YALE UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY

Addin Lewis Fund
1908

LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A.

LIFE

WILLIAM ETTY, RA

*

BY ALEXANDER GILCHRIST,
OF THE MIDDLE TEMPLE, BARKISTEE-AT-LAW.

'To Paint or Loiter when only a Little Effort! "—Eras' a MSS.

VOL. II.

LONDON:
DAYID BOGITE, FLEET STEEET,

LONDON :
THOMAS HAEEIID, PBINTEH, SILVER STEEET,
FALCON SQUABE.

CONTENTS OF YOL. IL *

CHAPTER XVIII.
Illness and Rustication. 1834. (Mt. 47.)
Minor Pieces — Porced Idleness — Convalescence— Eecovery of a Bad Debt-
Lincoln— Delight in York Minster— Affable Dignitaries— A ' Country Seat '
—Excursions— The North Eiding— Lastingham and Jackson— Eivaulx— A
Labour of Love — An Innovating Dean — Affection for Antiquities — A York
Beauty— The Painter at Play— Gentleness of Heart— Busy Eetirement  1
CHAPTER XIX.
Amends fob Lost Time. 1834-1836. (jEt. 47-49.)
Busy Production— The Dealers— Thirty Years' Study— 'The Age '—Manchester
— Stage-Coach Days— Dilettante — ' Subjectless ' Pictures— The Lawrence
Collection— ' The Arts in England'— An 'Historical' Superstition— Models
—The Adam and Em— A York Exhibition— A Magnef^St. Mary's  28
CHAPTER XX.
Ambition and its Rewabd. 1836-37. (Mt. 49-50.)
Concentrated Effort — Large Pictures : a Current Misconception — Swift Execu
tion, and Sure — Attendance in the Life- Academy : as Student — As ' Visitor '
— Trafalgar Square : A Triumph — Its Alloy — Smaller Essays — Blake Street
— A Close Bargain — Hopes of a Commission — Amateur Eomanism — Sympa
thies with the Past— False Alarm — Volunteer Counsel — Anonymous Mentors
— Picture-Beggars  52

VI CONTENTS.
CHAPTER XXI.
Still Mebidian. 1838-39. (Mt. 51-52.)
Misappreoiated— Famihar— Growing Productiveness— The Sirens Again : Eepairs
— Portrait-Tasks-A York Worthy— A York*Bchool of Art-Lecture in its
Behalf— Givendale— More Innovation— ' Eleanor Scudamore '— The Saipe of
Proserpine  The Lady Mayoress— Etty's Portraits— Study and Expert-
ment— York-Walls : Breaches and Renewals — Joan of Arc first Conceived—
Cause for Rejoicing  8()
,*
CHAPTER XXII.
Sunshine and Cloud. 1840-42. (Mi. 53-55.)
Productive Months— Second Fire of York Minster — Exertions in the Minster's
Behalf— Second Lecture— Macready — Trip to the Low Countries— The 'Etty
Pond'— Brisk Sales— The Year's Pictures— Tilt with a Professor— Centra1
School of Design : on the Council— Belgium Again— Antwerp — Gleanings-
Wintry Gloom— Unavailing Plea for St. Stephen's— The Dance, from Homer
—The Magdalen^- Its Home : • The Plantations '—York School of Design-
Painter's Payments— Letters to a Child— The ' Poor Man'B Friend'— A Private
Grief— Public Speaking  110
CHAPTER XXIII.
Contbasts op Eobtune. 1843-44. (JEt. 56-57.)
Varied Employments — Ready Recognition of Fellow- Artists — A Brother from
Java — Fresco — Commission from a Prince — An Ungrateful Task — Sunshine
— Trip to France : Eouen — Paris — Orleans — Vestiges of ' The Maid ' — Last
Studies in the Louvre — Favoured Friends : Givendale — Happy Scenes — Full
Receipts — August Disapprobation — ' Finish ' versus Imagination — Eenewed
Efforts in Fresco — The Hesperus — Its Fate — Increased Industry — Favourite
Lodgings— York: Incidents— Edinburgh : an Ovation — Address to York
Students  145

CHAPTER XXIV.
Chabacteeistics. *
m
Winter Campaigns— The Daily Journey— The Daily Sufferings— Proceedings in
the Life-School — Students' Recollections — Mr. Maclise's Reminiscences —
Translation of Nature — Faith in Her — Etty's Mode of Paintmg  His
' Medium '—Social Meetings— Accessibleness— Kindness to Students— Good

Counsel..

..Ill '

CONTENTS. Vll
CHAPTER XXV,
Bust foe an Independence. 1845-6. (Mt. 58-59.)
Solitude — Alarms — Unsparing Labours — The Listening Indian — Letters to his
Niece — Studies from Nature — Ettys at a Premium — Pursuit of Models under
Difficulties — A Footing in York — Approaching Retirement — The Year's
Pictures — On the Hanging Committee — A Memorable Exhibition — Declining
Finish— Pugin's 'Castle' — Domestio Anxiety — Turner — Happy Anticipa
tions  ...198
CHAPTER XXVI.
Last Ebuits. 1846-7. (Mt. 59-60.)
The Last Epic— A Struggle — A Sincere Te Deum — Large Canvases : an Anxious
Removal — Unexpected Purchasers — The Painter's Intentions — The Picture's
Reception — Joan at the Stake — Leslie's Eulogy — Sorrow — Feasegate in Ruins
— Spring Pleasures -The Meixr de Lis : its Progress — A Unique Frame — The
York Home : Prospective Delights — School of Design : a Task Achieved—
Last Appearances at the Life-Academy — Setting Glories — Alarms : from
Revolution — From Fire  219

CHAPTER XXVII.
$ Retirement. 1848-49. (Mt. 61-62.)
Removal— A Happy Employment — York Gatherings of his Pictures— Finally
settles down —Fellowship with the Printers — Is missed in London — Employ.
ments : Autobiography — Kindness to the Struggling — An old Habit resumed
— Winter in York — Pictures in Hand — Fluctuating Health — Proposal from
the Society of Arts— A Hitch at Manchester — Negotiation— Coup de Main—
An English Spring — A Fallen Potentate — His Champion — Discourage
ments  a  247

CHAPTER XXVIII.
The Last Tbiumph. 1849. (JEt. 62.)
Buckingham Street — Sunshine — Labours for the Show— Omissions— Just Cause
for Pride — The 'Private View '—Results ofthe Exhibition— Merits ofthe
Scheme— Friendly Sympathy— Tribute : Robert Browning— A Clever Coun
terfeit—Longings for Repose— Excitements of Town— Renewed Anxieties—
A Groundless Fear— Illness— Release— Return to York— Peaceful Days-
Struggling Health— Rash Experiments— Artist to the Last— The End  270

Vlll CONTENTS.
CHAPTER XXIX.
Supplementaby.
Pubhc Funeral— A Cherished Wish- Unf olfflled— In St. Mary's Abbey— Hero-
Worship— A Sordid Topic— Self-righteous Judges— No Monument in York
—Homage Elsewhere— Fate ofthe Studies— A Protest  298*
CHAPTER XXX.
Reteospect.
A Productive Life — Its Purport Noble — Etty's Art: Range of Subject — Based*
on the Perennial — Shortcomings — Devotion to the Nude— Current Miscon.
ceptions of the Man — Pure Motives — The Question of Morality : Mr. Leslie
— The Works Innocent — Orthodox Notions of the Human Form — Art's
Privilege — Conventional Propriety — Why Shocked — An Artist's Faith — The
Native Gift— The Question of Taste  310
APPENDIX— List of Etty's Exhibited Pictures  335
Estimate of the total Number of his Works  341

LIEE OF WILLIAM ETTY, RA.

CHAPTER XVIII.
ILLNESS AND RUSTICATION. 1834. (/ET. 47.)
Minor Pieces — Forced Idleness — Convalescence — Recovery of a Bad
Debt — Lincoln — Delight in York Minster — Affable Dignitaries
— A ' Country Seat' — Excursions — The North Riding — Last-
ingham and Jackson — Riyaulx — A Labour of Love — An Inno
vating Dean — Affection for Antiquities — A York Beauty — The
Painter at Play — Gentleness of Heart — Busy Retirement.
At the British Institution in 1834, the Hylas of last
year found a purchaser in Mr. Serjeant Thompson;
at a hundred and sixty guineas. Which good news.
he immediately announces as usual, to sympathizing
friends : again has ' reason to be thanliful to Divine
' Providence that my Pictures, instead of staying on
' my hands, like those of a number of Artists who
'deserve a better fate, are, (all that are finished),
' sold. A good fortune I could never have expected.
' And therefore, I am the more grateful and happy.'
From the Sketch for Christ Appearing to Mary,
the engraving in the Sacred Annual proved so utter a
failure, Etty, to vindicate himself, sent the original to
the British Institution : where, as before in private,
it was loudly praised, as 'brilliant and spirited/ re
splendent in colour, and in sentiment ¦ poetic. The
VOL. II B

2 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1834.
Angels sitting in the light themselves diffuse, 'un-
' mixed with the earthly hue of other objects/ was-
a feature among others, to receive commendation.
Of the remaining works in progress during the
latter half of 1833, and earlier part of 1834, few
were destined to be completed for the following
Academy-Exhibition. An illness, — which in the end
sapped his strength for months, — benumbed his hand
at the very season, he ' can least of all in the year
'afford to be ill.' A Portrait and a Cardinal —
a title wherewith Etty dubbed more than one male
Study,— were his representatives at Somerset House.
To this particular Cardinal, — portrait ' of a Polish
'Patriot/ asserts my informant, — Etty refers a year
later, as ' one of the best "Heads " he has ever painted/
— ' or shall.' A private critic of the Picture speaks
with empBfesis (justly), of ' serene composure of fea
tures/ 'senatorial dignity/— -'a brow of thought/
' dark and intellectual eyes.'
In his invalided state, the Painter achieves a
gossiping letter to accompany one of his periodic
packages of presents to hospitable York friends : a
present of Prints,- among others, one 'after my
' Venus Descending (a picture painted many years
'since), the best engraving after any of my Pictures.
' I have had but few engraved. Most have not done
'me at all justice: least of all, the Sacred Annual,
< which is detestable. * * The print of Lucy Ashton,.
'froin Scott's Bride of Lammermoor, is tolerably
' well.' That ' of Venus Descending can't be had for
1 money. Many have sought but could not find it —
' Scarcely to be had even for love.

MT. 47.] FORCED IDLENESS. 3
' I have been scribbling away till I almost forgot
' the malady preying on me : which has taken away
' all my energies of body and mind, — at least, for the
'present. Scarce a fortnight offers itself, to finish
' I know not how much work : full in my sight, —
' staring me in the fac& Yet I feel scarce the strength
' of a kitten. A severe cough, sore throat, hoarse-
' ness, low fever, and soreness all over, deprive me
' of all interest and pleasure in my pursuit ; '-^-' and
' if they do not soon leave me, will put out of the
' question the completion of my Pictures. Mais
'j'espere! On tiptoe stands the Angel Goddess,
' Hope, looking through darkness and clouds ; her
' Brightness wrapt in sunshine !
' To give you some idea how unlike I am what I
' generally am.— The little bit of mill-board that keeps
' down the prints, had to be cut off a larger piece. I
' assure you I looked at the effort with dread. But
' my Betsey, with her usual care and kindness saw '
this ; ' and did 'it for me. I trust, however, the worst
'may be past/ and 'that to-morrow's sun may light
' me to labour and better health.'
'Walter' and family were 'here last Sunday.' —
I put Walter in his arm-chair. And a pleasant
voyage was soon made to the land of Nod : his feet
' on a box ; his benevolent hands clasped.' * *
' Behind me, lies a gallant Knight in armour of gold
'and steel, — of great splendour, — a purchase made
' last week ; with two others of chain armour, and a
' shield of steel. So that my armoury is growing ;
'though I have not strength to wear it.'
His recovery is slow. He has long to endure
b2

4 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1834.
the tedium of an imprisonment to his room, and of
the "(to him) unnatural divorce from his easel; — re
joices, when finding strength to relieve the monotony
of forced idleness, by even ' painting a little.' Prom
his sick room he looks forward with longing to York
shire scenes, their welcome contrast and promise of
renovation: 'already/ (June 6th), 'in imagination,
'hears the Minster Organ pealing through its lofty
' aisles, and the sighing of the wind through the trees
' of the New Walk ; ' — or ' stretch my eyes o'er the
' varied landscape, as it appears from the Bar- Walls.'
After thirteen years of Fame, — counting from the
Cleopatra, — Etty was still dependent for Daily bread
on the Day's work. Prevented from finishing this
year's Pictures for the Exhibition, money was in
urgent request with him ; and he fain to bestir him
self in calling in . an outstanding debt, — the £100
still due for the Judgement of Paris of 1826 : — for
which he had lately renewed solicitations. In the
draft of a letter of this year, I find him assuring
Lord Darnley that he has 'no desire to be un
necessarily litigious.' — ' But, when the alternative is
' whether I must be unjust to others, or see that
' others are just to me, I cannot hesitate which to
' pursue. * * The sum in question, together
'with another of about the same amount, I have
' not yet received, for a Picture painted a year or two
'before/ (for Sir Thomes Lawrence), 'is a serious
'drawback from the hard-earned remunerations of
an Artist. And, when I assure your Lordship, that
' though I have studied and practised my profession
'for eight-and-twenty years, with industry unceasing

MT. 47.] HOPES OF AN OUTSTANDING DEBT. 5
'without having yet had it in my power entirely
'to discharge the Debt incurred by prosecuting
' those studies ; and that to these kind friends I
'must be unjust if justice is not done to me : — your
'Lordship will not think my profession a sinecure.
'However, it has delights which I would not ex-
' change for a diadem : though it is the most arduous
' and difficult of pursuits.'
A letter to his brother Walter, dating June 3rd,
details further progress. — ' I have reason to believe/
he relates, ' that Providence has favoured my ex-
' ertions of the past week ; powerless and feeble as
' they necessarily are, from my obstinate complaint.
' I began, yesterday week, to cogitate and afterwards
'write a letter to the Lord Darnley.' Wherein,
among other things, the Painter had urged, that ' an
' illness of many weeks, which yet almost wholly pre-
' vents his exerting himself in his profession, has
'prevented his completing his usual quota of Pic-
' tures for the Exhibition ; and has thrown him back
' consequently, on his own resources.'
' In the afternoon of that day/, — Etty resumes,
(to his Brother), — 'Mr. Vernon looked in, and asked
' the prjce of The Cardinal, now in the Exhibition.
'I told him fifty guineas. He asked the price of
' The Warrior Arming and Ms Black Slave, then on
' the easel. " A hundred guineas when the armour
' and subordinate parts were finished." He requested
' me to finish it for him ! ' Unfortunately for the
public, Mr. Vernon did not retain this masterly
study from Nature.
The letter to Lord Darnley results in a call from

LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A.

[1834.

the latter. My Lord thinks the Painter 'had re-
• ceived the Picture's value by receiving .£400.' The
Painter begs ' to be of a different opinion : '— ' when
' an Artist had studied twenty years, and spent on
' a Picture the best part of a year ; and gone into
' considerable expenses with that picture, and taken
' the pains I did with it.' — Nor can he ' undertake
'to point out a channel whereby' it might be dis
posed of.
'On Thursday,' (to his Brother still), 'I procured
' the necessary documents : ' — ' set off a little after
'twelve, walking slowly up the Haymarket to a
'hosier's shop;' — 'replenished myself with a new
'pair' (of gloves). 'In order to go in cool and
' collected/ took a chariot : — ' handsome as a gen-
' tleman's own. Afraid of being a little too early :
'to prevent this, my Jehu caught the wheels of a
'cab.' — 'As I drove up, his Lordship was just dis-
' mounting. * * I laid before him one by one
'my powerful documents. He paused, again said
' he thought it was not worth five hundred guineas ;
' or some one at the Gallery would have bought
' it at that price. I told him that did not exactly
'follow, — many people had not room for large
'pictures; — put it to his candour whether a man
'having studied twenty years, and of my standing
' in my profession, was not entitled to £400 a year
'for his exertions. He paused again: — He loould
' settle it ! ' — Not, however, precisely according to the
Painter's anticipations; as a subsequent letter re
veals: from York (July 1st). — 'I concur with you/
— he tells his Brother, — 'in the justice and pro-

JET. 47.] NEED OF PEACE. 7
'priety of resisting' the proposal made: 'as injustice.
'Yet, knowing how much it would agitate and un-
' settle my mind to have it go to Reference, — at a time
'too, when I wish to have my mind easy, and to
'regain my health and strength, — I have made up
'my mind to take the £75 and "have done with it.' —
'Rather than have any law proceedings, I would
'have lost it altogether.' — 'I consider it so much
'money saved from the fire. Take it for the sake
'of peace and quietness ! '—If health is fully to be
recovered, 'my mind must not be agitated by re-
' ference, or referees: — who want their fees. * *
' " Better is a dinner of herbs and peace withal, than
*a stalled ox and strife therewith." — But get the
' cash, and not bills'
By the middle of June, Etty had found himself in
condition to seek the familiar York scenes, for which
he had sighed during convalescence ; — and, ' fond of
'(being expected/ fixes the day and hour his friends at
the Mount may have in readiness the ' cup of friendly
'tea.' — 'Am going this morning (June Y5th) to take
'Jane, Cicely, and my Betsey, to see the Correggios,
' at the National Gallery ; which have just been pur-
' chased at the expense of twelve hundred guineas.'
On his present, as some subsequent journeys to
York, Etty took Lincoln in his way ; stopping a day^
to compare the architectural beauties of its Cathedral
with those of his beloved Minster. The comparison
ends, to the Yorkshireman' s satisfaction, in favour of
the familiar building. It does his ' heart good to see
' the superiority of our own.' It is an item in the
faith of Yorkshiremen that their Cathedral is indis-

^ LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1834.
putably the finest in England,— and in Europe: a
unique National Monument. In no other county or
city, does so strong a local pride prevail, as to such
claims. The denizens of most Cathedral towns seem
all but ignorant they possess anything memorable in
the direction of Art.
The Painter's love for his City's famous Church
was a growing passion. No letter from York but
reiterates his happy experiences- within the august
fabric : how he is ' ravished and subdued ' to-day ;,
how ' touching ' was such and such a part of the-
Service yesterday; how 'the windows dyed the
'purely beautiful columns with hues the most ex-
' quisite.' He ' wanders in the side aisles or nave
' in the week-day, hears the chanting and the swell
' of the Organ rolling through the vaulted roof; and
'thinks of the Olden Time and the noble minds.
'who raised this holy structure. Where shall we
' look for such now.' — ' How I should like you to see
'the Minster !'— under this or that phase, is his
ordinary exclamation to correspondents. 'If any
thing on Earth is worthy of Him who made us, it
'is it.' — And similar raptures.
In the following to Mr. Bodley, from ' the Mount *
(July 13th), this, and another favourite topic,— with
him, as with all Historic painters,— the desirableness
of public and religious employment of Art, find
vehement expression.
He regrets 'the Protestant part of the Church of
' Christ was not sufficiently awake to those (in my
' opinion), important adjuncts,— which might be so at
' least,— the Arts. Who shall say that Architecture

JET. 47.] CHARMS OF YORK MINSTER. J>
'is of no importance, after coming out of York
'Cathedral? Who shall say, when the Anthem
' swells in tones of glory, that Music is not ? I must
'write an Essay on their importance to Religion.'
* * 'I have been to the Minster this morning.
'The Choir looked gloriously, filled from Organ
's creen to High Altar: on which' (latter) 'was the
'fair white cloth, for the Sacrament, the golden
' dishes, and the crimson velvet ; beyond that, the
' beautiful Altar-Screen, and the superb East Window,
'glittering in sunshine, gorgeous as a mosiac of
' diamonds, sapphires, rubies. — The doors are open :
' hark ! At a distance, the trumpets sound. Open,
' ye Gates ! Here come the Judges ! arbiters of life
' and death. — To-morrow the Assizes. Now swells
' the Organ : and they come up the Nave. The Civic
' authorities first ; and then Gurney, Lyndhurst, and
' their train. They take their station : the service
' commences.' * *
'Seven o'clock. I have since writing the above,
' been at Evening Service.' — ' When I listened to the
' inspiring sound of the Organ, and looked at the sub ¦
' lime building, abofve and around, and the glorious
' colours in the painted Saints, Martyrs, and sacred
' " Storia " in the windows, — chastening in rich and
' solemn hues the light of Heaven, — I felt three ad-
'ditional arguments for my principle of giving the
' highest moral elevation to the Fine Arts, by enlisting
' them in the cause of our holy religion.
' The Rev. Vernon Harcourt, eldest son of the
'Archbishop/ Canon and Residentiary, 'my great
' opponent in the matter of the Screen, came up to

10 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1834.
'me, shook me by the hand/ was 'very friendly and
'affable;'— 'asked me what I thought of the finish-
'ing of the Organist's Screen of tabernacle work:'
restored,— that is new— work. 'The pipes are
' bronzed. I told him I thought they would look less
'heavy in flat gold. He thought so too.'
Other opponents of former times are affable and
condescending to the now celebrated Painter. ' With
' the Dean and his family ' he dined ' last Sunday at
* six': who was ' very pleasant and very polite.' 'Am
¦* going to an evenmg party there on Thursday. In-
* deed I could go to more parties than I have appetite
'for. * *
' The City will be in some bustle : being the Assizes.
' I am happy to say Crime has not been so rife, as it
* is sometimes. May we go on improving ! and each
'Assize have less, until that great Assize at which
* the world will grow pale ! '
'The Sun is sinking, and shedding his softened
'and golden glories on the landscape, — hay-fields,
' groves, mills, in tranquil beauty.'
His friend's home was, early in this visit, ex
changed for one of his own, — alsp on 'the Mount/—
secured beforehand in contemplation of the length
ened sojourn required for perfect renovation of
health. — 'You know my love for York/ he had
written from London announcing the step to his
friends: 'that's nothing new. Well! feeling this,
4 also, that when I get, there, I never know when to
' come away ; have often stayed so long, I felt uncom-
' fortable, felt I was staying too long; with that
¦* natural love of Independence I always,'  &c. ' not

JET. 47.] A 'COUNTRY SEAT.' 11
' impugning in the smallest degree your hospitality,
' which has been every thing that/— &c. : I have taken
' the little wooden box at the top of the Mount.' —
This ' wooden house on the Mount has caused much
' amusement to us all here.'
By July 12>th, he is 'getting a few necessary
' things in / expects to enter 'next week.' — 'Pleasantly
' situate on the top of the Mount, directly opposite
' a Mill which my Father occupied when I was born;'
the four-roomed cottage, with its annual rent of
'nine guineas a year, including taxes/ well pleased
the Painter. Within a few paces of his Friends, —
with whom he still passed much of his time, — he
was independent and his own Master ; private at his
¦choice, or social.
Installed in his ' country seat/ complacently 'sitting
' after dinner ' one fine ' Sunday afternoon ' (July
27th), 'Bishop- Hill bells ringing in the distance, and
' all otherwise still/ he recounts to his Niece, improve
ments and purchases : purchase of ' such a curious
'old Arm Chair/ for 'thirty shillings/ — 'the silk
4 that covers it, fit for painting from ; a piece of York
¦* Antiquity ; and very easy. It would do for Walter
'oiia Sunday afternoon.' — Or, he tells of a friendly
feminine hand, which ' has planted some flowers in
'his little garden behind;' reports that ' some currants
' are ripe ' in the same little garden, and ' a black-
'bird, a thrush, and a robin, were this morning
'August 17th) picking up a breakfast. We are nicely
' sheltered with trees behind and before ; which dance
'in the sunshine, and make chequered sunshine on
my carpet.'

12 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1834..
In this retreat, heal th and strength were gradually
regained; though occasional skirmishes had to be
sustained with the enemy : — rheumatic ' swellings of
' the right hand/ ' weakness in the ankles/ &c. But
slowly, ' aches and pains are dying a natural death,
' and are all to be buried here.'
The routine relaxations to which, except in York
retirement, he so seldom yielded, of 'dinners out'
and evening parties, were varied by excursions into
the more beautiful portions of the County : excur-
sions,> improving 'my knowledge and admiration
' of my dear native County ; which I believed beau-
' tiful before/ find ' doubly so now.' One day, ' Mr.
'Tuitt, who is here now, takes' him 'to Deighton
' Cottage, a beautiful place on the Selby road ; sur-
* rounded by a wood on three sides:' — 'on a sunny
'lawn, the sheep lying in the shade of trees, like
'a picture of Titian's.' Another, Booth Ferry is
visited ; on the way, Selby and Howden : — Howden.
Choir and Chapter-House 'beautiful in ruin'; the
' country we passed through rich, and well- wooded,.
'golden with the harvest, laughing in luxuriance;'
'In a ruinous part of Howden' is encountered, he
tells his brother Walter (August 17th), 'the tomb
'of a Crusader/ — 'which I sketched :'—' in chain-
' armour, a piece of plate-armour on his knee, like
'my suit; shield, surcoat, sword, &e, and a Lion
'at his feet.' * * ' The Abbey-Church ' of Selby
' is, with all its mutilations, a glorious structure : a
' monastery ere the Blessed Reformation, as the Pro-
'testants call the Robbery and Spoliation of the-
' Church.'

iET. 47.] EXCURSIONS. 13
, To Mr. Bodley he, in his circumstantial way, nar
rates the details of further wanderings in the North
Riding. ' I know you like travelling : you shall travel with
4 me: — in your own arm-chair. I will carry you over
'hill and dale, by yoking to it my Pegasus.
' Before yoking him in good earnest, — to take you
' to the Moors (not of Barbary, but of Yorkshire), —
'I will tell you of a pleasant day I had nearer York :
' only four miles off.
' At Poppleton, a remote country village, on the
4 pleasant banks of the Ouse, is one of those old
' country- churches and quiet churchyards, we see
' only in our Country. A few trees surround it : the
'silence only broken by the sighing of the breeze.
' In the church is an ancient monument, — black letter
'on brass: beginning and ending with something
'like this, — " How vain all the pleasures of Life ! " '
To more distant scenes, a three days' tour was
made with his friends, ' in open carriages ' ; his old
friend Mr. Brook, familiar with the country, acting
as cicerone. — First to Gilling Castle, the residence of
the Fairfaxes. —
' We entered a wild and woody part of the Park, a
' perfectly regal approach, through long lines of fine
' old trees wide apart : ' a ' green velvet avenue nearly
' a mile long/ on ' rising ground.' ' Arriving on the
' brow of this grand, green avenue, —the Castle a little
' way distant, — we alighted. The family, apprised of
' our coming, very politely received us. We were
'shown a room for which the ancient part of the
4 Castle is celebrated: unique. Sitting in it, you

14 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1834-
' may fancy yourself living in the time of Henry VII.,
'three centuries ago. — The oaken polished floor, the
'painted window, the ancient painting, the inlaid
'wainscoat, the magnificent view all ways/ 'the
' terraced garden, the ancient tower, the' &c. ' They
'gave us luncheon in this very room.' Duncombe
Park and its pictures were next seen, romantic
Kirkdale explored : ' a most secluded valley, in which
' a very ancient church ; far remote from- any town.
'The deep silence and solitude,— betwixt high hills
' covered to the summit with woods, — and the rocky
' torrent running through the valley, made it one of
'the most striking of scenes.
'After this, to Kirkby Moor-side/ 'our quarters
' for the night." ' Walked up to a wooded hill which
' commands the town and the setting sun ; read the
' gravestones, peeped into the Church.' * *
'After sleeping well, rose to see a morning bril-
'liant and clear as in France or Italy.'  'A finer
'never Aurora smiled on.'— ' Some of us mounted
< the beautiful hill. The air was clear and blue to
' intensity ; the prospect,' — &c.
' Set off for the village of Lastingham, the birth-
' place of Jackson, the Pamter :' — ' by a. route
'Mr. Brook had found by chance.'— ' Through a
'wild and almost Alpine valley he took us; now
' toiling up a hill, then crossing the brook. We at
'last arrived at this pretty viUage, in a Valley shel-
' tered from the South by high and wooded hills, and
' on the North by a wild and desolate Moor. ' Just
'such a spot as a poet would like to be born at:
'remote, secluded peaceful as an Alpine solitude!

