapressive, or delightful; none that has raore completely
succeeded in the attainment of its object. My endeavour shall
be to separate it from the mass of historical art in which it
originated, and with which it was long connected. Considering,
as I do, that landscape has hitherto escaped a distinction to which
it is entitled, I propose to trace it to its source, to follow its
progress to its final success, to show how by degrees it assumed
form until at last it became a distinct and separate class of
painting, standing alone; when, from being the humble assist
ant, it became the powerful auxiliary to that art which gave it
birth, greatly enriching the dignity of history.
" If we are to form any opinion of the state of landscape
3 '^

362 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XVIII.
painting among the ancients from the specimens displayed on the
walls of Herculaneum, the baths of Diocletian, and in other
places of raore recent discovery, it would appear that, although
they practised it with rauch grace and elegance, they raerely
seemed to consider it as forming a part of their arabesques.
Trees, like candelabra, formally spread on a plain blue sky, for
instance. But we have no specimen in their landscape in which
we can trace any attempt at chiaroscuro, without which it can
never be rendered irapressive. Yet, if we are to believe Pliny
and other ancient writers, chiaroscuro as well as colour was
thoroughly understood and practised by the great historical
painters. "All was, however, lost in the general wreck of Europe; and
it is hardly to be expected that in the early time of the middle
ages anything of so refined a character should reappear. The
Bayeux tapestry, which is indeed little better than a Mexican
performance, scarcely hints at it. The illuminated manuscripts
and raissals, when they represent the agony of Christ, indicate
the garden only by a flower, or a flower pot, the rest of the
field of the picture being dark. But when historical painting
was atterapted on a larger scale, and the Passion, the Cruci
fixion, and the Entorabment of our Saviour afforded its most
important subjects, landscape, and even some of its phenomena,
became indispensable. The cross must be fixed in the ground —
there must be a sky — the shades of night must envelope the
garden (the scene of the agony) — and a more awful darkness the
Crucifixion ; while rocks and trees naturally made a part of the
accompaniments of the sepulchre. Here, then, however rude and
imperfect, we are to look for the origin of landscape. It was first

LECTURE AT HAMPSTEAD— JUNE, 1833. 363
used as an assistant in conveying sentiment, and, being found
completely successful, was cultivated by succeeding painters,
until at length it became a distinct branch of art.
" Pictures are books ; and they were especially so considered
in the earliest ages of painting in Europe, when so few even
of the highest classes could either read or write. The great
importance of painting, therefore, as a means of instruction, will
account for the whole history of our Saviour being painted on one
panel. The artists, very justly, considered themselves engaged
in works of piety, and they employed all their powers to tell
their stories with the greatest perspicuity. In the first simple
ages of painting there was no display of the technicalities of
art ; they were indeed unknown. The holy truths of Christianity
were told with sincerity, in pictures filled with natural ex
pression and purity of sentiment. The works of Cimabue,
Giotto, &c,, were carried in procession to the churches, there
to remain, to enlighten the ignorant, and to add to the fervours
of the devout,
" It was fortunate, therefore, for landscape, destined as it was
to become so material a feature of the art, that it originated and
was, in its infancy, nursed in the hands of men who were masters
of pathos. As early, I believe, as Cimabue, and certainly Giotto,
landscape became impressive. I am told that in the Campo Santo
at Pisa, the frescoes exhibit wonderful proofs of its use and power.
The naraes of Ghirlandaio, Barnardo, and Paolo Uccello (the
first raaster of perspective) follow. By these artists architecture,
vistas, and other raaterials were added with great intelligence ;
so rauch so, as to cause us not to be surprised at the further
advance of landscape, as an accompaniment, in the hands of

364. THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XVIIL
Raphael. In his early pictures, generally Holy Families, and
many of which may be seen in England, it is most beautifully
and appropriately introduced ; the single leaves of plants, flowers,
and that religious emblera the trefoil, in his foregrounds are very
elegantly detailed ; and the soothing solitudes of his middle
distances find a corresponding serenity in the features of the
benign and lovely subjects of these works. In the first of the
grand series of frescoes with which he adorned the chambers of
the Vatican, he has placed the Eucharist on the table in the
open air. The low horizon just permits the tops of trees, spires,
and gently rising hills to be seen over the altar, and the serenity
imparted to the picture by an exceedingly elegant landscape aids
the religious feeling which reigns over the whole. In raany of
his smaller subjects in the Loggia of the Vatican, the landscape
backgrounds are of extrerae beauty, and of great importance ;
and the lovely pastoral scenery of that noble cartoon, 'the charge
to Peter,' is probably familiar to all ray auditors.
" Thus was landscape cradled in the lap of history at a time
when its grandeur, simplicity, and powers of expression were
carried to their greatest perfection by the schools of Italy; and
it thus gained a strength and dignity which has never since
wholly forsaken it.
" Although I shall have occasion to notice its obligations at
a later period to the German, Dutch, and Flemish colour* and
delicacy of finish, it may be worth while to advert to what would
probably have been the result, had its cultivation at the time at
* The exquisite colour of the early Flemish art, as seen in the works of Van Eyck,
Hemmelinck, &c., is not more surprising than the state of perfect preservation in
which the tints of their pictures, some of which are more than four hundred years old,
still remain.

LECTURE AT HAMPSTEAD— JUNE, 1833, 365
which we have arrived been carried on by the German and Dutch
painters only. In their hands dignity of subject never excluded
meanness, and the wretched material introduced into their his
torical pictures could have led to nothing, or worse than nothing,
impressive. The accompaniraents even of the Nativity were
often, with them, an assemblage of the mean and ridiculous.
An owl, seen through a hole in a thatched roof, sitting on a beam
just over the head of the Virgin, with a mouse dangling by its
tail from his claw ; pigs quarrelling at the trough, &c. But
Albert Durer and Lucas Van Leyden, though they have been
guilty of these things, have occasionally rendered a very different
account of landscape. The background to the figure of ' Fortune'
is a grand exception, as well as those to the ' Prodigal Son ' and
the ' Armed Knight ' ; and, indeed, in all Albert Durer's land
scape; notwithstanding the objections I have mentioned, there
is much that is striking.
" It was, however, at Venice, the heart of colour, and where
the true art of iraitation was first understood, that landscape
assumed a rank and decision of character that spread future
excellence through all the schools of Europe. Giorgione and
Titian, both historical painters, were early disciplined in the
schools of the brothers Bellini, where they were taught to imitate
nature in what has been termed a servile manner. But it appears
to have been the true way of proceeding, if we may judge from
the result ; for afterwards, when those great painters had attained
the plenitude of their powers, they never lost their respect for
nature, nor for a moment wandered from the materials which
were about them, and which they had been taught to copy so
admirably, into the vacant fields of idealism. In the Venetian

366 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XVIIL
school, landscape formed a very important study, and whether
separate or united with history, it was here carried to a degree of
perfection it had never before attained.
"In the year 1520, Titian, then in his fortieth year, pro
duced his celebrated picture of the martyrdora of the Dorainican
Peter, the background of which, although not the model, may
be considered as the foundation of all the styles of landscape
in every school of Europe in the following century. In this
admirable union of history and landscape, the scene is on the
skirts of a forest, and the time verging towards the close of day,
as we may judge frora the level and placid movement of the
clouds on the deep blue sky, seen under the pendant foliage of
trees which overhang the road. The choice of a low horizon
greatly aids the grandeur of the coraposition ; and magnificent
as the larger objects and masses of the picture are, the minute
plants in the foreground are finished with an exquisite but not
obtrusive touch, and even a bird's nest with its callow brood may
be discovered among the branches of one of the trees. Amid
this scene of amenity and repose, we are startled by the rush of
an assassin on two helpless travellers, monks, one of whom is
struck down, and the other wounded and flying in the utmost
terror. At the top of the picture, through the loftiest branches
of the trees, a bright and supernatural light strikes down on the
dying man, who sees in the glory a vision of angels bearing the
emblems of martyrdora ; and illurainatlng in its descent the steras
and foliage, contrasts with the shadowy gloora of the wood. The
elder hush, with its pale funereal flowers, introduced over the head
of the saint, and the village spire in the distance, the object of his
journey, increase the interest and add to the richness of the

LECTURE AT HAMPSTEAD— JUNE, 1833. 367
composition. Admirable also is the contrivance of the tight-drawn
drapery, part of the garment of the martyr, which, pressed by the
foot of the assassin, pins his victim to the earth. The noble con
ception of this great work is equalled, I am told, by its breadth
and its tone, while the extreme minuteness and variety of its
details no way impair the unity of its impression.
" However justly the historic art of the Bolognes school may be
termed ' eclectic,' the landscape of the Caracci and Domenichino
cannot be so considered, as each possesses a character of its own.
The landscape of Annibal Caracci, though severe, is grand and
poetic, not to meddle with the ambiguous term classic, and is
adrairably adapted to the fauns and satyrs, and other mythological
beings with which he peopled it, as may be seen in that most
felicitous conception of Pan and Apollo, in our National Gallery.
" The Bolognese landscape, although founded mainly on the
Venetian, is not wholly so. Denis Calvert, born at Antwerp in
1555, died at Bologna in 16 19, having come to Italy as a landscape
painter on purpose to perfect himself in the study of the figure.
He learned perspective under P. Fontana, studied at Rome, and
left it to set up his school at Bologna, in which Albano, Domeni
chino, and Guido became his pupils.
" The landscape of Domenichino is of the highest order, and
although it bears the stamp of composition, yet we recognise the
features and hues of nature in every part of it. His pictures in the
National Gallery are poetic, but not of so high a character as the
Orleans picture called ' Le Batelier,' now in the possession of
Lord Francis Egerton. The subject is pastoral sheep flocking to
a river, over which a romantic bridge discovers through its lofty
arch a wide sheet of water falling into a lake. Two elegant ash-

368 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XVIII.
trees gently overhang a neighbouring steep. The lake expands in
the centre of the picture, on which the boatman is seen, and a group
of figures recline on the grass on the near bank. The grandeur of
the composition, and the urbanity of tone which pervades it, place
this picture in the highest class of landscape,
" In the St Jerome of Domenichino, the landscape is accessory
only, yet most important. The subject of the picture is an aged
and decrepit man dying, attended by the ministers of religion.
Through columns and a lofty arch are seen sorae religious buildings,
perhaps often the scene of the dying saint's good works, on a gentle
eminence, and overshadowed by a single group of trees. The placid
aspect of this simple landscape seems like a requiem to soothe the
departing spirit ; its effect is like that of solemn music heard from
an adjoining apartment On the serene blue sky, hovering cherubs
fill and complete the composition. This noble and pathetic picture,
if not so startling as the Peter Martyr, leaves an impression as
lasting. Yet it was rejected by the authorities of the church for
which it was painted, until Nicolo Poussin restored it to the world,
and in a public harangue (the lecture of a painter) pointed out its
beauties. It is mournful to reflect that neither age, worth, nor
transcendent talents, could screen the virtuous Domenichino from
the bad passions of intriguing contemporaries who blighted, and it
is supposed ultimately destroyed, a life they had long embittered.*
* Domenichino was so persecuted and overborne by the partisans of Guido, that
his picture of the " Communion of St. Jerome " had been tom from its place in the
church of St. Girolamo della Carita, and thrown into a garret, where it remained for
gotten until the monks, desirous of having a new altar-piece, requested Poussin to
paint one for them, and sent hira Domenichino's pictures as old canvas to paint it upon.
He no sooner saw it than, struck with its extraordinary merit, he carried it to the
church for which it had been painted, and gave a public lecture upon it, in which he
dared to compare it with the "Transfiguration," and called these two, with the ' ¦ Descent
from the Cross," by Daniel de Volterra, the three finest pictures in Rome. As to the

LECTURE AT HAMPSTEAD— JUNE, 1833. 369
" Although no distinct landscape is known by the hand of Guido,
yet in a history of this particular branch it may not be improper to
notice its immense importance as an accessory in his picture of
Aurora. It is the finest instance I know of the beauty of natural
landscape brought to aid a mythological story, and to be sensible of
its value we have only to imagine a plain background in its stead.
But though Guido has placed us in the heavens, we are looking
towards the earth, where seas and mountain-tops are receiving the
first beams of the morning sun. The chariot of Apollo is borne on
the clouds, attended by the Hours and preceded by Aurora, who
scatters flowers ; and the landscape, instead of diminishing the
illusion, is the chief means of producing it, and is indeed most-
essential to the story.
" Every walk of landscape, historic, poetic, classic, and pastoral,
were familiar to Nicolo Poussin, and so various were his powers
that each class in his hand vies with the rest for preference. He
was gifted with a peculiarly sound judgment — tranquil, penetrating,
and studious — of what was true rather than of what was novel and
specious. His best performances are perhaps to be found among
what may be called his local landscapes, composed often from tbe
scenery near Rome, such as the ' Snake at the Fountain,' and that
accusation that the composition was a theft, from the sketch by the Caracci on the
same subject, he showed that the Caracci never finished their picture, and that as it
was altered and improved in every particular, that was no ground for condemnation ;
for, far from injuring them by his appropriation of their idea, he had shown what a
noble use might be made of it, and from it had composed one ofthe finest pictures in
the world. The public had only to be roused by a steady and right-judging criticism ;
the elegant but weaker attractions of the rival school gave way, and Domenichino
thenceforward was placed in his just rank among the great painters of Italy." — Life
of Nicolo Poussin, by Marie Graham, afterwards Lady Callcott. Domenichino was
still living when his picture was restored to its place by Poussin. He died in 1641, it
is supposed by poison.
3B

