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THE ROYAL ACADEMY EXHIBITION.
(Third Notice.) Ranging between the historic and the domestic art of the exhibition comes a large class of pictures very various in character, which may broadly be divided into those whose subject is supplied to the artist by some actual fact, or by himself, and those wherein he renders himself the illustrator of another man's ideas. This latter class of subjects is continually taken up by painters who have little of their own to draw upon, and who cling to a hint from any quarter; but it is in reality one of the most difficult of all to manage. It demands much self-abnegation on the artist's part, and earnest study of his subject-matter; and pre- sents the double pitfall of too little originality, and too much. No com- mon mind is required in order to enter into another mind's workings. The artist who gives too little of himself is pretty sure to be a weak man; the artist who gives too much commits the lesser fault, and one which, in the case of a superior man, carries its own palliation with it ; yet it vitiates the work of art as an illustration.
To try your hand upon Shakspere, for instance, is a severe test. Not one of the painters who has made the attempt in this exhibition can be properly said to have succeeded. The wedding-morn of Juliet, when she lies in apparent death, treated by Mr. Leighton, is the best picture among them. As a picture, indeed, though mannered, it is powerful and uncommon ; but, as a reading from Shakspere, it fails—as how should it not, coming from a man who has much more of the specially artistic faculty in him than of the mastery over human character? Mr. Leighton is a born painter and an ambitious man—a combination much too rare and precious in the British school to be left unattended by anxious good wishes. He seems to be as yet in the tentative stage of practice, and not to be very certain when he has hit the mark, and when missed it. We suspect that his most essential quality is a touch of the Veronese staff—a delight in whatsoever is comely, stately, and life- breathing. To this is added a true touch of passion—witness his pic- ture of "The Fisherman and the Siren" in this exhibition, or again his "Orpheus," and his unexhibited "Venus." The inference is that he consulted his own powers better in such a subject as his "Procession of Cimabue," or in that of the "Orpheus," which gave a scope for passion under a certain arbitrary and fantastic aspect, than in his strictly dra- matic works, such as the present scene frcm Romeo and Juliet, or the one which sustained his reputation at the Paris Exhibition—fine as points are in both. We would not wish to see him abandon art of this kind, however, before he has fully sounded his powers in it; but, in order to do so, he ought evidently to value and study the real faces and emotions of real men and women more than he does. Of Mr. Poole, we might have said the same a few years ago ; but he is now too far gone in mannerism, slovenliness, and untruth, which his poetic mind pierces in lurid gleams, to make it worth while. His "Last Scene in King Lear"
This feather stirs! she lives!"—has the merit of being best in the highest things—the agonized infatuation of the old father, the corpse- like horror in Cordelia, and Edgar holding his own breath as he watches for her's, never to be drawn again • but one loses patience with the art- ist who will perversely daub all this, instead of painting it. If Shalt- Sane had only daubed, maybe he would never have come down to Mr. Poole to be replastered. The remorseful figure of Regan (or Goneril ?) is introduced by a "poetic licence," very unwarrantable. If Mr. Poole chooses to be wrong, Mr. Elmore has not mind enough to be right : his scene from the 2'wo Gentkmen of Verona, though he has honeedy given the best of his cleverness to this his diplomi-picture, is merelT a bit of the studio-picturesque—which Mr. Deane goes near to rivalling in his " Shylock dismissing Launoelot." Mr. Elmore's " Incident in the Life of Dante " is another example of the same sort of cleverness more objectionably bestowed in proportion to the greatness of the theme.