JET. 47.] LASTINGHAM; RIVAULX. 15
'The crystal mountain -stream ran rippling o'er
' the gravel. — How I longed to drink !
' The Church is celebrated : its antiquity, its
'beauty, its crypt, its situation.' — 'Jackson has
' taken great pains with it ; presented a picture, lit
'it beautifully with gold-coloured glass. You do
' not see where the light comes from : and the effect
' is magical.' — ' A tablet gratefully records these, his
' meritorious exertions.
' The religious effect of light thrown on the pic-
'ture, — Christ in the Garden of Olives, — the touch -
' ing tribute of regard to the memory of one whom
'I had esteemed as a countryman, an Artist, a
'friend, and the recollection that he was now no
' more, overcame me to tears.
'I visited his aged mother. She was almost
' double when I went in. When I said I was the
'friend of her son, she raised herself up, said she
' had heard her son talk of me ; was delighted : — and
' when we went away, gave me her blessing with a
'fervour truly religious.'
' We walked up the hill ; gathered some small wild
' strawberries, and bade adieu to the birth-place of
'poor Jackson.'
To Helmesley for the night, with its Castle, a
' wildly picturesque ruin :' by another route ' over the
' Moors. — Ruts half a yard deep, and hills so steep
' we were obliged to walk.'
" The next day, Rivaulx Abbey rouses abundant
raptures. ' The astonishing^ dioramic View of a rich
'and magnificent valley, how shall I describe? I
' never in Italy or Switzerland saw a finer. Hill after

16 LIPE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1834.
'hill, valley after valley, clothed with richest woods
' in all the varieties of light and shade, and all forms
' of loveliness and peace, met our delighted view :'—
standing on 'the velvet lawn' of the terrace of
Duncombe Park. ' Immediately beneath us, a beau-
' tiful Picture,— the Abbey itself, shining in the
'morning; the mountain-stream of the Rye here
* sparkling in the sun, there rushing over rocks, or
'losing itself in the romantic solitude of the Vale.
'of Rivaulx. We descended a precipitous path
' through the woods ' to the Abbey. ' The desolation
' in which it stands; — the wild grass and the nettles
' growing over the high altar, where the pealing
' anthem had swelled the notes of praise ; — the stones
' of the fallen arch forming hillocks in the aisles,
' grown over with turf and moss, — the shelter of
'asps; — its pinnacles, the resort of rooks and jack-
4 daws : — all, perhaps, draws more deeply on our sym-
' pathies than when tliere is more appearance of care,
'and more of the trimness of landscape gardening.
' Deep and solemn the impression.' Had Etty ' the
wealth of Lord Faversham/ he would restore this
glorious remain/— a puerile and destructive con
summation devoutly to be deprecated,— and 'the
' Anthem of Praise should echo along its lofty aisles
' once more ! '
One of his fair companions, Miss  , ' gathering
' wild flowers and moss among the ruins, had nearly
' met the fate of Eurydice. For she was in the
' immediate neighbourhoeH of two Asps coiled toge
ther :' who, however, 'on being disturbed, darted'
' into the moss ' innocuously, ' and disappeared.'

JET. 47.] BYLANDJ COXWOLD. 17
* * ' Drove along the beautiful Vale of Rye, and
' ascended the Hambleton Hills or Moors :' there to
encounter ' a sensible variation in the climate/ and an
' extensive bird's-eye, view / — ' men and cattle im-
'mediately beneath/ showing ' like specks or flies.' —
After a call at ' the well-known inn where the Racers
1 of Yorkshire are trained, we descended, through a
' ravine of rocks and trees worthy of Salvator :' the
ravine ' gradually developing scenes of great beauty
' and wildness. — Till at last, a rich vale discovered in
'its bosom the remains of Byland Abbey, a stream
' running by its side : — sheltered from the North by
' the hills/ with their ' variety of fascinating prospects/
— of other ' hills, woods, and streams.' The ' pretty
' village of Coxwold ' is not neglected : ' rising on the
' side of a hill ; a noble village-tree in its centre ; a
'crystal fountain at its entrance; and crowned by
' its fine Church and Churchyard. On the right, the
' old Parsonage-house ' once ' occupied by Lawrence
'Sterne.' Deserted Newbrough next. 'A single house-
' keeper showed us through the solitary rooms, — where
' Pictures and antique volumes of rarity are mouldering
' into dust ;' — showed also ' the saddle and pistols of
' Cromwell/ one of whose daughters ' married into the
' Family.' Two large dogs barked to their own echo in
' the court-yard, and all seemed desolate.' * * ' Dark-
'ness and the moon again brought us to old Ebor.'
At Etty's instance, his friend Sydney Taylor paid
York a visit, during the Painter's present stay : af
fording the latter the pleasure of introducing his
equally enthusiastic friend to the ' Antiquities and
' local lions.'
VOL. II. c

18 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1834.
' Sydney Taylor/ Etty recounts, (September 7th, to
his Niece), 'repeats fine pieces of poetry, and delights
' us all. He is in the Seventh Heaven of rapture with
' the Minster ; says, it far exceeds his expectation.
'He and Mrs. Taylor are debghed with York
' generally.' The first morning, ' I took them over North-street
' Walls, and over the Ferry of Lendal ; giving them
' a fine outward and distant view' of the Cathedral. The
' South entrance reached, ' I made him peep through
'the little door, at the dim religious light from the
'Five Sister Windows.' — 'The Organ began at that
'moment, and then the voices pealing through
'the aisles in solemn echo.'- — 'We went as far as
'the Screen/ — 'which we saved/ (adds Etty else
where). 'I showed that, then turned him towards
'the West Window and Nave.' — With St. Mary's
Ruins, and the Roman 'Multangular Tower/ he
'was delighted to rapture. I took them to the
'"New Walk;" made them drink of the' Holy
' Well ; showed them the Baths. Crossing the ferry,
'ascended Skeldergate and Micklegate Walls.' 'I
' thought we should not have got Mr. Taylor home in
'time for dinner. He was a mile almost behind,
'running into all the entrances and recesses, fancying
'he was defeating an attacking army, sending hero
' after hero tumbling into the trench below. How-
' ever, at last, we got him down.'
In their genial company, added to that of his
former associates, the Painter engaged in 'another
'tour' of three days: to Byland, Rivaulx, again, also

JET. 47.] AN INNOVATING DEAN. 19
Fountains Abbey, Ripon, Knaresboro', &c. 'Ouren-
' joyment was much mcreased by the great zest Mr.
'and Mrs. Taylor have for these things.'
' You may see by the Yorkshire Gazette,' mentions
Etty to his brother Walter, ' I have been throwing
* another stone at the Destructives/ a letter signed
Conservative ; also writing personally to the Dean :
who, ' you will be sorry to hear, can't be quiet. He
' wants to pull down the Ancient Library, now used
'as a Will Office, and some say, the Vestry too, on
' the other side. If so, I should say, he ought to be
' sent to Bedlam.' This ' long and strong,' (private)
letter, is sent as ' a flag of Truce.' — ' If he does
' not hear reason, we must bring our heavy artillery
' to bear.'
York possessed a Dean who emulated its Corpora
tion in zeal for ' Improvement.' Repeated occasion
is he giving the local Newspapers, — even after his
defeat in the matter ofthe Screen, — for complacent
historical notices like the following : — ' The Reve-
'rend Dean/ (September 1st, 1832), 'has deter-
' mined, with his usual activity, to pull down those
' unsightly buildings ' (fair Gothic ones), ' on each side
' of the south door of the Cathedral, — the Depository
'for Wills, and the building used as the Spiritual
' Court : — and thus display the beauty of our matchless,
' Cathedral to much greater advantage.' That parti
cular determination aroused Etty's resistance, and
was never carried into execution. Later, however, —
during the interval between the two Minster Fires, —
the enterprising Dean, bent on opening out ' Views '
-of the Cathedral,— on stripping it as bare as might be,
c2

20 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1834.
that is, of those subsidiary objects the times of vitality
in Art had grouped around it,— did succeed in pulling
down St. Peter's Prison, an ancient and interesting
cathedral Gateway, together with all the Old Houses
encircling the western end of the Minster; and lowered
the surrounding ground : scrupling not at sacrilege,—
at removing the contents of the Cathedral Burying-
ground to another. He purposed, but did not realize
' a crescent ' round the East end : to compass which,
great pulbngs-down, were to have taken place. At
the North, the old Deanery had been removed
before the first Fire, and the present Tea-garden-
Gothic erection put up.
At all which alterations, and at the innovating
Dean himself, though on what is called visiting terma
with him, the Painter looked askance. At the demoli
tion of the old houses, — which all York besides ap
plauded as a 'real improvement/ thinking them so
'ugly and unsightly/ and 'our Cathedral so blocked
'up,' — he was specially indignant; sticking not to
style it sacrilege too. He pointed out, moreover, one
unremembered result of alienating the Minster pro
perty by pulling down houses belonging to the
Chapter, and distributing the ground: — that less
remamed for the future support of the building. In
his Lecture of 1838, he refers, in what York must
have thought singular terms, to the dubious advan
tage—of ' knocking down a score of old houses, with
'their innocent and picturesque old gable-ends;
'whose only fault is, they have too much character
'and picturesque effect to be allowed to remain.
'Like the contrast and foil of an old duenna to a

JET. 47.] AFFECTION POR ANTIQUITIES. 21
' celebrated Beauty : so were they to the Minster. By
' their presence, she seemed to gain an accession of
'beauty and majesty. I must say, I deeply regret
'the system of destruction going on, and confess I
' can hardly keep my temper when on some new bore
'being about to be perpetrated, some new pulling-
'down commenced, people appeal to me and say:
' "Don't you think we are improving York very much?"
' While one stone remains on another of old York, I
'shall love her. But when such awful slices are
'carved out of her, I feel as Churchill said he felt
' when he had to alter his poems : " It is hke cutting
' away my own flesh ! " '
To the ' innocent and picturesque old gable-ends/
lave since succeeded, — at due remove from the Ca
thedral, but near enough to disfigure it, — a bran-new
Crescent of sorry httle tenements in sickly-looking,
white brick: of which the paltry and sordid elevation
has certainly the advantage of being as unlike as pos
sible to the ancient Petergate. 'They alter things,
' but don't mend them/ might well be a familiar ex
pression on Etty's lips. Everything connected with
the identity of York he valued. And with such
feehngs, he had frequent cause to lament that few
Antiquarians (in feeling), were left; — few who cared
about the old things, or the old times : — so that
' York was becoming a new place, unlike itself.' He
would often intercede, — fruitlessly in general, — with
tradesmen known to him, when, as private occupiers,
threatening some ancient or characteristic feature of
York-streets : Now, it would be an old-fashioned,
square-sided bow- window, — as projecting into the

22 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1834,.
street, a more picturesque feature than a flat reliefless
surface. Another time, a large grocer, Alderman of
York Corporation, who inhabited an antique house in
Stonegate, its front ornamented with grotesque and
curious figures, and carved beams, of about the era
of Henry VII., finding his premises ' unsuited to the
' modern ideas of trade and of convenience,' refronted
them : which act would not add an inch to his
available space. It was reserved for the last twenty
years to make the discovery that a front of plate
glass was ' essential to trade.' Etty, a customer
chiefly on account of the pleasure he took in the
ancient place, had remonstrated in vain against the-
intended Vandalism ; and from the day of its con
summation, ceased to be a customer of his old
acquaintance the Alderman.
Once, when Etty was on a visit to York, Mr.
Wellbeloved, — an Antiquarian of the old school,
between whom and Etty a common love of York An
tiquities was a bond of union, — was making a map of
the religious state of York before the Reformation : —
the Abbeys, Hospitals, &c. ' Willingly/ exclaimed.
Etty, 'would I give up five years of my life to have
'hved one before the Reformation, and have seen
' York as it was then.'
Besides occasional skirmishes (on Paper) with the.
Destructives, — Etty has also during this long Vaca
tion, in the intervals between excursions, been
'painting a good deal.'— Has begun 'two small fancy
'Pictures on the two spare canvases he brought/
has advanced the Bridge of Sighs and another-
picture. ' Also, I have been painting,' he continues -

MT. 47.] A YORK BEAUTY. 23
(October 19th), 'a small Head of one of the Dean's
' sons, in a hunting picture of Dogs and Horses
'painted by himself/ — 'have painted two sketches
'in oils of two Clergymen of the Minster, Mr.
'Richardson, one of the oldest props, and Mr.
'Taylor; a recollection of an effect in the
' Cloisters of Fountains Abbey ; a Head of a Boy,
1 and some studies from Nature for Pictures in petto.'
His little room in the ' Wood House ' had become a
productive Studio.
Among the Studies from Nature, must number
one, — exhibited the following year at the Academy, —
from a young lady, then in the first bloom of youth,
whose beauty had taken his eye and fancy captive,
in some York perambulation. The permission of
her father, a respectable York citizen, obtained, — ¦
Etty offering to present the lady with the portrait
after some little use of it ; — the study was made con
amore: a lovely rendering of the fulness of youth
and vivacity, — of sparkling cheeks, eyes, gems, and
dress, of pearl-like flesh. The beautiful young girl,
— playful and mischievous, — was not a httle amused
at the strange, uncouth-looking Painter; and de
lighted to tease him. All which, he took in good
part; supplying her with additional entertainment
by his Painter's enthusiasm and 'romantic ways'
of behaving: handing the needful refreshment of
wine and cake on his knees, — 'as was fit in offer-
'ing nectar to a goddess/ — and other 'poetic' extra
vagances. In one of the intervals of sitting, her
head negligently averted, this new phase of a fasci
nating subject was seized as the. motive of a second

24 LIPE OB WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1834.
and smaller study, (in profile), which the Painter
retained:— of similar deep-toned brilliancy, in spirit
and execution.
This face, like others of the Painter's numerous
leau-idials, was often introduced, — often uncon
sciously, — in his important works. When he had once
painted such a Study, — and thus impressed the idea
of the admired face on his mind, — he seldom cared
to consult it again; painted from that idea. In
London, Etty frequently introduced himself to the
family of some unknown beauty whom he had met
in the streets; presenting her with her portrait in
return for leave of study. One of these girls, origin
ally in a respectable situation, came, after the lapse
of years, to be the inmate of a workhouse. As a
means of befriending both her and a Dealer with
whom he was intimate, Etty acquainted the latter of .
the study in her possession. Who accordingly bought
it, for £5, disposing of it at a moderate advance ; and
has since rebought arid resold it, again and again, at
an ever-increasing premium: until it reached the
market-price of £100.
'Time in York/ exclaims the Painter, 'flies Hke a
' dream.' * * ' I have had a great deal of real enjoy-
' ment, and am happy to say, have been the means of
'others also enjoying.' — 'A little lingering of weak-
'ness in my ankles and hands' remains : 'but no-
' thing to what it was.'
October 27th, he reports to Mr. Bodley another
pleasure-trip with Mr. Brook and his friends, 'on
'Monday last/— to Kirkham again, 'approaching it
' by' another route : ' on high land. The river Derwent

MT. 47.] THE PAINTER AT PLAY, 25
'wound serpentinely in the valley beneath, enlivening
' scenes of great beauty, till the ride was finished by
' the sweet Valley of Kirkham with the Abbey in its
'bosom.' * *
' Delighted to hear of your taking up your quar-
'ters at the old York Hotel :' — a pseudonym for his
Buckingham Street Home. 'We shall always en-
' deavour, by civil treatment and reasonable charges,
' to keep our old and respected customers. In this
'age of competition and cheapness we shall rely
' more on those qualities which have given our old
' estabhshment its character, than by any affected
'refinement to captivate new-comers.' — One of the
well-meant, if lengthy attempts at a Joke, in which
Etty, with familiar friends, was fond of indulging. He
and his friend Cottingham, the ' Gothic ' Architect,
carried on much innocent and elaborate Child's play,
(by letter), under the assumed characters of ' Abbot/
' Monk,' or 'Hermit '; loving to make beheve at Gothic
times even in that remote way. Reporting, again, to
his friend Bodley the purchase of a picture, Etty will
sometimes convert himself and his peaceful friend
into ' Knights ' — of such and such a cognizance.
His Cottage on the Mount had its sobriquet, — of
' Frog Hall,' — originating in a favoured frog-denizen
of the little back garden : towards whom he had ex
tended his merciful protection. He had assigned the
frog a trough, wherein it had consented to abide,
cheerfully accepting the hospitality of the Painter :
who, besides providing free quarters, supphed his
protigi means of communication with his friends, —
a stick slanting from said trough to the ground. Up

26 LIFE OP WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1834,
which movable ladder, as the host was fond of relating,
another frog, — an old acquaintance he supposed,—
did crawl every evenmg to associate with the solitary.. ¦¦
'Thus there's friendship between frogs/ concluded
Etty. During the residence at ' the Wood House,' a
-whole budget of letters to a fair neighbour is written
in the name and character of its inmate, ' Felix Frog/'
in Etty's laborious style of drollery.
The kindness of heart which always engaged'. \
Etty's sympathies on the side of the unfortunate,
and prevented his saying an ill word of any one, was
equally shown in his life-long friendship for his
humbler 'fellow-mortals.' The same simplicity of
character the same sensitiveness which made him
writhe with pain himself in hearing a tale of distress,,
and shrink from looking at a Newspaper with its daily
quota of strife and crime ; which made him— applied ,
to by a fellow-Artist in distress, — restless for the
day, till he had inquired into it, and contributed
assistance, also made him a vehement foe to 'the
'miserable and diabolic pleasure of destruction for
'its own sake.' On the leads, at the top of his
Buckingham Street aery, — where he used to walk
and gaze on the River and the Sunsets, — comfortable-
quarters were always accorded a complete 'happy
' family/ twenty in number often ; ' tame rabbits,
bantams, pigeons, singing birds ; while favoured cats
and kittens strayed at large under a watchful surveil
lance. Regular inquiries after the well-doing of his
pets, and injunctions to 'be careful' of them, are
scattered over his Letters to his Niece. When
Death invades the little circle, mournful elegies-

MT. 47.] GENTLENESS OF HEART. 27
fail not. In the silence of the Life School at the
Academy, the mice used to come out from under the
'throne,' and were continually running over Etty's
feet : who, in return would crumble bread for
them. — On one of his Yorkshire excursions, at a
halt he and his friends made, his eye happened to be
much taken by the fine plumage of the bantams in
the inn-yard. There were fowls for dinner, of which
Etty refused to eat. 'I suspect them to be my
' friends/ cried he.
After six months lying in harbour to repair
broken health, Etty yearns for familiar London, and
more engrossing avocations ; finds, (November 30th),
the ' winter nights long without the Life- Academy ;'
' York pleasanter in Summer : ' and an exchange of
the ' delights of study ' for ' dinners and card parties/
' a poor ' one. Even in York he had been, as we
saw, ' very busy, — painting.' ' I shall/ he had re
ported, (Nov. 22nd), ' if all be well, finish this week ;'
' have had an Exhibition of my Pictures at the Cot-
'tage, and crowds to see them for the last three
'days. Am convinced it will do good for another
' year, or any future attempt at an Exhibition I may
' make here, with things of more consequence. * *
'I am going to the Manor to tea, and to sketch
' some ladies.'

28

CHAPTER XIX.
AMENDS FOR LOST TIME. 1834 — 1836. (mt. 47  49.)
Busy Production — The Dealers — Thirty Tears' Study — 'The Age'
— Manchester — Stage Coach Days — Dilettante — ' Subjectless '
Pictures — The Lawrence Collection — 'The Arts in England'—
An ' Historical ' Superstition — Models — The Adam and Ae—
A York Exhibition — A Magnet— St. Mary's.
Early in December (1834) Etty was ensconced once
more in his Painting-room : his head full of subjects;
and hand eager to execute them. Already, he is me-
ditating a sixth large Picture, the Ulysses of 1837;
already has conceived the glowing poem of Pluto and
Proserpine, achieved in 1839. Intent on making up
for lost time, he promptly re-entered on the old
familiar course of unflagging exertion.
For assistance in the background of the Phcedria
and Cymochles (a second of that subject), Etty applies,
(January 21st), to his friend Bodley, for one of the
Studies of Sea made at Brighton: 'that piece of
' summer-sea,' in which figures ' our old friend the
' pie-bald (or white) horse, standing in the Fly. I
'wish to alter my present Picture. A winter-sed.
'would not do.' This study, one of much beauty,
and his first from Brighton-sea, was often in request;
made several journeys to and from Buckingham
Street. Sunny compositions are sprmging to life, despite* s
the dark days of a London winter: 'darkness that

MT. 48.] LOW PRICES : SUBSEQUENT ADVANCE. 29
'may be felt' hanging 'over this great city, like a
'plague over Babylon.— To-day, (January 21st), much
'better, but not my weather : cold and heartless, not
'genial and mild.'
Of the numerous (modern Picture) Dealers, who
in subsequent years relied so much for their supply
on Etty, the first in the field was Mr. Colls, who, in
his appreciation of Etty, was, (as late as 1835), in
advance of the rest of. the world. His connection
with the Painter, one fruitful in minor works of
Fancy, commenced in the Spring of that year, with
the purchase of a beautiful picture, — Wood Nymphs
Sleeping: Satyr bringing Flowers, Morning; — at a
price in keeping with those Etty then commanded,
£55. After many a subsequent change from hand
to hand, it, in 1851, realized £500. Mr. Colls
remembers buying of Etty during the immediately
subsequent period, five other Pictures, at about fifty
guineas each ; one, an important work, ' containing
'twenty-one figures/ — Christ Blessing Little Children.
All which, as many others of succeeding years, secured
originally for an old song, as it would now be thought,
— £10, £20, £30, — and sold at a moderate advance ; —
have been bought by the same Dealer again, and sold,
bought and sold over and over : until by successive
stages reaching £300 and £400.
Another Picture, the Nymph and Young Faun
Dancing, was (in 1835) offered by Etty to his new
admirer, in the kind letter from which the following
is an extract. —
'As I cannot but feel flattered by your evident
'partiality for my works, I am disposed to meet your

80 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1835.
'wishes:' — 'at the same time cautioning you to
'think well on the subject; knowing, as I have
' done, by my own experience, how much a passionl
' for the collection of works of Art " grows with what
'it feeds on;" and how much a desire of that sort
'is apt, in young and enthusiastic minds, to make
'them forget what they ought to think on.— Pardon
'this digression. If it is still your wish, as you
'expressed it on Tuesday,— you can, if you Like, have
' the Nymph and Young Faun Dancing for " forty-
* five guineas, without the frame." And should you
' afterwards, fall in love with any picture of mine' of
'£250 or £300 (price), I will take it back at that
' consideration, in part exchange ; though it is not a
' usual way of my managing these matters.'
The fruit of four months' vigorous exertion in his
Painting-room, ensuing to the six of absence, was an
appearance in full strength at the Academy. Some
who had scarcely expected, during his illness of the
previous year, he would again find strength to paint,
— were startled by the numerous progeny which be
spoke his renewed energies in 1835. In place of the •
two minor pictures of the previous year, we have
eight, mostly of importance ; indicating no loss, but
gain, from the past involuntarily fallow season. All
were vigorously conceived; of vehement yet solid
execution ; firm in Drawing, the tone mellow, the
Colour lustrous, and deep in harmony : a style com
bining spirit and finish.
A fresh start was in truth, being made, commencing
with pictures like the Venus and her Satellites, and
the Warrior Arreting ,• and, in a few years, culmi-

JET. 48.] MATURE BRILLIANCY. 31
nating in the Ulysses, the Adam and Eve, the Pluto
end Proserpine. Works these, which witness to a se
rene and liberal harvest-time, creative force — mature,
while fresh, (still) , — habits of execution, masterly and
free. It was not without meaning that Etty spoke of
more than one of these, as embodying ' the study of
' nearly thirty years.' They were, substantially, the
product of thirty years, though painted in one. Thirty
years of struggle, of failure, of laborious effort, of
progressive development, ever-growing mastery of his
native powers, had enabled him to paint so : swiftly
yet decisively ; hand fully responding to will.
The Warrior Arming, afterwards christened by
the more pretensious title, " Godfrey of Bouillon,"
the Bridge of Sighs, and Preparing for a Fancy
Dress Ball, had stood over from 1833 ; profiting by
the additional consideration and new effort expended
on them.
The Bridge of Sighs, a Picture, for its own sake,
and for its associations, much valued by the Painter,
a sample of his poetic art, was purchased by Mr.
Digby Murray for £100.
For Venus and her Satellites, Etty, having refused
one offer, was, as usual, afraid of over-standing his
market. It was secured by the Rev. E. P. Owen for
less than the 300 guineas asked. Sixteen hundred
guineas have since, (in private) , been proffered for it.
The Painter, ' truly happy ' that his ' dear Venus has
' got into hands that will appreciate her/ wishes her
fortunate possessor ' many happy years of life and
'saffishine to enjoy the art, — I think I may say
' without vanity, — I have put into the Picture.' It

32 LIFE OP WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1835.
always remained a favourite with its Author; and
fully merited his kind remembrance : comprising in
small compass, most of his characteristic excellences!*
It still continues one of the least known of his works ;
never having left the possession of its first purchaser,.
nor having been exhibited at the Society of Arts in
1849. After these eight Pictures had been completed,
another was commenced in the course of the summer,
— Venus, Cupid, and Psyche.
Ground was decidedly gained with the public thi&
season : one, in pecuniary results, the best he had as
yet experienced. The working campaign, though
short, had produced or finished a larger number of
Pictures than ordinary ; all finding a ready sale.
In August, during a few days' stay in Shropshire
with the possessor of Venus and her Satellites, a Por
trait of a local worthy, Archdeacon Bather, was com
menced for the Clergy of the district; afterwards
engraved by Cousens. The £60, Etty was in the
habit of charging for full-sized Portraits, was still a
welcome windfall. Much imagination, and much I
Art, had to be expended on works of a higher class,
realizing an equal amount.
Towards the end of the same month, Etty set forth
for his York Cottage; finding, he tells his Niece,
(September 20th), the 'Age Coach/ which conveyed.
him to Lincoln on his way to Hull, ' a good emblem '
'of the Age we live in. Boasting itself the only
' Coach, puffing with its key-bugle its own praises and
'pretensions, in every town, village, and hamlet|»it
' came near; starting fair, and for a while going on

MT. 48.] AMID THE STEAM ENGINES. 33
" swimmingly, but sadly disappointing us of what it
' pretended to : letting us down miserably in a ditch
'at last, to flounder out as we best could. Our
' Leaders that had led us into the scrape, leaving us
' to our fate, and making the best of their way back
'to their own stable : — " Sauve. qui peut." '
Similar, he fears, ' will be the end of our present
'steam-engine generation: puff and fume, noise,
'smoke, and turmoil; looking at ourselves in the
' glass of self-admiration, and crying what a wonder-
' fully enlightened people we are.'
From York he paid a visit to Manchester : where he
had so often exhibited, and where sometimes, his Pic
tures had found purchasers, — at no extravagant sums.
' Set safe down/ he reports to his Niece, (September
4th), among 'the thousand steam- chimneys / — 'the
' world seems going by steam, save me and thee / —
' I changed my dusty coat for a clean one, and started
'for the Exhibition, — a splendid Hall, with Steps and
' Columns hke a Temple. There, I had to mention
' my name to get my free admission. It was soon
'buzzed about that it was "Mr. Etty." And I had
' scarce been in the room five minutes, before I got
' a commission to paint a hundred-guinea Picture ! —
' from a gentleman of the name of Grant.'
Shown, of course, a few of the ' lions/ he saw ' one
' of their immense Mills for preparing cotton twist/
with its ' machinery, and what it does/ — ' wonder-
'ful/ — seeming 'almost endowed with intelligence/
saw also 'the train start on the railroad:' — in 1835 a
novelty. After having received ' great attention ' in
Manchester, he returned, more than ever delighted
VOL. II. D

34 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1835.
with ' the pure clean air ' of ' dear Old York /—in the
latter, ' after the smoke, bustle, and din of Leeds or
'Manchester,-*— which by the way I must respect/—
experienced 'something very consolatory and gra-
' tifying.' A portrait (of a Lady) numbered among his em
ployments in the Cathedral City; a Concert and a
Fancy Ball among the amusements.
The journey from York to London in those days, '
even by a 'flying coach/ was of some twenty-four
hours' duration; and by Etty, on each repetition,
esteemed deserving the minute recording. He gene
rally left in the evening. — ' As the Minster's sonorous
' clock struck eight, my chariot wheels were not long
'in coming. As they passed your door,'— he re
counts, (from London), to his late neighbours,—
' and that of my little mansion now forsaken, (except ;
'by Froggy); and' as 'the light of the coach-lamps
' glanced momentarily on the walls, I caught a parting!
' look at each. Shadows deep closed on all the dear
'scene. Trees, bushes; — then Tadcaster, Ferry
' Bridge, and at midnight, the silent Doncaster and:
' its gas-lights. When stopping to change at some
'lone inn, the roar of the mighty wind amongst
'the trees, and the stalk of the poor tired horses
' to the stable, were some of the only sounds heard.
'Morning dawns; and "hght awakes the world."
' * * At eight, by the Minster, we left the Square
•of St. Helen's (York). At eight by St. Andrew's,
'Holborn, the following evening, we were just by
'Fetter Lane end. Before nine, I and my many
'traps were safe in home-quarters, landed in the

JET. 48.] AN ATTRACTIVE HOME. 35
'passage. I sent Jehu up stairs to knock. Down
' comes Franklin running, then " sure enough," Kitty.
' Up the boxes and portmanteaus are whisked ; then
' I. There's my bonny Bessy. She looks affection,
'but speaks none; has lost her voice, — but got it
' again, next morning. Walter too, with his cap on :
' — a sure sign he has a cold. There, old Tom'
' (another Brother), ' little Bob, and young Walter/
(nephews) ; ' last, not least, savoury and inviting, the
' Goose. * * I had munched a dry biscuit on
' the coach instead of dining : ' so that, after an out
side ride since early breakfast at sevcin, the latter
sight was least of all amiss.
In renovated health, his now chronic cough bet
tered, but ' dreading the winter/ he entered a reno
vated home ; ' his little room ' looking beautiful : the
' white and green, and gold, — and coloured Tableaux.
' But look there ! There 's my new Monkish Altar : a
'pure white cloth with beautiful fringe; on it a
' splendid Crucifix, — the figure of Christ exquisite,
' Above that, the Entombment of Christ,' (a Drawing)
'by Raphael. On one side, behind the Crucifix, a
' figure of Justice, eternal Justice, after Raphael ; on
'the other, Theology, after the same. Beneath the
'Crucifix, a silvery Butterfly, emblem of the Soul,
' enriched with a crown of thorns in wrought silver ;
'a Chalice and Sacramental Cup, a row of catholic
' Beads and cross ; an hour-glass, three ancient books
' (centuries old) . Oh the right, look ! and you'll see
' a piece of deep black velvet, with border and tassels-
'of gold; on it, a cross of richest crimson velvet,
d 2

36 LIFE OP WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1836.
' Lift up the corner, and you will see— not what we
* are, but what we soon shall be.'
His ' head full of pictures ' again, he made the
working season (1835—36) along and fruitful one;
though less than usual was completed for the London j
Exhibition, — ' only a few small pictures.' — ' I over-
' rated the time I had,' he owns by the Spring.
' The large picture I intended for this, must not he
' till next year. But I am and have been very fully
' occupied.' While he is busy producing new Pictures, an every
day casualty is dealing destructively with old ones.
' Did I not/ continues Etty, (to Mrs. Bulmer, March
27th), ' take you and Cicely to the Western Ex-
' change, Bond Street, — a Picture Gallery, — where
•you saw a fine Paolo Veronese (large), a large
'Rubens, and other pictures? I wished them to
' have it/ (the Veronese), ' at the National Gallery.
' Last night my Betsey and I saw from our roof, about
'twelve o'clock, a dreadful fire, in the direction of
'Bond Street. I little thought it was those fine
'pictures. The light, sparks, and even flames, were
' dancing over the long line of housetops. The fire
' began at a tailor's, communicated to the Bazaar:
' the whole of which, with pictures and property to
'the amount of £30,000 or £40,000, was soon de-
' stroyed. Two friends of mine who lived next;
¦'Hookham/ with his 'extensive library; and Car
penter, the Bookseller, escaped by a miracle. The
•'fire attacked the latter's roof. And his valuable
rfiooks and pictures were in the greatest jeopardy.'