370 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XVIII.
admirable picture in the National Gallery, erroneously called
' Phocian,' and if he did not often reach the lofty energy of the
Caracci, or the sentiment and romantic grandeur of Domenichino,
yet in the poetry of art his Polyphemus reraains unequalled, and in
the awful sublimity of the conception of his picture of Winter,
generally known as the Deluge, he has surpassed every other painter
who has attempted the subject ; nor can there be a greater proof of
the effective power of landscape than that this portentous event
should have been best told by landscape alone, the figures being few
and entirely subordinate,
" My present limits do not allow me to dwell on Gaspar Poussin,
although a painter of exquisite taste ; his style being for the most
part compounded from that of his brother-in-law and Claude Lor
raine, Perhaps his best works are his storms, of which we have
two noble specimens in the national collection, the ' Dido and
.^neas,' and its companion.
"It was reserved for Paul Bril, who arrived at Rorae about
the end of the sixteenth century, bringing with him from Antwerp
a style of landscape peculiarly his own, and less severe than that of
Caracci, to exercise an influence on the art which was destined in
the seventeenth century to extend through Bril's pupil, Agostino
Tassi, to Claude Lorraine, and to lead to that more minute imita
tion of particular nature, which was the practice of the French and
German artists of the time. By thus engrafting a certain portion
of Flemish art on that of Italy, a more perfect and beautiful tran
script of nature was achieved by the inimitable Claude, and con
duced to the production of those exquisite works of his pencil which
are wholly without rivalry in the quality which distinguishes them
of placid brightness. In his sea-views, his golden sunsets, his wild

LECTURE AT HAMPSTEAD— JUNE, i'f>ii. 371
and romantic shores, and his exquisitely poetic pastoral scenes, the
luminous beauties of the painter are so clearly developed as to
require less explanation than the qualities of many of the works
already referred to. He has been deemed the most perfect land
scape painter the world ever saw, and he fully merits the distinc
tion. The characteristics of his pictures are always those of
serene beauty. Sweetness and amenity reign through every
creation of his pencil ; but his chief power consisted in uniting
splendour with repose, warmth with freshness, and dark with light.
Although he was a painter of fairy-land, and sylvan scenery of
the most romantic kind, he is nowhere seen to greater advantage
than in his seaports, which, while they possess many of the most
charming qualities of his more sequestered landscapes, are full of
business and bustle,
" The naraes of Salvator Rosa and Sebastian Bourdon corae
next in an account of the art in which they so rauch excelled.
The one, wild and terrific in his conceptions of natural scenery,
forraed his mind amid the savage recesses of the Abruzzi,
and painted subjects which best accorded with its character.
The other, equally romantic but more visionary, selected as the
materials of his pictures solitudes among rocks, waterfalls, and
solemn-looking buildings, which he peopled with monks and
hermits, " In following the art to Flanders we find the magnificent
Rubens, with his nuraerous followers, Vadder, Fouquieres, Artois,
Huysraan, Van Uden, &c. In no other branch of the art is Rubens
greater than in landscape ; the freshness and dewy light, the joyous
and animated character which he has imparted to it, impressing on
the level monotonous scenery of Flanders all the richness which

372 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap, XVIII.
belongs to its noblest features, Rubens delighted in phenomena-
rainbows upon a storray sky, bursts of sunshine, raoonlight, meteors,
and impetuous torrents mingling their sound with wind and wave.
Among his finest works are a pair of landscapes, which came to
England from Genoa, one of which is now in the National
Gallery. "In Holland, Rembrandt's 'Mill' is of itself sufificient to form
an epoch in the art. This is the first picture in which a sentiment
has been expressed by chiaroscuro only, all details being excluded.
Nor must the names of Ruysdael and Cuyp be overlooked as
distinguished from numerous other painters by traits peculiarly
their own.
" On the death of these great raen landscape rapidly declined ;
and during alraost the whole of the succeeding century, little was
produced beyond raannered and feeble imitations of their art ; the
painters of this period adding nothing to the general stock, as their
predecessors had done by original study, but referring always to
the pictures of their masters instead of looking to the aspects of
nature which had given birth to those pictures, Frora this
degraded and fallen state it is delightful to say that landscape
painting revived in our own country, in all its purity, siraplicity,
and grandeur, in the works of Wilson, Gainsborough, Cozens,
and Girtin,
" It is a striking feature in the history of all the arts and sciences,
though it has not, perhaps, been noticed in ours, that the great
naraes by which they have each been supported are about equal in
nuraber in any given space of time. The names of the painters I
have raentioned, and which have become points marking the epochs
of landscape, correspond numerically with those of the erainent raen

LECTURE AT HAMPSTEAD— JUNE, 1833. 373
who have materially enlarged the boundaries of each of the other
departments in art, literature, and science. It will not be easy to
add to those I have enumerated, as forming the fixed stars in the
hemisphere of art ; and although others of great talent crowd in
" thick as autumnal leaves," to fill the interstices, yet they all
emanate from or converge into those which form the great points,
and my limits do not permit an account of them here. Should,
however, at any future tirae my humble services be employed in
any further inquiry of this kind, they must in justice be brought
forward, as each brings in his hand a flower snatched by himself
from the lap of nature.
"I shall conclude with a brief allusion to a certain set of
painters, who, having substituted falsehood for truth, and formed a
style mean and mechanical, are termed mannerists. Much of the
confusion of opinions in art arising from false taste is caused by
works of this stamp ; for if the mannerists had never existed, painting
would always have been easily understood. The education of a pro
fessed connoisseur being chiefly formed in the picture gallery and
auction-room, seldom enables him to perceive the vast difference
between the mannerist and the genuine painter. To do this
requires long and close study, and a constant comparison of the
art with nature. So few among the buyers and sellers of pictures
possess any knowledge so derived, that the works of the mannerists
often bear as large a price in the raarket as those of the genuine
painters. The difference is not understood by picture dealers, and
thus, in a mercantile way, has a kind of art been propagated and
supported from age to age, deserving only to be classed with the
showy and expensive articles of drawing-room furniture. To this
species of painting belong the works that have marked the decay

374 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XVIU.
of styles, and filled the intervals between the appearances of the
great artists. They are the productions of men who have lost
sight of nature, and strayed into the vacant fields of idealism ;
sometimes, indeed, with talent, and even with power as in Wouver
mans,* Berghem, Both, Vernet, Zuccherelli, and Loutherbourg ;
but oftener with feebleness and imbecility, as in Jacob Moore,
Hackert. &c."

Previously to the delivery of Constable's lectures in London, the
following card was printed : —
ROYAL INSTITUTION OF GREAT BRITAIN,
Albemarle Street, 23RD April, 1836.
SYLLABUS OF
A COURSE OF LECTURES
ON
THE HISTORY OF LANDSCAPE-PAINTING, BY
JOHN CONSTABLE, Esq., R.A.,
To be delivered on Thursday, May 26th, and the three following
Thursdays, at three o'clock.

* The great merit of Wouvermans only makes it the more important that the wide
departure from nature in his highly-wrought works should be pointed out. No perfec
tion of execution can atone for inky foregrounds, slaty trees and distances, and leaden
skies ; but it may well be doubted whether that execution should be called perfect
which reduces every object to a Liliputian scale. They are exactly such painters as
Wouvermans, so near excellence in the minutiae of a picture, and at the same time so
false in the whole together, of whom Constable has well said, "Had they never
existed painting would have always been easily understood." There is a class of the
Dutch painters of familiar life, men of much talent, ingenuity, and patience, at the
head of which Gerard Dow may be placed, whose works call forth the wonder of ignor
ance rather than the admiration of taste, though from their scarcity they often com
mand higher prices than the pictures of Jan Steen, Ostade, Terburgh, Metzu, De
Hooghe, and Nicholas Maas, the great masters of familiar life of the Dutch school,
and in some of whose best works is perhaps to be found the most perfect art the world
ever saw.

LECTURES AT THE ROYAL INSTITUTION— i%ib. 375
"Lecture 1st, May 26th. — The Origin of Landscape. — Coeval
in Italy and Germany in its rise and progress. — Farther advanced
in Germany in the Fifteenth Century. — Albert Durer. — Influence
ofhis Works in Italy. — Titian impressed by them; in his hands
Landscape assumed its real dignity and grandeur, and entitled
him to the appellation ofthe Father of Landscape. — The ' St Peter
Martyr.' "Lecture 2nd, June 2nd. — Establishment of Landscape, — The
Bolognese School, By this School Landscape was first made a
separate Class of Art, — The Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries,
— The Caracci. — Domenichino. — Albano, — Mola. — Landscape
soon after perfected in Rome, — The Poussins. — Claude Lorraine. —
Bourdon. — -Salvator Rosa. — The ' Bambocciate.' — Peter de Laar, —
Both. — Berghem. — The Deterioration of Landscape.^ — Its Decline
in the Eighteenth Century.
" Lecture 3^^, June gth. — Landscape of the Dutch and
Flemish Schools. — Emanates from the School of Albert Durer,
forming distinct branches. — Rubens. — Rembrandt. — ^Ruysdael. —
Cuyp. — The marks which characterise the two Schools. — Their
decline, also, in the Eighteenth Century.
"Lecture ^th, June \6th. — The decline and revival of Art
Imitation of preceding excellence opposed to original study, the
main cause of the decline. — The Restoration of Painting takes
place in England.— Hogarth.— Reynolds.— Wilson.— Gainsborough,
—West.— When Landscape at last resumes its birthright, and
appears with new powers."

376 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XVIIL
LECTURE I.
May 26th.
" I am here on the behalf of my own profession, and I tru.st it is
with no intrusive spirit that I now stand before you ; but I am
anxious that the world should be inclined to look to painters for
information on painting. I hope to show that ours is a regularly
taught profession ; that it is scientific as well as poetic ; that
imagination alone never did, and never can, produce works that are
to stand by a comparison with realities ; and to show, by tracing
the connecting links in the history of landscape painting, that no
great painter was ever self-taught.
" The art of painting may be divided into two main branches,
history and landscape ; history including portrait and familiar life,
as landscape does flower and fruit painting.
" Landscape is the child of history, and though at first insepar
able from the parent, yet in time it went alone, and at a later
period (to continue the figure), when history showed signs of
decrepitude, the child may be seen supporting the parent, as in the
works of Pietro da Cortona. Although it was in the school of the
Caracci landscape first stood quite alone, yet as early as the
year 1546 there were distinct landscape painters in Germany."
Constable showed an enlarged drawing from an engraving of a
landscape by Albert Durer, in which a cannon placed on an emi
nence overlooking an extensive country forms a foreground object.
He pointed out the grandeur of this work, and said, " There can
be no doubt but that Titian had received early and deep impres
sions from the works of Albert Durer and other Germans."
" The writers on art employ the word school to denote a simi-

FIRST LECTURE AT THE ROYAL INSTITUTION, 1836. 377
larity of feeling and practice in raany individuals arising from the
example of one powerful mind, yet by no raeans iraplying a want
of originality in the rest. The greatest masters were largely
indebted to their predecessors. Each sprang frora, and in turn
founded, a school ; but in the coraplicated art of painting, so many
avenues to excellence are open, that every painter, in every school,
whose fame has outlived his age, is distinguished from all the rest
by some perfection which is to be found with himself only."
Near the commencement of this lecture Constable exhibited a
drawing from a very grand and simple composition by Paolo
Uccello of Noah and his faraily kneeling round an altar, while the
birds and beasts are leaving the ark, the whole arched by the
rainbow. " Uccello was either the inventor or the perfector of parallel
perspective, and this new art is beautifully shown in the flight
of the birds. Titian's Cornaro family somewhat resembles this
picture." In speaking of the " Peter Martyr" of Titian, he said, "The
monk, afterwards canonized as St Peter, was a General of the
Dominicans and an Inquisitor. In the zeal displayed by him in
the last of these offices he had given great offence to a powerful
family, who employed an assassin to waylay and murder him. In
the representation of this subject Titian has brought together a
rich assemblage of picturesque objects, producing a felicitous com
bination of the two most important works of art — history and land
scape ; and contrasting them so as to enhance the sentiment of
each. We see a deed of horror perpetrated with the utmost
energy of action, in a scene hitherto one of stillness and repose."
Constable then spoke of the probable manner in which Titian pro-
3C

378 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XVIII.
ceeded with the composition of the picture, and whether in every
respect he guessed rightly or not he accomplished his principal
object, which was to show that the greatest works of genius are not
thrown off as if by inspiration, but, on the contrary, are the result
of patient labour, and often undergo many changes of plan during
their progress. He showed an old print bearing the name of
Titian, in which the saint is looking down and writing with his
finger on the ground the word credo, while the assassin who holds
him by his drapery is about to strike a death-blow with his sword,
" This," he said, " was possibly a mode in which it was suggested
by the monks that the subject should be treated, and the engraving
may have been made from a first design. But Titian could not rest
contented with the unnatural incident of a man writing while in
the grasp of an assassin, and he therefore turned the face of the
victim towards the murderer, and afterwards still more so, with an
expression of great horror." Constable here showed a copy of an
original sketch by Titian (one of the Lawrence collection, in which
the saint has the outlines of three heads drawn one over the other,
the first looking down, the others more and more turned up), and
said — " Still this made the subject nothing more than a common
raurder by the roadside, and it wanted the dignity of a martyrdom.
The composition was then heightened, the vision of angels intro
duced, and the head of the saint again altered so as to look up to the
glory that now beamed down on him." Several sketches, supposed
to be by Titian, seemed to confirm the.se conjectures, and by these
it also appeared that the tall tree on the right of the picture, with
sraall round leaves, was an after-thought, and made necessary by
the additional height given to the picture ; it is not in the sketch
of the landscape alone, " It is striking," said Constable, " to

FIRST LECTURE AT THE ROYAL INSTITUTION, 1836, 379
observe with what consuraraate skill the painter, like a great rausi-
cian, has varied his touch and execution frora slow raoveraents to
those of extreme rapidity. Thus the quick and vivid sparks of
light near and upon the assassin's arm, hand, and sword, give in
conceivable energy to his action, and contrast finely with the
solemn quiet ofthe retiring forest*
"Reynolds has censured Count Algarotti for admiring the
minute discriraination of the leaves and plants in the foreground,
but Sir Joshua was swayed by his own practice of generalising to
such a degree that we often find in his foregrounds rich raasses of
colour, of light and of shade, which, when exarained, mean nothing.
In Titian there is equal breadth, equal subordination of the parts to
the whole, but the spectator finds, on approaching the picture, that
every touch is the representative of a reality ; and as this carries
on the illusion, it cannot surely detract from the merit of the
work, f
* The murderer has the shirt-sleeve stripped from his right arm ; as in the old pic
tures of decapitation by the sword, the right arm of the executioner is bared. This
circumstance, which makes the figure more picturesque, aids the story by showing
that the crime was premeditated. In the earlier design of the subject, the assassin
is entirely dressed.
t There has been much talk of late among painters of the " impressionist " school
about the unity gained by focussing a subject, "the focus of attention," &c. The
fact, I think, being overlooked that the healthy human eye is a lens so well contrived
that, like a good photographic landscape lens, it embraces not only a wide field of
view without distortion or blur, but one in which near and distant objects are relatively
well defined. So that a picture rightly painted in good tone or values, when looked
at from the proper distance, becomes itself correctly focussed to the eye as to unity and
focus of attention, just as the scene from which the artist painted it was ; and that
this holds good, however carefully it may be carried out beyond the central subject.
Indeed, one of Constable's own maxims is worth repeating here, namely, " Look after
tiie outer edges or boundaries of your canvas and the middle will take care of itself."
But I hear some artists say, " I do not see detail." I regret to say that I see far less
detail, either in a picture or nature, without glasses, than I did thirty years ago, but
this would be a poor excuse to advance for the faults of a picture painted from nature
as seen through feeble or worn-out eyes. — Ed.