Perhaps the most conscientious attempt at realizing an author's meaning is Mr. Egg's "Scene from Esmond." It seems strange that the artist, in this his second picture from the same book, should have selected a scene almost exactly similar to the first—place, personages, and locality, still the same. In the first, Beatrix was kneeling to fasten Esmond's scarf; in the second, Esmond is kneeling to be knighted by Beatrix : her mother and the old aunt are present in both. This is a strong piece of work, in which the painter has evidently done his beat both for his author and for himself. The like accurate intention appears in Mr. Gale's two small subjects from Evangeline, which are very ex- quisitely worked. One of them, with a rose-bower, happens to have been placed underneath a picture, also with a rose-bower, by Mr. Lewis; and even that wondrous executant comes off second-best in this detail. His roses look like cut paper, in comparison with the freshness and pale brilliancy of Mr. Gale's. With a little more manliness of mind, this artist would be almost perfect in his miniature style. "The bluidy Tryste," by Mr. Noel Paton, though on a rather larger scale, is indebted for its interest to similar exquisiteness of working. The figures are un- commonly delicate in finish, but wanting in the power demanded by so terrible a subject as a lady groaning over a lover slain by her own hand. The landscape, allowing for a little monotony of colour, and flatness, is deliciously graceful in its minute truth. But for the catalogue, we should unhesitatingly assign it to the hand of Mr. Waller Paton; for Mr. Noel Paton's exactness of working has hitherto fallen far short of this real and beautiful finish. Mr. Storey, the painter of "The Widowed Bride," is aiming at the same order of excellence' which we shall not be surprised to see him attain one day, though he has not strength to grasp it as yet.
For perfection of execution, we must return to Mr. Lewis. It is with considerable regret that we have noted this great artist's retirement from the presidency of the Old Water-Colour Society, and, we presume, from the habitual practice of water-colour painting also ; but that regret is no longer accompanied, as it would have been a few years ago by distrust of Mr. Lewis's power as an oil-painter. He has now attained a refine- ment in that process scarcely, if at all, inferior to what he commands in the other. Nothing he has painted is more marvellous and gemlike in finish than "An Inmate of the Hhareem, Cairo " : exquisite from first to last, the girl herself, her winning smile, her lovely costume, the shadow falling from the arched entrance over face and bosom, even the tray she is bringing in and the coffee-cups and glasses upon it. The little glimpse of garden background is not—and such parts of Mr. Lewis's pictures never are—quite vivid enough in light. "A Kibab- shop, Scutari," is no less perfect in its treatment of a larger and more crowded canvass still at the same flawless pitch of finish. The coolness and Oriental calm, the spectacled letter-reader and the smoker, give a "lotus-eating" quiet to the scene, counteracted by the miscellaneous furred and feathered population of an eastern city occupying the fore- ground—kids, pigeons fluttering and pecking, dog panting, cat dozing. This is the most signal oil-picture yet produced by Mr. Lewis; the female figure before mentioned, to our taste, the most enchanting ; "An Arab of the Desert of Sinai" the boldest in manner. The successor of Mr. Lewis as a painter of Spanish life, Mr. Phillip, next courta—or, we may say, insists upon—our attention. For Mr. Phillip is no meek painter whose modest genius almost shrinks from asserting its proper place amid the crowd : his is the "loud" style of art, which proclaims its confidence in itself in a resolute tone such as reassures that large class of persons who have no very positive opinions of their own, and compels their confidence en suite. This confident manner with some genuine strength of painting to back it, and a range of subject which combines the novel and the picturesque with the truth of actual life, have rendered Mr. Phillip the most popular painter of the last year or two. He will never be otherwise than popular : but this high-pressure popularity cannot last long, for it rests upon a hollow foundation. Tap Mr. Phillip, and there is very little inside him. Neither deep feeling nor the sense of beauty is to be discovered as "the very pulse of the machine" ; even his strength of painting is not based upon the only qualities which raise that particular power to a high level—originality of perception, or passionate intensity. Vigour, and a clear sustained way of saying the little he has to tell, are the real merits of Mr. Phillip. We honour him for what he does possess; but, when the pit claps hands and waves handkerchiefs to no cry but "Philip! Phillip!" we beg to say " no " in a decided manner. His admirers will think their enthusiasm tenfold justified by the "Spanish Contrabandistas " (not to speak of several smaller works, among which we have a considerable liking for the "Daughters of the, Alhambra"); while we venture to hold that thrit able painting of a harrowing subject fully confirms our own statements. The precise point of the picture, mutates mutandis, is very nearly the same as in Mr. Poole's Lear. In every quality of workmanlike execu- tion, Mr. Phillip flouts Mr. Poole ; but Mr. Poole, eccentric and wrong- headed as he is, has an eye which penetrates the pathos and horror of the moment, while Mr. Phillip glances along its surface.