.ET. 49.] STUDIES from NATURE. 37
This letter accompanies, among other little presents,
a ' Print of the Dangerous Playmate, a lithograph : —
'tolerably well, though not quite what I should like.'
For the Academy, finishing touches were added to
the Venus, Cupid, and Psyche : — ' Psyche laying the
' Casket at Venus' s feet, Cupid pleading in her behalf.'
He completed, also, Venus and her Doves, — for Mr.
Grant; — and the Family of the Forests: — a Painter's
dream of unsophisticated family circles. ' Subjectless
pictures/ complained certain connoisseurs. Accord
ing to these wiseacres, the subject makes the Painter
or the Poet.
Such Groupings of Nude Form for its own sake
were becoming more and more frequent on Etty's
canvas. ' Venus and Cupid/ ' Venus and Psyche,'
'Venus/ &c, — always favourite Dramatis PersoncB
of his, — figured just now with especial frequency
among the titles of his works : to be succeeded by the
'Bathers' and ' Studies' of later years. In number,
a preponderating class of Etty's works, especially
during the last fifteen years of his life ; these were all,
— just as were many nominally ' Historic ' themes
themselves, such as the Choice of Paris; Candaules;
&c. ; — but the text, enabling him to expatiate on what
he most of all delighted to dwell : and yearly, more
and more so. Every year, conscious of increasing
power and facility of hand, it was ever a greater de
light to express the beauties of the human form, and
to arrest its evanescent charms : of that female form,
above all so difficult to others, wherein lay his greatest
delight and Mastery; which, it has been justly said,
no Englishman ever worthily pamted before.

38 LIFE OP WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1836.
The years 1835-6 were not without their public
question to command the Painter's sympathies. The
Lawrence Collection of Original Drawings by the
Old Masters, whether it should be wholly lost to the
Nation or not, was a vexed question : — which hardly
would have been a vexed question in any country but
England. A Government indifferent to Art, acting
for a people indifferent because long strangers to it,
neglected this chance, as so many others, of turning
to public account a private Collector's energy, know* ',
ledge, and opportunities : dead to the peculiar value
of that unique Collection. Nothing in Art which ,
cannot boast the gloze oi finish, makes any appeal to
uncultured eyes, or to a puny Taste. An assemblage of :
Drawings, to which it yearly becomes more difficult
to form a parallel, the Trustees of the Public Money
stolidly refused to secure : — to secure for £20,000,
what had cost Lawrence , £30,000 or more. The
Messrs. Woodburn, who purchased the Collection
intact, proved more enterprising than our Bceotiaa
rulers ; who ultimately allowed it to be broken ups
— one part going to Oxford, others into private
hands, the more considerable portion remaining tiL,
now in the hands of the Woodburns.
Ere the golden opportunity had passed by of
obtaining the whole, Etty had warmly urged its
National acquisition ; actively uniting with others in
inviting the Government to that step. The Com
mittee appomted at a Meetmg of Artists to petition
Parliament to purchase the Drawings, held its pre
paratory meeting in his Studio. After the Drawings
had begun to be ' scattered like the Sibyls' leaves/ fol*

MT. 49.] REVERENCE FOR THE GREAT MASTERS. 39
lowing ' the fate of the Orleans and Houghton Gal-
'leries/ and while a portion of the finest were being
exhibited by the Woodburns, under the protection
of glass, — a hint showing how the public might be
enabled to profit by them, — Etty still advocated
repairing the blunder, before wholly irreparable. His
Letter to the Morning Herald, (Feb. 25th, 1836),
shows him one of those modern Artists who really
.sympathize with the Ancient Masters. Tlieir beauties,
indeed, formed one of the few themes on which he
was prone to discourse : — their beauties and his year
in Venice. Chatting on the Arts in his Studio, the
while rubbing his paints on his marble slab, he
would sometimes speak of those disposed to praise
the hving at the expense of the dead ; averring they
little showed knowledge or sense in the attempt to
disparage the Great Names.
The Lawrence Drawings, he describes in this
Letter, with discerning enthusiasm, as 'the first
'thoughts of the first men of all ages since the
' Revival of the Art : the bud and blossom of much
' glorious fruit ; bearing the vivid stamp and impress
' of their genius. In some of the series, you see the
'interesting struggle of the noble thought with
'doubt and difficulty, in that incipient stage of com-
' position where, as Dryden says, thought stumbles
' over thought in the dark : till, by successive efforts,
'Beauty rises like order out of chaos; and those
'splendid works were produced which for centuries
' have shed light and heat through the whole hemi-
' sphere of Art.'
The Collection, he insists, had it been accorded

40 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1836..
an enduring National Home, would have given our
Public Gallery, 'in the class of Drawings, a supe-
' riority over the Louvre itself;' and have 'formed
' a new era in the Arts of this country : ' besides!
' interestingly connecting with the splendid acquisi-
' tion, the name of the tasteful and illustrious Artist.
' who formed the Collection, and was himself one of
' the brightest ornaments/ — &c. * * 'A grander
' aim would be given to the talent of our Artists. J
' And, — presupposing that talent called into . proper
' action, — men capable of bending the bow of Ulysses
'would not be wasting their time, or at best dissi-
' pating it, on trifles unworthy of themselves or their
' country.' He remembers how 'Prince Talleyrand paid re-
' peated visits to these Drawings, in company with,
'I believe, one, if not more of the Ministers in.
' power at the time ; and, after lookmg over a con
siderable portion of them in detail, at his last visit
'in rising to retire, addressed to them this pithy
' observation; " Si vous n'achetezpas ces choses-ld torn
' etes des barbares.'" The simple-minded Academi-v
cian mentions also, with characteristic emotion, 'the--
'noble vote of £1000,— in aid of a public subscrip
tion to purchase them for the nation,— by that Body
' to which I have the honour to belong.'
But, as he commences with saying, 'we, flatter-'
'ing ourselves that we are without doubt one of the
' most refined and enlightened of nations, content- •':
' edly let slip one after another, the opportunities of
' making ourselves really so,— at least in the Fine Arts.
' * * We really are so very enlightened'—' that our

MT. 49.] THE ARTS IN ENGLAND. 41
'vision is, (to use a French word), offusqui ; — so
' dazzled by the light we cannot see our way.'
At the close, he states his notion of Government-
Patronage to be : ' that no half measures will do
' good, but harm ; that either the Government should
'leave as hitherto/ Art's 'sacred and vestal fires
' to be kept ahve by the self-devotion of the Artists,
' seconded by a few liberal, tasteful, and patriotic
'individuals; or' give the Arts 'that heartfelt and
'effective impulse alone worthy of a great nation.
' We studiously copy the fashions, some of the frivo-
'lities, and even the vices of the French. Let us
' do better : imitate ' — ' their fostering care and pro-
' tection of the Fine Arts.'
This Letter on ' The Arts in England/ he followed
up, by another, (July l%th, 1836), wherein, amplifying
the concluding hint of the last, he expresses feelings
common among Painters. For he shared the currenfr
superstition, so gratuitous and unreflecting, that
' Government/ unbacked by wide-spread love of Art
in the community, can do great things. The ex
perience of after years may have helped to undeceive
him, in part.
A few samples, omitting surplusage, and inco
herences, will suffice to give the gist of Etty's
pleadings. It must be borne in mind that in 1836,
'the New Palace at Westminster' was yet in its
beginnings : that the Cause in which ' Historical '
practitioners take so lively an interest, — the public
employment of Painters, — yet continued in a bad way.
"'They manage these things better in France,"
' said my Uncle Toby, as he sat in his chimney-

42 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1836.
' corner, smoking his pipe. To which I, sitting in
'the opposite one, with sorrow but sincerity, echo
' " better in France."
'I have had some vagrant thoughts on this subject,
'dear Mr. Editor, which I should like to commit
' to your custody.' — ' The sweet influences of the
'Arts on the broad and vulgar world, are like the
' sight and smell of a freshly-gathered bunch of roses,
' glittering with dew, in a hot and crowded city.
'They are an oasis in the desert; something that
' shows we are not altogether " of the earth, earthy ;"
' a breath from Paradise.' — ' It is our duty, as Art-
'ists/ — he continues, lower down, — 'to be the guar-
'dians of those Arts/ to prevent 'their still, sweet
' voice from being drowned in the clamour of politics,
'the din of commerce, or the rattle of railways.
' These may be all very well to a certain extent, as
'some of the means, certainly not as the end and
' aim of life : the legitimate object of which appears
'to be the advancement of the mind and heart of
'man.' * *
'At a time when the French Government are
' giving a mighty impetus to the genius and talents
'of their Artists, by extensive employ, magnificent
' prospects of palaces and churches^ filled with His-
'torical works; when immense sums are every year
' generously and judiciously voted for these great
'National objects; when a colony of the Arts is, and
' has been, for centuries, maintained with a princely
' munificence, for their study in Rome, — their eternal '
' capital : what are we doing ? With talent springing

MT. 49.] GOVERNMENT PATRONAGE. 43
* up, which would, properly directed and employed,
' be a lasting honour and advantage to our country,
'it is but too probable these promising buds may
'wither from the frost of neglect and disappoint-
' ment.' * *
' Why is our Gallery of the Old Masters called the
"'National, seeing that the pictures are not, for the
' most part, of our nation ? I should like to see a
'truly National Gallery, one that with pride and
'pleasure an Englishman might show: where the
'virtues, the heroism, and genius of his country
' might be recorded, to the most remote posterity.' * *
' It is my ardent desire to see England take as
' proud a station in the Arts, as she has in arms, and
* commerce. Why should she not ? I see the power
' exists that can give it : only call it forth ; and
' give the Artists of our country fair play.' — ' It may
'be said, I am crying out for commissions for my-
'self. It is not so. I like not things which touch
' " the freedom of my mind." But I do wish to see
' that " blot on our escutcheon," neglect of Historic
'Art, brushed away.' —
Among Etty's private correspondence of this date,
a familiar letter to a brother Historical Painter, Mr.
Patten, which may be taken as the representative of a
class, affords a glimpse of the difficulties a painter of
Etty's range of subject has to encounter in securmg a
supply of suitable models.
'I did not know, (writing April 7th, 1836), you
'were knocking at my door yesterday, or I should
' have asked you in to take another rib : — your wife

44 LIFE OP WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1836,
'need not be alarmed,— I meant a rib of lamb. And I
'should not have said, with our former friend, " There
' is no such person here."
'You left word you wanted a fine Model. It is
'difficult. Mrs. S. — , whom I sent you, has some
' very good points : a short figure and a fine head.
'Miss R. — at a cap-shop, in  Street, (private
' door), is a good colour and proportion, but rather'
'thin. I have lately made sketches in outline of
' several, in order to get a small figure I am going to
' paint as good as I can.' This was the Eve in the
Adam and Eve at their Orisons. ' I have found two
' out of the number, fine. One, her name is H — , of
' a fine form and bright colour.' — ' I am endeavouring
' to persuade her to get money in a way more artis-
' tical : to sit to Artists and Academies. She would
' be an acquisition. She sat to me for an hour and a
' half, to make sketches from : and I think she might
' soon be broken in. You might write a twopenny
'letter and try. Say, I recommended her. An-
' other, with a fine figure, her name is Y — : also, a
'fine form of torso, and nice colour. If either of
'them could be induced to sit, and be punctual to
' their engagements, they would be acquisitions. * *
' P.S. I am going to write to H — , to try if she can
' be made useful to Art.'
In other notes to his friend, dating from various.
years, Etty tells him, ' for your and their advantage/
of 'new Models which are good/ as he discovers
them : one, it may be, male and ' youthful ; ' a female,
' brunette/ another ' fair.' Now, it is ' an oriental/ a
'civil man, and sits well/ now, a female model 'for

MT. 49.] THE ' ADAM AND EVE.' 45
* arms ;' or again, one who has a ' nice bust, throat,
' and figure : ' to which good points is superadded
another not less important to an Artist, that of
punctuality. Only three pictures had been exhibited, at the Aca
demy, pictures of fancy, of glowing beauty, and force ;
such as no other than Etty could paint : none, how
ever, characterized by foremost imagination. One,
higher in aim, was under his hands, — the Adam and
Eve at their Morning Orisons : a picture which he had
determined to paint at his very best. The slip-slop of
which during the last ten years of his life, — when no
longer a promising, but an established name, — Etty
was to hear so much, had begun to be a staple in the
sleep-walking criticism of the day : about his inability
to draw, his 'voluptuousness/ &c. In the Adam
and Eve, Etty aimed at perfection of Form, and at
showing that he could paint a naked man and woman
expressive of pure and devotional feeling. To realize
the former, was undertaken the unusually active chase
and in all kinds of places, alluded to in the letter to
Mr. Patten. He wanted a female model to which he
might wholly adhere in his Eve : not according to his
ordinary custom, painting a bit from one, a good
point from another, &c. Many sketches were made,
¦great part of the year and much money spent, in
seeking, before he found, a model nearly perfect : — the
waist alone faulty, 'not round enough/ from which
he accordingly deviated in his picture. In feeling,
and in execution, his picture was a complete success.
' Lowly they bow'd adoring.' * *
It is to be regretted this sample of his poetic treat-

46 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1836,
ment of the Nude was not exhibited at the Society of
Arts in 1849.
It was one of Etty's few commissions ; painted for
Mr. Beckford, to fit some vacant compartment ' over
' a door/ in the crowded house of the wealthy con
noisseur. That eccentric 'Arbiter of Taste' had, to
the credit of his discernment, a high notion of Etty's
genius; though amid the vast sums squandered
on crotchets and puerilities, finding comparatively
little, to invest in) the great Painter's works. He
affirmed him to be ' the only Painter for Immortality
' of his day :' — an assertion which, slightly qualified,
remembering the greatest of Landscape-Painters^
remains truer than many of that gentleman's dicta.
As far as Etty is concerned, time will surely verify the
prediction. During the summer of 1836, both the Adam and
Eve, and an important picture of the ' subjectless'
class, Mars, Venus, and Cupid, were finished ex
pressly for a York Exhibition, and there first .
exhibited. To this, an experimental one, Etty had,
with his wonted local feeling, — desirous too of giving
his fellow-townsmen ' some taste of his quality/—
contributed on its opening as many as six samples of
his handiwork ; adding before its close, and after that
of the Academy, the two already mentioned, and the
Family of the Forests. The latter was purchased hy
his friends, the Harpers, for £50 ;— has since been sold
for £350. Among the Pictures of former years he
was at the pains of borrowing from their owners, .
were the Parting of Hero and Leander, Mr. Ver
non^ Venetian Window, the Sahrina, the Hylas.

MT. 49.] A YORK EXHIBITION. 47
Inhabitants of York contributed four Portraits from
his hand. So considerable a leaven of important
examples from a Master in the Art must alone have
lent the gathering a superior tone to that ordinarily
characterizing first attempts at Provincial Exhibitions :
a superiority, more considerable towns might have
envied, — and have better valued.
Set on foot by the small party in York active
in the good cause, — Etty's friend, John Harper, a
zealous leader, — the Exhibition, it was hoped, might
educe some interest in Art in the town. In which
laudable object, though the experiment did ' pay its
' expenses/ their success was not sufficient to encourage
the projectors to repeat it. A Cathedral City is no
favourable arena for movements towards popularizing
Art and extending the sphere of its influence. There
is scarcely life enough to respond to a public call of
any kind. In those centres of the life of our day,
the wide-awake, manufacturing towns Etty liked so ill,
there ensues to magnified size and quickened activity,
a proportionate quickening of higher capabilities.
Only on their freer stage, experience proves, can an
adequate interest be aroused in any stirring cause, —
Art, Literature, or other humanizing influence. At
that date, and down to a later one, the good people
of York, — no enthusiasts for Art even now, — scarcely
cared, as one of themselves confesses, to look at a
picture: still less, at an Etty. Unassisted, they
could not 'for their part see anything in him.' The
echo of his Fame from a distance, alone taught them
there was anything. It had been long a cherished wish
of the patriotic Painter's, to execute a large'picture for

48 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1836.
his native city. At one time, he had thought of the
Minster, at another, of a large vacant panel in the
Yorkshire Museum ; and was willing to have filled said
panel with a noble Historic work, had a sufficient
sum, (£100, say), been raised to defray the bare cost.
Of which generous offer, York cared not to avail
itself. A 'Proposal to invite Mr. Etty to paint an
' appropriate Historical Picture' attracted to itself
just eight names : — all, personal friends or acquaint
ance. So enlightened a public spirit ruled in the
place. The Painter was willing to make sacrifices of
money, not of dignity. To a miscellaneous Exhi
bition, mechanical and artistic, got up at the York
Mechanics' Institute some years subsequent ±o this
first — and last, — legitimate York 'Exhibition/ Etty
refused to contribute ; despite his interest in every
thing connected with his native town : — thought it
degrading to High Art to mix paintings with mere
curiosities, &c. For he cherished high notions of his
Art, and of the particular walk, with its grand tradi
tions, to which he had from youth dedicated himself.
In the Autumn of 1836, before leaving for the
now indispensable annual sojourn in York, the large'
canvas for the Sirens had been set up in the Painter's
Studio. — 'A magnetic attraction two hundred miles
' off/ it stirred homeward thoughts from the begin
ning. Wistful longings to be at work were more
frequent than was his wont in that happy retirement.
As early as 'Sept. 14th, Holy Cross,' as he dates'
his letter, he discovers he ' shall be very glad ' to get
' pictures and self safe back in Buckingham Street:

MT. 49.] AT YORK : BUSY HOURS. 49
• all ready to begin; Bairn by my side, — kettle sing-
'ing, fire golden, tea-things ready.'
Though he had ' come to play/ he had as usual
been working. Among his voluntary vacation tasks,
he executed a ' commission,' as he styles it, for his
Niece, — a small-sized head of her father, one of his
own brothers : a vigorous and characteristic portrait.
'It looks grave, but is very, like. Get thy brass
' ready. Commissions paid for on delivery.'
Another ' nice study/ he has also ' to-day/ (Sept.
14th), finished: 'the head of little Mary Ann,' niece
one remove. And he has 'been making a little
' portrait, or, rather/ is ' now making one, of Miss
' Harper, which like thine is a commission : and Like
' thine^ I look for pay.' — ' I beheve/ he continues,
'the Family of the Forests has found a father: I
'hope not a step-father.' — 'Franklin has not been
'idle: has drawn my garden, — which he hopes
'thou willst buy of him, and encourage "native
'"talent," now thou art giving commissions; — a bit
' of St. Mary's Abbey, and some other things.'
The Painter does not wholly neglect 'play' for
work ; ' dining out ' more than sufficiently : ' by
' invitation, at the Deanery ; next day at Tang Hall/
&c. And 'Monday evening, we gave a grand enter-
'tainment at Abbey Cottage, "to several persons of
' distinction :" tea and toast, and other rarities of the
' season.' — ' Don't be surprised, if I should make my
' market : and then, my lass, thou'lst have to take up
' thy bed and walk. Only don't take up mine. It 's
' a very warm and comfortable one.' For York, he
has meanwhile, bought himself 'such a splendid olct-
VOL. II. E

50 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1836.
' fashioned bed-hanging, — like Paolo Veronese. That
* and the creamy blanket look well.'
Excursions varied the programme of his recreation:
to the neighbourhood of Richmond, famed as its
Middlesex namesake for beauty, one of three days,
with Mr. Brook. And a little sketch was made of
the Abbey of St. Agatha, ' beautifully situated in a
* romantic valley by a river-side : where, the dash of
' waters and the silence of its solitude dispose the
' mind to think and the heart/ &c. ' The noble
'feudal tower of Richmond Castle' duly impresses
him, 'lifting its head from an almost inaccessible :
' rock, frowning defiance/ and ' attesting the power
* of Alan le Roux, one of William the Norman's j
'chief followers :' who ' also, founded St. Mary's at
' York.' Other memorable places ' among the high
' hills of Hambleton ' have been seen : more ' ancient
4 castles, loftily and romantically situate/ &c.
The 'Frog Hall' of the previous two years had
been exchanged for the ' Abbey Cottage/ wherefrom
these letters date : a commodious habitation in Mary-
Gate, near the river, a prettier position, though
scarcely so healthful, as the last. ,-.
' The apples are hanging on the trees. The poplars
' wave in the breeze. The robins sina-.' Within viet,
stands the ruined Abbey; which suggests thoughts
frequent with Etty and characteristic: its beautiful
remaining 'Arches pleading haughtily against the
'base passions of the detestable monster that laid
' their holy honours in the dust. The breeze whispers
'in the foliage that overshadows them, and seems to
'tell of years that are gone.' But ' a steam-engffl^

MT. 49.] THE ' DARK AGES.' 51
' or two vomit their infernal breath into the air that
' echoed the vesper and matin hymns, now for ever
' mute. And folks say, " How we are improved ! "
* Gracious Heaven ! pity us, and forgive ! They put
' me in mind of the sensual grovellers in Milton's
" Comus : who, when their vices had reduced them
'them to swine, —
' " Not once perceive tlieir foul disfigurement,
'But boast themselves more comely thau before."
' So we, grovelling, despise and forget the glories of
¦' the olden time, and boast of achievements far sur-
' passing them: — which will, in my opinion, be for-
' gotten long ere the ruins of the " Dark Ages " shall
' pass away.' — -In any case, ' they who reared them,—
' and praised in them the God of Ages, — shall not pass
' away ; but live for ever in the joy of His presence,
' in temples beyond the reach of the infernal Harry : —
'who, I hope and trust, meets the reward of his
' merit.' Having stayed to superintend the safe return of
iis pictures from the York Exhibition, Etty on his
way home took Upton Hall, in Derbyshire : there
leaving his recently-finished Mars, Venus, and Cupid,
purchased by Mr. Wright for a hundred and twenty
.guineas.

E 'i

52

CHAPTER XX.
AMBITION AND ITS REWARD. 1836 — 37. (MT. 49-50.)'
Concentrated Effort— Large Pictures : a Current Misconception—
Swift Execution, and Sure — Attendance in the Life-Academy ;
as Student— as 'Visitor' — Trafalgar Square: A Triumph — Its
Alloy — Smaller Essays — BlakeStreet — A CloseBargain — Hopes-
of a Commission — Amateur Eomanism — Sympathies -with the
Past — Ealse Alarm — Volunteer Counsel — Anonymous Mentors
— Picture-Beggars.
Etty entered his Painting-room full of energy and
eagerness for his great work: intent on laying the
uneasy thoughts which had pursued him in absence;
on realizing many an imaginative dream such as had
long haunted his mind. Nov. 14th, 1836, he couu
menced, ' in oils,' on Ulysses and the Sirens: projected! :
in 1834, and at one time intended for the past Exhibi-;
tion. In good earnest he pursued the task, throwing!
aside all minor ones ; refusing to finish more Studies
for the Dealers till it was completed. ' My reputation
'and interest/ — he tells Mr. Colls, — 'demand that
' I should not trifle.' His sixth colossal picture, it
was commenced five years after his last of similar
size, the Maid of Judith Waiting. It has been a
hasty assumption with some, that deficient encou
ragement checked Etty in his ambitious course.
' Had he been encouraged, what gigantic works
' would he not have produced ! ' exclaims one : a con
summation devoutly not to be wished, as the rule of

MT. 49.] SIZE NOT THE SUMMUM BONUM. 53
a Painter's life. It never was Etty's ambition to
paint only large Pictures. His first was executed
when he Was thirty-eight, his last, two 'years before
his death. The Sirens stands midway between
these points. All were achieved for Fame's sake
merely, and the ' Honour of his Country.' For the
Combat, the Judith, he, while painting them, had
' hardly dared to hope ' a purchaser.
Under the inspiriting impetus of liberal Commis
sions, he might have been stirred up to paint more pic
tures ' exceeding the natural size/ (assuming that to
be the desideratum in Art), than he had set himself to
accomphsh :— and did accomphsh. The engrossing
patronage of the Dealers for finished Studies and small
works, certainly delayed the execution of the Joan of
Arc. But what he had planned in the way of grand
'Historic' work, he ultimately compassed. He showed
what he could do in the way of colossal pictures ; —
had never supposed them an indispensable condition
to high achievement. He knew too much of the
Art of Painting for that: — knew that many of the
sweetest attributes of the Art cannot be developed
upon a large expanse of canvas.
As the whole tenor of Etty's life bears witness,
no lack of mere 'encouragement' was capable of
turning him from his purpose, — from high resolves
•once formed. Large Historical pictures, though not
• colossal, are frequent, between 1825 and 1847 : such
as the Choice of Paris, the Bevy of Fair Women,
Youth at the Prow, and others ; and again, the
Pluto and Proserpine, the Ten Virgins, the Dance,
the Graces, the Hesperus, the Circe, the second
Choice of Paris. What is more and better, there

54 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1836-37..
are plenty, small in dimensions, rich in poetry and
imagination: — the Hero and Leander, the Prodigal
series, and many more, already familiar names to the
reader. He painted in all sizes, and in all, well.
Ever resolute to have Nature, if possible, before-
him, Etty, while engaged on the Sirens, obtains from
his friend Bodley ' the Sketch of stOrmy sea1 pamtei
at Brighton in a previous year: that he might, as
nearly as might be, adhere to his recollection of 'the
' splendid scene ' which, once witnessed, had retained.
so strong a hold on his mind. The result was that
grand and imaginative background, so efficient a help
to the sentiment of the Picture: one, Landseer
admiringly affirmed to be the finest landscape he
had ever seen.
For the more appalling details of the fatal Shore,
which afterwards gave much offence to squeamish
critics, he paid assiduous visits to charnel-houses,
carefully studying from dead bodies in all the stages.'
of decay. It never entered Etty's head to shirk or
gloss over the realities of any story he had to paint:
once it had secured his choice as a grand and preg
nant theme, and much as by natural temperament, he
leaned to the beautiful, the glowing, the happy.
He carried the work to a swift completion, con
sidering the magnitude of it ; finishing the SirensyJ^
and the Dalilah into the bargain, — for the following
May Exhibition. Less, therefore, than five months ,
sufficed for his colossal task. The idea had long
lain germinating in his mind. And as regards
the expression of it, he said truth when exclaim- ,
ing of this, as of previous works, 'twenty years"

MT. 49-50.] SWIFT EXECUTION, AND SURE. 55
'labour is in that picture !' Such swiftness of exe-'
cution, if accompanied by the adequate precision, is
of course the best mode of any to express a Painter's
thought. Little is lost by the way. The first con
ception is conveyed to canvas while warm with fresh
and glowing force. It takes the matured Master to
do it. And even he cannot long remain on such com
manding ground. His purpose becomes less decisive,
his hand more wavering. Brilliant sketchiness proves
the sequel.
The last-named stage was still afar with Etty,
notwithstanding his increasing productiveness, and
the increasing seriousness of his chronic maladies, —
rheumatism, asthma, — such as with a man of less
energy, and of a less indomitable will, would have
checked exertion. A lengthened period of mature
power still lay before him.
The Samson Betrayed by Dalilah bears evidence
intrinsic to having been pamted contemporaneously
with the Sirens. The impetus acquired in executing
the greater effort was turned to account. The same
powers are seen on a reduced scale. Small in size
but large in manner, a compressed epic, it is the
very perfection of the Cabinet Historic.
Five months of doubly active work, every way,
were those always, from November till early April.
The season of vigorous exertion in preparing for the
Exhibitions, that also of rough weather, and of try
ing attacks of his cough, was the season of sedulous
attendance at the Academy : — an attendance which
still remained, after the lapse of thirty years, more
regular than that of the youngest Student. Very.

56 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1837..
often, he attended two Academies in the same evening :
one hour at the St. Martin's Lane, and one hour at
the' Royal; dividing his time pretty impartially be
tween the two. With this attendance, no other,-
claims were allowed to clash. 'The Academy is
'open/ was the sufficient answer to hospitable,'
friends. — 'I refuse all invitations, however attrac
tive/ he would reply to dinner-invitations/ that
' might lead me to neglect what I consider an im-
' portant duty.' Etty ever loved to believe himself;
fulfilling an 'important duty.' The word was a
favourite with him, and one he used pretty freely.
Reserved and retiring, not shining in society nor
adapted for it, he loved his studies, and his stool
at the Academy too well, to find what is called
' Society ' any temptation. He was too happy in
his Art to desire any other recreation. That was his
recreation and chief delight. For he was one of the
few who painted for love of painting, and of excel
lence in his Art ; not for that of fortune, or of Fame
on its own account,— otherwise, in fact, than as the
shadow which follows excellence. As for painting
from the Life, long practice had made it mere
play to him. The Life-School was his passion;
'study' there, a pastime ; constant attendance withini
its familiar walls, the habit and necessary part of his
life. On the rare occasions when, during the Aca
demy's Schools being open, he did 'yield to other
engagements, he could not absent himself wholly:
must still come in for ten minutes, sometimes
dressed as for a party, leaving when the sands had
run out, — not before.