38o THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XVIII.
"Mr, West said of the ' Peter Martyr,' that ^it had required
three hundred years to produce such a work: and this will be found
to be about the time from the revival of the art in the Middle Ages
to that in which it was painted,
" Titian was by no means high in reputation when he produced
this great work, and so inadequate was the rerauneration he
received for it, and for raany others that had preceded it, that he
was in a condition little reraoved frora indigence, Albert Durer,
who at that tirae visited Venice, does not raention him in speaking
of the most eminent painters there. It was not, indeed, until,
through the praises bestowed on his works by his friend Pietro
Aretino, the poet, he was called to Bologna to paint the portrait of
Charles V,, in 1530, that he became the great idol of popularity in
Italy, and, indeed, of Europe." *

LECTURE II.
June 2nd.

Constable began this lecture with the Caracci, in whose school
landscape first became permanently a distinct branch of the art,
and recapitulated what he had said at Hampstead of Domeni
chino. He characterised also the art of Albano and Mola, but of
this part of his discourse I have no notes.
* In a note to Mr. Purton, dated May 28th, 1836, Constable says, " How did I get
on ? Faraday said it pleased him ; Sir Martin and Howard liked it ; Phillips did not
like my unbigoted mention of Sir Joshua's observation on Algarotti, and said I was
wrong, I knew I was quite right. I trust you will follow me through my sermons,
and help me in putting them together afterwards . I hope to murder Both and Berghem
on Thursday next at a quarter to four o'clock. The rest that come after are not worth
murdering."

SECOND LECTURE AT THE ROYAL INSTITUTION, 1836. 381
He spoke of Claude Lorraine as " a painter whose works had
given unalloyed pleasure for two centuries. In Claude's landscape
all is lovely — all amiable — all is amenity and repose ; the calm
sunshine of the heart. He carried landscape, indeed, to perfec
tion ; that is, human perfection. No doubt the greatest masters
considered their best efforts but as experiments, and perhaps as
experiments that have failed when compared with their hopes,
their wishes, and with what they saw in nature. When we speak
of the perfection of art, we must recollect what the materials are
with which a painter contends with nature. For the light of the
sun he has but patent yellow and white lead — for the darkest
shade, umber or soot,
" Brightness was the characteristic excellence of Claude ;
brightness independent of colour ; for what colour is there here ? "
(holding up a glass of water),
" The ' St. Ursula,' in the National Gallery, is probably the
finest picture of middle tint in the world. The sun is rising
through a thin mist, which, like the effect of a gauze blind in a
room, diffuses the light equally. There are no large dark masses.
The darks are in the local colours of the foreground figures, and in
small spots ; yet, as a whole, it is perfect in breadth. There is no
evasion in any part of this admirable work, every object is fairly
painted in a firm style of execution, yet in no other picture have I
seen the evanescent character of light so well expressed.
" Claude, though one of the most isolated of all painters, was
still legitimately connected with the chain of art. Elsheimer and
Paul Bril opened the way to him, coming after the Caracci, with a
softer and richer style than theirs. Could the histories of all the
fine arts be compared, we should find in them many striking

382 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XVIIL
analogies. Corelli was to Handel what Elsheimer and Paul Bril
were to Claude. Claude (as he is) could not have existed without
them. He was, therefore, not a self-taught artist, nor did there
ever exist a great artist who was so. A self-taught artist is one
taught by a very ignorant person.
" Claude neglected no mode of study that was calculated to
extend his knowledge and perfect his practice. His evenings
were passed at the Academy, and his days in the fields ; and
though it is the fashion to find fault with his figures indiscrimin
ately, yet in his best time they are so far from being objectionable
that we cannot easily imagine anything else according so well with
his scenes ; — as objects of colour, they seem indispensable. Wilson
said to a friend who was talking of them in the usual manner, ' Do
not fall into the coraraon raistake of objecting to Claude's figures.'
In the little picture of Cephalus and Procris, the expression of the
former is very touching ; and, indeed, nothing can be finer than
the way in which Claude has told that affecting story throughout.
Procris has come from her concealment to die at the feet of her
husband. Above her is a withered tree clasped by ivy, an emblem
of love in death-^while a stag seen on the outline of a hill, over
which the rising sun spreads his rays, explains the cause of the
fatal mistake. Claude's own figures always accord better with his
scenes than those soraetiraes introduced for him by other artists.
Painting does not readily admit of partnership.
" But of Claude, it may be proper to remark, that his style and
mode of execution, and even of thinking, varied much at different
periods of life. Of his very early manner we know little ; in
middle age he appeared in the raost perfect state, and frora which
he fast declined ; so much so that the dates of his pictures (which

SECOND LECTURE AT THE ROYAL INSTITUTION, 1836. 383
can for the most part be ascertained) will serve as a criterion of
their merit. Between the ages of forty and sixty he produced
most of those works in which are seen his peculiar attribute, bright
ness, in its greatest perfection. Some of his best pictures are in
the National Gallery — the ' Narcissus,' painted at forty-four, the
'Hagar' at forty-six, and the 'St Ursula' under sixty. Those
of his latter time are cold, heavy, and dark, though stately — for he
seemed as if trying to make up by grandeur of subject and concep
tion for the loss of that excellence which, in the decline of life, and
in the absence of his former habits of incessant observation of
nature, was now departing from him. It is in these last pictures
that his figures are defective in their proportions ; and though it
must be admitted that some of his most important works (as the
'Doria' and the ' Altieri ') were painted in his old age, still, with
all their grandeur, they are in his black, his cold, or his green
manner. There are undoubted productions of his pencil, however,
so destitute of his distinguishing excellence, that it may be said
purchasers are not always buying a Claude when they are buying a
picture painted by him.*
" The landscapes of Sebastian Bourdon are all poetry ; visionary,
romantic, abstracted. Sir George Beaumont said of this imagina
tive painter, that 'he was the prince of the dreamers, yet not without
nature:" Constable showed a drawing of some pine-trees from
nature, of peculiarly wild and eccentric forms, and corapared them
with trees extremely like them in an engraving after Bourdon, to
prove that the latter were not imaginary. He spoke of " The
* The story so often repeated of Claude's apprenticeship to a pastrycook rests on
no foundation whatever. The best account of the little known of his early life is given
by Mr. Smith, in his " Catalogue Raisonnd " of the works of the Dutch, Flemish, and
French painters.

384 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap, XVIII.
Return of the Ark " in the National Gallery as a very fine speci
men of the style of this painter,
" The circumstances attending the life and education of Sal
vator Rosa were peculiar, and show how his character and that
of his art were formed, or rather confirmed. He was first placed
with Francesco Francanzani, and he then became one of the des
perate school of Anniello Falcone, a battle painter who formed the
' Company of Death ' at Naples, in the revolt with Masaniello.
He was afterwards for a short time in the school of Spagnoletto ;
thus he had savages for his masters in painting, and he painted
savage subjects, Salvator Rosa is a great favourite with novel
writers, particularly the ladies, and it has lately been attempted to
show that he deserved the reputation to which he always aspired,
of a great historical painter. But there is a meanness in all his
conceptions of history which raust ever exclude him from its first
ranks, and Fuseli, with true judgment, admits hira to be a great
genius only in landscape,
" A class of artists now appeared, in all respects the reverse of
the last, and whose style Salvator has satirized in one of his
sonnets with raore justice than when he presumed to censure
Michael Angelo.
" Peter de Laar, who travelled from Holland into Italy, and
was there surnamed ' Baraboccio,' probably from the class of sub
jects he painted, which were the various sports of the populace,
and the transactions of vulgar life, gave rise to a school called by
the Italians ' The Bambocciate.' Of this school were Both and
Berghem, who, by an incongruous mixture of Dutch and Italian
taste, produced a bastard style of landscape, destitute of the real
excellence of either. In their works all the comraonplace rules

SECOND LECTURE AT THE ROYAL INSTITUTION, 1836. 385
of art are observed, their raanipulation is dextrous, and their finish
plausible ; yet their pictures carry us in iraagination only into their
painting-rooms, not, as the pictures of Claude and Poussin do, into
the open air. They rarely approach truth of atraosphere. In
stead of freshness they give us a clean and stony coldness, and
where they aira at warmth they are what painters caW foxy. Their
art is destitute of sentiment or poetic feeling, because it is facti
tious, though their works, being specious, their reputation is still
kept up by the dealers, who continue to sell their pictures for high
prices.* Landscape was afterwards still farther debased by Vernet,
Hakert,t Jacob Moor, and the English Wooton, the last of whom,
without manual dexterity, left it in unredeemed poverty and coarse
ness, until Hogarth and Reynolds aroused the minds of our
countrymen, and directed them to nature by their own splendid
examples; then, with Wilson and Gainsborough, the high and
genuine qualities of landscape appeared in England at a time
when they were utterly unknown in any other part of the world.
" The deterioration of art has everywhere proceeded from
similar causes, the imitation of preceding styles, with little refer
ence to nature. In Italy the taste was for the beautiful, but the
beautiful in the hands of the mannerists became the insipid, and
from that descended to the unmeaning. In Germany a clumsy
imitation of Italian art, and particularly of M. Angelo, produced
inflation and bombast, as in the works of Goltzius and Sprangher,
while in Flanders and Holland the taste for the picturesque, when
* After this lecture, one of Constable's auditors, a gentleman possessing a fine
collection of pictures, said to him, " I suppose I had better sell my Berghems." To
which he replied, " No, sir, that will only continue the mischief; burn them."
I Not Hackaert, a Dutch painter, born 1635, but Hakert, a Prussian, born a cen
tury later.
3 n

386 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XVIIL
colour, chiaroscuro, and execution were gone, left only the coarse
and mean.
" The decline of history was parallel with that of landscape.
What Is termed the ' French taste ' (as opposed to good taste), and
which may be characterised as romantic hyperbole, began with
Lucatelii, a pupil of Pietro da Cortona, who died about 1 7 1 7. He
was an Italian, and practised his art chiefly in Rome ; but his
style soon spread itself in France, where it destroyed whatever
may have reraained of the influence of Poussin, Le Sueur, or Sebas
tian Bourdon. He painted chiefly historical subjects for churches,
and was, like his raaster, a compendious painter, a raannerist, a
self-worshipper ; he preferred forras of his own imagination to
those of nature. In his works may be seen the beginning of that
prettiness which soon afterwards in Marco Ricci, Paulo Panini,
and Zuccherelli, and Vernet in landscape, displayed itself so offen
sively. In history, Mengs, Cipriani, Angelica Kauffman, &c.,
followed this emasculated taste, to the exclusion of all that is
sound in art
" But the climax of absurdity to which the art may be carried
when led away from nature by fashion, may be best seen in the
works of Boucher. Good temper, suavity, and dissipation, char
acterized the personal habits of this perfect specimen of the French
School of the time of Louis XV., or the early part of the last
century. His landscape, of which he was evidently fond, is pas
toral — and such pastorality ! The pastoral of the opera house.
But at this time, it must be remembered, the court were in the
habit of dispersing into the country, and duche'-ses were to be
seen performing the parts of shepherdesses, milk-maids, and dairy
maids, in cottages ; and also brewing, baking, and gardening, and

SECOND LECTURE AT THE ROYAL INSTITUTION, 1836. 387
sending the produce to market.* These strange anomalies were
played off on the canvases of Boucher. His scenery Is a be
wildered dream of the picturesque. From cottages adorned with
festoons of ivy, sparrow-pots, &c., are seen issuing opera dancers
with mops, brooms, milk-pails, and guitars ; children with cocked
hats, queues, bag-wigs, and swords, and cats, poultry, and pigs.
The scenery is diversified with winding streams, broken bridges,
and water-wheels; hedge- stakes dancing minuets, and groves
bowing and curtseying to each other, the whole leaving the mind
in a state of bewilderment and confusion, from which laughter
alone can relieve it.f Boucher told Sir Joshua Reynolds, ' that
he never painted from the life, for that nature put him out,'
" It is remarkable how nearly in all things opposite extremes
are allied, and how they succeed each other. The style I have
been describing was followed by that which sprung out of tbe
Revolution, when David and his contemporaries exhibited their
stern and heartless petrifactions of men and women, with trees,
rocks, tables and chairs, all equally bound to the ground with a
relentless outline, and destitute of chiaroscuro, the soul and medium
of art" Constable spoke of the want of sense in David's last picture, in
which the Romans and the Sabines are about to join battle, stark
naked, but with helmets on their heads, and shields and spears in
* Vagaries like these were practised by Madame de Pompadour at the Parc-aux-
cerfs, to amuse Louis XV,, and afterwards by Marie Antoinette at the Petit Trianon
to amuse herself.
t Watteau reconciles us by his natural grace and expression, and his exquisite
colour, to an ideal union of the pastoral and the fashionable, and to which he alone
gives an air of probability. The manners he painted were French, but his art is
essentially Flemish, being founded on Rubens, whose " Garden of Love " no doubt
suggested a class of subjects in which Watteau has excelled all other painters.
Boucher is Watteau run mad — bereaved of his taste and his sense.