Mr. Cave Thomas's "Boccaccio in Naples," in dejection, and impro- vising a canzonet to his lute, is one of the thoroughly well done works of the gallery. The dignified simplicity of the figure—we cannot say that the face reminds us of the generally received portrait—is carried out, not only in the drapery, 'which is highly studied, and very finely disposed without stiffness, but in every minor detail also ; and the co- lours have been matched with great judgment in a subdued key. There might, however, be a little more positive blue in the sea' and certainly less brown, to the detriment of carnations in the flesh.. Ass single fI- gure, this equals anything which Mr. Thomas, always an advanced and self-respecting artist, has produced; and, as apicture complete in itself, it is perhaps the most satisfactory of all. "The Gaoler's Daughter—a Scene from the French Revolution," by Mr. Calderon, is, and deserves to be, a popular picture. A handsome young priest, consigned to some Norman prison as an " aristo," has composed himself to slumber, watched lingeringly by the gaoler's gentle daughter, who can scarcely keep the tears from starting to her eyes. The gaoler looks like an Eng- lish mechanic, not at all like a Frenchman, and the child who is twitch- ing at the girl's dress to urge her away is inefficiently painted with a sentimental aim. The pose of the prisoner, and the good, sorrowful face of the girl, reach considerably higher than the average of such works : the painting is clear and approvable enough, but without any special point for notice or development. It depends upon Mr. Calderon }linlaelf whether he will progress from this work, or recede to such mi- serable stuff as his "Flora Macdonald's Farewell to Charles Edward," and there stagnate. There is some interest of subject, together with faithful, well-intended painting, in Mr. Crowe's two pictures, "Benjamin Franklin at Watts's 1725," sticking to his water-glass spite of the lau- dation of beer by pot-boy and fellow-workmen,—and "Pope's Introduc- tion to Dryden, at Will's Coffee-house, including portraits of Tonson, Steele, Vanbrugh, Addison, Southerne, Dennis, Congreve, and Sir Charles Wogan." The former picture especially has supezior points of character and action ; but the colour of both is raw, and the figures in the second very much over-dressed. Mr. G. H. Thomas has grappled with a severe difficulty in his "Presentation of Medals for Service in the Crimea by the Queen on the 18th May 1855—painted by command of her Majesty." He has given a panoramic view of the scene—the Victoria Tower and other prominent features of London architecture in the background, in a humid, cloudy atmosphere ; the men of the Crimea drawn up in a square, lines of Highland regiments, artillery, seamen, &c. side by side; the Queen, central point of interest, but only a point, rewarding some brave man with the medal, and a word or two ; in the foreground, a number of distinguished officers. These are excellent portraits; the aspect of the whole most capitally and unaffectedly, true ; and the work generally a first-rate example in its class of art. Mr. Ritchie has two dashing, racy, picturesque pictures in what is evidently his proper line —" The Huguenot Conventicle Suppressed," and "Danger Past," the latter a kind of "Royal Oak" incident. Both combine a mass of varied and cleverly realized landscape with scenic effect and figures spiritedly introduced. We should like to be able to examine and express an opinion upon Mr. Burton's nun-figure "In a Convent," and Mr. Bar- well's " Return of the Stolen Heir" ; but the hangers forbid. "Rest" by Mr. M. C. Stone, representing an old knight reposing under a tree of his native village, is noticeable as the first work of a very young man, son of the popular Frank Stone. It might be premature to pronounce upon the powers of a youth who models himself as yet closely upon the parental style, anything but favourable to either vigour or vivacity, but who shows at least quiet simplicity of aim.
We have now exhausted this miscellaneous list, and have found scarcely a single invented subject in it, and not one of uncommon mark. The striking works of that description belong to the domestic art, which we reserve for another week.
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