MT. 50.] DUTIES AS ACADEMICIAN. 57
Sense of duty, a very strong one, Etty had : genuine
public spirit, a rare conscientiousness and integrity in
performing thoroughly whatever he undertook. He
was to the Academy in thought and act devoted,
bound by ties of association and sentiment. To an
Institution which had educated — or helped to educate
him, — in his beloved Art, he attached himself with
inflexible tenacity; as he did to all things equally
involved with early remembrances.
Whatever office fell to his lot as Member, he
zealously performed ; together with many voluntary
ones. He thought it right for instance, — for the
hypothetic encouragement of the Students in their
duty, and from his sense of the importance of every
thing connected with the Estabhshment,— diligently
to attend every dull, oft-repeated lecture its Professors
might deliver : — doing this with an apparent gusto, an
air of consequence, as of fulfilling the great public
duty he conceived it to be. Unhappy Students who
suffered under Professors,— not such as Mr. Leslie, —
fancied he might have found more nutritive recrea
tion or employment, — over a book say, — at home.
As Visitor in the Life, Etty spared neither time
nor trouble in fulfilling his part well. Saying but
little, he yet took great pains with the younger Stu
dents ; on the more advanced, seldom bestowing more
than an approving nod or pat on the back. — ' He
'rarely criticized my Study. I have often wished he
'had/ says Mr. Frost; himself an indefatigable Stu
dent, one who had sat next to Etty almost every
night the Schools were open, for twenty years. Etty
would occasionally give a Little address, explaining the

58 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1837*.
intentions of the Figure, &c. : at which he sighed and
hesitated a good deal. For he possessed ' a flowing
' pencil, anything but a flowing delivery/ remarks the
last-mentioned admirer : to whom I am indebted for
most of my present information.
The School invariably had good Models, and well-
posed in his mouth ; and generally on the last night,
'a Treat/ a complete picture set, as Flaxman and
a few others had done before him : an unusual thing,
which to the last used to make a great sensation.
among the Students. — ''In my time, as a Student,'
relates Mr. Maclise, ' I have known him set three or
'four models together. Now, it was a group of
' Graces; now, a composition of two or three Gladia-
' tors. — Sometimes, a dark man or tawny female was-
'introduced, for picturesque contrast with a fair
' form of the same sex. Sometimes, a Manikin k
'armour contrasted with the flesh; sometimes, a
'child with a woman; or picturesque accessory of
' velvet or satin drapery, of rich texture and hue, — a*
' deep-coloured curtain or couch.'
A group of the ' Graces ' Etty once set, comprised
four figures, with accessories : — ' pedestals, vases,
'flowers, fruits, rich draperies, incense burning, &c.'
Previously to this tableau vivant, Constable, while
Visitor, had placed a figure as ' Eve ' : introducing a
large limb of a tree, with an apple suspended.
' When are we going to have another landscape f '
asked Etty, one day of his brother Academician..'
'When are we going to have another Phantasma-
' goria ?' retorted Constable.
In reference to that same 'Landscape/ Mr. Maclise

MT. 50.] ATTENDANCE IN THE LIFE-SCHOOL. 59
again writes: — 'Etty made a beautiful study once
'from a female figure Constable had arranged as
'Eve; — with a laurel-tree behind her, from which
' were pendent numbers of that kind of orange called
' " forbidden fruit." The glittering polished green of
.' the leaves, and the deep orange of the fruit, you may
'be sure were well and happily expressed by a hasty
'touch or two. — Turner once, I recollect, arranged a
'female form in the same attitude as the Venus de
' Medici ; standing by a cast of the latter brought in
'for the purpose. Of which, Etty made a study so
'beautiful, as might serve to prove the truth of
' Byron's Hnes : —
" I've seen more lovely women, ripe and real,
Than all the nonsense of their Beau-Ideal." '
In 1837, Etty saw his last ofthe old Life School of
Somerset House ; dear to him, as we have seen, from
association, and for intrinsic reasons, — for its space and
loftiness: — the dingy background, d la Rembrandt,
contributing to give 'such glorious effect' to the Figure
immediately under the gaslight. The exchange was
to a very inferior room, at the top of the so-called
National Gallery, where there is hardly room, assert
its frequenters, for ' more than a dozen Students to get
' any but a deformed view of the figure.' On the last
Study made in the School's old Home,— a back view
of a Figure with a cross, (from Michael Angelo's
Judgement), — to be seen in 1850, among the others
at Christie's, might be read his inscription of the
period, — Vale Domum ! During the last month at
Somerset House, Constable being Visitor, Etty made
him a present of a Study, of course a glorious bit of

60 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1837.
flesh. ' You might eat it/ averred Constable, smacking
his lips : — a cannibal-like encomium.
During the Spring of this year, the era of his'
venerated Academy's flitting to its 'new and splen-1
'did' home, Etty was on the Council, more than
ordinarily occupied by the Academy's business, — its>
necessary ' new arrangements/ as well as with his own'
-engrossing large picture. 'After the studies of the
•' day at home, and thence till eight at the Academy,'*
lie has 'to buckle to business (one or two nights a
' week), an hour or two more / making it often near
twelve ere he reaches ' home to tea.' — ' But when we
' get the gallant ship under way, it will be a stately
' one / and, he trusts, ' have a good effect in giving
' an impetus to the Arts of the country.'
Other consolations are not wanting. ' In Memory's .
'Dreams/ — he writes, (Feb. 19th), to York, — 'I yet
'revisit the Mount: see Father's old Mill; walk up
'to the brow of the hill, down the pathway by the!
'Bealby's; see the sun set behind Acomb spire, stop' ' '
' and listen to the silence, till the evening star
' glimmers and sparkles in the blue profound. Then,* '*
' I saunter back as far as your hospitable hearth, see
' the clean maiden bring in the bright brazen urn,
' the fire fair blazing. The cups which cheer, ' &c,
' wait on each : John sitting by, and Master " Minus "
' on his mistress's lap ; Cicely at her loom, at a work.
' of bright design, in colour glowing, or at her piano,
' playing some fairy music ; cockatoo anxious to gain
' a look, or notice, or bit conciliatory. Now stir the
' fire, John, and cast a cheerful blaze on all this
* pleasing scene, — drawn warm from Nature.' * *

JET. 50.] a triumph: 'the SIRENS." 61
His Pictures duly finished, hung, and varnished,
the 'new arrangements' of his Academy in its 'classic'
domicile complete, Etty reports progress to the same
friends : on the day, (May 1st), when ' Chimney-
' sweeps and Artists, both knights of the brush, hold
'their festival/ the first exhibiting 'colours and
' dances/ the second colours alone. He tells them of
the battle he has been holding 'with the two giants,
< Difficulty and Time ;' a battle, over now, and won ;
how severe the struggle had been to bring to a success
ful issue a Picture like the Sirens, ' 14 ft. 6 in. by
'about 10 ft. high/ 'containing twenty figures;'
over and above the Samson and Dalilah, with its nine
figures ; both begun and finished since the autumn,
'from the bare canvas.'
He is ' decreed not only a Victory but a triumph V
And all his pictures ' are starred with admirers.' — ' I
' should like you to see them. The New Gallery
' opened at twelve to-day, to the public. Before two,
' 600 Catalogues were sold. I was there. The people
' poured in hke a torrent. The day was fine ; and
' the Exhibition looked glorious. * * On Friday,
' at one, came the King, in full state, with a long
'cortege; martial music playing, the Colours pre-
' sented, the Guards under arms all along this
' Temple of the Arts.' — ' The President and Council
' attended him through the rooms ; where he spent
' about two hours, ,On returning, the King showed
' himself at the Portico, which is elevated. Crowds
' cheered him heartily. The music again struck up.
' The old King bowed, took off bis hat, descended to
'his carriage, and departed, amidst the huzzas of

62 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1837,
' thousands. The effect was fine, was electric :' the
Spectacle, of a kind to strike the impressionable
Academician. At this first Exhibition in Trafalgar- Square, the
Sirens, — the Dalilah, — Adam and Eve at their-
Orisons; — Mars, Venus, and Cupid, in all made a
nobler figure than any appearance of Etty's, since that
of the first Judith. Four such pictures were enough,
one might have fancied, to have silenced any cry of
his having ' gone back.' But the Picture-gazing world'
found nothing out of the way in the display, nothing
more than could be paralleled by any popular favourite.
It needs the lapse of a few years or generations for
that same circle to discover the relation a really
gifted man's works bear to those of the men of
Talent, who please and astonish at first sight.
Detraction even was not idle as to the Sirens. The
' repulsiveness ' of some subordinate details, —
' The human bones that whiten all the ground,' —
was much insisted on by a certain class of Cri:
tics : whose hearsay dogmas centre in the shallop
Eighteenth-century notion of Art as of ' an After-
' dinner amusement.' ' Glowing in colour, wonderful
' in execution, but conceived in the worst possible
' taste/ protests one judge, (the Spectator) . 'A disgust-
' ing subject/ shrieks another.—' Who would like to
' have the representation of a charnel-house in his
' apartments ? ' If the sole aim of a picture be to please,
and prove eligible for a lady's drawing-room, these
too suggestive dead men's bones toere, indeed, decidedly
objectionable :— not wholly so, perhaps, if a work of

MT. 50.] FRIGID ENCOURAGEMENT. 63
Art may casually take higher ground than that of
' an innocent luxury/ or of adorning rich men's
chambers. Even the partial nudities of the Picture, — those
grand kneeling Sirens with outstretched arms, —
¦outraged the veneer modesty of many. ' Fast ' young
men, pointing to a bare-bosomed Siren, would ex
claim, ' How disgusting ! ' Ladies prepared to be
conventionally shocked, could scarcely be persuaded
to turn their heads in the direction of the Picture.
' If they had understood the moral,' remarked the
Painter, 'they would have felt differently:' — 'The
' Wages of Sin is Death.' A clerical friend thought
the text might advantageously have been inscribed
under the Picture : so as to arrest attention to its
real aim, and secure a fair hearing.
The Sirens and the Dalilah returned to the
Painter's Studio unsold. Mars, Venus, Cupid, and
the Adam and Eve, had been painted and paid for in
the previous year. Thus far, therefore, a season of
high achievement was not an encouraging one:
contrary to a recent year, (1835), in which no less
than eight Pictures, mostly of medium pretension
•and size, had all found immediate purchasers.
During the summer months, he engaged in a series
¦of smaller works, graceful in character, and of a
more remunerative cast: Miss Lewis in the Cha
racter of a Flower Girl ;— Sleeping Nymph ;— &c.
Pieces of 'effect' in Form or Colour, pamted con
amore; he threw into them as much of his Art
as into subjects of more ambitious claim. For he

64 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1837.
never manufactured ; was in his slightest perform.
ance, so far as it went, the conscientious and impas
sioned Artist.
The death of Constable was followed by the move-
ment to purchase his Cornfield for the National Gak-
lery. A movement, which Etty, one of the compa;
ratively few who then appreciated Constable's Art,
joined at an early stage : thinking too, it might ' give
' our Rulers a hint ; that if they really wish to patronise
' and foster Fine Art, they must not forget, entirely,,
' the flowers that spring up on our own earth.'
The annual ride on the roof of a York Coach;
whereof the narrative still continues a staple in
Etty's Letters, is this year related withal most graphic
effect. —
' The night/ — writing August 27th, (from the
Mount, to his Niece) , — ' waned rather faster than I had
' anticipated. The Morning Star appeared ;' and 'the
' beautiful Dawn. Gold and amber, scattered in the
' path of the Sun, heralded his approach. And, as
'we entered Stamford, he gilt gratuitously with
' splendid or-molu the Spires and Towers of the
'Ancient Churches, — very fine' ones. — To dark
ness and cold, ensued 'warmth and sunshine*/ and
to ' breakfast at Grantham/ pleasant hours. — ' The
' fields were ripe with harvest. There, stood the rich
' and golden sheaves of corn, ready for carting. The
' pigeons basked on the barn-tops in the sunshine, or
' flew about the farm-yards. The ruddy apples hung
' in clusters on the trees.' And so, ' through scenes
' of peace and fertility that might well gladden the
' heart/ he passed : ' by smiling cottages and farms;'

JET. 50.] SIMPLE PLEASURES. 65
bowling pleasantly along ' in dreaming, imaginative
mood.' His York home was again a new one, in a quiet
court leading out of Blake Street : the house in
Marygate of the previous year having been given up.
This Blake Street residence proved much to his
mind; possessing a good painting-room, from the
bow-window of which he looked out on a tranquil
court-yard, ivy-covered gables, and ' a noble portion
* of the Minster :' — could even catch the swelling
tones of the Organ. Simple pleasures, simple inci
dents sufficed for Etty. — 'I caught a pretty little
'robin/ — he thinks it enough to relate, — 'and after
'holding him gently in my hand a minute, he flew
'joyful and chirping away.' Familiar objects, familiar
impressions awakened in his mind ever fresh delight.
He is content, each year, to note ' how clear the sky
' and glowing sunset from the walls;' how 'beautiful,
' as we were passing the ferry, to look up the River
' reflecting the sunny tints in its waves.' A country-
walk will fill his heart: 'to be alone with Nature,
'and listen to the voice that whispers through the
'trees, and. speaks unutterable things.' — He looks in
' at half-price at the Old York Theatre :' where he
' saw as a child Jane Shore and the Flitch of Bacon.'
Or, he hears 'the Band play in the Museum Gardens
' several beautiful airs :' ' the weather lovely/ — ' the
'brilliant company, the surrounding noble objects, —
'Minster, Abbey, Multangular Tower, and land-
' scape, — in harmony with the music ; and the music
' with them.'
October sees him in Manchester, for a day or two,
VOL. II. F

66 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1837,
hoping to sell a picture. To its Exhibition, he had
sent the Delilah ; for which, one offer of a hundred
pounds had been refused, to his present remorse!
Fated this year, to ill success, he finds it still unsold;
begins to fear it will ' stick by him.' A call was
made and an evening spent with Daniel Grant, 'one
' of the most benevolent men in Manchester/ the
possessor of Venus and her Doves commissioned on
the Painter's first visit. But 'Trade is bad' this
year, the Firm a loser by an odd '£100,000' or so;
and Manufacturers ' afraid of Pictures.' The follow
ing day, after attending some neighbouring races,
Etty dined with Mr. Grant. Over their wine, the
Pictures being mentioned, his wealthy host takes it
into his head to bid for them : asks ' what he will
'take' for the Delilah and the Sirens 'in the lump;'
not having seen the latter. On his side, the Painter
was alarmed for the sale of his pictures, and would
fain ' turn them into cash.' 'Thinking/ he tells his.
Brother, 'by going to the lowest sum, I might tempt
' him, I said £300 for the two/ the original price—
and that a nominal one, — of the Sirens alone. — £300, >
the Manufacturer had that morning put in his pocket
to risk in the betting-ring, and had lost only £25 of
it. Willing to save the remainder and lay it up in a
more tangible luxury, he threw down £200, 'in notes/
before the nervous Painter : to whom money in hand
was always a temptation. But £200 for two such
works, the product of the best hours of one year in
the maturity of the Painter's life, in the maturity of
his skill and fame, was no irresistible bait even to so

JET. 50.] A HARD BARGAIN. 67*
bad a man of business as Etty. ' Another £50 ' fail
ing to seduce him, the tempter pocketed his inef
fectual notes : and the Artist already regrets his own
obduracy; — 'May not have such another offer.' He
remorsefully calls to mind his Uncle's aphorism, —
'Never refuse money, Wilham!' — counsel, which
he had, hitherto, scrupulously borne in mind : — and
continued to do so, during years when it was hardly
so appropriate. ' A lost occasion gone for ever by/
he fears, this opportunity of securing £250 will
prove. On parting from his host late at night, to
the latter's abrupt query, ' Will you take the money ?'
Etty, prepared for an unconditional surrender by
previous chagrin, responded with a ready affirmative.
The bargain was struck. The Painter retired to his
Inn with the £250; and the Manufacturer to his
bed, owner, at that easy rate, of Pictures whose intrin
sic claim he was little qualified to apprehend; and
of which the mere money value, in 1854, considerably
exceeds £2,000. The Sirens itself is valued at that
sum. i The ' colossal ' Picture, however, had not been
painted for money. While devoting his best energies
to the task, Etty consciously made the world a free
gift of his extra labour; — was well aware that its size
and aim would lessen, not enhance, the price and
marketableness. The sum now accepted he knew to
be far less than the lowest he ought, even then, to
have received. Still, it was the most he had been
offered.—' Better that, than the large Picture rolled up
' and perhaps spoiling on my hands.' A judgement,
v2

68 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1837.
which even waking thoughts confirmed; despite a
lurking misgiving ; and to which he for a time con
tinued steadfast, or tried to do so.
When the great Historic work, purchased before
seen, reached its new possessor, its colossal nude
Figures, and other peculiarities, proved no desiderata
for a Manchester drawing-room. To the Manchester'
Institution, the picture was, in the first instance, lent:
— there exhibited in 1838. But in 1839, the Council
of that Institution have cause to 'congratulate the
' Governors on the Munificent Donation/ and to
celebrate the ' characteristic liberality,' of ' William
' Grant, Esq., of Springside :' to whom, I suppose,
the picture had passed from his brother. And thus,
a Lancashire Institution found itself the fortunate
possessor, — next most so to Edinburgh itself, — of a
Picture, one of the noblest, for grandeur of sentimeiijfc
and glory of execution, Lancashire or England can
show, from a modern, — or any other hand. In the
.Storm, it may boast another of Etty's most poetic and
earnest works, — of its size and character : — to leavena
somewhat miscellaneous collection of 'Old Masters/
or reputed ' Old Masters/— public-spirited donation^
mostly. I have been informed that a few friends in York,
desirous of purchasing the Sirens, but imagining the
price of so large a picture beyond their pocket, and
fearing to offer too little, missed their opportunity;
though prepared to go as far as £500. In after years,
, the blunder which had sentenced one of his Chef-
d'wuvres to smoky Manchester, instead of urbane and
beloved York, came to be a standing topic of regret

MT. 50.] HOPES OF A COMMISSION. 69
with the Painter: in 1849, a difficulty occurring,
much to aggravate that regret. Let us hope Man
chester will prove the worthier Custodian, as it is
certainly, the wider ' sphere of influence.'
At York, while casting a wistful glance towards
London and Academy, Etty prolonged his stay far
into November ; ' in hopes of a job :' — an Altar-piece
for a Roman Catholic Chapel in the neighbourhood,
for which his friend John Harper, the Architect
employed, had hoped to secure him a commission.
His predilection for the Catholics,— to which, add his
anxiety to secure a sufficiency 'of the needful/
flowing in so reluctantly, this year, — made him un
usually solicitous for the commission. Laying himself
out to obtain it, — a step he had seldom or never before
taken, he prepared Sketches and otherwise bestirred
himself. Such was his ' veneration/ he replied, to a formal
question from his friend as to price, ' for that ancient
'and truly poetic religion/ — the Roman Catholic,
that were he ' a man of fortune, or of competence
' even, he should esteem the Honour sufficient re
ward.' As matters stand, he would 'paint the Picture
'for the lowest sum' 'justice to himself and others
' would warrant :' about £300, if the subject chosen
required more than two or three figures; £250, if
not requiring more. The Picture would probably
occupy the best hours of an ' entire year.' — It would
be to him, ' an opportunity long coveted, of doing
' something for that Faith which has been tiie means
'of restoring the 'Arts so dear to my soul; without
'which I should hardly think life worth living.

70 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1837.
'Architecture, Painting, Music, Sculpture, all owe
''their second existence to the Catholic Faith.' An
opportunity also it promised, of practising in accord
ance with a favourite theory, — a reasonable enough
one, justified by the practice of every epoch of true
Art, — respecting the importance of his Art as an
auxiliary to Religion and to Architecture.
Disappointment was the sequel to much suspense
and baseless hope. The Patron of the Church in
question ultimately did not give the Commission.
The above extract may be accepted, as far as it
goes, as a confession of faith on Etty's part, — an
Artist's faith. In his letters from abroad of 1816j
we heard him talk in orthodox Protestant accents
of the 'effigies of Popery' he came across in the
Churches; of ' some Popish ceremonies going on:' —
&c. Twenty years later, his feelings towards the
religion of our forefathers had undergone a change.
Growing love for the 'Monuments of Art and of
' piety ' they had left behind, exerted the influence it
has had on so many in our time. And in 1836, he
declares himself, to a lady who had taken him to task
for his heterodox leanings, ' in his heart's core deeply
' and sincerely of the Ancient Faith, — Catholic : — not
'of the Daniel O'Connell school, but that of Alfred,
' St. Augustine, St. Bernard, St. Bruno, and Fenelon;
' — not forgetting Raphael, Michael Angelo, and a host
' of other great and good men.' ' Rubens a Cathohc,
' too/ he adds. — ' Though in some respects of opposite
' faith/ — his correspondent being a rigid Protestant, —
'we agree/ thinks he, in the 'vital and essential
'points of Christianity.' He 'endeavours to be a

JET. 50.] REVERENCE FOR THE MOTHER-FAITH. 71
'Christian/ and, never obtruding his belief on others
' conceiving they have a right to think for themselves/
(not precisely, a Romanist sentiment), asks 'the same
'charitable thinking' for himself.
To his Brother, he explains, at a later date : — 'I am
4 not a' (Roman) 'Catholic, nor probably ever shall be;
'unless they get their own Cathedrals back again.
' Nor have I any wish to convert you to that Faith.
'But I am, and trust ever shall be, an advocate for
'truth and justice, in opposition to cant and charla-
' tanry. As such,' he challenges ' denial of the facts : —
'That we are indebted to the' (Roman) 'Catholics for
' most that is great or good, our ancestors have handed
',down to us. * * For the introduction of Chris-
'tianity into Britain. * * For our laws. * *
'For all that is great in Ancient Architecture,
' Painting, Music, in Christian Europe.' —
'That they were, in this country, vilified, robbed
' of their possessions, and just rights as Englishmen ;
'in many cases murdered, expatriated, turned out
' of their holy places : '— &c. &c. ' Protestant justice
' must now add insult, falsehood, abuse, calumny.' —
Etc. As late as 1847, I find him applying to a learned
brother Artist, putting the query, 'whether, in his
' opinion, the Roman Catholic, or Protestant Faith,
' is better adapted for promoting the happiness and
¦' best interests of the human race ? ' His friend re
plies orthodoxly, in favour of the latter : admitting,
however, that 'the Arts' have,— in Past, not present
time, — most flourished under the inspiration and ' dig-
"'nified encouragement' ofthe former.

72 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1837-
An anecdote, with which Mr. Maclise has furnished
me, illustrates the respect Etty cherished for the elder'
Church. — 'I know not/ writes the latter, 'if it be
' worth while to tell, as exemplar ofthe religious feel-
' ing of Etty, that he drew me aside to remonstrate
' agamst my having introduced a group of Monks,
' engaged in rather a convivial manner at the boards
' in an early picture of mine, called The Bow of the
' Peacock. He was both serious and severe with me
'for this.'
His sympathies were all with the religion of the
Old Times, with the builders of York and Westmin
ster, the Painters of the Vatican, of the Sistinej
and of the Palaces of Venice. — 'Oh, that I could
' have seen my Country/ he will exclaim, in his letters
to his Niece, 'when her brows were crowned with
'gems, like what our Abbeys, our Cathedrals, and
' Churches once were ! When schism had riot spht
' the Christian world into fighting and disputing
' fanatics ; when the dignity of Christ's holy temple
' and of his worship were thought improved hy
' making the Fine Arts handmaids thereto ; and the
' finest efforts of the soul of man were made subi-
' servient to His glory.'
Small was the love Etty bore towards such, as for
a Church ' build up a Box of Brick, make a hole to
' get in, and two or three others to let in the light/
' No ! The men who could raise structures like York
'Minster/ declares the Pamter to a friend; 'who
' could apply the best, the most glorious of Arts to
'the service, honour, and glory of Him who made
' and sustains us, and, — by thus applying them, and

*ET. 50.] HETERODOX SENTIMENTS. 73-
4 drawing nearer to Him in prayer and praise, — soften,
'sweeten, ameliorate the ruggedness, selfishness, and
'barbarity of our nature:' — 'the men who could
' do this, could do what the Roman Catholics have
' done, come nearest to my feelings of what a Chris-
' tian should be.' And this, ' whatever corruptions
' might have crept into their worship. For into what
'human Institutions will not error creep !'
The tendency was, with Etty, one of sentiment.
An amateur Romanist, like many of his tempera
ment, he now and then attended Mass for the
Music's sake. He read with much gusto in the
' Ages of Faith : ' — mourned over our ruined Ab
beys, for the Architecture's sake, and the peaceful
seclusion of those ' vanished asylums of piety.' He
dehghted to anathematize 'the Spoilers of God's
'Holy Temple/ and to execrate the memory of
Henry VIII. : — in his Almanac appending, as occasion
offers, disparaging epithets over agamst the else
where honoured names of Luther, Calvin, Elizabeth,
William IIL, and the like ' ultra Protestants ; '
excited again, by that unpardonable destruction of
the beautiful Monasteries, and primed with the
new versions of History current among certain
cliques. In his bed-room, he set up a very pretty
dilettante Altar, as described in a letter already
quoted. He loved, in fact, to indulge in a little
innocent make-believe; to fancy himself a 'good
'Catholic' in the past, if not in the present. The
Taste went no further. To clerical and other es
teemed friends, when, in later years, rating him for-
his Romanist tendencies, and prophesying he would

74 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1837.
turn Papist: 'Never, never!' he would cry, —
' as long as you possess York Minster or West-
* minster Abbey.' — ' I shall live and die a Protestant.
4 1 love my native Church, — the Church of my Bap-
' tism : ' — Etc. Though his enthusiasm was kindled
for the Ancient Church as the Patron of Art, —
in Mediaeval times, all classes were 'Patrons of
'Art/ — he was not, he confided to a Protestant
friend, taking notice of his crucifixes, &c, to 'be
'led away by its tom-fooleries.' With Pugin, Her
bert, and others of the same way of thinking, dining
at his table, he would join in their scarcely am
biguous toast of ' the Church ! ' But despite his
close intimacy with such fervent converts to Me
diaeval creeds as well as Mediaeval Art, he to the
last, continued a (more or less) dutiful member of
the Church ' as by Law Established.'
To the disappointment last mentioned, in the
matter of the Altar-piece, succeeded, while Etty was
still in York, a week of ' suspense and alarm, sleep-
' less nights, and agitated days;' caused by a threat
ened settlement in life of his Niece and now indis
pensable companion. The Painter's abrupt return
to Town, in a state of great excitement, alone put
a period to his uncertainties. Soon succeeding in
persuading her still to rely on his arm for support
and protection, he became as much agitated the other
way, — as vehement in delight as before with appre
hension. It was ' as if a weight of a thousand tons
'had been taken off his mind.' Existence 'began
'to feel like a delicious dream/ contrasted with
' previous wretchedness.'