388 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XVIII.
their hands. "What," he said, " would be the impression of a spec
tator of such a scene, but that he saw before him a number of
savages who had accidentally found and snatched up these weapons
and accoutrements ? ' '

LECTURE III.
June gth.

" I shall consider four works as marking four meraorable points
in the history of landscape, and all by historical painters. The
' Peter Martyr,' by Titian ; ' The Deluge,' by Poussin ; ' The
Rainbow,' by Rubens ; and ' The Mill,' by Rembrandt"
Having spoken of the " Peter Martyr," Constable showed an
engraving of" The Deluge," and said, "Towards the end of the
life of Nicolo Poussin, he was employed by Cardinal Richelieu to
paint four pictures, each to represent a season. For the spring, he
chose the terrestrial Paradise ; for the sumraer, the story of Boaz
and Ruth ; for the auturan the two Israelites bearing the bunch of
grapes frora the promised land ; and for the winter, ' The Deluge.'
This picture, though small, and with little contrast of light and
shadow, and almost no colour, stands as much alone in the world as
the Magdalen of Correggio, The good sense of Poussin, which
was equal to his genius, taught him that, by simplicity of treatment,
the most awful subjects maybe made far more affecting than by over
loading them with the imaginary. In painting ' The Deluge,' he
has not allowed his imagination to wander from the mosaic account,
which tells us of rain only.* Human habitations, rocks, and
* Poussin seems to have reasoned as Coleridge did, who said, " I think it absurd to
attribute so much to the Deluge. An inundation which left an olive-tree standing and
bore up the ark peacefully on its bosom could scarcely have been the sole cause of ihe

THIRD LECTURE AT THE ROYAL INSTITUTION, 1S36. 389
mountains are gradually disappearing, as the water rises, undis
turbed by earthquakes or tornadoes ; and the very few figures
introduced interest us the more deeply from the absence of all
violence or contortion of gesture. But of this picture Fuseli says
truly, ' It is easier to feel than to describe its powers. We see
the eleraent itself, and not its image. Its reign is established, and
by calm degrees ingulfs the whole. It mocks the food it feeds on.
Its lurid age has shorn the sun of its beams, Hope is shut out and
nature expires ! '
" By the rainbow of Rubens, I do not allude to a particular
picture, for Rubens often introduced it ; I raean, indeed, more than
the rainbow itself, I mean dewy light and freshness, the departing
shower, with the exhilaration of the returning sun, effects which
Rubens, raore than any other painter, has perfected on canvas."
Constable described the large picture in the National Gallery,
in which a fowler is seen watching a covy of partridges, as a fine
specimen of Rubens' power in landscape, and lamented that it
was separated frora its corapanion, "which had doubtless been
painted to give more effect to it by contrast," He said, " When
pictures painted as corapanions are separated, the purchaser of
one, without being aware of it, is soraetiraes buying only half a
picture, Corapanion pictures should never be parted, unless they
are by different hands, and then, in general, the sooner they are
divorced the better,
" The art of Rubens and Teniers* is essentially Flemish, and
rents and dislocations observable on the face of the earth."— Coleridge's "Table
Talk." * It must have been from inadvertence that Constable omitted any further mention
of the younger Teniers, whose landscape compositions form a distinct and very beau
tiful class of art. Had these lectures been written, a paragraph would, no doubt,
have been devoted to this delightful painter.

390 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XVIIL
though it is usual to speak of the Dutch and Flemish schools as
one, they are no more so than the Lombard and Venetian schools.
The Dutch art is more influenced by chiaroscuro, the Flemish by
colour, by brightness, and hilarity.
" Rembrandt's ' Mill ' * is a picture wholly raade by chiaros
curo ; the last ray of light just glearas on the upper sail of the
mill, and all other details are lost in large and siraple masses of
shade. Chiaroscuro is the great feature that characterises his art,
and was carried farther by him than by any other painter, not
excepting Correggio. But if its effects are somewhat exaggerated
by Rembrandt he is always so impressive, that we can no more
find fault with his style than we can with the giant forras of Michel
Angelo. Succeeding painters have soraetiraes, in their adraira
tion of ' The Mill,' forgotten that Rerabrandt chose the twilight
to second his wishes, and have fancied that to obtain equal breadth
they must leave out the details of nature in broad daylight ; this is
the danger of mistaken imitation.
" Chiaroscuro is by no means confined to dark pictures ; the
works of Cuyp, though generally light, are full of it. It maybe
defined as that power which creates space ; we find it everywhere
and at all times in nature ; opposition, union, light, shade, reflec
tion, and refraction, all contribute to itf By this power the
* A windmill on an eminence overlooking a stream.
t All effects of light and dark are but modifications of reflection and refraction,
with the exception of the appearances of things self-luminous, as fire, the sun, &c.,
which occasion what we call lights on other objects by being reflected from or refracted
through their surfaces, leaving where such refiections or refractions are interrupted by
intervening bodies, the reflections of inferior lights from other objects which being less
powerful appear as shadows. It has been said that water receives no shadow; but
this is either equally true of all other bodies or not true of water, which is undoubtedly
subject to effects that we cannot otherwise describe than by the word shadow. When,
for instance, the sun is shining on the sea, were it possible that the water could be as

THIRD LECTURE AT THE ROYAL INSTITUTION, 1836. 301
raoment we come into a room we see that the chairs are not
standing on the tables, but a glance shows us the relative distances
of all the objects from the eye, though the darkest or the lightest
may be the farthest off. It has been said no man has enough of
certain qualities that has them not in excess ; so Rembrandt, of
whose art chiaroscuro is the essence, certainly carried it to an
extreme. The other great painters of the Dutch school were more
artless ; so apparently unstudied, indeed, are the works of many
of them — for instance, Jan Steen and De Hooge — that they seem
put together almost without thought ; yet it would be irapossible
to alter or leave out the sraallest object or to change any part of
smooth as a mirror, we should see his disc exactly reflected, and once only, the sur
face of the water in other places giving an inverted image of the sky. But as such
perfect stillness never occurs, the light of the sun is spread on the surface by innu
merable reflections of his disc from the waves and refractions through them, the spaces
between each, of these lights, as we call them, reflecting the sky, where again the
upper parts of the clouds reflect the sun, and other portions the blue sky, or the sea.
The blue of the sky is occasioned by still more minute reflections and refractions of the
sun from particles of vapour more subtle than those which compose the clouds, and
but for which in place of the azure there would be a void of utter darkness. Where
clouds or other objects intercept the reflections of the sun from the waves the reflection
of the sky remains, causing those patches of shadow which, seen from a low point,
stripe the sea with long lines of blue. The effects are exactly similar on a meadow,
the light of the sun being reflected from or refracted through every blade of grass,
and where intercepted leaving the reflection of the sky ; and on a road, the light is
spread by reflection from every particle of sand, gravel, or clay. Again, if we look
close at a polished ball of metal, we find a picture of every surrounding object, and
this at a distance forms that appearance of light and shade that gives it rotundity to
the ej'e. Let the ball be dimmed or roughened and the same general appearance of
light and dark is left, equally, though not so palpably, caused by reflection, the forms
and colours of the objects pictured on the ball being more or less blended as its sur
face is more or less dimmed. Of what consequence, it may be said, is it that the
artist should know this if he copy faithfully what he sees ? To which the reply is
that it may enable him to see better what he copies. All good colorists have, no
doubt, recognised the results I have spoken of in nature, whether or not they inves
tigated the principle, and the purity and evanescence of their colouring has been in
proportion to their perception of these results. Paul Veronese saw nature thus with
a truer eye than did Rubens, and a perfect sense of the influence of reflections consti
tutes that extraordinary charm in the works of De Hooge, which we scarcely find

392 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XVIII.
their light, shade or colour without injury to their pictures — a proof
that their art is consummate.
"The landscapes of Ruysdael present the greatest possible
contrast to those of Claude, showing how powerfully, from the
most opposite directions, genius may command our homage. In
Claude's pictures, with scarcely an exception, the sun ever shines.
Ruysdael, on the contrary, delighted in, and has raade delightful
to our eyes, those solemn days, peculiar to his country and to ours,
when, without storm, large rolling clouds scarcely permit a ray of
sunlight to break the shades of the forest. By these effects he en
veloped the most ordinary scenes in grandeur, and whenever he
has attempted marine subjects he is far beyond Vandervelde."
Constable showed a copy of a picture of this class by Ruysdael.
" The subject," he continued, " is the raouth of a Dutch river,
without a single feature of grandeur in the scenery ; but the
elsewhere, on canvas, excepting in the best pictures of Claude. An investigation of
these principles will protect the young artist from the danger of many unfounded
aphorisms that he is likely to hear from his elders, and meet with in books, that
shadow is colourless, that lights should he warm and shadows cool, or shadows warm.
and lights cool, &c. A knowledge of these laws will explain what his eye will soon
perceive, that the tones both of lights and shades are infinitely varied according to
circumstances ; that as perspective alters every line to the eye, so reflection and
refraction change more or less every colour, harmonising the crude and giving variety
to the monotonous ; and that shadow, as far as regards painting, can never be colour
less, for it is never solely the result of the absence of light excepting in situations with
which the painter can have nothing to do, the interior, for instance, of a cave to which
every opening is closed. I am glad to be able, in support of these conclusions, to quote
so high an authority as that of my friend, Mr. George Field, whose valuable works on
the philosophy of colour are known to most artists, and should be to all. In his
"Chromatography," Mr. Field says, "Colour, and what in painting is called trans
parency, belong principally to shade ; and the judgment of great authorities by which
they have been attached to light as its properties merely, has led to error in an art to
which colour is pre-eminently appropriate. Hence the painter has considered colour
in his practice as belonging to light only, and hence many have employed a uniform
shade tint, regarding shadows only as darkness, blackness, or the mere absence of
light, when in truth shadows are infinitely varied by colour."

THIRD LECTURE AT THE ROYAL INSTITUTION, 1836. 393
stormy sky, the grouping of the vessels, and the breaking of the
sea, make the picture one of the most impressive ever painted —
' It is the soul that sees ; the outward eyes
Present the object, but the mind descries.'
We see nothing truly till we understand it. An ordinary spectator
at the mouth of the river which Ruysdael has here painted, would
scarcely be conscious of the existence of many of the objects that
conduce to the effect of the picture ; certainly not of their fitness
for pictorial effect."
Constable pointed to a copy of a small evening winter-piece,
by Ruysdael. " This picture," he said, " represents an approaching
thaw. The ground is covered with snow and the trees are still
white ; but there are two windraills near the centre, the one has
the sails furled, and is turned in the work, the other has the
canvas on the poles, and is turned another way, which indicates a
change in the wind ; the clouds are opening in that direction,
which appears by the glow in the sky to be the south (the sun's
winter habitation in our heraisphere), and this change will produce
a thaw before the raorning. The concurrence of these circum
stances shows that Ruysdael understood what he was painting.
He has here told a story ; but in another instance he failed,
because he attempted to tell that which is out of the reach of the
art. In a picture which was known, while he was living, to be
called ' An Allegory of the Life of Man ' (and it may therefore be
supposed he so intended it), there are ruins to indicate old age, a
streara to signify the course of life, and rocks and precipices to
shadow forth its dangers — but how are we to discover all this ?
" The Dutch painters were a stay-at-home people, hence their
originality. They were not, however, ignorant of Italian art.

39+ THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XVIIL
Rerabrandt had a large collection of Italian pictures and engrav
ings, and Fuseli calls the school of the Bassanos the ' Venetian
prelude to the Dutch school.' We derive the pleasure of surprise
frora the works of the best Dutch painters in finding how much
interest the art, when in perfection, can give to the raost ordinary
subjects. Those are cold critics who turn from their works and
wish the same skill had been rendered a vehicle for raore elevated
stories. They do not in reality feel how rauch the Dutch painters
have given to the world, who wish for raore ; and it may always
be doubted whether those who do not relish the works of the
Dutch and Flemish schools, whatever raptures they raay effect in
speaking of the schools of Italy, are capable of fully appreciating
the latter, for a true taste is never a half taste. Whatever story
the best painters of Holland and Flanders undertook to tell, is told
with an unaffected truth of expression that raay afford useful lessons
in the treatment of the most sublime subjects, and those who
would deny them poetic feeling forget that chiaroscuro, colour, and
composition, are all poetic qualities. Poetry is not denied to
Rembrandt or to Rubens, because their effects are striking. It
does not, however, the less exist in the works of many other
painters of the Dutch and Flemish schools who were less daring
in their style."