JET. 50.] INCONTINENT COUNSEL. 75
After the trying tasks, and unremunerative, of the
past season, a succession of minor works continued
to hold possession of Etty's Studio, — minor in size,
at least, and in subject miscellaneous : the Good
Samaritan; — Study of A Black-haired Girl with
Poppies; &c.
That Etty was not always painting grand Historic
Pictures, was very much his own fault, to judge from
the letters of one admirer. Had his head been
empty of such subjects, he had a zealous friend ever
ready to supply the want : a correspondent, anony
mous in the first instance, and self-introduced, who,
for some ten years, was incessantly urging his own
conceptions on Etty, and the right way of treating
them ; regardless of the fact that Etty was, and he was
not a Painter, and that these obliging proffers were
never adopted. Europas, Ledas, Allegories, Births
of Venus, Births of Jupiter ; Edwin's Interview with
the Hermit, from Mason; Venus and the Graces,
from Canning; Savage's Morning ; Prior's Bamilies,
(or " Triumph of the British Arms") ; are a few
samples from this gentleman's lavish supply of,
'pleasing and appropriate' subjects: communicated
in batches of six or eight at a time, with accom
panying quotations transcribed. Themes these, he
never wearies of reiterating in Etty's ear, or of hoping
'to see in the next Exhibition:' themes which are
to bring the Painter incalculable ' increase of fame '
and of Patrons. One of this voluntary counsellor's
ruling ideas was, that it would vastly advantage
Etty's Pictures were he to select ladies of quality
as his models : — for as much of their persons as they

76 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1836-37.
would consent to display. In default of the originals,
Etty might even, — believes his adviser, — profitably
resort to engraved portraits of such Court beauties.
In fact, the kind fellow was continually calling to
mind some engraving, picture, cast, quotation, book,
or female acquaintance, which or who will be ' of ser-
' vice ' to Etty, — not to say the making of him ; — or
some friend, with whose opinions on Art it is im
portant for the Painter to make himself acquainted.
He complains of our Artist's ' idleness ' in not paint
ing some dozen great Historic works in the year;
much objects to the 'subjectlessness' of his minor
works ; and takes great credit to himself for ' spur-
' ring ' him on to exertion.
Etty endured his gratuitous adviser with incredible
patience and good humour, unexampled in a man of
his standing: a good humour, which invited such
trespasses, in fact. He had even a kindness for his
talkative friend; and granted him many privileges.
To no other Painter of his power could similar things
have happened. In him, however, there was nothing
of the Noli me tangere. He was pleased with the
admiration, and stayed not to weigh it ; quietly let
the rest go by: taking particular care to follow none
but his own counsels.
Some of the unsolicited advice to which he was
in his time exposed, was of a less innocent character
An anonymous note, in the Summer of 1836, pur
porting to proceed from an mdividual who had 'in-
'herited' an Etty,— once even 'bought' an Etty,—
acquaints the Painter, this doubly privileged ' person
had intended purchasing another, from the Academy-

MT. 49-50.] ZEALOUS FRIENDS. 77
Exhibition of 1836. But those bearing the Aca
demician's name were all, (Family of the Forests,
— Psyche and Venus, — Venus and her Doves), too
' shght in subject and in execution/ to satisfy so ac
complished a critic. And he had been forced to invest
his money in more promising quarters. Which cata
strophe supplies an occasion for warning the offending
Painter, that, if continuing to produce works of that
calibre, he must ' rest satisfied with a lower class of
' Patrons, a smaller amount of price, and an inferior
' degree of reputation.'
In the succeeding year, (1837), another anonymous
Mentor favours Etty with his gratuitous dicta : which,
he hopes, will ' not ' be considered an intrusion. An
Amateur, a Collector, — also he takes care to inform
the Painter, a victim of ' hereditary and almost per-
' manent gout/- — he harangues the Painter in autho
ritative tone ; but qualifies his warnings : finds some
thing to approve, though much to condemn. Etty's
works, according to this oracle, are unequal, ' con
tradictory:' — not all, in fact, great guns. The Sirens,
the Samson, the Psyche, are ' Historical / — therefore,
worthy of his ' standing in the Academy.' But
' Doves and Venus ; — Man, Woman, and Child of the
' Woods, (a sort of Irish huddle) ; Mars and Venus,
' are platitudes.' Adam and Eve, the old gentleman
looked for, but ' could not find ; ' though ' some of
'his friends did.' He begs Etty to avoid 'plati-
' tudes.' Great Painters should paint great works.
What would Homer, Virgil, Milton, have been, but
for their subjects ? Etty should always be painting
great subjects, and always 'fascinating ones/ — the

78 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1837.
chief ' secret of selection.'—' Fascination has a most
'powerful effect on every one,— in particular, pur-
' chasers.' The ' Standard Authors of every country'"
are recommended to his attention; 'especially Ovid'
'in his Metamorphoses.' — Thus, the ponderous old.
gentleman, with singular modesty.
Anonymous friends seem in a conspiracy to set
the Painter right. At the close of this same year, a
' Patron of Art congratulates ' him on the sale of the
Sirens. ' A Patron of Art ' thinks ' the sale of so
'large a Picture a trophy in the annals of British.'
'Art;' at the same time, suggests his painting:
' gratifying subjects in easy attitudes : ' as the step
to place him ' at the head of the Painters of Great
'Britain.' Besides advisers, Etty had his train of Picture-
mendicants, and other strange applicants. One
slight Scottish acquamtance, and 'ardent admirer'
of Art, forwards unasked, a Picture neither he nor
Etty wants : in , exchange for which he prays the
Pamter to give him one of his own. The 'masterly
'sketch/ on wliich this admirer had set his heart,
turned out to be a copy of Reynolds's Dido : a great
favourite, as I have said, with Etty. Ultimately, the
Painter did execute a second copy to give his inde
fatigable correspondent : applying, even, for a sight
of the Original in the Royal Collection, that he
might make the Copy as good as his first.
One gentleman, introduced by a bona fide Patron,
is desirous of purchasing a Picture from Etty's hand, "
but, being a family man, would not think himself
'justified' in disbursing more than £25, (would keep-

JET. 50.] STRANGE APPLICATIONS. 79
the price a secret) ; nor, in exhibiting before his wife
and nine children, — including ' three grown-up
'daughters/ — such a Picture as Nymph and Faun
Dancing. ' An elegant female figure, with bare shoul-
'ders' only, ' and perhaps one side of her bosom bare/
— ' thence draped to the middle of the thigh :' that
would be a Picture a decorous Patriarch could sus
pend in his drawing-room, fearless of results.
An unknown applicant entreats him, through a
mutual acquaintance, to fill a favourite frame, 23 in.
by 15; and, — nothing being found to fit that, — des
patches a piece of Church Oak, '200 years old,'
whereon Etty is ' to place something of his hand and
' mind.' By dint of assiduous dunning,— for he would
not take an answer, — the modest applicant did, in the
end, conjure a Picture from the harassed Painter,
for dear Peace' sake.
On another occasion, he was advised to deal
similarly by an eulogistic Critic, — who talked of buy
ing, and might have talked still longer of paying : —
and to save himself harmless from his friend, by
giving him a Study outright. Nor was it an unusual
thing for some Student, otherwise unknown to him,
or — only, perhaps, as previously befriended, — whose
ambition it is to ' shine in his profession/ — and to pos
sess something of Etty's painting,— to besiege him
accordingly, with letters, begging the gift of a Study.
Sometimes again, an utter stranger will send,
('carriage paid'), a damaged Old Picture, of doubtful
authorship: for the Painter to 'repair/— and 'make
' his charge.'

80

CHAPTER XXI.
STILL MERIDIAN. 1838-39. (mt. 51-52.)
"Misappreciated — Familiar — Growing Productiveness — The Sirens
Again : Repairs — Portrait-Tasks — A York Worthy — A York
School of Art — Lecture in ils Behalf — Givendale — More
Innovation — ' Eleanor Scudamore ' — The Mope of Proserpine
— The Lady Mayoress— -Etty's Portraits — Study and Experi
ment — York- Walls : Breaches and Renewals — Joan of Arc first
Conceived — Cause for Rejoicing.
January, 1838, The Prodigal 'in the Depth of his
' Misery, — " I will arise and go to my Father," '—
small in size, but not, in significance, was commenced.
At the British Institution, The Good Samaritan
roused the same cry of ' unpleasing ' as the Sirens had
• done before. He remained still, comparatively unva-
ilued : at Fifty-one, and after having painted many of
the noblest works the English School can show. He
was even less appreciated, if anything, than he had
.been. We have seen the prices commanded by the
Master-pieces of the last year. At a Picture Auction
in 1838, an earlier chef-d'oeuvre, The Judgement of
Paris of 1826, which its possessors had so long been
unavailingly desirous to dispose of, proved still a drug
in the Market: selling at a discount instead of a .,,
premium,— as was soon to be the rule with his works, ff
It had, in fact, to be bought-in for £230,— less than
half price; while ten years later commanding £1,000.
It was the same picture all the time.

MT. 51.] FAMILIAR. 81
A letter to his friends the Bulmers, admits us to
the Painter's Studio, and his meditations during the
close of the busy season in 1838. — ,
' How often I think of the Mount,' he exclaims,
(March 25th), ' your quiet and peaceful enjoyment
' there.' * * ' Dear Old York would not be like
'herself without you:' — 'if knocking at the door
' that opened almost of itself to receive me, a vacant,
4 staring domestic should answer to my anxious
'inquiries, — "No such persons here, Sir!® — Yet
* so 'twill be, and with all of us. The sun will shine
" on still : our places filled by strangers, our names
' almost forgotten.' * * The ' bells wdl still ring
' on : those of Bishophill and the Minster too.
' Well ! never mind ! So long as we keep good
* accounts above ; leave a good odotu* behind us ; —
' and try to do some good in our generation. Then,
'shall we go where suns shine that shine not on
' sorrow, nor set in sadness ; where ' —
April 2nd. — ' My Gothic Clock is still ticking/ —
' a little Gothic Clock at my right hand.' But
' another week has glided into eternity since I wrote
' the preceding ; and I have not found time to finish.
' Seven children, alias Pictures, calling for attention
'have prevented me: small chddren, not Goliahs.
' But small chfldren make a great crying sometimes,
' as you know ; and must be attended to, to keep the
* peace and quietness ofthe house. So must mine.' * *
' I send in my labours on the 10th, Tuesday. And
' when my bairns are gone, I also shall be a gentle-
' man, not — a hangman this year : though not entirely
' out of the mess, being on the Council.
VOL. II. G

82 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1838.
' Now Flora's reign is beginning. Snowdrops and
'crocuses, and "primrose pale," "that take the
'winds of March with beauty," harbinger the more
' splendid works of Nature.' * * ' Covent Garden
' is becoming interesting : flowers of all kinds bloom-
' ing, and put up in paper posies to tempt the lover
' to spend half-a-crown or a shilling.'
Of this year's contributions to the Academy, the
Picture of most intrinsic importance, and which
attracted most attention, the Prodigal Son 'in the
' depth of his misery/ is also one of the most notice
able ever pamted by Etty, for the rare qualities of
sentiment and expression attained in it. It was
bought by Mr. Beckford, who so highly valued it,
it is said, he tied it up as an heirloom.
Very dissimdar in aim was the Bivouac . of Cupid
and his Company, one of those Pictures wherein the
success wont to attend his hand is of a kind pecuhar
to himself. The fabled Age of Gold he in these sum
mons back. In this ideal world of his, groups of
fair women, more or less indifferent to drapery, care
lessly repose with really enviable composure, under
the blue sky, on the green lawns, or in sylvan seclu
sion, beneath the high embowered roof of wide-
stretching oaks.
Three other minor works were the already men
tioned Miss Lewis as a Flower Girl; the 'Black-
haired Girl with Poppies ' of his Diary, transformed
into the Bacchante and Boy Dancing of the Aca
demy-Catalogue ; and Somnolency, — a sleeping female
figure, very remarkable as a study of light and shade-
Equally heterodox, in the sense of having appended

MT.51."] SPRING PICTURES; SUMMER RAMBLES. 83
to it no poetic or 'historic' label, was II Duetto, the
bright Group in gay Venetian costume now in the
Vernon Gallery : a Picture in progress as far back
as 1834. The large number of seven was completed
by the Converted Jew, — as a study of a Model's head
was less sensibly named : — called out of its name, that
is, in obedience to the absurd necessity entaded by
the Catalogue-system, of christening the intrinsi
cally nameless, works — justly forming a numerous
class with the Painter, as in another way with the
Poet, — incapable of any truthful title beyond the
vague and wearisome one, ' Study.' Such Studies of
Nature convey their own meaning, — one falsified by
the attempt to make it more definite, to translate it
verbally. Of the seven Pictures, three returned from the
Academy unsold, destined to long wanderings up and
down the Provincial Exhibitions.
The Summer's labours were varied by a visit to
Birmingham, paid from a characteristic motive: to
witness the ceremonial opening of the Roman Ca
tholic Church of St. Mary Oscott, in which his Ro
manist friends were personaUy interested; Etty being
entertained under the roof of the 'Venerable the
'Master' ofthe CoUege.
September's outside ride to York produces the
customary history of it: (to Mr.. Bodley). He tells
how, starting as usual at evenmg, ' Nature graduaUy
' drew her gauze ved over the pleasant fields, hiUs;
'trees, and smiling cottages; till twflight succeeded
' sunshine, and darkness followed that. Then shone
'the fires and light in the labourer's cottage, and
g 2

84 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1838.
'illumined the glad, interior ;— glimmered in the
'little upper casement -.—and then, aU was quiet.
' Clouds veded the moon and stars. And a gentle'
' sprinkling of rain freshened the fields.'
The delights of the country stir the released Lon-'
doner's enthusiasm. 'Beautiful/ he finds 'the ver-
' dant face of Nature ; fresh the breeze ; tranquil the
' river ; gay with flowers ! What sweet sensations
' are inspired/ &c. — ' " He is still/' you wdl say, dear
'Thomas, "the fond enthusiastic Pamter." So I
' am: — and so must ever be. When I lose my aobnira-
* tion of what is grand or beautiful, in Nature and
'her Great Creator, let me die the death.'
On visiting Manchester and Liverpool, to look
after his Pictures in the Exhibitions, his pains were
rewarded by no commissions, no announcement of
sales. On the other hand, considerable labour and
anxiety were incurred, in repairing and retouching
the Sirens; which had fared ill in removals by in
competent hands. For the 'ground' of Etty's Pic
tures was always ' somewhat different in texture to
'the usual :' requiring, in the case of his larger can
vases, special care,— and famiharity with his works —
in those handling them. Parts of this particular
Picture accidentally possessed further pecuharities,
stdl less favourable. — 'At a certain period of its
''painting/ Etty subsequently relates, 'when I was
* laying in the Chiaroscuro, or light and shadow, I
' had unluckily used in some of the dark parts, a too
* strong gluten or size with the colour, in tempera.
-'This, when the Picture was removed, caused por-
* tions of it to drop and peel off: but only partially,

JET. 51.] VACATION TASKS. 85
' under the Picture, and not in the most important
'features of it.' Peculiarities, of which we shall hear
again, as a source of difficulty and vexation to the
Painter. It was not tdl the close of the year, that more
Pictures were settled in life : Somnolency at Liverpool,
seUing for £45 ; The Converted Jew at Birmingham,
for £60, — through the help of a lottery, a second one.
At the first, other Pictures had been preferred.
At York, the lodgings of the previous year in
' Strickland's-Court ' were made still more acceptable
to Etty by the companionship of his Niece. Thence,
(October 26$), he reports to his Brother Walter, a
climax 'of business and bustle, balls, and beUes,
'and beaux; soldiers; supper in the Old Gothic
' Gudd Hall.' The latter, ' a really unique spectacle :
' supper for four hundred and fifty, in a HaU like a
' Feudal Chieftain's : with the light shining on the
' rafters, . and grotesque grinning heads putting out
' their tongues at the fine ladies below.' — ' Gay and
' gallant sights ' abound. * * ' Lord de Grey's Troop
'leaves to-morrow/ and ' York will have time to sub-
' side into sobriety. — We went at half price on Wed-
' nesday, to the old Theatre, the cradle of so many emi-
' nent in the histrionic art. A good house, patronised
'by the Lord and Lady Mayoress/ (Hudson).
'Over head and ears in business/ he paints John
' Brook and said ' Lady Mayoress ; ' paints Walmgate
Bar, — two Pictures, from within the Walls and with
out. And he studies from ' cream-coloured horses,
' with reference to a future effort :' — Tlie Pluto and
Proserpine.

86 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1838-
. The portrait of his old friend, John Brook — a York
worthy, — was executed for a Musical Club whereof
the Lawyer was senior Member. Undertaken after
years of intimacy with his 'subject/ it was painted
with the same painstaking and study, as if his sitter
had been a stranger : attested by such entries in his
Diary as, (October 9th), 'Went to John Brook, and
• studied his character.' Simdar precautions are not
always esteemed necessary by portrait -painters. The
result was a masculine piece of pamting, a bold and
characteristic record of a quaint and strongly marked
face ; to which the genuine and admirable character
of the man lends interest of another kind. A copy
of it, assisted by additional sittings, was made by
Etty this same autumn, for Mr. Brook's family.
From one of these, subsequently appeared an en
graving (by Wass), — much to the delight of the
upright Lawyer : — an engraving bought by half York,
where, and within even a wider circle, he was greatly
honoured. He had won respect from Judge, Counsel,
CUent : — from the young men educated in his office,
feelings of enthusiastic devotion. ' Honest John
Brook,' — the enviable title of honour, universally
accorded, was worthy of all the pains the Painter
could bestow : a man famed for indifference to
money, for pubhc spirit, and private generosity, — for
readiness to assist, with counsel and with money ; an
Attorney, who, made up as many differences as he
brought into Court, — gave more advice, and managed
more business without charge, than with. Valued
for the soundness of his judgment no less than for
his probity, he was wont to be caUed in as friend

JET. 51.] LECTURE ON THE ARTS. 87
^nd arbiter in numberless famdy matters; — at last,
was overwhelmed with executorships, and business
not his own. After enjoying a large practice, which
had been larger had he not been fastidious to pick
and choose, and which was ultimately injured by
habits of procrastination, he died poor : leaving be
hind him, the few thousands wherewith he began
life, instead of the hundred thousand, people fancied
he might have accumulated, had he been less honest,
or less generous. Between the Painter and the Law
yer a friendship had long existed, cemented by a
common love for 'the Olden Time/ among other
similarities of feeUng.
Beside Portrait-painting and Sketching, Etty found
an employment not so strictly professional to engross
his time during the Autumn vacation of 1838. This
was the preparation of a Paper on the ' Importance
' of the Arts of Design/ he had promised to read at
the ' Philosophical Society :' in support of a scheme
then afloat, for 'establishing a School of Drawing,
'and Exhibition Room, on Manor Shore.' To a
'number of young men connected with Masonry,
'the Minster, and Manufactures/ such a School
'would be a real benefit.' And, thinks Etty, 'the
* place which produced Flaxman, and Stothard, (who
' was of Yorkshire breed), two of the first Designers
' of our Country,' ought to have such a School.
The Lecture on the Arts was read, — by 'our
'talented fellow-citizen/ as the local News-writers
delight to call the great Painter. The proposal it was
intended to forward, feU to the ground : — in its ori
ginal form, that is. No School of Art was set on

"88 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1838v
foot, tiU the establishment, through Etty's means, of
the Government School of Design, three years later.
No York Exhibition was ever estabUshed on a regular
footing ; nor GaUery of pictures attempted.
The ancient and well-preserved Hospitium, — or
Refectory for poor Pilgrims, — a separate out-budding
of St. Mary's Abbey, is an architectural example
from the Fourteenth Century, in a rare and interest
ing class; another occurring at Kendworth: a ground-
story of stone, supporting a superstruction of timber.
Together with the ruinous remnants of the Con
ventual Church itself, it is now comprised within
the pleasure-grounds of the Yorkshire Phdosophical
Society. Some of the Members of the Society, —
among whom Professor PhiUips, the accomplished.
and genial Geologist, was an influential agitator in
the good cause, — hoped, by discovering a use for the
Hospitium, to preserve it. A use, — and a stdl more
appropriate one, — was afterwards found, as a Museum
of Antiquities : one including many precious waifs
from the neighbouring ruins of St. Mary. To which
end, it was restored, — and, (I beUeve), conscien
tiously. Thanks to the enlightened leaders of the
Yorkshire Institution, who have made a consistent
stand against the destructive propensities of the York
citizens, these 'Museum Gardens' by the river
Ouse, with tlieir various, and scrupulously preserved
Antiquities, form one of the most agreeable scenes
of the kind in England, and one of the most satis
factory : if we can be brought to forgive the discord
created by the interpolation of a would-be Doric
Temple, — the ' purely classic ' Institution itself; also,

JET. 51.] VIVID STYLE OF WRITING. 89"
a httle chdd's play m scattering Gothic mouldings,
&c, from St. Mary's, about the garden-walks, in the
style of a Cockney tea-garden,— exposed to the weather
and the capricious clemency of visitors and chddren.
To the delivery of Etty's Lecture before the
Council of the Society, ensued, ' by request/ its re
petition early in November, before the wider pubUc
of Members and others. In spite of a bad delivery,
— for the Painter read, and with hesitation, too low
also, as do most novices in the lecturing art, for more
than a fraction of his audience to catch his words, —
the Paper made a good impression; and a better
when it came to be printed. Like the fragment of
Autobiography, — ten years later in date, — it was
written freely ; being the embodiment of knowledge
and opinions which had floated in his mind for years.
Like the Autobiography, too, it is imbued by power <
and graphic spirit, such as his private Letters would
not always lead one to anticipate : a consequence,
doubtless, of its being the expression of matter
matured by time. Picturesque in style, the Lecture
abounds with vivid, felicitous reminiscences of what
he had seen in Italy and elsewhere : of some
whereof we have variations in the Autobiography.
The writing of a man of original character, who,
after attaining success in his own walk, experiments
in words as an exceptional mode of conveying his
thought or knowledge, has often this enviable fresh
ness and picturesqueness. The unconventional
spirit, even whde, — as in Etty's case, — he relies with
emphasis on hackneyed phrase and overworn quota
tion, more than atones for slightly Ulogical or even

.90 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1838,
ungrammatical wording. In such writing, sincere,
characteristic, transparent, — not wholly vague and
unmeaning, — impressions from things are conveyed :
.so rare a phenomenon, amid the exemplary common
place of ordinary men. In his Conversation and Cor
respondence, Etty seldom or never took the pains to
show himself out of dishabdle, — other than the merest
sloven, rather: though in the Letters, occasionally,
random hints occur of the wish and power for
graphic suggestion of what fed under his eye. In
his printed brochures he tried to do better, and suc
ceeded. For neither good letter nor deed has yet
been achieved without endeavour.
Not a Uttle proud of his Uterary achievement, Etty
dispersed far and wide, among his friends, Copies of it,
.as reported at length in the York Newspapers.
A Letter to his brother Walter, (Nov. 15th), an
nounces, as sequel to the plea put in for York Anti
quities in his Lecture : that ' the Lord Mayor has
'pledged himself the Walls shaU be finished, the
' Barbican and Bar ' (Walmgate) ' preserved. I
'dine with him and a few friends to-morrow;' —
' dined path the new Sheriff yesterday, and, the day
'. after my Essay was read, with his Grace the Arch-
'bishop at Bishopthorpe.' The Painter and his com
panion 'are going to the Concert to-night.' Duty
and pleasure detain him in York till 'the fogs and
'frosts have set in — his bitter enemies;' entading as
usual, 'severe cold and teasing cough.' Despite
which, before Yorkshire was forsaken, a day's visit
was paid to Barmby Moor, to see a Clerical Nephew;

JET. 51.] GIVENDALE. 91
thence to Givendale : a spot afterwards to become so
much a favourite with Etty.
'To Givendale, Mr. Singleton's residence, on the
* brow of the Wolds, I was driven/ he relates, (Nov.
26th, to his Brother), on ' a day, fine, though frosty
* and cold : through Pocklington, at my request. The
'Beck, the School House, in which I first imbibed
' Master HaU's lessons, the Water MUI, and Tanyard
' opposite, are no longer to be seen : Uke old friends,
'swept from the face of the earth. The Church
' stands where it did. And some places are as they
' were. But poor John Calverley, the ingenious, plan-
'ning, and benevolent Uncle Calverley, is not there.
' We graduaUy rose in the world till we got upon the
' Wold. * * Mr. Singleton welcomed me. I had
'made my arrangements to go to HuU, and con-
' tented myself with taking dinner with him. * *
'When the cloth was removed, the decanters and
'glasses were doubled by the dark, weU- rubbed
'mahogany table : things I only see in Yorkshire; —
'old-fashioned habits of housewifery and industry,
'now fast exploding. I sat beside one of his
' daughters, a very pretty girl, with a beautiful ex
pression. Talking to her, I almost forgot my cold
'and cough. An old Church is embedded in the
' vaUey ; in which an ancient Saxon Arch pleads for
'its antiquity, and teUs of days that are gone. — A
'fine old Reynard had made a bad Saturday night's
'work of it, and was prevented enjoying this fine
' Sunday, by getting into a trap set for rabbits. This
' country you would Uke : wdd, hUly, and command-

92 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1838—39.
'ing a view of magnificent extent over the Vale of
'York;— the smoke of Pocklington rising around the
' old Tower of the Church in the Sunshine ; the far
' distant hiUs enclosing a circle of vision most exten-
' sive and grand.'
An 'iniquitous project for seUing the Strays of
' York/ — open pastures, the property of York City,—
excites him to attend a meeting in opposition, before
leaving York; and after his return to London, in
December draws him, nothing loth, into type. Fa
miliar from the days ' when, as a boy, I used to
' drive Father's cows there/ bound up with the asso
ciations of years, these ' Strays ' had, like aU other
long-accustomed things, won a place in his affections.
' Knavesmire, one of the great ornaments and attrac-
' tions of York/ — he expostulates from Buckingham
Street, — ' bounded on the South by its dark wood,
' spreading its noble expanse for mdes, unbroken by
'hedges, the eye steals over it with delight. * *
' To lose this, to make it a thing of shreds and
' patches, would, indeed, be an irreparable loss.'
It was Etty's lot through life to act the part of
a more or less ineffectual remonstrant against civic
innovation. The triumphant Letter in behalf of the
'Strays/ was foUowed by one bewailing the Raflway-
breach in York's ' sacred WaUs/ — so lately restored :
— an act for which the omnipotent Parliamentary
sanction had been obtained unknown to him. The
first intelligence of such destructive powers is gene
raUy conveyed by the destruction itself. The detour
made by the Railway to effect this dashing entrance
into the centre of York and back, has been since

MT. 51 — 52.] DEATH BUSY. 93
admitted to have been gratuitous : uncalled for by
the exigencies of the compact and quiet little City.
During the winter of 1838-9, illness and death
were unusually busy in the circle of Etty's friends.
The casual death even of a mere acquaintance always
made its impression on one so sensitive to outward
influences. ' My poor friend Cottingham/ he tells Mr. Bodley,
(Feb. 3rd, 1839), 'for whom I have a sincere
'regard, has been at death's door; and narrowly
'escaped being pulled in. He yet continues very
'weak, but I trust is recovering, though slowly.
'The veteran Sir WUliam Beechey died last week,
'at the advanced age of eighty-six. Lonsdale, the
' Artist, was also buried last week. He lived in the
' house of Opie, the house I went to with the letter
'of introduction you got me from Sharp. * *
'WiUiam Jay, poor feUow, went out to the Mau-
* ritius, took a bilious fever, and died ; leaving a wife
'and children. His father, Mr. Jay, of Bath, used
'to say, "What a dying world it is ! " * * 'You
' like my Sketches : I have sent you one in black
' and white.'
In this ' Sketch from Nature/ (a) la Mackenzie),
he, under the fictitious title of ' Eleanor Scudamore/
and with a few fictitious adjuncts, paints a real
scene, and embodies emotions excited by the sudden
death of a young girl known to him
'Eleanor Scudamore, (F — n)/ he describes as
' the only chdd of her widowed Mother ; ' dweUs on
•her 'amiable and affectionate disposition;' 'unaf-
'fected piety;' and on her last illness, 'brought on

94 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1839.
'mainly by unremitting attentions in the sick-room
' of her mother.' * *
'In figure graceful, incUning to the tad; she wore
'her hair, (profuse and beautiful), in ringlets faUing
' on her shoulders ; ' reminding 'you of some of the
' early portraits of Raphael when a youth : the same
' gentleness, and amenity of expression.' —
'She had made great proficiency in Music. It
' was melancholy to see the vacant instrument when
' she who had so often awakened its sweetness was
' asleep in death.' —
* * '"Would youLike to see her?" said her poor
'mother. The servant took a Ught, and led the way
'up a narrow staircase. Tread softly, thought I:
"tis the chamber of death. * * Serenely she
' seems to sleep. Sdent, solemn is this sight ! A
' sweet calm is shed over her youthful countenance :
' which says, in language not to be understood, — "I
« am at peace with myself, with the world I have left;
' with my Maker, and that which is to come." I
' thought of that expression of Shakespeare's,
' " The sleeping and the dead are but as Pictures.''
' As the Ught feU on her beautifuUy formed nose
' and pale, pale cheek, leaving her closed eyes in
' broad but deUcate shadow/ the face seemed ' carved
'in monumental marble. Her Ups, Uke a full-
' coloured but faded rose-leaf, were closed with a
'placid smUe. The hallelujahs I had heard that
' afternoon beautifuUy sung in Westminster Abbey*
' stUl vibrated on my ears. And I fancied I saw her
' enter her heavenly home. * *

.ET. 52.] RESTIVE ' SITTERS.' 95
' The morning of the day she was buried, the sun
' shone as gady as if it were a hoUday. And one, I
'have no doubt, it was to Eleanor.' — 'As I had
'felt an uncommon interest in this sad, event, and
' knew the hour of her funeral, I stole into a corner
' of the Church. It was near the close of day. The
' sun shed a parting, golden ray of glory. The hearse
' drove up. The coffin, plumes, and paU darkened the
' doorway : the venerable Ecclesiastic, as he preceded
' it, repeating that blessed promise of our Redeeemer/
— &c. 'The Service proceeded. AU know how affecting
'that Service is. * * The white and sdvered orna-
' ments' of the coffin 'guttered for the last time in
'the eye, as lowered into the dark arched door of
' the vault : and we saw it no more.' —
The October sketches at York of ' cream-coloured
' Horses/ were, — the Diary shows, — foUowed up^
(Jan. 1th, 1839), by the commencement, in charcoal
of the Rape of Proserpine. Further indefatigable
Study of Horses succeeded: — Sketching of Horse
Anatomy, journeys with palette and brush to the
Wharf of his City-friend,. Wood; often-repeated
' sittings or, rather, standings/ both there and at home,
on the part of two or three noble animals, pie-bald,
and coal black. The Diary records various vicissitudes
in this Study of Horses. One day, ' Horses disap-
' pointed me.' Another, ' Horses would not wait : ' — on
others, however, 'good sitting of Horses.' The
Picture engrossed most of his time and energies for
the ensuing three months. March 15th, we have the
reassuring entry in his Diary, — ' Got on altogether
'famously, for which I desire to be thankful to