LECTURE IV.
June i6th.

Of Constable's fourth lecture I regret to find that even less
is preserved than of the preceding ones. He recapitulated the

FOURTH LECTURE AT THE ROYAL INSTITUTION, 1836. 395
history of landscape since the revival of the arts, comprising
a space of about six hundred years, Titian's " Peter Martyr"
forming a central epoch.
He showed engravings from Patel of imitations of Claude, and
from Vernet of imitations of Salvator Rosa, and pointed out the
inferiority. " The absurdity of imitation," he reraarked, " is nowhere so
striking as in the landscapes of the English Wootton, who painted
country gentlemen in their wigs and jockey caps and top boots,
with packs of hounds, and placed them in Italian landscapes,
resembling those of Gaspar Poussin, except in truth and force.
Lambert, another English imitator of Italian art, but even below
Wootton, is now remerabered only as the founder of the ' Beef-
Steak Club.'
"The art of painting was, in all its branches, in the raost
degraded state, not only in England, but throughout Europe, when
Hogarth and Reynolds appeared and thought and studied for
theraselves. Burke has said that Reynolds ' was the first English
man who added the praise of the elegant arts to the other glories
of his country.' But he forgot that Hogarth was born twenty-six
years before Sir Joshua, and had published his engravings of the
' Harlot's Progress ' when Reynolds was but eleven years old ;
or it may be he was influenced by the coraraon opinion of that time,
which we find echoed by Walpole, that Hogarth was no painter^
It is, however, to Reynolds that the honour of establishing the
English school belongs. Hogarth had no school, nor has he ever
been imitated with any tolerable success."
Among the engravings Constable exhibited at this lecture, he
placed Sir Joshua's lovely group of the three Ladies Waldegrave

396 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XVIII.
under the Ugolino, and remarked, " How great must be the range
of his genius, who could fill the space of art included between two
such subjects. Romney, when sorae of his friends thought to
please hira by disparaging Reynolds, said : ' No, no ; he is the
greatest painter that ever lived, for I see an exquisite beauty in his
pictures which I see in nature, but not in the works of any other
painter,' *
" To Wilson, who was ten years the senior of Reynolds, raay
justly be given the praise of opening the way to the genuine
principles of landscape in England ; he appeared at a time when
this art, not only here but on the Continent, was altogether in the
hands ofthe mannerists, f It was in Italy that he first became
acquainted with his own powers ; and no doubt the influence of
the works of Claude and the Poussins enabled him to raake the
discovery. But he looked at nature entirely for hiraself, and
reraaining free frora any tincture of the styles that prevailed araong
the living artists both abroad and at horae, he was alraost wholly
excluded frora any share of the patronage which was liberally
bestowed on his contemporaries, Barrett, and the Sraiths, of
Chichester, whose naraes are now nearly forgotten, accuraulated
* This is true, in a greater or less degree, as Constable has himself remarked in
the first of this course of lectures, of every original painter. Indeed, it is evident that
this is the only test of originality.
t The biographers of Wilson attribute his leaving portraiture for landscape to ihe
suggestion of oneof these mannerists, Zuccherelli, and of his obligations to another,
Allan Cunningham gives this account. " One day, while sitting in Wilson's painting
room, Vernet was so struck with the peculiar beauty of a newly-finished landscape that
he desired to become its proprietor, and offered in exchange one of his best pictures.
This was much to the gratification of the other ; the exchange was made, and with
a liberality equally rare and commendable, Vernet placed his friend's picture in his
exhibition room, and when his own productions happened to be praised or purchased
by English travellers, the generous Frenchman used to say, ' Don't talk of my land
scapes alone when your own countryman, Wilson, paints so beautifully.' "

FOURTH LECTURE AT THE ROYAL INSTITUTION, 1836. 397
wealth, while Wilson might have starved had he not been
appointed librarian to the Royal Acaderay. Stothard used to
relate an anecdote of Wilson, which showed how much he was
disposed to turn to nature even in the midst of art, Stothard,
when a student, asked Wilson, in the library, to recoraraend some
thing for him to copy, Wilson at the moment was standing at one
of the windows, which, as the quadrangle of Somerset House was
then unfinished, commanded a fine view of the river. ' There,'
said the librarian, pointing to the animated scene, ' is something
for you to copy.'
" The landscape of Gainsborough is soothing, tender, and
affecting. The stillness of noon, the depths of twilight, and the
dews and pearls of the morning, are all to be found on the
canvases of this raost benevolent and kind-hearted man. On
looking at thera we find tears in our eyes, and know not what
brings thera. The lonely haunts of the solitary shepherd — the
return ofthe rustic with his bill and bundle of wood — the darksome
lane or dell — the sweet little cottage girl at the spring with her
pitcher — were the things he delighted to paint, and which he
painted with exquisite refineraent, yet not a refinement beyond
nature, Gainsborough has been compared to Murillo by those
who cannot distinguish between the subject and the art. Like
Murillo he painted the peasantry of his country, but here the
resemblance ceases. His taste was in all respects greatly superior
to that ofthe Spanish painter,"
Constable spoke of Cozens and Girtin as possessing genius of
the very highest order, though their works being coraparatively
few and in water colours chiefly, they are less known than they
deserve to be.

398 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XVIII,
" West showed great ability in the composition of landscape,
which he soraetiraes practised for itself, with figures entirely sub
ordinate. His picture of the reception of Telemachus and Mentor
by Calypso, after their shipwreck, is an extreraely beautiful cora-
bination of landscape and figures." Constable exhibited a fine
engraving of this picture, begun by Woollett and finished by Pye,
" As your kind attention," he said, " has so long been given to
my description of pictures, it may now be well to consider in what
estiraation we are to hold them, and in what class we are to place
the men who have produced them. It appears to me that pictures
have been overvalued; held up by a blind adrairation as ideal
things, and alraost as standards by which nature is to be judged
rather than the reverse ; and this false estimate has been sanctioned
by the extravagant epithets that have been applied to painters, as
' the divine,' ' the inspired,' and so forth,* Yet, in reality, what
are the most sublime productions of the pencil but selections oi
some of the forms of nature, and copies of a few of her evanescent
effects ; and this is the result, not of inspiration, but of long and
patient study, under the direction of much good sense. It was said
by Sir Thomas Lawrence, that ' we can never hope to compete with
nature in the beauty and delicacy of her separate forms or colours, —
our only chance lies in selection and combination,' Nothing can be
* "To say the truth, men do not appear to know their own stock and abilities, but
fancy their possessions greater and their faculties less than they are ; whence either
valuing the received arts above measure, they look out no farther ; or else despising
themselves too much they exercise their talents upon lighter matters, without attempt
ing the capital things at all. And hence the sciences come to be considered at Her
cules' Pillars, which are to bound the desires and hopes of mankind. But as a false
imagination of plenty comes among the principal causes of want, and as too great a
confidence in things present leads to a neglect of future assistance, it is necessary that
we here admonish mankind that they do not too highly value or extol either the number
or usefulness of the things hitherto discovered." — BACON,

LAST LECTURE DELIVERED BY CONSTABLE. 399
more true ; and it may be added, that selection and combination
are learned from nature herself, who constantly presents with com
positions of her own, far more beautiful than the happiest arranged
by human skill. I have endeavoured to draw a line between
genuine art and raannerisra, but even the greatest painters have
never been wholly untainted by raanner. Painting is a science, and
should be pursued as an inquiry into the laws of nature. Why,
then, may not landscape painting be considered as a branch of
natural philosophy, of which pictures are but the experiments ?" *
Constable thanked his audience for the attention with which
they had listened to him, and said : " I cannot better take ray leave
of you than in the words of ray friend. Archdeacon Fisher, who, in
an address to the clergy on one of his visitations said : 'In my
present perplexity, the recollection comes to my relief that when
any man has given an undivided attention to any one subject, his
audience willingly yield him for his hour the chair of instruction ;
he discharges his mind of its conceptions, and descends from his
temporary elevation to be instructed in his turn by other men.' "

LAST LECTURE DELIVERED BY CONSTABLE.
On the 25th July, 1836, Constable delivered a lecture before
the Literary and Scientific Institution at Harapstead, on the subject
of landscape generally.
In adding the notes I took on this occasion to the remaining
* TurnbuU, whose folio on ancient painting Hogarth sent to the trunk-maker with
less justice than the 9999th volume of Politics, which he placed in the same hamper
with it, considers landscape painting as belonging to natural philosophy, and historical
painting to moral philosophy. But Constable was not acquainted with Turnbull's work
when this lecture was delivered. He first saw it at my house, January, 1837,

400 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap, XVIII.
memoranda preserved among his papers, I shall omit passages in
which he repeated parts of his previous lectures.
He began by saying, " The difference between the judgments
pronounced by men who have given their lives to a particular
study, and by those who have attended to that study as the amuse
ment only of a few leisure hours, may be thus illustrated. I will
imagine two dishes, the one of gold, the other of wood. The
golden dish is filled with diamonds, rubies, and emeralds — and
chains, rings, and brooches of gold ; while the other contains shell
fish, stones, and earths. These dishes are offered to the world,
who choose the first ; but it is afterwards discovered that the dish
itself is but copper gilt, the diamonds are paste, the rubies and
emeralds painted glass, and the chains, rings, &c., counterfeit. In
the meantime, the naturalist has taken the wooden dish, for he
knows that the shell-fish are pearl oysters, and he sees that among
the stones are gems, and mixed with the earths are the ores of the
precious raetals,
" The decline of painting, in every age and country, after
arriving at excellence, has been attributed by writers who have
not been artists to every cause but the true one. The first im
pression, and a natural one, is that the fine arts have risen or
declined in proportion as patronage has been given to thera or
withdrawn, but it will be found that there has often been more
money lavished on them in their worst periods than in their best,
and that the highest honours have frequently been bestowed on
artists whose names are scarcely now known. Whenever the arts
have not been upheld by the good sense of their professors,
patronage and honours so far from checking their downward
course, must inevitably accelerate it.

LAST LECTURE DELIVERED BY CONSTABLE. 401
" The attempt to revive styles that have existed in former ages,
may for a time appear to be successful, but experience may now
surely teach us its irapossibility, I might put on a suit of Claude
Lorraine's clothes and walk into the street, and the many who
know Claude but slightly would pull off their hats to me, but I
should at last meet with some one more intiraately acquainted with
hira, who would expose rae to the conterapt I raerited,*
"It is thus in all the fine arts, A new Gothic building, or a
new missal, is in reality little less absurd than a new ruin. The
Gothic architecture, sculpture and painting, belong to peculiar ages.
The feelings that guided their inventors are unknown to us, we
contemplate them with associations, many of which, however vague
and dim, have a strong hold on our imaginations, and we feel
indignant at the atterapt to cheat us by any raodern rairaicry of
their peculiarities.!
" It is to be laraented that the tendency of taste is at present
too much towards this kind of imitation, which, as long as it lasts,
can only act as a blight on art, by engaging talents that might
have stamped the age with a character of its own, in the vain
endeavour to reaniraate deceased art, in which the utmost that can
be accomplished will be to reproduce a body without a soul.t
* Archdeacon Fisher, in one ofhis letters that has not been printed, says, " I have
just met with the following observation in Lionardo da Vinci : ' One painter ought
never to imitate the manners of any other, because in that case he cannot be called
the child of nature, but the grandchild.' " Constable sometimes called imitators
" Poachers on other men's grounds."
t See Fisher's letter on the death of Mrs. Constable, page 208,
X Nine years have elapsed since these observations were made, and the tendency
of taste is still more confirmed in the direction of which Constable speaks. The pre
sent Age, distinguished as it is by the advance of the other sciences, has become, in
all that relates to Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture, little else than an Anti
quarian Age. It is well, in all things, as we go on, to look behind us ; but what
advance can we hope to make with our faces constantly turned backwards ?
3 F

402 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XVIII.
" Attempts at the union of uncongenial qualities in different
styles of art have also contributed to its decline," In illustration
of this, Constable showed a print from Vernet, the trees of which
were a mannered iraitation of Salvator Rosa, without his nature
and wildness, while the rocks were in the artificial style of Berghera.
"In the foreground," he said, "you will perceive an eraaciated
French dancing raaster, in a dress soraething like one of Salvator's
banditti, but intended by Vernet for a fisherraan. It is thus the art is
deteriorated by the mannerists who employ themselves in sweeping
up the painting rooras of preceding ages. Iraitators always render
the defects of the raodel raore conspicuous. Sir George Beaumont,
on seeing a large picture by a modern artist, intended to be in the
style of Claude, said, 'I never could have believed that Claude
Lorraine had so many faults, if I had not seen them all collected
together on this canvas.' It is useful, therefore, to a painter
to have imitators, as they will teach hira to avoid everything
they do.
" The young painter who, regardless of present popularity,
would leave a narae behind hira, raust becorae the patient pupil of
nature. If we refer to the lives of all who have distinguished
theraselves in art or science, we shall find they have always been
laborious. The landscape painter must walk in the fields with an
humble raind. No arrogant raan was ever perraitted to see nature
in all her beauty. If I raay be allowed to use a very soleran ques
tion, I would say raost eraphatically to the student, ' Reraeraber
now thy creator in the days of thy youth.' The friends of a young
artist should not look or hope for precocity. It is often disease
only. Quintilian raakes use of a beautiful siraile in speaking of
precocious talent. He compares it to the forward ear of corn

LAST LECTURE DELIVERED BY CONSTABLE. 403
that turns yellow and dies before the harvest Precocity often leads
to criticism — sharp, and severe as the feelings are morbid from ill-
health. Bacon says, ' When a young man becomes a critic, he will
find much for his amusement, little for his instruction.' The young
artist must receive with deference the advice of his elders, not
hastily questioning what he does not yet understand, otherwise his
maturity will bear no fruit. The art of seeing nature is a thing
almost as much to be acquired as the art of reading the Egyp
tian hieroglyphics. The Chinese have painted for two thousand
years, and have not discovered that there is such a thing as chiaro
scuro." *
Constable then gave sorae practical rules for drawing frora
nature, and showed some beautiful studies of trees. One, a tall
and elegant ash, of which he said, " Many of ray Hampstead friends
may remember this young lady at the entrance to the village. Her
fate was distressing, for it is scarcely too much to say that she died
of a broken heart. I made this drawing when she was in full
health and beauty ; on passing some time afterwards, I saw, to my
grief, that a wretched board had been nailed to her side, on which
was written in large letters, ' All vagrants and beggars will be dealt
with according to law: The tree seemed to have felt the disgrace,
for even then some of the top branches had withered. Two long
spike nails had been driven far into her side. In another year
one half became paralyzed, and not long after the other shared the
• Some of the Chinese painters have lately produced pistures with powerful effects
of light and shade, in imitation of European art. Specimens of this kiud may be seen
in the splendid Chinese Museum, lately opened. Still, they are but imitations of art,
and are black, heavy, and cold, and destiftute of the real charm of chiaroscuro. Indeed,
the earlier works of the Chinese, in which light and shade are not thought of, are
more agreeable.

404 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap, XVIII,
same fate, and this beautiful creature was cut down to a sturap, just
high enough to hold the board,"
Constable exhibited an outline ofthe principal figure in Fuseli's
" Lazar House," and showed that the swellings and depressions in
the outline of a figure in fine action never occur exactly on the
opposite sides, and the same, he said, would be found true of trees
when healthy.
He quoted from Thomson's "Seasons" the sixteen introduc
tory lines to the "Winter" as a beautiful instance of the poet
identifying his own feelings with external nature. He noticed also
Milton's love of landscape, and how often in his poems the most
simple imagery is mingled with the most sublirae. " Thus he has
corapared the array of the Cherubim attendant on the Archangel,
while conducting our first parents from Paradise, to an evening
mist. " ' The archangel stood, and from the other hill
To their fix'd station, all in bright array.
The Cherubim descended : on the ground,
Gliding meteorous, as evening mist
Ris'n from a river o'er the marish glides,
And gathers ground fast at the lab' rer' s heel,
Homeward returning.' "
Introducing the horaely incident of the labourer's return, and
calling up all the rustic fireside associations connected with it in
the midst of a description of the host of heaven.
"There has," said Constable, "never been an age, however
rude or uncultivated, in which the love of landscape has not in some
way been manifested. And how could it be otherwise ? for man is
the sole intellectual inhabitant of one vast natural landscape. His
nature is congenial with the eleraents of the planet itself, and he

LAST LECTURE DELIVERED BY CONSTABLE. 403
cannot but sympathise with its features, its various aspects, and its
phenomena in all situations. How beautifully has Milton described
the emotions of Adam in the full maturity of mind and perception,
his eyes opening for the first time on the wonders of the animate
and inanimate world : —
" ' Straight toward Heav'n my wond'ring eyes I tum'd
And gaz'd awhile the ample sky. . .
. . . . About me round I saw
Hill, dale, and shady woods, and sunny plains.
And liquid lape of murm'ring streams ; by these
Creatures that liv'd and mov'd, and walk'd or flew.
Birds on the branches warbling ; all things smil'd
With fragrance, and with joy my heart o'erflow'd ;
. . . Thou Sun, said I, fair light,
And thou enlightened earth, so fresh and gay,
Ye hills and dales, ye civers, woods, and plains,
And ye that live and move, fair creatures, tell,
Tell if ye saw, how came I thus, how here ? ' "
"'When I behold,' says Martin Luther, ' the beautiful azure
vault of heaven, besprinkled with constellations of shining
orbs, the prospect fills ray mind, and I feel the highest grati
fication at such a glorious display of omnipotence, Melancthon
wishes to know where are the pillars that support this magnificent
arch,' " At a time when Europe was agitated in an unusual manner,
when all was diplomacy, all was politics, Machivellian and perfi
dious, Cardinal Bembo wrote thus to the Pope, who had been
crowning the Emperor Charles V, at Bologna, ' While your Holi
ness has been these last days on the theatre of the world, among
so many lords and great raen, whora none now alive have ever
seen together before, and has placed on the head of Charles V, the
rich, splendid, and honoured crown of the Erapire ; I have been

4o6 THE LIFE OF JOHN CONSTABLE. [Chap. XVIII.
residing in my little village, where I have thought on you in a
quiet, and to me, dear and delicious solitude, I have found the
country above the usage of any former years, from the long
serenity of these gliding months, and by the sudden mildness of
the air, already quite verdant, and the trees in full leaf Even the
vines have deceived the peasantry by their luxuriance, which they
were obliged to prune, I do not remember to have seen at this
time so beautiful a season. Not only the swallows, but all other
birds that do not remain with us in the winter, but return to us in
the spring, have made this new, and soft, and joyous sky resound
with their charming raelodies, I could not, therefore, regret your
festivities at Bologna, — Padua, April jth, 1530,'
" Of the good Bishop Andrews it is related by Fuller, ' that he
would often profess that to observe the trees— earth, corn, grass,
water — hearing any of the creatures, and to conteraplate their
qualities, natures, and uses, was ever to hira the greatest recreation,
content, and rairth that could be,'
" Paley observed of hiraself, that ' the happiest hours of
a sufificiently happy life were passed by the side of a stream,'
and I am greatly mistaken if every landscape painter will not
acknowledge that his most serene hours have been spent in the
open air, with his palette on his hand, ' It is a great hap
piness,' says Bacon, ' when men's professions and their inclinations
accord,' "
From these outlines but a faint impression can be formed of
Constable's lectures, as he delivered thera, and in rooras of which
one side was covered with pictures and prints to which he con
stantly referred. Many of his happiest turns of expression were

LAST LECTLRE DELIVERED BY CONSTABLE. 407
not to be found in his own notes ; they arose at the moment,
and were not to be recalled by a reporter unskilled in short
hand ; neither can the charm of a most agreeable voice (though
pitched somewhat too low), the beautiful manner in which he read
the quotations, whether of prose or poetry, or the play of
his very expressive countenance, be conveyed to the reader by
word.s.

INDEX

Aberdeen, Earl of, his portrait by Law
rence, 226
Abergavenny , Indiaman, loss of, 276
Abernethy, Dr., 161
Academy, Royal, Constable admitted stu
dent, 9 ; elected Associate, 1819, gi ; an
Academician, 1828, 211
Adam, his admiration of nature described
by Milton, 406
Agnew and Sons, see note, 66, 93
Album, Miss Southey's, 137
Alchymist, early picture of, by J. C, 8
Algarotti, Count, Reynolds's criticism on, 379
Allnutt, John, sale of picture to, 55 ; letter
from, to C. R. Leslie, 56
Alps, Turner's Hannibal crossing the, 36
Altar-piece for Neyland Church, by J. C, 22
Amazon, figure of, set by J. C. in life
school of R.A., 233
Anatomy, lectures on, attended by J.C., 13
Andrews, Bishop, his content and mirth
among corn, grass, and water, 406
Angerstein, Mr., his picture by Claude, 100
Antino Pietro, his praise of Titian, 380
Appleton, Mr., tub-maker, Tottenham Court
Road, wants a damaged picture of J. C,
156
Arrowsmith, Mr., letter to Constable, 154
Arundel, J. C's visit to, 288
Arundel Mill and Castle, picture of, 321,
328, 333
Ash-tree, a favourite of J. C's, one at
Hampstead, dead of a broken heart, 403
Asphaltum versus dew, 219
Balmanno, Mr., interested in the Waterloo
Bridge picture, 185
Bambocciate, school of, 375
Bannister, John, the Inimitable, a friend and
great admirer of Constable's art, 185
Bannister, letter from, to J. C, 231
Bannister sat to C R. Leslie, for his Uncle
Toby, 284
Barrett, of Chichester, 396
Barry, the actor, and Garrick compared, 340
Barry, the artist, 341

Beauchamp's factory, 269
Beaumont, Sir George, 5, 6, 26, 94, 119,
120, 132, 134, 13s, 136, 138, 139, 140, 144,
180
Beechey, Sir WilHam, R.A., his evidence on
oath on Constable's work and health, 236
Belim, Archdeacon Fisher's boy William's
idea of happiness, 191
Berghem, 375, see note, 385
Bergholt, East, "the wooded hill," J. C's
birthplace, described, i
Berkshire, J. C's visit to Reading, New
bury, and Abingdon, 99
Bicknell, Charles, Solicitor to the Admiralty,
etc., 29
Bicknell, Maria, his daughter. Constable's
attachment to, 28 ; see note, 29 ; her
letters to J. C, 30, 31, 32, 36, 42, 43, 44,
50, S3, 58, 62, 63, 65, 70, 72, n, 75. 76,
78, 79, 81, 82, 83
Bigg, R.A., Leslie's model for Sir Roger de
Coverley, 233
Billy Lott's House, 55, 282
Billy, Master, J. C's favourite cat, 179, 185
Blacking, the Waterloo Bridge toned with,
283
Boat-building near Flatford, picture of, 343
Bolognese School, 367
Bonner, Mr., 284, 297
Borrowdale, view of, by J. C, exhibited
1809, 22
Both, 375
Bourbon, Sebastian, 371, 375, 383
Bow Fell, drawing of, exhibited in 1807, by
J. C, 21
Bradford, Lord, 51
Brantham Church, an altar-piece for, painted
by J. C, 24
Bridgman, Rev. George, portrait of, by J. C,
51
Brightness, independent of colour, 381
Brighton described by Constable, 152 ; his
sketch books there, 164
Bril, Paul, 370, 381
Brockenden, William, 163
Brookes, Mr., his lectures on anatomy, 13

INDEX.

409

Brother brushes, 184
Brougham, Lord, description of, at corona
tion of William IV., 240
" Brown Tree," Sir G. Beaumont's, 141
Burgess, Bishop, Mr. Fisher appointed
Chaplain to, i88
Burton, L. Archer, Esq., "The White
Horse," formerly his property, 93
B3n:on, Lord, 49, 70
Callcott, Sir Augustus W., R.A., Con
stable asked to paint a picture as com
panion to one of his, 56
Callcott, Lady, her translation of " Life of
Nicolo Poussin," see note, 369
Callcott, Dr., brother ofthe painter, 46
Calvert, Denis, 369
" Canterbury Pilgrims," Stothard's, 95
Carpenter, Mr. James, of Old Bond Street,
an early patron of Constable and publisher
of first edition of his life by C R. Leslie,
with twenty-two plates by Lucas, 55, see
note
Carpenter, William, keeper of print-room at
the British Museum, letters to, from
Constable, 299, 308, 316
Caracci, school of, first in which landscape
became a distinct branch, 380
Carey, Edward, publisher, U.S.A., 308
Cats, Martin, small picture of, by Constable,
at British Gallery, 54
Cenotaph erected by Sir George Beaumont at
Cole Orton to Sir Joshua Reynolds, 270, 3 15
Chalons, the brothers Alfred and John, 156,
268, 285 ; letters to John Chalon from
Constable, 212, 307
Chantrey, Sir Francis, among the painters
on varnishing days, 192, 219
Charlotte Street, fire at Constable's lodgings
in, 38
Charter House, Dr. Fisher, father of Arch
deacon Fisher, master of, 38
Chinese paintings, 403
Choiseul Gallery, 169
Christie, Messrs., sale of White Horse at,
in 1894, for 6,200 guineas, 66
Claude, Constable's first sight of, picture
by, and copy of, 6, 1 1 ; monument to, at
Rome, 345
Cole-Orton Hall, Constable's description of,
134. 13s
Coleridge, on the Deluge, see note, 388
Collins, William, R.A., 99, 154 ; letter
from, to C. R. Leslie, 347 3 '

Constable, Ann, the painter's mother,
letters from, to her son, 31, 64, 65 ; her
death, 66
Constable, Abram, the artist's youngest
brother, letter from, 158
Constable, Alfred, third son of the artist,
198, 252 ; his death by the upsetting of a
boat, see note, 263
Constable, Archibald, the publisher, 163
Constable, Captain Charles, second son of
the artist, letter from, about a picture
exhibited at a winter exhibition, said to
be by his father, see note, 186 ; his first
voyages, etc., 304, 306, 317, 318
Constable, Emily, the artist's third daughter,
259
Constable, Golding, father of the painter,
letter from, to his son, ^;>, ; death of, 80
Constable, Hugh, great-grandfather of John
Constable, 2
Constable, Isabel, the artist's second
daughter and last surviving child, 121
Constable, John, R.A., his birth, school
days, etc., 3 ; employed in his father's
mills, 4 ; goes to London, 6, 7 ; student
at the R.A., 9, 10 ; anatomical studies,
13 ; declines a post as drawing master,
17 ; voyage to Deal, 18 ; engaged in por
trait painting, 25 ; attachment to Miss
Bicknell, 29 ; letters from him to Miss
Bicknell, 34, 35, 36, t,-], 38, 39, 40, 41, 42,
43. 44. 49' 51. 52, 53. 59. 60, 61, 62, 67,
68, 69, 71, 72, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 82,
83, 84 ; death of his mother, 65, 66 ; of
his father, 80 ; his marriage, 86 ; elected
associate of R.A., 1819, 91 ; letters to
Archdeacon Fisher, 88, 90, 91, 93, 96,
97, 99, loi, 103, 108, no, 112, 113, 115,
117, 121, 122, 125, 127, 128, 130, 131, 133,
142, 145, 147, 149, 151, 157, 160, 161, 164,
167, 172, 177, 182, 183, 184, 186, 187, 188,
191. 193. 195. 198. 200, 203, 215, 219;
letters to C R. Leslie, R.A., 194, 210,
22s, 226, 230, 231, 232, 233, 237, 238, 239,
240, 241, 246, 247, 248, 259, 260, 261, 262,
264, 265, 266, 268, 269, 270, 274, 276, 277,
284, 287, 289, 290, 291, 295, 297, 300,304,
306, 307. 308, 313. 314. 318, 319, 322;
letters to Samuel Lane, Esq., 107, 190, 202,
226, 275, 323 ; letters to J. Chalon, 212,
307 ; letters to David Lucas, 214, 227,
228, 234, 236, 243, 259, 262, 263, 281, 282,
302, 312, 322, 323, 32s ; letters to Mr.
George Constable of Arundel, 278, 279,

410

INDEX.