96 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1839.
'Almighty God.' In April, purchases are made in
Covent Garden, of Flowers, Grass, Sedges, Moss.
And these final detaUs, together with sky and back
ground, are ' touched in.'
The subject had been selected deliberately, as usual
with Etty : his choice, the offspring not of, a casual
fancy, but of musing and imaginative hours, of the
higher moods leavening the labours of busy years.
The mature conception had lain and fructified in his
mind. In 1834, we first heard of it. In a letter of
1835 to Mr. Colls, from which I have before quoted,
he had definitely confided the cherished idea.
'There is a subject/ he then acknowledged, (I
¦* hope to paint, before I am much older, — after my own
' heart, and I think of your sort. This to be strictly
' entre nous. * * One does not Uke to be antici-
' pated : as I have ' been ; ' others painting a subject
" we have set our heart on doing.
' It is one I have often thought on, lately indeed,
' (in 1835, that is), composed en groupe': Pluto carry-
* ing off Proserpine, — or, as it is commonly called,
'' the " Rape of Proserpine : " —
' " In that fair field of Euna gathering flowers,
Herself a fairer flower by gloomy Dis
Was gathered." ' •
To Etty, an enticing subject. ' There, are beauty,
* action, mascuUne vigour ;— landscape, sky, motion,
* agitation, flowers, and freshness ; — the consternation
' of her attendant Nymphs scattering their flowers
' in their fear and flight : ' in fine, ' matter enough to
4 make a fine Picture.'
, The Painter's intuition was a sure one ; the subject

.ET. 52.] THE ' PLUTO AND PROSERPINE.' 97
¦essentiaUy pictorial. Haunting the dreams of poets,
it yet had not been elaborated into written Pic
tures. The lines of Mdton are rich in suggestion :
no more. ' On that hint ' Etty painted, producing
one of the noblest Poems which ever glowed on
canvas : a lyric burst of mute eloquence, imaginative
in the deeper sense of the word; and musical in
expression, as in conception vital. The movement is
instant and complete. The action of the story was
seen by the inward eye of the Painter, not put toge
ther by the outward: the truthful statement of his
conception, — not the conception itself, — helped by
Models, and studies from the Life, from horse, and
flower, and sky.
In the painting of his accessories, — as the whole
series of his works from Cleopatra to Joan of Arc
exemplifies, — Etty leant rather to the nobler freedom
of the elder Masters than the feeble archseological-
ness of the Moderns. He did not paint in awe of
anachronisms. Such an one, — a slight instance, — we
have here, in a pretty flower-basket he has intro
duced : of which the original was one a lady-friend
used for her needlework. With this anomalous
basket, prudent friends, a few days before the Exhi
bition, adjured him to dispense ; only obtaining, how
ever, an omission of its rings.
A few of the detaUs in the Picture, the extremities
of a subordinate figure, &c, stdl witness to some
degree of haste in finishing off the Picture; though it
was again touched on, after the Exhibition's close.
Too much it had become Etty's method, perhaps, —
relying on that facihty, a result of 'thirty years
VOL. II. H

98 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1839,
' study/ — to drive off the execution of the year's
principal Pictm'e to the months of strenuous labour
immediately preceding the Exhibition : hardly aUow
ing sufficient time for careful Finish. The Picture
once exhibited, the first enthusiasm of its creation
over, coldly to resume painting on it — to any im
portant extent, became too ungrateful a task. Shght
and immaterial, however, are the deficiencies of the
Pluto and Proserpine. The very swiftness of its
execution lent an impetus of vitality, a unity, inspiring
the whole composition. The impassioned impulse
wherewith it was commenced and carried through
speaks in forceful eloquence. One act of the imagina
tion sufficed.
During the varnishing days, the Picture underwent
a superficial alteration, the nature whereof is indi
cated by such entries in his Diary as : — April 25th,
'To Royal Academy, to meet the ideas of the
'Noodles.' — May 1st, 'The Noodles at me again:'—
'Begin to put in white and gold draperies.' — 2nd,
' Last day of varnishing. Took off the thick paint,
'and restored the transparent.' Few provocations
could rouse Etty to a contemptuous aUusion. Pru
dish, or, — which is the same thing, — prurient, deh
cacy was one of them.
A companion to the Pluto and Proserpine at the
Academy, was the poeticaUy conceived Diana and
Endymion : — commenced in the previous year. A
City merchant and collector of modern Pictures,
Mr. Knott, afterwards numbering* among Etty's most
Uberal and constant friends, bought it before it
quitted the Painter's Studio; at £90: of his own

MT. 52.] THE ' LADY MAYORESS OF YORK.' 99
accord, paying £100, — a merchant-like mode of deal
ing with a Pamter. Before the close of May, Lord
Northwick, — for whom Etty had twelve years before
pamted the Parting of Hero and Leander, since in
the possession of Mr. Neeld, — secured the Pluto and
Proserpine (now in the possession of Mr. GiUott) :
for £350.
His success was aUoyed by the derision with which
his Portrait of the Lady Mayoress of York, (Mrs.
Hudson), executed during the York sojourn of 1838,
was greeted by the Newspapers. An abusive recep
tion, partly originating in personal enmities, — both to
the Pamter and to his 'Subject,' — partly in the laud
able zeal wherewith the herd watches a man who has
once achieved Success ; ever ready to pounce on his
fadures, ^real or apparent. Henceforward, rising
higher in repute yearly, among the buyers of Pictures
and with the smaU Art-pubUc, Etty was subjected
to a good deal of disparaging remarks from the abor
tive Painters, (' stickit' Academy Students, mostly),
who palm off their sleep-talking, or spite, on a dis
cerning British pubUc, as 'Criticism.' The Lady's
complexion numbered among the topics of weU-bred
ridicule. Her miUinery was much excepted to. ' A
' devil incarnate, with such a cap ! ' vociferates one
poUte Gentleman of the Press.
The few Portraits from Etty's hand which have
passed through the London Exhibitions have given a
very inadequate idea of his real power that way.
His finest,— such noble renderings of manly character
as that of Mr. Atkinson, or of Mr. Champney; —
briUiant transcripts of feminine beauty and vivacity
h %

100 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1839.
Uke those of Mrs. Bulmer, of her daughter, of his
Brother Walter's daughters, of the ' Beauty of York/
or any other of his numerous (con-amore) Portrait-
Studies ; are little known.
It would have been weU for Etty's peace had the
Lady been less desirous of seeing herself at the
Exhibition. Some time later, I find him making an
indignant aUusion, (in a letter to his Brother), to these
'Assassins of the Press.' The whole affair proved a
lasting vexation. Ordinarily, he was little vulnerable
to hostUities from such quarters; — Uttle moved by
the hap-hazard responses of Newspaper Oracles!
taking special care not to read criticisms of his Pic
tures. — ' I could never have painted if I had/ — waS;
his significant avowal. For once, however, he could
nowise elude mortification and injury : was defenceless
against attacks, not to be hindered of their effect on
the minds of those most interested. How can unin-
structed ' Sitters ' but lend an ear to the clamour of
many voices, however coarse and ignorant? Nor
had Etty the confident self-esteem enabling him
to remain indifferent to the opinion of his friends;
even whde conscious of having put forth enduring
Art. In this much-belied Portrait, — before exhibited
passing for a faithful one, — Etty had, as in others of
Lady-friends, met the difficulties of ' Subject' and of
costume by bold effects of Colour and of Painter's-
picturesque. Of course, the same success did not
attend the attempt, as in cases more favourable to his
style of Art : where there were beauty and youth to
interest his fancy, to bear out and justify that mode
of treatment, — the one alone natural to his genius.

.2ET. 52.] STUDIES OF ' EFFECT.' 101
Such a Portrait is certainly not the sample of the
Painter a CoUector would single out to buy, and hang
up in his drawing-room; though most of Etty's
Portraits are of the kind he would. The long list of
his 'Studies/ — often realizing fabulous fancy prices, — i
are themselves Portraits : executed con amore, and of
his own choice. But if not so ' attractive' as one of
Mr. Finden's ' Beauties,' a Study of colour and effect
from the hand of a great Master cannot be without
its own merit : merit, far more indubitable, than any
the smooth and plausible performances of most
Portrait-painters by profession, — truly Art-less
achievements, — such as 'critics' receive with annual
plaudits, can lay claim to. It is to be judged of in the,
Ught of an Exercise of Art. Such title might, by a
candid or competent judge, have been recognised : —
and was, untd the somewhat foul breath of the
Newspapers made favourable opiidons untenable by
weak heads. At first, promoted by its possessors to
a post of honour, the unhappy Picture has since seen
many a reverse of Fortune, — nay, rather, a conti
nuous declension of it.
On the per-conlra side, to the annoyance attending
the exhibition of this ill-fated essay of his Art, not
only had the year's Pictures sold promptly, and, — for
that date, — well ; but those of former years also. His
name was rising in the Auction-rooms. At a sale of
Mr. Stuart's Pictures, in the Spring of 1839, the
Etty's had realized good prices.
The affection cherished by the Painter for an old
and valued friend is characteristicaUy evidenced in a
letter of this period to Mr. Bodley. To a promised

102 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1839.
visit from the latter, he is looking, (April 27th), 'as
' to one of the sunny gleams that add beauty and brU-
' dance to landscape as to Ufe.' — 'Even the Uttle
'kitten gives an additional jump by her Mother's
'side at the news; and Dicky is rehearsing his
'best song. * * All are, Uke the pinnacles of a
' Gothic Cathedral, looking up,— the true direction of
' Christian eyes. But we are apt, like Mammon in
'MUton, to look down, at the Pavement : especially if
'paved with gold or precious stones, Uke that in
' Pandemonium.' * *
During the summer, a portrait, — of Sir Offley
Wakeman, — was painted, the Prodigal's Return,
sketched, and the Entombment begun. Lessons were
taken in Perspective, — an abstruse study, (when
transcending elementary Umits), wherein many a ve
teran might wisely go to School again; and one, for
which Etty had small native gift : — lessons in Per
spective, from Mr. Moore. Technical experiments
also, were made, for some Chiaroscuro Bas-Reliefs he
had been commissioned to paint : experiments, after
some fadures, resulting in a successful trial of
'plaster, chalk, and mastic' — June 26th, he 'paints
' deUghtfully on plaster and distemper / the follov-
'ing day, again paints deUghtfully, — linseed, saccha-
'rum, turpentine, only.' In the fly-leaf of this
year's Diary, (1839), a few rough notes are jotted, as
to very elementary points : interesting as being his,
and as illustrative of an old habit stdl retained.
'Size and whiting best ground/ he there records.—
' Gold and reds — Minster : ' the stained glass in the
Minster is here aUuded to. — 'Water-colours for

JET. 52.] WELL-WORN TOPICS. 103
* buildings, on greyish ground, with water white ; —
*oU for Landscape; — crayons for rapid effects.
'Drawing the essence of aU !'
A few days spent in retouching the Pluto and
Proserpine, and Diana and Endymion, on their
return from the Exhibition, were foUowed by a short
visit to Lord Northwick, the purchaser of the former ;
at Moreton-in-the-Marsh : — the nobleman in his first
raptures with his new acquisition, 'the enchanting
'Proserpine.' From York, his next harbour of refuge, a letter to
Ms Niece dilates onfamdiar scenes and topics: — scenes
famUiar from the days of chddhood.— 'I started from
' Hidl on a beautiful morning, for Old York : a de-
' Ughtful ride through Beverley. Oh ! how fine the
* Minster looked in the clear sunny air, — a Monu-
' ment of the dear old Catholic time : while on the
' right, — I thought at the time it would make a good
' additional leaf in Pugin's Contrasts, — rose into the
'air a great, brick, steam-engine chimney; and black-
' ened the fair face of Heaven with dense clouds of
' smoke. What a falling off was there !
' I passed the place where Uncle Calverley lived,
'the Wolds shining in the sun, Market Weighton,
' Hay ton .- — that spot where once a garden smUed,
' and stdl, where many a garden-flower grows wdd ;
'where the old Hall and Avenue stood:' — whereof
a Brother of Etty's Mother so unexpectedly came
into possession, and which his son razed to the
ground. — 'The Beck flows limpidly over its graveUy
-' bottom, where it did when I was a boy.'
At York, a recent triumph of his old enemy, Civic

104 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1839..
'Improvement/ afflicts him. The Railway's devas
tation in those Walls, whose renewal had been a-
source of so much delight,— havoc consummated in-
his absence, already heard of and lamented in vain,—
has now to be surveyed in its fidl extent, and duly
execrated. ' Such a scene ! ' he groans. ' You would
' think a Legion of Devils, with Beelzebub at their
'head/ alone 'capable of such diabolic mischief. It
' made my heart sick. A little more would make me
' forswear my country : disgusted and disheartened,
' where one hoped for ease. I have been a cup too
'low ever since.'
In his second Lecture, of the foUowing year,
Etty had an opportunity which he did not let slip, of
rating those who had suffered, nay, invited this
mischief to be consummated. 'When,' he there
insists, 'we had restored them/ (the WaUs), 'by a
'generously supported public subscription; knowing
' that the character and attraction of York consisted
' mainly in her remains of Antiquity ; we naturaUy
' concluded that the Magistrates and Corporation
' of York would, in aU honour and integrity, pre-
' serve them, and transmit them entire to posterity :—
'not sell them piecemeal to anybody that might
' happen to want them. * * What a lovely walk
' it used to be from Micklegate Bar along the WaUs,
'to North-Street Postern: ancient fortifications,
' grey battlements, verdant fields, and smiUng gar-
' dens on either hand ; finished in grand perspective-
' by our noble Cathedral in one of its finest points of
' view. Go and look what it is now ! * * And-
' for what have the Walls been broken ? Absolutely

.2ET. 52.] YORK WALLS AGAIN. 105
' without any real necessity : as it is now, I believe,
' generaUy allowed. I am informed that the eminent
'Engineer, Stephenson, himself declared it unneces
sary; and advised against it: I am sorry to say,
'ineffectually. — The mixture of dweUing-houses and
'picturesque garden-ground within the WaUs re-
' minded me of Rome. — Altera Roma, I used to think
'with complacency, as I passed along. What is it
' now ? Altera inferna, more like ! We walk side by
' side with trains of interesting coal- waggons ; have
'the satisfaction of being smoked by the passing-
' Engines, and the pleasure of hearing the music, — not
' of the robin, the blackbird, and the thrush, — but (the
' whistle) of the train from Leeds. The battering-
' rams of a Radway Company have laid thy honours,
' Old Ebor, in the dust ! Green Mounds and WaUs
' which have stood thy friends in the hour of danger,
' when hostUe armies threatened, are now not worth
' a thought. * * Those who ought to have been
'their guardians have been the first to let in the
' enemy. They have destroyed those beautiful gar-
' dens, and that magnificent purple beech-tree ! '
Radroad branches run, in fact, paraUel with this
part of the Walls, on each side. RaUway coal-depots
and Station make up the whole foreground. Old
maps of York suggest a very different one.
Five hundred pounds, part of the ' compensation *
received by the Corporation for Radway-breaches in
its WaUs, for permission to spoil and devastate at one
(newly restored) end of the WaUs, was ultimately
devoted as a peace-offering, — augmented by another
public Subscription, — to restoration of a fragment of

106 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1839.
the WaUs on another side : of Walmgate Bar WaUs,
with Walmgate Bar itself and Barbican, — the HuU,
or Eastern entrance. Long-proposed restorations
these, which had remained in statu quo for some
years ; their execution had been a cherished wish with
Etty. Their steady progress, during the years 1841
and 1842, was a source of consolation to him, amid
the many losses his City had of late sustained ; elicit
ing further Letters of exhortation and encourage
ment: — letters and donations. 'Were it in' his
'power,' he 'would do the whole at' his ' own cost.'
That Walmgate Barbican, the only stUl remaining
one, does yet remain, York owes to him. Happening
to come down when its Removal was in agitation,
he bestirred himself; wrote, influenced others : and
saved it.
Letters of remonstrance with the York Corporation,
and other bodies in power — to do mischief, — formed
•one of Etty's standing, volunteer employments: letters
against ' proposals to remove Trinity Gateway/ — a soU
tary Monastic fragment, and beautiful piece of Early
EngUsh, stdl remaining in Micklegate ;— letters against
'proposals to fiU up the Moat' adjoining a part of
Micklegate WaUs, beUeved to be the only spot where
the original features ofthe ' Fosse' had been preserved
intact ; — letters against ' proposals to,' &c. ' Beware
' how you destroy your Antiquities ! ' was the burden
of his exhortations. 'Guard them with religious
' care ! They are what give you a decided character
'and superiority over other provincial cities. You
4 have lost much : take care of what remains ! '
Consolation for the destructive exploits of others,

SET. 52.] FIRST THOUGHTS OF THE ' JOAN OF ARC.' 107
— the peculiar accomphshment of our Modern Age,
— consolation more soUd than empty protests, lay for
the richly-endowed Pamter in his own productive
power. — 'Joan of Arc haunts me,' he writes from
York in this September of 1839. That noble theme,
significant and unhackneyed, seems to have sup
planted one entertamed for a year or two, from the
story of Thomas a Beckett. For the latter, he had
made some preliminary preparation in the way of
historical reading at the British Museum, study of
Armour, &c. The Joan of Arc was a conception
dating not long previous to his present York visit : —
' first thought of in Westminster Abbey/ he teUs Mr.
CoUs at a later date; — 'in Henry the Seventh's
' Chapel, under the chivalric banners that hang there.
' Hearing the Anthem sung, and looking towards the
' Grand Portal, I seemed to see her, in imagination,
' riding into the Gates of Orleans, and carrying the
* Siege thereof: ' a passage in her story subsequently
relinquished for the Sortie, the subject of the central
and principal compartment of the Series as after
wards painted.
Though its actual execution came to be so long
postponed, he is, during the present autumnal vaca
tion, very earnestly bent on his last great Scheme.
He is ' anxious to get home and begin/ — 'must soon
' be back and be doing.' — By Sept. 8th, he had ' de-
' signed the three Joan of Arcs' — in pen and ink,
probably; — on the 12th, 'goes on sketching Joan
'of Arc'
From his friends the Harpers, after a short stay
with them, he removed to lodgings in Blake Street.

108 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1839'
There, he pamted a Still-life piece, — Pheasant and
Peach; — one or two Studies of Children; and a smaU
but admirable Portrait, forcible in character, and in
execution luminous, of Mr. Richardson, a Minster-
Worthy much respected in York, — to Etty a famUiar
object of reverence from chUdhood : — whom, at the
accustomed Minster ' Eagle/ (or Scripture Reading-
Desk), he had sketched, (in Colour), as long ago as
1834. The Still-life piece was among the first of a
class which became numerous during the latter years
of Etty's life: — Studies of Colour, themes for the
attainment of exceeding glory in that single par
ticular. One account to his Niece, of pleasure drawn from
an old source ; — habitual experiences in the Minster,
such as he never tired of feeling or of recording; may
stand for many such. Dady attendance at Afternoon
Service there, had long become one of his permanent
York dehghts. 'After Vespers/ he 'wUl stand'
near the ' Altar, — on the third flight of steps. The
'Sun declining in golden splendor/ shines 'glo-
' riously through the great West Window. Behind,
' the stupendous East Window ; and on either hand,
'the glorious Transepts, with their lofty Stained
' Glass : — glorious ! — sprmging to that Heaven which
' certainly must have inspired the mortals who bunt
'it. Oh! Holy Mother Church! dear CathoUc
' Church ! how deeply I venerate thee : thou, who
'produced such glorious efforts.' —
Again immersed in the November fogs of London,
and oppressed by his November cough, Etty did
not apply himself to the Joan of Arc, but to the Wise

MT. 52.] IMPROVED INCOME. 109
and Foolish Virgins ; which, in turn, gave place to
the Andromeda and Perseus : employments, varied
by a renewed Study of Perspective.
At the close of the year, (Dec. 30th), died Hdton,
a feUow Historical Pamter, and old feUow- Student :
who, at the outset of the race, had quickly out
stripped Etty ; and whom, in his turn, Etty had, be
fore its conclusion, left so far behind, — whether in
trinsic success or outward, be regarded. Visiting
with a friend, the Rooms at the Academy, Hilton had
occupied as Keeper, to see the Pictures the latter had
left behind ; on finding so many works of ambitious
aim unsold, — ' How thanliful to God / ought to be/
emphaticaUy exclaimed Etty, 'that I have not a
'single picture on my hands.' Often, as we have
seen, that result had been attained by contenting
himself with very small returns. But the tide of
pecuniary prosperity was at last beginning to set in
his favour. The year 1839 had proved a more pro
ductive one as to Money than any of its predeces
sors : among the first to herald the full Receipts
which flowed in, during the last few years of Etty's
Ufe. The gross incomings amounted to upwards of
£900 : whereof a considerable portion was realized
hy the sale of Studies and by minor Pieces ; another
•considerable quota by one or two Portraits.

110

CHAPTER XXII.
SUNSHINE AND CLOUD. 1840  42. (MT. 53 — 55.)
Productive Months — Second Fire of York Minster — Exertions in the
Minster'sBehalf — Second Lecture — Macready — Trip to the Low
Countries— The 'Etty Fund'— Brisk Sales— The Year's Pic
tures — Tilt with a Professor — Central School of Design : on
the Council — Belgium Again — Antwerp — Gleanings — Wintry
Gloom — Unavailing Plea for St. Stephen's — The Dance, from
Homer — The Magdalen — Its Home : ' The Plantations ' —
York School of Design — Painter's Payments — Letters to a
ChUd— The 'Poor Man's Friend '—A Private Grief— Public
1 Speaking.
A graceful garland of smaU works was finished by
the commencement of 1840, for the British Institution:
Bright-eyed Fancy Hovering o'er ; — A Little Girl in
a Nautilus Shell, (or the ' Little Mariner' ) ; and a
Group of Children. All belonged to a very attractive
class of Etty's works. And aU found ready purchasers.
The Wise and Foolish Virgins, with the Perseus
and Andromeda, kept him busUy occupied throughout
the Winter. To the former especiaUy, he devoted
himseU with aU the energy and vehemence of will
characteristic of the man : notwithstanding his chronic
cough, now so heavy a drag-chain. These prolonged
'fits of coughing' had assumed that intractable
character destined yearly to increase in intensity.
' Cough verybad/ — 'coughed amazingly/ — are, during
the winter and spring months, almost dady entries.
The year's quota had no sooner been despatched to

J5T. 53.] SECOND FIRE OF YORK MINSTER. Ill
the Academy, than The Female Bathers Surprised by
a Swan was commenced. He continued, as in the
busiest part of the season, to paint regularly every
day from two or three Models; and on various
Pictures. His labours meet with unexpected interruption.
May 22nd is marked Fatal Friday in his Diary.
On that day, he heard of the scarce credible second
fire of York Minster, — the fruit of culpable negUgence
among the so-caUed Guardians of the edifice:— the
' carelessness of a Workman employed to repair the
'Clock/ being the proximate cause. Breaking out
in the South- West Tower, the flames were aUowed,
as usual, to acquire full power before any efficient
check was brought to bear.
The whole Nave was gutted, as the Choir had
before been ; and, being of Umestone, was completely
calcined by the fire: the glorious Stained Glass
which fids its Windows happUy sm'viving. Again,
the great Central Tower interposed to save the
Transepts. York has earned itself a peculiar kind
of celebrity among Cathedral Cities, by passiveness
in seeing its chief ornament destroyed. Two such
Fires within ten years are no result of Chance, but of
deep-seated habits of carelessness and sluggish ob-
tuseness. Etty, for one, could not acquiesce in the necessity
of a decennial Fire. On hearing the strange tidings,
he burst into tears. For many days, the Misfortune
clouded Ufe for him ; as if it had been a personal one.
As such, in fact, he felt it. It even stood in the
way of Work,— a remarkable phenomenon with so

112 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1840.
indomitable a lover of his Art, and of employment.
As soon as he had ' had time to coUect his thoughts/
after the ' stupor of three days the astounding intelU-
* gence threw him into/ his first impulse was to exert
himself in preservation of what remained. He wrote
to the Yorkshire Gazette, — urging prompt steps to be
taken in guarding the roofless Tower and Nave from
the weather, &c. To the Dean and Chapter, he
transmitted his friend Cottingham's ' noble and dis-
' interested offer/ to superintend the Minster's Re
storation free of professional charge : an offer of
some ' thousand guineas' value: which received 'no
'suitable acknowledgment' from Dean and Chapter;
who had previously applied to Sir Robert Smirke.
A visit to York, accelerated by the mischance, was
paid in June : to survey the extent of the mischief,
and forward its reparation. At one of the Meetings
preliminary to Restoration, he spoke with much
fervour in behalf of the ' Holy Temple/ as it lay in
'smoking ruins;' the 'winds and rain of heaven
' breaking in : ' conjuring his hearers to ' open their
' hands without grudging.' He gave a good example
by subscribing UberaUy himself. A vivid picture was
set before them of the catastrophe. — How, ' on a fine
' evening in May/ ' a flame was seen in the beautiful
' South- West Tower. * * The sun which had sunk
'behind the hdls, had scarcely ceased to gUd it with
' its holy light, ere it was iUumined within, by a far
' more fearful glare : — the light that lit it to ruin and
'destruction. Those beautiful BeUs that so often
'had given the tidings of joy, congratulation, and
'triumph,— that Uttle BeU that used to hang in

MT. 53.] SECOND LECTURE. 113
'the Lantern Tower, and had led us so often,
'wiUingly to Prayer, Morning and Evening, (whose
'sound I recollect from a chdd) ; that noble and
' sonorous Clock that so often has given warning of
' the rapid flow of the tide of Time to the ocean of
' Eternity : — aU these things so dear to our hearts, so
'wedded to our affections, in a few short, dreadful
'hours, whelmed into one mass of ruin, molten ore,
' and rubbish ! The noble Nave, that perspective of
' splendour, finished by the glorious West Window,
' resplendent like a mass of living gold, when we left
' the Church after Evening Prayers ; — with the gor-
'geous Windows of the Side Aisles' — windows, 'un-
' exampled in richness, unrivaUed in any Cathedral in
'England; — is now open to the winds and rain of
' heaven.' Truly ' a rueful sight/ he had found the Minster ;
' but not so bad as might have been.' At first, ' very
'much out of heart;' he mends as soon as he is
'stirring' for it. A Lecture, (his Second), was pre
pared, and read ; ' fifty pages of Manuscript :'— Lec
ture ' on EngUsh Cathedrals/ — designed to arouse
York in behalf of its own. Its delivery at the PhUo
sophical Society, (July 6th), — throwing him, like that
of aU his Lectures and Speeches, into much excite
ment; — made a good local impression. Printed in
the Yorkshire Papers, its Author again takes pride
in dispersing among friends and acquamtance, copies
of his literary handiwork.
Restored to the ' sacred and holy calm of home,'
one of his first occupations was an Antiquarian one :
a reply to a question from the Committee of the
VOL. II. I

114 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1840.
Temple Church Restoration, as to the future position
of the Organ ; —the modern difficulty in an ancient
Church. Of the four positions proposed, — between
the Round Church and the square, — in the Arch
near the West Entrance, — against or beyoDd the
Eastern Window, — or in a chamber budt out from
the North Aisle ; he pronounced in favour of the last,
as least objectionable : — the one ultimately adopted.
The quiet tenor of a productive life resumed,
various Pictures, — some just commenced, others ap
proaching completion, — were forwarded ; Perspective
studied, under Mr. Moore. Further Sketches were
also made for the Joan of Arc; a 'large Canvas set
'up/ (in August), and other preUminary steps taken,
for the colossal project.
On the dispersion, during the Summer, of Mr.
Digby Murray's CoUection, Etty had been soUcitous '
to secure his favourite Bridge of Sighs for his friend
Macready ; who had long coveted it. Solicitous, too,
he had felt, to prevent its coming under the hammer.
' I hate my pictures brought to an auction-room,' he
nad expostulated with his Brother, from York. Auc
tion-rooms had as yet (1840), proved an ordeal httle
favourable to him : — some few years later to become the
arena of triumph. Absence from London prevented
his effecting the second half of his wish. But the Pic
ture did faU into the Tragedian's hands : with whom
it stdl remains, a prized possession. Of Macready,
Etty was an ardent admirer : — admired the man and
the Actor. Seldom visiting the theatre but when his
friend performed, he then enjoyed the show with a
very keen reUsh. During Macready's management

JET. 53.] TRIP TO FLANDERS. 115
¦of Covent Garden, the Painter addressed to him
more than one letter, spontaneous expression of the
dehght he as an Artist felt in the results achieved.
Such enthusiasm, the Actor declares, acknowledging
one of these letters, in a later year, (March, 1843),
'ready came like a recompense/ raised his spirits
•amid much discouragement.
In September, a long-desired visit was paid to the
land of Rubens. Ten days were expended, accompa
nied by his Niece, in a brief progress through the Low
Countries. Ostend, Bruges, Ghent, Antwerp, Brus
sels, Aix-la-ChapeUe, Bonn, were passed through:
their Churches, Palaces, Picture-gaUeries, more or
less hastUy inspected. From Bonn, voyaging down
the Rhine towards Rotterdam, he thence returned
liome. — 'A stormy Saturday night, and a sunny
' Sunday morning, brought us/ he relates, within
sight ' of the white cliffs of dear Albion.' And
'by six that afternoon/ 'landed at the Custom
' House,' by ' a crazy boat, that had almost upset
' us into the Thames, we gladly feel the terra-firma of
'London under our feet.' He returns — with some
'shot from the field of Waterloo/ and a medal of
Rubens. Throughout the little trip, Rubens was the
•chief magnet ; at whose shrine, Etty's homage never
faUed. A few purchases also, had been made, of
Painter's properties : among others, ' a milk-can ' at
the Hague ; a ' frock and red wooden shoes :' which
afterwards figured in a piece caded Flemish Court-

At home, still holding aloof from his large Canvas,
he turned to the Bathers Surprised by a Swan, and
i 2

116 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1840-4L
smaUer works : for the former, taking many an early
morning walk to St. James's Park, to sketch from the
Swans there. During the foggy, working season, many
a ' cruel night ' of his cough is noted in his Diary,
many a day on which he is ' awfully punished by it.'
His sensitive ' Trachea/ acutely conscious from what
quarter the wind blows, induces special commemora
tion of some prevading ' icy wind of death,' or ' wind
'Uke a demon/ which meets him at Street-corners;
as he saUies out to the Academy, or homeward
from it.
A Uttle previous to the present date, Etty. had
made his first WiU; at a friend's persuasion, and
with some reluctance : not being free from the old-
fashioned superstition respecting that act. Indeed,
at first, he hardly knew ' whether he had a shiUing'to
' leave.' Bequeathing to his Niece ,£50 a year, and to
various friends and dependents smaU legacies and Pic
tures, he was stdl doubtful whether there would be
assets enough to meet the bequests. So Uttle before
hand had the annual receipts, — after the regular pay
ments to his Brother, — enabled him to become. Some
of his practical well-wishers, seeing the considerable
sums he was now receiving, thought he ought to be
securmg a provision for old age. His friends the
Harpers, — friends admitted to the closest terms of
intimacy, — knowing his ignorance of business, resolved
to act for him : paying into the Bank one or two sums
of money due from themselves and friends. To his
own surprise and deUght, Etty found himself a fund-
holder: the first incident to arouse in his mind a
love of accumulation. The arrears due to the Firm
of Bodley and Etty having, by this time, been amply

JET. 53-54.] A NEW AIM. 117
acquitted, Etty, after defraying the fixed charges of
lis own smaU household, — charges, which did not
increase with increasing income, — was free to invest
his money as it came in, in the Three per Cents.
Early in 1841, £300 Bank Stock, — whereof part
was contributed by a first instalment from the pur
chaser of the Ten Virgins, — had been secured to the
'Etty Fund/ as the title ran among friends: the
humble beginnings of what, eight years later, as
sumed important dimensions.
Thus, at the age of Fifty-four, Etty first began to
realize property of his own : after thirty-six years' de
votion to his Art, and twenty of mastery in it. Hence
forward, the aim to secure a Competence was not lost
sight of. It to some extent influenced the subsequent
tenor of his labours ; inducing a freer production of
small works, — or rather, development of Studies into
Pictures. An influence, I cannot with some, consider
prejudicial or derogatory. This class of works better
suited years of infirm health, and consequently, de
clining finish, than more elaborate and laborious
compositions. In the former, acquired mastery of eye
and hand enabled him to convey, without loss, his
vivid apprehensions of Nature. If there be cause for
regret, it is, that a crowd of ambitious but secondary
performances, jostled with the Joan of Arc ; post
poning the fulfilment of his noble conception until
his physical powers were barely adequate to it. One
would fain its execution had been contemporaneous
with the Pluto and Proserpine, or the Dance from
Homer, (the period of its conception) : rather than
with the Graces, (the second), and the second Choice
¦of Paris.

118 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [184L
An uncertain Market was ceasing to be the reward
of the Season's labours. Of the six Pictures sent, in
1841, to Trafalgar Square, the two principal were
sold in one week, at or before the Academy-Dinner :.
the Prodigal's Return, to the Marquis of Lansdowne,.
for two hundred and fifty guineas ; the Bathers Sur
prised by a Swan, to Mr. Vernon, for two hundred;
also, the Still Life, to Mr. Knott, for thirty guineas.
At such success, 'joy steals upon me/ he confesses.
On the Bathers, the Diary, (June 21st), records, a
' diaboUcal injury : ' due doubtless, to the outraged
virtue and sensitive modesty of some indignant
'Father of a Family.'
David at his Harp, — ' I will awake right early,' be
came the companion of the second Hero and Leander.
Mr. Thorp of Alnwick, son of one of the Painter's
early and kindest Patrons, having drawn an Art-
Union prize for £20, and wishing to invest it in a
small work from the same hand as the chef-d'wuvre
he already possessed, asked Etty to choose one for
him. The latter having nothing, — or no fitting com
panion for the Hero and Leander, to suit that price,
offered the David, a necessarily higher priced one ; re
ducing the sum in his young friend's favour to £55 : —
£35 more than the amount of the prize, but nearly as
much below the market value of the Piece. Etty
would always rather seU at a low price to those he
knew and in whom he was interested, than at a higher,.
to those beyond the pale. In latter years, he became
surrounded by clients exclusively favoured in this
way. His anxiety to do the very best for Mr.
Thorp is evidenced by a long correspondence, which

JET. 54.] PROFESSOR COCKERELL. 119
terminates by the latter's purchasing both the David
and a small-priced work of the Painter's old Assistant,
George Franklin ; which Etty had recommended as
an alternative to his own.
With Critics as with Patrons, the year's Pictures
found favour. The Morning Post was ' by no means
'sure' the Prodigal's Return was not 'the best
'imaginative Picture in the Exhibition.' Not im
possibly. For it is one of those chosen samples of
Etty's Art wherein, as Mr. Leslie, a competent judge
on such a point, declares, ' Expression is carried as
' far as possible.'
To Arms, Ye Brave ! — a Mars-and- Venus group,
— found a purchaser, in the foUowing year, in Mr.
Wright, for £200. The Amateur, for a while in
ecstasies with his new acquisition, after a time began
to be disconcerted by the light in which the 'nudities
¦ of your last fair lady ' are regarded by matter-of-
fact relatives and friends, innocent of Art ; ' almost
'to wish she had a Uttle more covering:' — in the
country, people being ' led away by first impressions,
' and not to be reasoned into any other.' The ladies
' look grave when the Picture is mentioned. The men
'laugh!' Some kind of temporary gauze had ulti
mately to be cobbled up in water-colours.
In Professor CockereU's Lectures on Architecture
of (I think) this season, some disparaging allusions to
Gothic, and a comparison disadvantageous to Michael
Angelo, stirred Etty, to whom both were dear, into a
Letter of friendly expostulation. — 'The zeal you
' showed/ — he commences, in the Draft from which I
' quote, — and desire to be useful, cannot be too much

120 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1841.
' applauded But there were three Heresies which I
' cannot pass over in sdence : lest it should seem that
' sdence gives consent ! — And that, too, when I, one
' of the Seven Champions of Goths, and a devout
'though humble admirer of Michsel Angelo, was
'sitting en face! You were a bold man.' The
Professor had observed of Cologne Cathedral, 'it
' seemed a curse on aU such mighty efforts, that they
' should never be finished ; ' mentioning in the same
breath the Tower of Babel : most unjustly, as the
Pamter thinks ; who had taken a pilgrimage ' to its
' august shrine, in September.' The Tower of Babel's
beginning, he answers, was made ' in open defiance of
' Deity, in the attempt to get out of the reach of His
'judgments/ Cologne's, 'to the honour of Almighty
' God,' — the ' noblest purpose any work of human Art
'can have.' — 'Mighty were the minds which planned
' the magnificent edifice. And sorry I am, that our
' honourable Professor should throw a stone at it,
' instead of carrying one to it : as was the practice of
' even the great, in ages of Faith.' — The Architect
had also spoken 'slightingly' of Gothic in general;
had 'classed it with Chinese, Saracenic/ &c. ; 'seeming
' to put it out ofthe pale / observing it ' owed its late
' introduction into fashion to Horace Walpole : ' &c.
To all which, copious response. — The last subject of
complaint was 'the comparison' (with RaffaeUo),
' drawn to such disadvantage against Michsel Angelo :
' that noble old fellow, who, whether we look at ' him
' as one of the greatest of the great, (of Artists), or
' to the noble independence of his character, in both
' is entitled to our homage.'

JET. 54.] PUBLIC DUTIES : SCHOOL OF DESIGN. 121
Sedulous in setting the Students the example of
his presence at the Academy-Lectures, he was no
inattentive auditor; even entered into them with
gusto and interest. Another time, Professor Green,
in warning the Students against occasional Ana
tomical inaccuracies in classic Sculpture, having
appeared, (to Etty), to disparage the Antique itself;
draws from the Painter, jealous for the latter's good
fame, a remonstrance.
In 1840, Etty had been appointed to the Councd
of the School of Design. Making it a rule sub
stantially to fulfil his part in any trust whereof he
accepted the honour, he was one of the very few who
regularly attended its Meetings : at a cost of three or
four hours out of many a day, during the season of
the year when he could dl spare the time. In
general, more vivacious persons, and less competent,
led the proceedings of the Councd. ConstitutionaUy
slow and diffident, Etty required preparation to speak.
But ' at times/ reports Mr. Dyce, 'he was much ex-
* cited ; and delivered his opinions with great energy
' and effect. Those opinions were always valuable.'
In reference to the Ulustrated wrapper of a Serial,
issued by the Councd for the Pupfls' improvement,
"he writes (May 13th, 1841), to Mr. Dyce, then Head-
Master of the Central School : — ' Your notion of the
' boys dancing round Nature, I Uke ! Perhaps, be-
' cause something Uke one i" have begun some
'months :' (The Innocent are Gay). But 'instead of
' Nature, they are dancing round a woman merely.
'How would a design in bas-relief (round), be, of
'that? — A lofty, majestic figure of Nature; her brows

122 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1841,
'bound with stars, her snowy bosom veded with
' clouds ; attended by the Three Graces, or the Three
'Plastic Arts : — the circle of boys dancing outside aU ?
' Ornament should be essentiaUy graceful. And, as
' the School is more from Art than Nature, I think
' they' (the Arts) ' should be in the group : a wreath of
' ornamental flowers round the design, and a square
' of rich ornament outside. I merely throw out this
' suggestion. Perhaps it would be best, after aU,
' merely ornamental : but of the lest order.'
In July, Etty took a second trip to Belgium,
making straight for Antwerp.
' It was getting darkish/ he thence writes, to his
Niece, (July 6th, 1841), 'when we got out to sea,
' Then began the tug of war, when out of the shelter
' of land. As she ' (the vessel) ' roUed a good deal,
' and a fresh wind on, there were strange and pressing
' caUs for the Steward. I kept on deck all night, on
' a blanket and a mattress. Sinking into a nap, and
' awakened by the roaring sea, I wondered where I
'had got to. It was rather too boisterous to be the
' singing of my Kettle. Some ladies got into their
' Carriages. But Old Neptune did not let Aristocracy
' escape. — Basins were called for, even into their
'luxurious retreats. As morning dawned, the wind
' abated, and the Belgian coast appeared in the misty
'morning., Walcheren and Flushing, the grave of
1 many a brave English soldier, we passed close to ;
' and entered the wide- watered Scheldt; — about eleven,
' anchored off the Quay, or rather hove to.'
From Antwerp, he paid two visits to the Trappist
Convent, ten mdes distant. — 'The porter, a primi-

JET. 54.] A TRAPPIST CONVENT,. 123
tive-looking old man, with a long white beard,
'opened the gate, and, as we passed, fell down on
'his knees; then rang the beU. A Brother of the
' Order — in the same dress as the one I have, black
' and white, — came and showed us over the Convent :
'through the Printing Office, where two Monks-
'were printing off impressions, — as I used to do,' — •
' of Sacred Music ; and were working hard. Through
' the Refectory ; where each little platter, knife and
' spoon, and basin, were placed. — But it was past their
'dinner hour. Through a room, where several of
'the Brotherhood, — each a fine old Picture, — were
'reading, Uke the Fathers/ — 'absorbed in massive
' volumes ; ' — ' never looking up, even for a moment, at
' our entrance : unless we bowed at passing, — which
' they returned. * * Very fine Studies. I should
' like to have sketched some of them.' — ' Then to the
' Chapel, where our Conductor knelt : and so did I.'
On his second visit, he accepted their hospitality r
dining off 'new mdk, eggs, beans, carrots, cherries,'
with ' other productions of the earth / and going to
bed at eight. He scans with attentive Painter's eye,
the proceedings of the Fraternity, and the ' beautiful
'effects' developed; obtaining 'ideas' which he hopes
' wdl be useful' to him in future Pictures. Called up
at two, ' to see the Monks in their Choir by torch-
' light,' and breakfasting off ' brown bread, and mdk ; '
he next made a ' successful attempt to buy a dress,'
—a Monk's Habit, that is :— with it ' marching off
' in triumph to the Diligence.'
From Antwerp to Mechlin, and an admiring survey
of its Cathedral and numerous specimens of Rubens ;.

124 LIFE. OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1841.
to Ghent ; to Bruges. At Bruges, he saUied forth
to a Capuchin Convent, and 'purchased a Capuchin
' dress : ' with a view to the Joan of Arc again.
By Ostend, to London : where, awaking one fine
Sunday morning 'deUghted to find himself in his
' own bed,' and in his own quiet home ; he is free to
ruminate on aU seen during the ten days' cruise
among Convents, Cathedrals, and Rubens's. The
' pricieuses choses ' gleaned on his Travels had been
successfully 'passed' through the fingers of Custom-
House harpies: the 'Antwerp MUk-can, of some-
*what better shape than the Dutch one' (bought
the previous year) ; another from Bruges ; the Ca
puchin gown, &c. ; all, serviceable accessories for Pic
tures in hand or contemplated.
FuUer than ever of enthusiasm for his Master the
Fleming, he ddates on the glorious appearance the
latter makes at Mechlin : on the Draught of Fishes—
'Miraculous,' in a double sense ; on the Decollation
of St. John the Baptist : — ' the scene in the Prison
'at night, the flashing of the torches on the dark
' Armour, the deep warm tone of the Colour, and the
'fine Composition.'
Of this year's York sojourn, a pleasant feature was a
two days' sketching- trip with his friend John Harper,
to Bolton Abbey : both making free pencU jottings
of Architecture and Landscape. On returnmg from
York, the Painter feU in with the innovation of RaU
way vice Coach. Faithful loiterer on the old ways,
lie had hitherto stuck by the latter ; had continued,
despite asthma and cough, to brave the twenty-four
hours' journey outside.

J8T. 54.] WINTRY GLOOM. 125
Advancing more than one important Picture during
the Autumn, he resumed lessons in Perspective, and
his Sketches for the Joan of Arc ; reading also by
fits in ' old Chronicles,' at the British Museum and
elsewhere. The year 1841 witnessed the deaths of two leading
Academic brethren, WUkie and Chantrey : ' WUkie
'in the deep bosom of the Ocean buried; ' — ' he who
'has deUghted so many, and raised a smde at his
'humour and comic talent/ having 'a tragical and
'lonely funeral.' Losses which added a darker
shade to November days : — days trying to a Painter,
peculiarly so to Etty. To him, with a mind and
frame alike impressionable, a clear sky or a duU was
a question of moment; — whether blasts from the
East prevaded or breezes from the West : — matters
carefuUy noted in his Diary. A sunless day sub
tracted so much from existence : a bright enhancing it.
' When the sun shines on it genially/ the world is
to him ' beautiful and captivating.' At other times,
he is glad to take refuge in reminiscences. To him,
often 'in fancy's dream/ he writes, ' Mozart's Masses
' and Agnus Dei are dying in echos along the Minster
' Aisles. — 'Tis but a dream.'
In December, a nearer loss deepened Winter's
discouragements : that of his valued friend Sydney
' Taylor. Kept myself occupied, but very melan-
' choly/ he confesses, in his Diary.
During the ensuing year, the old-accustomed help
of his friend the Newspaper Editor, was not a Uttle
missed in one of the old- accustomed struggles against
the Iconoclasts. For dady zeal in painting did not

126 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1842.
preclude zealous action in behalf of famUiar Anti
quities when in danger. St. Stephen's Chapel, such
remains, — and they were considerable, — as the Fire
had not prevailed against, had been sentenced to
annihilation, by the sympathising Architect of the
pseudo- Gothic New Houses : the same magnanimous
and high-minded Artist, who has more recently,
(1854), won golden opinions for himself among Art-
loving circles, by the laudable freedom from paltry
pedantry or unworthy feeling he has displayed to
wards the Baron Marochetti, and the latter's noble
Statue of Cceur de Lion. A work of Art, this latter,
uncourtly persons declare, more intrinsicaUy valu
able, than the whole three mdlions worth of lifeless
carving and tautologous inanity : by the side whereof
it stands — or (lately) stood.
Whde it was yet time, or seemed so, Etty,— on
hearing of this intention to ' take down without delay
'the WaUs of the Chapel with a view to safety,'
•¦ — protested (with other lovers of Antiquity) against
the deUberate and unnecessary sacrifice of a National
monument and noble sample of ancient Art. He
drew up a Letter also, in the Morning Herald, ' To
' the Artists of Great Britain : ' in defence of our
Antiquities generaUy.
But the omnipotent 'Master of the Situation,'
who in aU matters, — from the (self-multiplying)
Estimates, and his own ' Little BUl/ downwards,—
quietly has his wiU, and lets the patient PubUc cavil;
who has defied and hocussed successive Ministries;
against whom, ParUaments and Mr. Hume avaU
nothmg ; was not so readdy to be deterred from his

MT. 55.] MR. BARRY. 127
destructive purpose as a Provincial Dean and Chapter
had once been. Huge London, moreover, is not so
easy to arouse in protection of its own, as the Uttle
' City ' of York. Every thing in the ' New Palace '
must be new, and Mr. Barry's own. No space,
however smaU, for a genuine, though defaced land
mark of Art and History, could be spared by the
accompUshed Copyist, — the presiding Genius of the
costly and pretentious pUe which now burdens the
site of (once) the most graceful of EngUsh struc
tures. The proposed demolition was silently con
summated : an apathetic PubUc knowing nothing
of the matter. The Chapel has been replaced by a
' HaU ' of Mr. Barry's own concoction. The Crypt
and some of the Cloisters are aU which have been
spared. Indignant remonstrants were soothed with
the consolatory assurance that they ' could view J some
of the original details (public property), by caUing on
Mr. Barry ; and that Messrs. Brayley and associates
had made ' careful drawings ' of the Chapel (" beau-
" tiful in ruin "), prior to its final removal, and carting
away in the form of ' old material ' and dishonoured
rubbish, by Messrs. Peto and GrisseU's workmen:
drawings subsequently published, and to be consulted
by any whose sorrow for that lovely Fragment needs
sharpening. More successful than the endeavour to conserve
was that to produce. The Dance, from Homer's de
scription of AchiUes' Shield, a Picture long con
templated, but only regularly commenced, in ods, in
the Autumn of 1841, was the leading production of
the Season. It did not, at first, prove a fortunate

128 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1842,
venture. 'That year/ (1842), Etty used afterwards
to assert, 'I was in despair.' The Dance 'was hung
' in a corner ; and not a shilling offered for it.' As
late as seven years before his death, an important and
beautiful work from his hand had to go a-begging. It
was despatched at the end of the Season in search of
an owner, to the Birmingham Institution. There, it
ultimately sold, to Mr. Bacon of Nottingham : at the
reduced price of 360 guineas, instead of the £500
originaUy asked at the Academy. In 1845, Mr.
CoUs purchased the Picture for 600 guineas. The
latest price it has fetched was a thousand. On its
change of hands in 1845, a share in the profits feU to
Etty's lot : — a rare windfall. Mr. Bacon had sold it at
an unexpected premium. Having originaUy obtained
it at a lower price than that put on it — even in the
Birmingham Exhibition, — he voluntarily handed the
Painter a bonus of £80 : the difference, deducting
expenses, between the sum once asked of him, and
that given. A reparation very honourable to that
Gentleman. Had so — Quixotic must I caU it? — a
step been adopted by aU the private gentlemen who
have enriched themselves by investments in Etty's
Pictures, — buying them cheap, seUing them dear, —
the Producer would have died many thousands the
richer. His second more important Picture in 1842, The
Innocent are Gay, (Dancing Boys), the Picture re
ferred to in his letter to Mr. Dyce, found a purchaser,
for 200 guineas : in Etty's best Patron of these years,
Mr. Knott.
Of his minor Pieces, — Two of the Modern Time,

JET. 55.] A UNIQUE 'MAGDALEN.5 129
(Lady and Lapdog), One of the Olden (a Warrior) :
the latter sold to Mr. Colls at £25. His oiUy
Picture at the Academy in general request — was the
Magdalen; of whicli the price, £90, affords an in
stance of the moderate scale to which he still ad
hered. For this very Picture, its possessor has since
been offered £500 to £600. A fine sample of Etty's
Art, which yet offended no prudish prejudice, its
possession was coveted by many, who might not ven
ture on buying 'less decorous' specimens of the
Master. At his own Private View, and at that of the
Academy, it could have been sold ' half a dozen
'times over/ he states; had it not been bespoken.
It was painted for a friend and Admirer, the Rev.
Isaac Spencer : who had commissioned it from a
Study ; prescribing as a text, — ' Sorrow which
worketh repentance.' But in reality, remarks the
owner, she is reading in the Book: 'there is joy
' over one Sinner that repenteth.' Glad Hope blends
with Contrition. 'It shall be worthy of my 'friend/
Etty had promised. And he fulfilled his resolve. A
signal example of the Painter's powers of Drawing
and Colour; it is equaUy refined in feeling: in
sentiment, earnest and affecting. In some respects, it
stands (almost) unique among Etty's works : as one-
wherein his love and knowledge of feminine Form are
dedicated to religious subject; — unique too, for the
delicate loveliness of the face.
The Magdalen was too true and pure an achieve
ment to escape the abuse of a discerning Press :
always more difficult to please, — if original genius, '
not skilful mediocrity attempt the task, — than the
VOL. II K

130 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1842.
cultivated lovers of Art, who risk their money and
their reputation for taste. Complaints were made,
not readily to be reconcded, of a ' cadaverous coun-
' tenance/ and, of there being ' for a Magdalen, too
' much colour in the cheeks/ and a bosom too luxu
riant. The genial friend who had been fortunate
enough to secure the Picture, justly answers. — ' Your
' Penitent had beauty to give up, charms to sacrifice ;
' even whilst her cheeks were pale with sorrow for her
'past sins.' From a working man, subsequently fell
unbiassed testimony to the reUgious feeling inform
ing the Picture. 'I see, Sir,' he interrupted the
Owner in his explanations, ' what it is : I could look
' at it tiU my eyes run over.'
About the time Etty was paintmg the Magdalen, a
black-letter edition of Chaucer attracted his attention
at a Student's on whom he was paying a friendly call.
Turning over its leaves, he Ughted on the opening
passage of the Lamentation of Mary Magdalen : a
poem once attributed to Chaucer. Kneeling down
to the book as it happened to Ue on a chair, he read
aloud, with great unction, the few first lines; ob
serving how well they suited his Picture.
'The Plantations/ his friend Mr. Spencer's re
sidence, near the pretty, rustic VUlage of Acomb, two
miles out of York, was becoming a favourite spot with
Etty. — 'Your description/ he gossips, (May 6th),
* aided by my own recollection of the peaceful beauties
' of your delightful retreat, makes me sigh out of the
' mighty Babylon, to come and enjoy it. I fancy I
' see the cows quietly chewing the cud in the sunshine,
'on the sweet fields before your house. I see the dis-

JET.' 55.] FAMILIAR LETTERS. 131
'tant Minster, hear the BeUs of Bishop-HUl or Coney
'Street, on the breeze; watch the opening beauties
' of Spring ; and feel that expansion of heart, Nature,
'looked at with reference to the goodness and mercy
'of an Almighty God, alone can give. But it's aU a
' dream. The chimneys of London are about me.'
¦ — But, ' I believe I have one of the sweetest, quietest
* spots in it. I have sent you a Catalogue,' (of the
Exhibition) ; ' hoping it may amuse you. " 'Tis plea-
' sant," Cowper says,
' " 'Tis pleasant through the loop-holes of retreat,
'To peep at suoh a world.' "
Later, (June 21st) : he has ' often thought of your
"pretty place this hot weather;' — 'thought of it and
'longed/ though himself 'very pleasantly situated
' on the River, and the trees below his Window looking
'very green.'
Concerning a promised visit to the Plantations, he
mentions, — ' using that candour which alone one can
' with a Friend/ — what was now an indispensable con
dition to his absence from home. ' My Niece, who
' has been with me seventeen years, my faithful Friend,
' or as I jocularly caU her, my right-hand man, has
' become so much a part and parcel of myself, that I
' feel lost when she is far from me. Her health is
' dear to me as my own. Though she has friends in
* and near York, who would be happy to receive her, —
' to say the truth, — we don't Uke to be separated.
' She has also an invitation part of the time, to Given-
* dale; which is a very healthy part. — So have I.
' I have given up my house in Blake Street ; and
' don't mean to take another tUl I have one of my own;
k 2

132 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1842.
' and leave the Mighty Babylon for the " otium cum
'dignitate" of a retreat in or near York. Poor
' Strickland, my landlord, I am sorry to hear, is now
' dead. I could have better spared a better man.' —
' He was a Falstaff without stuffing.'
Apropos of a proposition of his Friend's to exhibit
the Magdalen for York's benefit, at a York Book-
seUer's, Etty, writing in September, knows of 'no
' serious objection :' but warns him, that he ' wiU have
'to encounter the remarks of the ignorant, the
'sneerers, the would-be serious, but really impure.
' * * In a community like York, not conversant
'in Art much, remarks loould be made. You perhaps
'might feel indignant. I say this, knowing your
'friendly warmth of feeling towards me and my
' children, as I caU my Pictures.'
The scheme was subsequently carried out: with
indifferent success as regarded exciting any interest
or sympathy with the work among the York citizens.
The Penitent's uncovered bosom startled the modesty
of the York ladies ; who looked at the Magdalen but
to turn their eyes another way. I suppose the sensi
tive ladies never bestow a stray glance even on their
own fair forms : — for fear of contamination.
' We are going/ continues Etty, in the same letter,
(September), ' on Saturday/ — spending Sunday, — 'to
'Bohun Lodge/ (Mr. Knott's), 'near East Barnet:
*a lovely spot, where are Grottos, long twdight
'Groves/ amid which 'La Madalena might wash
' away her sins with tears of godly sorrow ; — and whose
* kind host and hostess ' break ' the Tenth Command-
* ment about your Picture, every time they see it.' '

JET. 55.] YORK SCHOOL OF DESIGN. . 133
During his Autumn stay in York, the promised
visit to his friend's pleasant seat at ' The Plantations/
was paid. Here, and at his modest lodgings in
GiUygate, he paints some York Fruit and out-door
Sketches ; — ' a distant View of York, and a Sketch
from a Pond prettily encircled with trees, in his
friend's pleasure-grounds : — grounds where, in after
years, he used often to dash off a clump of trees, bit
of brushwood, or ' effect ' of sky, to be afterwards
introduced in his Pictures. His slight and general
ized backgrounds were aU Studies from Nature.
At early morning, he would walk out, when staying
with a friend, and make them. — ' From ' my room
here/ he narrates while at Mr. Spencer's, 'I look
'over the Vale of York, and Cattle, Cows, &c,
* quietly feeding in the peaceful pastures of Clifton
4 Ings. There, the river winds its serpentine length ;
' and there, the square sad seems sading through
'meadows. Last, not least, the noble Minster rises
'above the houses of dear old York:' — one of the
finest distant views of the Minster ; the pointed roof
of the Chapter House grouping with the square
Towers of the Minster, — in picturesque combination.
— ' Rich foliage, and apple-trees bearing fruit, are the
' foreground of the Picture. And the birds are at
' their matin song.'
At the period of this visit, a cherished scheme of
Etty's was realized, — the establishment of a School of
Design in York : one of the first Provincial Schools
set on foot. The hope of securing this benefit to his
native City, had alone, two years after his unavaUing
•effort to establish a School of Art in the Hospitium

134 . LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1842-
at St. Mary's, induced him to accept a seat at the
Council Board of the Central School : and to inde
fatigable attendance there. Ever on the watch to
forward his darling project, he lost no opportunity of
pressing it on his Colleagues ; finaUy winning them,
despite considerable opposition, to his belief, that.
York, though no centre of Manufactures, was, from
' its quiet, coUegiate ' character, weU adapted for the
Study of the Arts. He obtained a unanimous vote
in its favour. September, 1842, the School was
Opened. Etty, much busied with preUminary arrange
ments, ' getting them to cut up the Window higher, —
' to give a better light/ getting ' the room coloured,
'and some useless windows stopped up;' delivered:
also, a short Address, introductory to that of Mr;
Dyce, then Director of the Head School. And
before leaving York, he saw the first Cast put up in
the School : ' a proud day for dear old York and me.'
A kindness or an act of hospitality Etty was slow
to forget: during these latter years was wont to
acknowledge by a masterly Sketch or lustrous bit of
Colour. The friend who, without professional fee,.
had made his first Wdl, when the Painter had only
a few hundreds and the contents of his Studio to
bequeath, had been, for this and other kind offices,
requited by a beautiful Sketch, — -Young Girl with «
Dove, — sportively entitled by Etty, in the accompany
ing note, ' The Wing of a Chicken and Part of the
'Breast.' More than one debt for professional ser
vices was thus canceUed by Picture or Study, which
Time has briefly quadrupled in pecuniary value.
The ' Sketch' just mentioned may weU detain us a.