380, 286, 299, 303, 305, 307, 309, 310,314,
316 ; gold medals awarded him by the
King of France and the Prefect of Lisle,
166, 185 ; death ofhis wife, 207; elected
Academician, 211 ; illness of himself and
eldest son, 285 ; his last letter, 326 ;
declining health and sudden death, 327,
328, 329
Constable, John, eldest son of the painter,
birth, 87 ; his early death, see note, 176
Constable, Lionel Bicknell, the artist's
youngest child, 252
Constable, Maria, Constable's eldest
daughter, 221, 226
Constable, Mary, the artist's sister, 35, 157
Cook, Captain, godfather to his own wife,
276
Cook, Richard, R.A., 322
Cornaro family, Titian's picture of, 377
Cornfield, with reapers at work, " the Lord "
or leading man, 15
Cornfield, picture of, bought by subscription
among Constable's friends for the nation,
334, see note, etc.
Coronation of William IV., description of,
by Constable, 240
Correggio, life of, by Coxe, 109, 125
Cow, hornless, Suffolk breed of, 117
Cowper, his letters. Constable's favourite
reading, 40
Coxe, Archdeacon, criticisms on Constable's
work, 45
Coxe, Peter, his wish to place a picture by
Constable in the hands of an engraver, 54
Cozens, the water-colour painter, 25, 100,
299. 372. 397
Cromwell, an embalmed head of, 10
Curtis, Sir William, 125, see note, 127
Cuyp, 375, 390
Dado-painting, 149
Darby, Francis, of Colebrook Dale, 175
Davis & Drew, Drs., medicine and pills,
23s. 236
Davidson, Mr., his gallery. Pall Mall, 281
Dawe, Constable engaged by, to paint
his backgrounds, 68
Dawson, Benjamin, note to, from J. C, 245
Deal, Constable's voyage to, 18
Devil, the, source of rejected pictures at
the R.A., 216
Dew, and Sir Francis Chantrey, 219
Diary kept by Constable for his wife at
Brighton, 153, et seq. to 157

D'Israeli's anecdotes, quotations from, by
Fisher, i6i
Domenichino, 367, 368, 370, 375
Dorigny, engravings by, from Raphael's
cartoons, copied by Constable, 5
Dort, the picture of, by Cuyp, 291
Dudley, Lord, on the old masters, see note,
lOI
Dunthorne, John, Constable's first studio in
his cottage at Bergholt, 3 ; makes a lay
figure, see note, 10 ; letters to, from Con
stable, 12, 13, 17, 18
Dunthorne, John, Jun., 157, 161, 162, 177,
184 ; paints a sign of the " Duke of
Marlborough," 195 ; his death, 263
Dunthorne, Thomas, letters to, from Con
stable, 273
Diirer, Albert, the father of landscape, 375
Dutch painters, a stay-at-home race, 393
Dysart, Countess of. Constable at a file
champetre given by her at Ham House,
128, 178
Dysart, Earl of. Constable engaged by, to
copy family portraits by Reynolds, 22, 206
East Bergholt, Constable's birthplace
described, i, 2
Eastlake, Sir Charles, R.A., 299
East Saxons, lofty grounds of, 200
Edinburgh, opening of art exhibition there,
1825, 183
Egremont, Earl of, 268, 288, 289, 293
Elm-tree, rooks' preference for, 146
Englefield House, picture of, by Constable,
painted for Mr. Buryon de Beauvoir, 266,
274
"English Landscape," the, 159, 196, 221,
264, 281, 311
Etching, attempts at, by Constable, 8
Etty, William, R.A., 192, 232, 233
Evans, Dr., of Hampstead, 208, 219, 251,
258, 262 ; note from, to Mr. Purton, 285
Eve, figure of, set in the life school of the
R.A., by Constable, 232
"Excursion," Wordsworth's, 136
Faraday, Michael, pleased with Constable's
lecture at Royal Institution, see note, 380 ;
Constable's son John, a pupil of, 298
Farrington, Mr., 34, 44, no; his house in
Charlotte Street, Fitzroy Square, 112
Fiddle, colour of an old Cremona, recom
mended by Sir George Beaumont as the
ruling tone for pictures, 140

INDEX.

411

Field, Mr. George, wholesale manufacturer
of artist's colours, see note, 281 ; letters
from, to C R. Leslie, 336, 2,-^-]
Fire at Constable's lodging in Charlotte St, 43
Fire engine, model of, see note, 85
Fisher, the Rev. John, aftenvards Arch
deacon, i-j, 38 ; his advice to Constable,
83 ; other letters from, to J. C, 91, 92, 93,
95. 97. 99. loi, 103, 105, 107, 113. 124, 125,
126, 131, 141, 146, 150, 152, 159, 160, 161,
168, 169, 170, 171, 172, 176, 177, 182,
187, 190, 196, 197, 202, 205, 207, 208, 209,
210, 212, 217, 218, 220
Fisher, General, his death. Constable asked
to paint a portrait of, 61
Fitzwilliam, Lord, 153
Flatford, eight or ten of Constable's chief
subjects within a circle of a few hundred
yards of, 355
Flatford, picture of boatbuilding there, 60
Flaxman, statue by, of Reynolds, 49
Flemishart, 364, 371,375
Foggo, Mr., a pamphlet by, attacking the
R.A., 304
Fontaine, an Old Swiss organist and pen
sioner of Constable's, 178
Fonthill, description of sale at, 129
Forbin, Count, Director at the Louvre, 164
Forgeries of Constable's works, 348
Foster, Captain, 113
Fowls, excitement among Constable's, in
Charlotte St., 179
French critics on Constable, 158, 165
Frenchman, one wishes to have Constable's
"Hay Wain," 145
Frost, Tumer's picture of, greatly adraired
by Archdeacon Fisher, 50
Fuseli, his criticism on Constable, 123
Gaddi, Angiolo, 344
Gainsborough, his country near Ipswich,
10 ; exhibition of pictures by, at British
Gallery, 222 ; compared with Murillo, 397
Gallery, British Institution, Exhibitions of
Sir Joshua Reynolds's works there in 1813,
49.50
Gallery, National, should there be one ? 118
Garden of Eden, Constable's, at the R.A., 2-^,2
Garrick, David, 342
Gellee, John and Joseph, monument erected
by them to their uncle, commonly known
as Claude Lorraine, 345
Gessner, his essay on Landscape, 7 ; letters
of, 81

Ghirlandaio, 363
Ghost in Hamlet, 195
Gillingham, great storm at, 141
Giorgione, 365
Girtin, Thomas, 397; early study of, by
Constable, 6
Glazing, see note, 219
Glebe Farm, study of, see note, 196
Glover compared with Poussin, see note, 98
Gooch, Dr., remark by, 350
Gordon, Sir Willoughby, portrait Of, by
Wilkie, 123
Gothic architecture, 208
Gout, a lame excuse by Bannister, 231
Gravesend seen from Constable's windows
at Hampstead, 200
Gray, the poet, 286
Greuze, Constable asked to make a copy
from, 239, 249
Grimwood, Rev. Dr., Constable's school
master at Dedham, 3
Gubbins, Captain, Constable's cousin, killed
at Waterloo, see note, 68
Gubbins, Lieutenant, also present at
Waterloo, 68
Gubbins, Colonel, present at attack on New
Orleans, see note, 72
Gubbins, Richard, 179
Guercino, style of, 123
Hadleigh Castle, picture of, severely criti
cised, 219
Hagar, the picture by Claude, in National
Gallery, see notes, 6, n
Hakert, a Prussian painter, see note, 385
Hamerton, P. G., quotation from, on Con
stable and Miss Bicknell, see note, 29 ;
and on death of Constable's mother, 66
Hampstead, Constable's temporary studio
there, 100
" Hampstead, Lady," one of Constable's
cats, 180
Hampstead, Constable settles his family
there in Well Walk, 200; Constable's
funeral there, 329
Harwich Light-house, view of, 95
Hastings boats, more picturesque than
Brighton, 152
Haydon, B. R., his description of Cole-
Orton Hall, see note, 135
Heathcote, Lady, her portrait as Hebe
copied by Constable, 34, 37
Hell, Milton's cold, 217
Helmingham Park, 128 ; a dell in, 229, 230

412

INDEX.

Henderson, Mr., a room in his house allowed
to Constable as a studio, 43
Herculaneum, landscape as found on the
ruined walls of, 362
Hobbema, a picture by, offered to Constable
in exchange for one of his, 300
Hogarth and Constable compared, 333
Holford, Charles, Esq., study of trees made
in his grounds at Hampstead, 286
Homer, only one, 172 ; gods of, 352
Hooghe, De, Constable's admiration of, 340 ;
a copy from, lent to Constable by C R.
Leslie, 262
Hopkins, Captain, oitlae Buckinghamshire
East Indiaman, 304, 306
" House that Jack built" picture of Engle
field House, so named by Constable, 263
Impressionist, modern school of, see note,
379
Institution, British, purchase by it of West's
picture of Christ Healing the Sick, for
;^3.ooo, 24
Institution, Royal, four lectures on Land
scape given at, by Constable, 374 to 397
Invalid, diary of, 95, 98
Ipswich, a delightful country for a painter, lo
Irving, Washington, 154 ; quotation from,
159
Isabel, the artist's secon4 daughter and last
survivor ofhis children, 121
Italy, Constable's regret that he should
never see it, 123
Jackson, John, R.A., Constable's early
friendship for, 23, 153, 189; his death,
237
" Jack the Giant Killer," Northcote's
favourite book, 199
Jesuits, the banishment of, and result, 170
Jocobo del Fiore, an old print from his
picture of the Peter Martyr, 320
Josephine, Empress, David's picture of her
coronation criticised by Constable, 118
Judkin, Rev. T. J., 330
July, letter from Mr. Phillips of Brighton,
to Constable on grasses, weeds, and wild-
flowers in bloom in, 188
" Keen Eye," Constable's, see note, 290
Kelvedon, Essex, 58
Kensington, South, Constable's picture of
boat-building at, see note, 60 ; Brighton
sketches, etc., there, 169
Keswick, Lake, painted by J. C, 22

King Charles X. of France, gold medal
awarded to Constable by, 166
Kneller,Sir Godfrey, "that man of wigs," 124
Knight, the Armed, by Albert Durer, 365
Laar, Peter de, nicknamed Bamboccio, a
Dutch painter of popular sports, 384
Landseer, Thomas, engraver, father of Sir
Edwin, 54
Landseer, Charles, R.A., 315
Landseer, Sir Edwin, R.A., 270, 272 ; see
note also, 264
Landscape, the English, 2
Lavenham, Constable at school there under
a tyrannical usher, 3
Lawley, Sir Francis, 254
Lawrence, Sir Thomas, the Legion of
Honour awarded to him, 168 ; his portraits
of Peel and Canning at the R.A., 192
Lay-figure, one made by the elder Dun
thorne, 10
Leaping Horse, picture and sketches of, 175
Leicester, a stage-coach tea there, 133
Lennard, Sir Thomas, 52
Leslie, Charles Robert, R.A., letter from
Constable to, on his leaving England for
America, 276, 277 ; his Uncle Toby and
the Widow, 284 ; his efforts to raise a
sum for the purchase of the picture of
" The Cornfield" for the nation, see note,
334
Lisle, gold medal to Constable from the
Prefect of, for the White Horse, 186
Lisson grove, in 1824, a walk from, " in the
fields to the new Church, St. John's
Wood," 157
Lock, the picture of, described by Con
stable, 149, 173
Londoners, in Constable's time, igijorant of
country life, the essence of landscape, 98
Lord, the, among reapers, 15
Louvre, proposed exhibition at, of several
pictures by Constable, 151
Love, a cure for, 27
Loutherbourg, 374
Lucas, David, engraver in mezzotint, 174;
engaged on plates for English landscape,
221; his character, 223; at work on the
large plate of Salisbury Cathedral, 302
Luther, Martin, on the Heavens, 405
Lyttleton, Lord, drawing of his house made
by Constable, 242
Maas, Nicholas, note, 374

INDEX.

4'3

Maclise, D., R.A., letter from, to C R.
LesHe, enclosing pencil sketch of Con
stable, 325
Malady, life merely one, according to
Socrates, 209
Maiden, Essex, 58
Manners, Lady Louisa, n, 40
Man of War, how to draw one, see note, 20
Maria, Constable's eldest daughter, 121,
226, 249
Marlborough, Duke of, 291
Martin Cats, two painted by Constable, 54
Mermaid, Constable asked to paint one
as a sign for an inn in Warwickshire, 211
Messengers, small, fast-moving, ragged
clouds, 5
Metzu, see note, 374
Miller, Constable known as the handsome,
at Bergholt, 4
Milman, Dean, 114
Mirehouse, Mr. , an early patron of Constable,
180, 184
Mitchell, Mr. , the medical man who attended
Constable before death, 329
Models, Academy, 3, 14, 232
Moon, Alderman, 256
Morrison, Mr., Constable's Lock bought by,
at opening of the R.A., 149
Mother, letters from Constable's, to him,
24, 31, 64, 65
Mouse, field, one found in Constable's coat-
pocket while painting out of doors, see
note, 348
Music, Constable's taste for, 338
Narcissus, Claude's, Constable's admira
tion for, 135, 383
Nature, " Bald and naked," when divested
of chiaroscuro, 242
Nature, no handling seen in, by Constable,
349
"Natural Painter," "Room for one," 17
National Gallery purchase of "The Corn
field" for, 334 ; names of committee ap
pointed to carry it out, see note, 334
Navigator, name given by J. C to his
picture of the Lock, 150
Neave, Digby, Esq., 155; haunted room in
his house at Epsom, 241, 242
New Forest, 104
Newton, Stewart, R.A., 156, 226
Newton, Mrs., 265
Neyland Church, an altar-piece painted for,
by J. C, 22

Noble, Miss, schoolmistress at Hampstead,
259. 260, 303
Nolleken, life of, by Antiquity Smith, 7
"Noon, Landscape," original title of the
Hay Wain, 97
Northcote, his energy in old age, 179 ;
originality, etc., 199
North Foreland, Constable four days
anchored off, on board the Coutts India-
man, 19
Oil, "Honest Linseed," so-named by
Wilson, see note, 281
Old Hall, East Bergholt, seat of Peter
Godfrey, Esq., i
Old Masters, the uneducated eye not able
to enjoy, see note, loi
Old Sarum described, 243, 244, 245
O'Neil, Miss, portrait of, by Dawe, for which
Constable painted a background, see
note, 68
Osmington, the living of Rev. John Fisher,
84, 112, 115
Osmond, Bishop, 245
Ostade, copy of, by J. C, 169 ; a real master
of light and shade, 341
Ottley, Mr., connoisseur and writer on Art,
156
" Out, out ! " verdict of the Council of R.A.
on a picture by Constable, soon after his
election as one of their body, see note, 212
Owen, Mr., portrait painter, 36
Palette, Sir Joshua's, bought by Constable
at Sir Thomas Lawrence's sale, and given
to the R.A., 226 ; Palette, a dirty one
thrown at Constable by Chantrey, 192
Palette-knife, much used by J. C, on the
Waterloo Bridge, 257 ; use of, by the
brothers Chalon, 268
Paradise Lost, Milton's mind emptied into
first book of, 131
Paris, Constable's work admired there ;
Archdeacon Fisher proposes a visit to,
150, 173
Paris, " Judgment of," by Etty, 192
Parliament, Houses of. Constable's descrip
tion and pen-and-ink drawing of them on
fire, 294
"Particular Person," "Avery," for whom
all Constable's pictures were painted, 297
Paul Bril, his influence upon early Italian
landscape, 370
Paul Pry, 194

414

INDEX.

Paul Veronese, 268
Peel, Sir Robert, 262
Pencil sketch of Constable made by Mr.
Maclise in the Life School at the R. A., 325
Pern's Mill at Gillingham, 186
Peter Mart3n-, Titian's figures from, set by
Constable in Life School of R.A., 320,
322 ; history and description of, -^']'], 378
Petworth, Constable's visits to, 288, 293
Phantom, Archdeacon Fisher haunted by
that of " The Church in danger," 122
Pisa, Campo Santo frescoes there referred
toby J. C, 363
Pickersgill, R.A., 216
Pockets, all a poor woman's fortune in,
rescued from under her pillow by Constable
in the fire at his lodging, 44
Pope, Mr., as the half-vanished ghost in
Ua-mlet, 195
Porch of Bergholt Church, picture of, 24
Portfolio, quotation from P. G. Hamerton,
in, see notes, 29, 66
Portland, Dorset, ferry-house there, 96
Portrait painting, J. C urged by his parents
to follow it, 25, 47
Post-mortem on Constable, made by Pro
fessor Partridge, 329
"Pot of boiling varnish," exhibition at R.A.
compared to, by Archdeacon Fisher, 99
Poussin, Nicolo, his picture of the Deluge,
388 ; letters of, in French, read to J. C by
his wife, 187
Prefect of Lisle, quotation from his dis
course, 186
Preston, Dorsetshire, view from wooded
valley of, toward Portland, 191
Printing-press, an engraver's, fitted up, by
Mr. Lucas, 266
Punch, Constable "plays the part of," as
lecturer, 276
Purton, Williara, Esq., of Hampstead, 285,
286; letters from Constable to, 296, 311 ;
his visit to Suffolk with C R. Leslie, 344,
345. 346, 347
Putty, Constable tells Stanfield there may
be worse things in a picture, see note, 350
Quackery in art. Constable's aversion to,
see note, 280
Quakers and Archdeacon Fisher, 150
Quixote, Don, a model for Leslie's, 179
Radnor, Lord, 46
Rainbow in plate of the large Salisbury, 325

Raphael, drawings by, 348 ; classed with
Ostade, see note, 354
Rebow, General, Constable engaged upon
a portrait of his daughter, 42 ; visit to, 82
Redhill, " Summer afternoon after a
shower," from an effect seen near, 159
Reform Bill, Constable's dread of, 246, 247
Regent, the Prince, at the British Institu
tion, 49
Rembrandt, his mill, 388, 390
Reputation, Constable's, in Paris in 1824,165
Reynolds, Sir Joshua, his works at the
British Institution in 1813, 49; his range
of genius, 396
Rheumatism, Constable's sufferings from,
248
Rhudde, the Rev. Dr., Rector of Bergholt,
I ; strongly opposed to Constable's
marriage with his grand-daughter, Maria
Bicknell, 77
Richmond Park, 38, 39
Ring, the boxing, on the decline, 181
Roberts, Mrs., nurse to Constable's children,
258, 263
Robin Redbreast taking a bath in Con
stable's garden, Charlotte Street, 180
Rochester Castle and Cathedral, 18
Rogers, Samuel, Constable's morning at
his house, 313
Royal Institution, Constable's lectures there,
316, 376, etseg.
Rubens, The Magnificent, 371, 372; his
rainbows, 389
Rufiian, Lucas's printer, an obliging and
most strange, 322, 323
"Ruysdael House," Mr. Fisher's name for
Constable's, in Keppel Street, 88
Ruysdael, Jacob, copies of his etchings
attempted by Constable, 8, 9 ; contrasted
with Claude, 392
Salisbury Cathedral, from the meadows,
large plate of, 221
Salisbury, Dr. Fisher, Bishop of, situation
as drawing-master, procured for J. C,
by, 16 ; portrait painted for, by J. C, 46
Salt-Box, title of view from Hampstead
Heath, in National Gallery, 88, 89
Salvator Rosa, 371 ; his savage masters, 384
Sarum, Old, described, 244, 245
Scott, Sir Walter, quotation from "St.
Ronan's Well," as to social status of
painters, 146, 147
Seasons, Thomson's, 161, 404

INDEX.

41S

Selborne, White's Natural History of, re
commended by Fisher to J. C, 97
" Self-taught, painter," one taught by a very
ignorant person, 382
"Selling price," letter to J. C, from a
person of rank wishing to know it, 201
Shadow on water, see notes on, by C R.
Leslie, 390, 391, 392
Shaftesbury, Lord, his Vander Neer, 103
Shakespeare, 199
Shee, Sir Martin Archer, his election as
president of R.A., 226, 285
Sign, J. C, asked to paint one of a mermaid,
211
Sketches, pencil, Archdeacon Fisher pro
poses that J. Constable should have some
of his lithographed and published, 1 13
Skies, Constable's studies of, 115
Sky, the key-note in a landscape, 104
Smith, John Thomas, engraver and anti
quary, his advice to J. C on the figure
in landscape, 7 ; letter from Constable
to, 7, 8, 9
Smiths, of Chichester, wealthy men while
Wilson was starving, 396, 397
Sober, Mrs. , a pious old lady of Brighton, 53 1
Somerset House, Constable, the last visitor
in the Life School of the R.A., there, 324 ;
Wilson and Stothard in the library there,
397
Southey on the Church, 142; his life of
Cowper open by Constable's death-bed
side, 330 ; see note, 342
Stafford, Marquis of, 49
Stanfield, Clarkson, R.A., a sound fellow,
253 ; see note, 350
Steel, Sir Richard's Cottage, Hampstead,
257
Stoke Church, described, 312
Stonehenge, drawing of, by J. C, 306
Stothard, J. C's, long walks with 38, 39;
his Canterbury Pilgrims, 95
Stour, river, southern boundary between
Suffolk and Essex, i ; most of Constable's
important subjects taken from the banks
of, 105
Strowger, Samuel, of the Life Guards, head
porter and model at the R.A., his care of
J. C's early pictures there, &c., 14, 15
Suffolk, endeared scenes of, to Constable,
61 ; breed of hornless cows in, 117
Sutton, Vale of, near Osmington, described,
190, 191
Swanveldt, the hermit painter, 41

Tabley, Lord de, sale of his pictures, 201
"Tales of a Traveller," Irving' s, quoted, 159
Tatler, The, a paper in, on a new way of
writing, 25
Teniers, as a landscape painter, see note,
146
Thurtell, the murderer, vulgar importance
attached to sayings of, see note, 146
Titian, his picture of the Peter Martyr, 366,
377, 378, &c.
Tinney, Mr., of Salisbury, solicitor, the
picture of Stratford Mill bought by Mr.
Fisher and presented to him, 94
Tollemache, Mrs. Charles, 178
Touche, Mrs. La, portrait of, by A. Chalon,
253
Trafalgar, drawing by J. C, of H.M.S.
Victory at, 21 (see note)
Tragic Muse, Mrs. Siddons at the exhibition
of Sir Joshua's works, 49
Tudor, Margaret, builder of Dedham Church,
see note, 312
TurnbuU, his work on ancient painting, see
note, 312
Turner, J. M. W., his wonderful range of
mind, 53 ; anecdote about, on a varnishing
day at R.A., see note, 254
Turner, Sharon, quotation from his history
of England, 171
Uccello Paolo, his picture, Noah and
Faraily, one of the earliest instances of
perspective in landscape, i"]"]
Uden-Van, a follower of Rubens, 371
Ugly, nothing really so in nature, 349
Ursula, St., Claude's picture of, one of the
finest instances oi Middle tint, 381
Uwins, Thomas, R.A., note from, to C R.
Leslie, on the destruction of Claude's
monument at Rome, 346, see note
Vadder, 371
Vale of Dedham, 264
Vanderheyden, 169
Vander Neer, 103
Vandervelde, 116, 162
Varley, John, on " Principles in Art," 142 ;
drawing by, 272
Vamishing days at the R.A., 216, 219, 254
Vaughan, Henry, his gift of the Hay Wain
to the nation, see note, 109
Venice, the heart of colour, &c., 365
Venetian secret, the, discovered by a lady,
155

4i6

INDEX.

Vernet, Horace, 385 ; his admiration of
Wilson, 396
Vernon, Mr., purchase of the Valley Farm
by, now in the National Gallery, 297, 305
Vicar of Wakefield, Stewart Newton's, 204
Voltaire & Co., 170
Vris, C de, Mr. Fisher's purchase of pic
ture by, 127
"Waltonians, the Young," title given by
the publishers to the engraving of J. C's
picture of Stratford Mill on the Stour,
see note, 95
Warmth in a picture, attained without the
use of warm colour, 88
Water Meadows near Salisbury, a small
picture by Constable, now at South
Kensington, which in 1828 was rejected
by Council ofthe R.A., see note, 212
Waterloo, Battle of, J. C's cousin. Captain
Gubbings, killed at, 68
Waterloo Bridge, picture of opening of, 141,
181 ; toned with blacking, 283
Waterloo, etching by, bought by J. C,
19 ; Mr. Ottley's collection of, 156
Watteau, C R. Leslie's copy from one in
the Dulwich Gallery, 238, 239
Watts, Ann, maiden name of Constable's
mother, 2
Watts, Mr., portrait of, by J. C, 46
Watts, Dr., his book of children's songs
illustrated by Stothard, a copy of, coloured
by Constable for his god-daughter Harriet
J. Leslie, 264
Wellington, Duke of, and the Reform Bill,
247 ; shield, Stothard's etching of, no
Wells, Mr., of Redleaf, 239
West, Benjamin, his advice and early en
couragement of Constable, 16
Weymouth Bay, 275

Whalley, Mrs., Constable's sister, n
Whalley, the Rev. Daniel, Constable's
nephew, 355
Whig, government, no good for England,
247
White Horse, the, or scene on the river
Stour, exhibited at the R.A., 1819, 90;
bought by Mr. Fisher, 92 ; sale of, in
1855 and 1894, see note, 93 ; exibited at
Lisle, 178
White's, "Natural History of Selborne,'' 97,
98
Whooping-cough, a cure for, 201
Wig-tree, the, 228
Wilkie, Sir David, J. C his model for the
physician in The Sick Lady, 23, 287 ;
his parish beadle, 123 ; Columbus and
the &g%, 296
William IV., Coronation of, described, 240
Willy Lott's house, constantly introduced
by J. C in his pictures, 54, 55
Wilson, landscape by, copied by Constable,
26 ; draws Stothard's attention to the
view of the Thames from Somerset House,
397
Windermere, early picture of, by J. Con
stable, 22
Windmills, all Constable's, able to turn
round, 4
Wordsworth, quotation from his lines on the
death of his brother, captain of the A ber-
^avenny, 275
Wouvermans, 374, see note
Yarmouth Pier, 236
Yorkshire, Constable's, great-grandfather
Hugh, a Yorkshireman, 2
Young, George, Mr., 329
Ziegler, drawings by, 272

THE END.