JET. 55.] PAINTER'S PAYMENTS. 135
moment as exemplar of Etty's Art, in such ' Studies
' from Nature.' Characteristic illustration it supplies,
I remember, of the subtilty of his Colour, and of that
distinctive sentiment it was for him so easy to infuse
into his Studies. The joyous face, the rosy pouting
Ups, laughing violet eyes ; the budding fulness of the
bosom, the grace of lines throughout : all breathes the
very sentiment of Youth. The Sketch, from the very
fact of being one, wUl, — like many another, attentively
scrutinized, — let us the more nearly into the secrets of
Etty's practiee as a Colourist. The pearly tones of
the Flesh, across which glance the blue shadows and
violet veins (even), are thrown up by the dreamy
draperies : — white, then luminous green; beneath the
waist, orange. And the concerted harmony of me
lodious hues is completed by the purple distance :
not forgetting, — for no' link in the composition can
be lost, — the golden wristlets : one hand sportively
raised, resting on the youthful head.
After Etty's return to London, his hospitable
friends of Givendale having, in one of their frequent
parcels of game, sent him a very fine Golden Pheasant,
he took the opportunity of painting a glowing ' Study '
from it; and of returning them,— as he had long
wished to do, — a Painter's recognition of past hospi
talities and friendliness. ' The effects of Givendale
' air and exercise, and living/ he acknowledges, in
allusion to his Niece's visit of the Autumn, ' are still
'visible in her; still impressed in lively colours on
'her and my memory: not likely to flee away, as a
'feather before the wind.' The lady to whom he
writes, had said she should value anything from his

136 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1842.
hand; 'were it only a Feather.' He accordingly,
made one of the Pheasant's feathers a conspicuous
feature in his ' Study ;' and in his Letter, plays upon
the word.
Writing to a daughter of the Rev. E. P. Owen, he
speaks of this same 'very wdd and pretty part of
' the Wold Hdls of Yorkshire / relates, how his Niece
used ' to gather mushrooms, — and, what is stdl better,
' Health, — and the wdd flowers of the pretty hills and
'valleys; where, the pure crystal streams run down
'the hiU-side, and "the nibbling flocks do stray:"
' sunshine on the hUls, health on the breeze.' * * ' I
' am painting/ he continues, ' Neptune and his Court.
' And, if it would not be profanation in a Christian
'land to offer petitions to a Pagan Deity, I would
' invoke them to blow softly on you, my dear friend;
' and gentle Zephyrs with health on their wings to
' restore you.' In the same Letter, he has occasion to
thank the Uttle girl for a pair of Slippers ; valued ' as
' an expression of feeling from a pure and youthful
' mind ; ' — ' because exceedingly pretty in choice and
' arrangement of Colours, (in which you wUl say I
' am a judge) ; ' — ' and because useful and easy, —
* no small recommendation to an old bachelor.'
EquaUy characteristic of his kindly ways with
children is his next, (Dec. 16th) ; to the same.
' Very sorry, dear Mary, you have cut your Uttle
' hand. Mind and take better care for the future !
' and let me know when it is well. * * Miss
' Etty and myself unite in thanks ' for some ' pretty
' remembrances : ' — ' the marks for her, the Sea-
' nymph's hair for me. No doubt, it has dropt

JET. 55.] KINDNESS TO CHILDREN. 137
' from the ToUet of one of the many of old Nep-
' tune's Daughters : from the " golden comb " of some
'of those fair maidens; wherewith she has sat on
'diamond rocks, " sleeking her soft aUuring locks." '
* * ' Such sweet, soft weather, you wUl forget it is
' December, by the sea-side! and fancy the breezes of
' Spring have come back again ; — with the violets and
'primroses in their train.' Being at Hastings, his
young correspondent is adjured to 'visit the Field
' where England was lost and won : where the noble
' Plarold feU ; and where, in the cold dews of the
* night, his faithful wife and Queen sought him.'
Later, (Dec. 26th), he teUs her, her 'land little
' Song of invitation to the sea-side is almost as diffi-
' cult to be resisted as the Song of the Sirens, by
' Ulysses. Like them, you paint the glories of
'the scene:' — 'and in golden hues, — Tyrian hues
'of purple and ultramarine. But, like Ulysses, I
' must be tied to the mast, and tell my mates to row
' more swiftly. * * I certainly should like : — but
'it is altogether impossible. I have another Bas-
' reUef of River Deities to do, if possible, before New
'Year's Day.'
Etty's manner with Children answered to the gen
tleness and simplicity of the man. A pretty chdd was
sure to win a friendly word : the Artist laying a large,
kindly hand on the golden head, and looking down on
the innocent face with the thoughts of a Painter. At
the Baths he was wont to frequent, was a Uttle girl,
who in time grew to be a young woman ; as little girls
must. But to the last, the fatherly pat on the head,
and injunction to ' Be a good little girl !' were as regu-

138 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1842.
larly bestowed as ever. In York streets, once, an ac
quaintance observed the Painter busy eating cherries :
then, meeting a flaxen-haired little child, stoop down,
take off her hat, and put in some cherries; to her
present wonder and speedy deUght. A pleasant
Picture to think of, that group makes; under the
antique over-hanging Clock of Coney Street: the
little one looking up in open-eyed wonder, the old
man stooping to her with kind simpUcity of mien.
One of the first works wherewith Etty had
commenced the working season, had been The
Three Graces. October 5th, as the Diary records, he
' began to get in the great lines of the Joan of Arc : ' —
at last. To Mr. Spencer, whose ' very kind, friendly,
' and feelmg letter/ demands ' the sacrifice of a few
' minutes of November dayUght, precious as it is,' the
Painter gave, (Nov. 14th), some details as to Pictures
in progress. 'The Sketch/ he reports, — 'the bit of
' Poor Man's Friend — wdl fiU up admirably the back-
' ground of a Female Bather I have in hand ; and be
' very appropriate.' The Poor Man's Friend was a so
briquet for the Pond he had sketched, in his friend's
grounds, whereof the origin enhanced to him its
natural charms ; and conferred on the spot a senti
ment. Its formation had, during one hard winter,
kept many poor families out of the Union. The
story was a favourite with the Painter ; aUusions to it
frequent with him. The Bather referred to, — 'At the
' doubtful breeze alarmed/ his first Musidora piece, —
and one of his most beautiful, — was exhibited at the
foUowing Academy-Exhibition ; and bought by Mr.
Knott, for seventy guineas. At Mr. Knott's Sale,

JET. 55.] A NEW GRIEF. 139
a few years later, it changed hands for two hundred and
twenty-five guineas; and has since reaUzed four
hundred. Another Picture of Bathers was executed
earlier in the season, for the British Institution : a
charming little Picture, Confidence and Diffidence, —
Two Nymphs Bathing. Originally obtained by Mr.
Colls for seventy guineas ; its last price, in 1852,
amounted to about three hundred.
'Jeanne d'Arc' continues Etty, (November 14th,
still), ' is begun in charcoal ; — sketched on aU three
'canvasses.' But he has 'varied interruptions/ a
continued demand ' for other things.' — ' She keeps her
' place in my best affections. When the triple Epics
'are completed, triple thanks to God for sustaining
' me, will break forth from my heart's fountain. —
' " The night cometh :" and I must work whUe it is-
' day ; lest I be weighed in the balance like Belshazzar,
' and found wanting.'
The remedy with Etty for all ills and sorrows, —
when they came, was ever fresh exertion : — 'work, the
'primeval curse, as some call it; but I don't,' he
would affirm. 'For, constituted as we are, occupa-
'tion is the best remedy for "blues" and ennui.''
He was soon to have need of his ' Remedy.'
' Sorrowful unto death/ is an entry in the Diary,
(November 2nd), pointing to thoughts of widely dif
ferent complexion from those occurring to mind in
his last to Mr. Spencer. Within less than a year
after the death of Sydney Taylor, he received tidings
of the loss of another dear friend : with whom, com
munity of taste and feeling had drawn him into stdl
closer ties of intimacy,— Mr. John Harper. Amiable,.

140 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1842.
modest, gifted, enthusiastic, and admiring; warmly
devoted to Art and to Etty, and a lover of Antiquities,
he had rapidly become beloved and indispensable.
Though much younger than himself, an intimate of
comparatively late standmg, he was the Painter's con
fidential friend, sympathiser, and, when they met,
bosom companion. ' I loved him as a Brother/ writes
Etty. The news of his sudden death affected the
latter to tears : for many days made him ' almost
unfit for anything/ — even for work, at first.
A Traveller in Italy, ardent in the study of Art and
of Nature, eager to avad himself of the opportunities
that country afforded him, Mr. Harper had caught
the Malaria fever in Rome. While yet recovering
from the attack, a rough sea voyage to Naples had
brought on a relapse. And in Naples he died,
October, 1842 : in his thirty-fourth year. ' Active,
'zealous, and enterprising/ wrote Etty to the
Morning Herald, ' he sank under his enthusiasm for
'Art. * * Absorbed in his pursuit, he had neglected
' the precautions made necessary by the cUmate.'
' We had conceived/ confesses Etty to a friend, ' the
'danger past. And therefore, it came with a more
' withering blow. — I was flattering myself what plea-
' sure I should have in welcoming him home / in
hearing him ' recount his perils and exertions.' * *
' To say that he is an irreparable loss to dear York, is
' saying too Uttle. I think the loss of John Harper
' a National loss. His talents were only equalled by
' the great and good qualities of that dear heart,
'whose pulsations the Almighty has thought fit to
' arrest ; only that He may bring him nearer to Him-

JET. 55.] HIGH QUALITIES OF HIS FRIEND. 141
' self, the source of all that is great and good : where
' we shaU hope to meet.' * * ' For myself, I
'know of no one scarcely, that can supply his place : —
' ever ready at a word to anything great, good, or
' benevolent ; with a feeling for Art and knowledge
' of it that falls to the lot of few, even of its most
' eminent Professors.' — ' His only fault,' the ' ardour
' too great for the fragile form that held it.'
'I had fondly looked/ (writing at the close of
the year), ' to the time of my living entirely at York :
'being sure of the society and co-operation of one
' whose heart and hand entered most warmly into my
' own aims and feeUngs ! ' — He had looked forward
also, to the deUght and interest his young comrade
would have taken, and the service have rendered to
the long-desiderated School of Design : set going at
York in his absence.
His friend's talents for the practice of Art,
Etty estimated highly. 'Art,' affirmed the latter,
'was in him intuitive.' His Sketches, — amateur
performances, wherein the real bent of his genius
had free play : Sketches of ' Scenery, Antiquity,
' and Architecture, are, in taste, facUe elegant exe-
'cution, and correct detail, — of the first rank.' A
volume of such, the fruits of his few months' stay in
Italy, (he had before only made made a few Studies
of Architecture in York, of Landscape among the
Lakes), I have myself had an opportunity of hastdy
examining: and can testify to their suggestiveness,
their fideUty of detail, their refined feeling, deU
cacy and grace of pencil, and sweetness of colour.
They have eUcited admiration from a Painter, among

142 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1842.
others, whose opinion on such a point carries weight
with it, — Stanfield : who, in many instances, has not
hesitated to prefer the Amateur's point of view and
treatment to his own, of the same spots; and has
painted a fine Picture from one of them. Etty
glanced over these last memorials of his friend but
once : the regrets their very excellence excited,
counterbalancing all other feelings.
By profession an Architect, foremost in repute at
the time, of any in York, Mr. Harper 'left specimens
' of his skid ' in that department : in Yorkshire and
Lancashire. The 'Proprietary School at CUfton,'
York, and the ' Roman Catholic Church at Bury/ are
cited as among the best. UnhappUy, the 'lost Art,'
(or slumbering), Architecture as now practised, — far
gone in imbecUity, in helpless DUettantism, spas
modic mimicry, — affords little opportunity for indivi
dual genius or talent to leave an impress of itself; or
to achieve anything honest or real. As a Painter, —
and a Landscape Painter, Mr. Harper's refined eye
and skdful hand would have had fairer scope.
At the period of his first grief for the loss of his
Friend, Etty had a question to bring forward at the
Academy. Of the share ordinarily taken by him
in the Academy's proceedings, Mr. Leslie has given a
simUar account to that of Mr. Dyce in respect to the
School of Design. — ' NaturaUy shy, he never spoke at
' our Meetings without a great effort ; yet, never was
' silent on any occasion on which he thought he could
' serve the Institution.' Unremittingly constant to
his place at the CouncU Board, he could only when
strongly excited, assume a prominent part in the

JET. 55.] SYMPATHY WITH THE STRUGGLING. 143
transactions whereat he " assisted " by his presence.
Roused by a topic on which he felt warmly, and
one he understood, he would, — after preparation, —
express himself with vehemence and energy ; and in
general, carry his point. A characteristic instance
occurred at a Councd Meeting, in November, 1842,
when he with much spirit, proposed, and carried, a
motion for removing Half-length Portraits at the
Exhibition, from ' Below the line.' No great matter,
it may be said. Listen to Etty ! He had his rea
sons : — sympathy with practitioners in his own line of
Art ; whose difficulties he understood by experience.
Success had not dulled his feUow-feeling. I quote
from a draft of the intended Speech ; premising that
the new rule, according this conspicuous place to
Portraits, was only in force as to those of ' Royal
'Personages/ by whomsoever painted: a Courtier-
Uke complaisance.
Disclaiming any ' disrespect' for Royal Personages,
or for Painters of such subjects, he (justly), thinks
their Portraits would look ' as weU or better' on the
Une. But ' this year, two such had been hung below
' the line : ' ' last year/ two. ' Suppose three or
' four more Royal Persons sit to as many Artists :
'that the Pictures are not bad enough to be rejected,
' and are by the present etiquette hung in the cen-
' tral and principal places. — Those Pictures which, by
' right of talent, subject, and rank, ought to be there,
' are thrust into the second-rate places ; — those that
' ought to occupy the second, into the third : and so
' on. A general embarrassment of the arrangements

144 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1842.
Being a man of imagination and some simplicity,
he ' conceives the Academy ' to be ' the Guardian of
' the Arts of this Country.' He thinks, — what Aca
demic practice give him so much ground for think
ing, — ' its Duty is to protect the interests, not only
' of those who have made their way to its honours,
'through all the lets and hinderances that may have
'beset them;' but also of 'those young men de-
' sirous to cultivate the higher classes of Art, whom ,
' it educates with so much care, and so much cost : *
— to give ' their promising maiden efforts a chance
' of being seen and heard of, in this great struggle for
' places ; and not, as you yourself/ (Mr. President !),
' beautifully say, " bring forth buds to perish," by put-
'ting their efforts into the Octagon Room, or the
'upper line above the Architectural Drawings; or
'perhaps, out altogether, with a printed apology "for
' want of room." '
The sale at the close of the year of his large
Picture, The Dance, from Homer, though, as already
stated, at a reduced price ; puts the Painter ' in good
'spirits.' Of which commodity his stock had run
low : a consummation much aggravated, as he now
confesses, by so important a work having hung on
hand. — 'A year productive of great blessings, and
' great privations/ sums up Etty, at the close of his
Diary for 1842. His Pictures had sold; the York
School of Design been set going. But dear and
valued friends had been lost.

145

CHAPTER XXIII.
CONTRASTS OF FORTUNE. 1843-44. (mt. 56-57.)
Varied Employments — Beady Becognition of Fellow-Artists — A
Brother from Java — Fresco — Commission from » Prince —
An Ungrateful Task — Sunshine — Trip to France : Eouen —
Paris — Orleans — Vestiges of 'The Maid' — Last Studies in the
Louvre — Favoured Friends : Givendale — Happy Scenes — Full
Eeceipts — August Disapprobation — 'Finish' versus Imagina
tion — Benewed Efforts in Fresco— The Hesperus— Its Fate —
Increased Industry — Favourite Lodgings — STork : Incidents
— Edinburgh : an Ovation — Address to York Students.
By March, 1843, the Painter was busied on his En
tombment of Christ ; gaining admission from Liston
to the Dissecting-room and Dead-house of Univer
sity Hospital : there to select an object of study for
his Picture.
At this same time, he was busily working on the
Tliree Graces. As usual at this period of the year,
Model swiftly succeeded to Model, in his Studio : one
of the ' Graces ' giving place, after her hour or two
hours were up, to a ' strapping Life- Guardsman ' for
the Entombment; and so on. One day, a friend
sitting by, remarks on the costly nature of this
kind of assistance. — 'Ah!' characteristicaUy re
plied Etty, ' they take a deal of the gdt off the gin-
'gerbread!' A metaphor, often on the Painter's
lips, borrowed from early experiences under the
roof of the Spice-Maker. In the zenith of his
VOL. II. L

146 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1843.
fame, when Wealth and Rank condescended to re
cognise the Man of Genius as their equal, — at aU
events, as no derogatory associate, — he forbore not
such hazardous aUusions. In which fact, an admiring
friend sees cause to conclude here was ' a man not
' ashamed ' of his humble origin. The true wonder
would have been, had any other feeUng than pride
in it found place in the mind of a man Idee Etty :
whose claims were intrinsic, not extrinsic; a man
based on reality, — no quack or pretender, nor the
proxy or blank counter for a bona fide ' Notable.'
The miscellaneous employments of his time were,
this Spring, augmented by his appointment as one
of the professional 'judges/ in the approaching com
petition at Westminster Hall. At the Central School
of Design, his post had proved an unsatisfactory one ;
the breach growing daUy wider between the Director
(Dyce) and the Council of amateur gentlemen and
busybodies : who, among other crotchets, required
of an eminent Painter that he should forsake his
calUng, and teach a knowledge of the Figure, without
keeping up his own knowledge of it, or practice of
his Art.
Among the Pictures of the season, The Flemish
Courtship, a reminiscence of Flemish Travel, as
sisted, as we have seen, by authentic accessories
picked up abroad ; and commenced in the previous
year ; was painted in a clear, firm style ; such as was
now getting rare with the Painter. The success ofthe
present year was less qualified than that of the past.
AU his numerous Pictures for the Academy were
sold, before leaving his Studio : the Entombment

JET. 56.] FRANK ADMIRATION. 147
of Christ, the Infant Moses and his Mother, the
Graces, (first of that subject), in which the figures
of Psyche and of Cupid, — Cupid looking up in
flushed admiration, — are so fine ; and lastly, In the
Greenwood Shade, a Sketch of Givendale Landscape.
At the Academy's Private View, numerous offers to
purchase followed : — too late. An equally ready
Demand had carried off his Bathers at the British
Institution, his studies of Fruit, and Game, On the
Thames, &c. The Dealers were eagerly buying his
Academy Studies, and tempting him to convert
Studies into Pictures. And already, he can boast
" almost .f 100 a year in the Three per Cents.'
Where Etty's admiration was excited by a fellow-
Artist's achievement, he grudged not to confess
it. In this year's Exhibition, a Picture by a non-
Academician, a friend and, some time ' Patron/ (first
buyer of the Combat), drew from him a congratula
tory letter, expressing frank admiration : — admiration,
greater than a lover of Nature can well understand,
who does not account imagination and Fancy, ima
gination and falsification of Nature, synonymous.
'I cannot resist congratulating you/ he tells Mr.
Maclise, ' on your noble Picture from Gray's Elegy,
* embodying as it does, most magnificently and suc
cessfully, the touching sentiment of that sweet
' poem : — the light lingering on the mountain top/
(or hUl-top?), ' as loth to leave so beautiful a scene ! '
In a Letter of uncertain date, another Landscape-
Painter and friend, — on whose merits we are all pretty
unanimous, — Stanfield, thanks Etty for spontaneous
praise of one of his Pictures : had , he been ' at the
l 2

148 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1843.
'Academy last night/ would 'have made you my
' best bow for your very flattering epistle. There is
' nothing so gratifying to the feeUngs of a Pamter as
' the praise of his brothers in the Art.' — ' Approbation
' from Sir Hubart Stanly " is praise indeed :" — vide
'A Cure for the Heart-Ache.'
May 29th, 1843, is marked in Etty's Diary: 'a
' day memorable in our Ufe. Dear Charles, my
' youngest brother, arrived from Java:' unexpectedly,
and after an absence, as sador and sugar-planter, of
thirty-one years. On the Painter's return one even
ing, from the Academy, where, for a wonder, he had
not stayed, he found the welcome stranger in his
house. Of Captain Etty,a rough, sea-faring man, —
a hearty and honest, the Painter had hitherto known
little; inevitably. His own Brother was a new acquaint
ance to him. This Brother's pursuits, very different
from his own, had been almost equaUy successful.
' For years he has ploughed the bosom of the ocean,'
floridly recounts Etty, in his subsequent Edinburgh
Speech : ' has awed the Pirates of the Batavian seas ;
' has tracked the Tiger, and bearded him in his
'forest-lair.' — A 'hero-kind of man,' admirers de
scribe him : a man of original character, as of practical
energy. WhUe the Painter was yet struggling to
learn the grammar of his Art, under his Uncle
WiUiam's protection, his younger Brother, — sent out
into the world as a stripling, — had made his six voyages
to India. ' In one of which, they fought the La
4 Forte French Frigate of forty-four guns ; an<l he was
' complimented by his Captain on his bravery.' He
rose to be Captain himself, (in the Merchant service) ;

JET. 56.] FRESCO. 149
ultimately settling as Sugar-planter in Java. In
which latter capacity, turning to good account his
native sagacity, his clever mechanical turn also stood
him in stead : a bias, whereof mention has been made
as characterising more than one member of the famfly.
Prosperous and enterprising, he was now enabled to
invest large sums in English machinery, a valuable
import in Java ; and, like his gifted Brother, to enter
tain floating thoughts, (not then to be fulfilled), of ' a
' house in York/ and ultimate retirement thither.
An employment engrossing a good deal of Etty's
time, at this period, calUng him off from more legiti
mate pursuits, was the Study of Fresco : the technical
minutiae of its practice. In the course of his experi
ments, he applied for information from those learned
in the theory of the subject, — Dyce, Eastlake, &c. :
who advised as to the Colours to be used, the mani
pulations requisite, &c.
The revival of Fresco, — already a stale marvel in
Germany, — was the artistic wonder of the hour in
England : over which deluded persons were raising
their prolonged cackle, as of a new Epoch for the
British School, and rehabUitation of Art itself. Under
the impetus of alien influences, and of a petty, pedantic
taste, the novelty was engrossing far more attention
than it could ever repay: in a School whereof the
chief triumphs had been attained in precisely opposite
directions. As far as Etty was concerned, — and some
others, — the time thus devoted may be reckoned so
much lost to Art. A characteristic feat of an inane
Ddettantism, — vain Idling which busies itself about
nothing, mistakes trifles for things of moment, lays

150 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1843.
stress on externals at the expense of essentials, pins
its faith, (ignoring the Man), on the tools, on some
special, outward appliance or other, — was this of
cajoling gifted men and a whole School of Artists to
rehnquish the method of painting, (and a good one),
in which they were versed, for another, and antiquated
one, whereof they knew nothing. It flatters such
'Patronage/ — weak, meddlesome, mischievous, — to
think, by commanding a substitution of one vessel
for another, or a change of vesture, something has
been actuaUy done for Art and Artists.
The Fresco demanded of Etty was one of a series-
to decorate the ' new Summer Temple' in Buckingham
Palace Gardens : — ' a rustic octagon on an artificial
'hUl/ as the Newspapers describe it. Eight Painters
of established repute, including LesUe, Stanfield,.
Maclise, Eastlake, Uwins, and Sir WiUiam Ross, —
a various band, — were charged with their execution,.
by Prince Albert : one of the earUest pubUc acts of
that Prince's reign. A commission this, as Etty
was concerned, destined to entail nothing but vexation
and loss on the Painter : — no additional credit on his.
'distinguished Patron.'
On the 8th of May, Etty had received 'His
'Royal Highness's commands/ to paint one of the
compartments in this ' rustic octagon on an artificial
' hUl.' After applying ' to Mr. Eastlake for particular
' instructions/ as he subsequently relates, he ' made
' Sketches of two or three compositions from Comus.'
Selecting the one he ' thought best on the whole/ —
Circe and the Sirens Three, July 11th, he reluctantly
commenced on the Fresco : ' not expecting to succeed/

JET. 56.] AN UNCONGENIAL TASK. 151
as he had assured ' His Royal Highness ' on receiving
the commission ; ' being unacquainted with the prac-
'tice of Fresco.' 'In about a week or more/ he ' got
'it aU in; puUing down a portion and repainting it.'
The corner- Sylphs were painted at home, and put up
afterwards ; and were in execution the most successful
portions, as in conception the most imaginative.
His Diary iUustrates his anxieties and vacillations
during the progress of the work. — July 15th : ' Visit
' and praise from the Queen.' — 17th : ' To the Palace
'soon after nine; puUed down first Fresco figure,
' repainted it and cut.' — 19th : ' At nine, at the Palace,
' with egg and size ; retouched all day : from nine
'till seven.' — 21st: 'Finished the Fresco, I hope.' —
Not quite.— 28th : ' Again paint Fresco.' A fellow-
Artist remembers meeting him one of these summer
evenings, in St. James's Park; returning from his
long day's work at the Pimlico Summer-house : and
how he fell into talk of the ' great difficulties ' he
had had to encounter in Fresco-painting.
Throughout it proved an ungrateful task, — alien to
long- confirmed habits, and familiar predilections :
a task wherein his real mastery of hand could find
Uttle scope. It was not a style for the great Colourist ;
who, as Mr. Frost well describes, ' obtained his effects
' by passing a glaze over a solid painting and, when
' dry, a scumble of opaque colour over that ; when dry
again, a glaze here and there, &c. &c. :' a process
directly opposite to that of Fresco; which must be
painted at once, whde the plaster is fresco (fresh).
A style eminently suited, is the latter, to the Ger
mans ; who are not Colourists. Fresco-painters never

152 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A, [1843.
could be, in the sense in which Titian, Rubens, and
Etty are : though they might, (but in modern times
do not), try to approximate towards the sweet and
tender feeling in Colour, as in all things else, of the
early Schools ; of Perugino, of Francia, of RaffaeUo.
' Etty/ says Mr. Maclise, ' disliked Fresco-painting ;
' and seemed careless to submit to the conditions
' of its peculiar practice. In the PavUion at Buck-
' ingham Palace, I have seen him touch upon the dry
' plaster, — not the fresh portion on which he was to
'perform his day's work, — but the dry part of the
' previous day's. Of course, such work was not ab-
' sorbed, and therefore useless. His habit in the
' practice of his Art was not methodical enough to
' submit to the trammels of Fresco.'
It was, in fact, rather too late in the day with
him. His very proficiency in ods, joined to the late age
at which he was dragged into the Study, hindered his
attaining equal mastery in the technic requisites of
Fresco manipulation, with several younger and some
inferior Painters. A singularly felicitous mode of
honouring a grey-headed Master, and of recognising
his supremacy in his Art, was this, of sending him to
School again, with supercilious condescension; to learn
the elements of a (to him) new mode of practice : —
instead of eUciting from him the best he could do in
his own. This puerde invention of an ' EnUghtened
Taste/ — 'Taste' insensible to Genius, and intrinsically
ignorant, — such idle waste and frittering away over
Fresco experiments, of the time and powers of the
greatest Colourist of his age, reminds one of the image

JET. 56.] GLAD ANTICIPATIONS. 153
in Snow exacted from Michael Angelo, by an ignoble
Duke of Florence.
The prospective retirement to York had aheady
as a poetic dream, taken firm footing in Etty's
mind. His friend, Mr. Edward Harper, having re
ported a suitable house adjoining the City- Walls,
and in the close neighbourhood of the Minster : —
' Yours to me/ — had repUed Etty, (July 21st), — ' has
' in it such a true bit of sunshine, that, though I am
' now going to the Palace to my Fresco, I cannot resist
'thanking you for it. When I read it, I almost
' screamed with deUght. Miss Etty thought, I dare
' say, I was beside myself. The thought of mount-
' ing a bit of the sacred rampart of dear old York,
' and seeing the Minster therefrom, — a Yorkshire
' Claude, a Poussin, a Cuyp, — was rapturous :' and
of 'feeling the sacred homefelt delight that I was
' anchored there for life.' — ' Thank you and Doctor
' Simpson for the brUliant thought. It would,
' indeed, be,' &c. ' On one side, Alma Mater,
' our dear Cathedral ; on the other, the WaUs and
'the glories of the Setting Sun. * * Happy
'Willy Etty, in the thought of living in dear Old
' York, and near such friends as you and the Doctor.'
August 12th, writing to his constant Correspond
ent (of late years), Mr. Wethered, he teUs him: —
' I have got a Sketch of a Golden Apple, — not of
* the Hesperides, but one I picked up in Lambeth ; —
' such a nice colour, that I painted it with a grape
' or two to carry off the colour, en Vignette, on a
* white board : which I shaU give you, as another
' souvenir.'

154 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1843.
After a long season of hard and various work,
Etty took a fresh step preparatory to the Joan of
Arc ; that of visiting the authentic scenes of her
Story. Aug. 16th, he left London with his friend
Wood ; embarking at evening from Shoreham.
'The Sun's glorious and golden disk/ — he after
wards recounts, — ' soon dipped its head in the green
' sea. The Moon rose, and the beautiful Stars ; and
' at last, the revolving Ught of Dieppe : — tantalizing us
' a long time.' To which ensues, when ' French
' vigilance ' has done ' spelling the passports by lan-
'tern Ught,' the 'chdly amusement after being
'across seas/ of ascending and descending in the
foggy night 'a steep ladder, where you had diffi-
' culty in not slipping through, and breaking your
'legs:' running to and fro betwixt Douanier and
luggage. In Dieppe, where ' a place to lay our
'heads was hardly to be had/ 'we at last got two
' beds made up in a biUiard-room : ' awakening next
morning in astonishment, to ' find ourselves in an
'immense room, with lamps and rafters running in
' perspective ;' — ' our inn, a fine old French Mansion,
' of the olden time.'
On the way to Rouen, — the way hdly, and ' the day
'very hot,' — 'hot as Italy,' 'our Rosinante, Uke a
' true ambitious horse, did not Uke going down hiU.
' On a tremendous ' descent, — ' I have it now before
' my mind's eye, — crack goes an important strap of
' his harness ! And he begins kicking Uke a Fury.
' * * WeU ! here we were : — a long down-hill ;
'an equally long up-hid, with, of course, another
* down-hdl at t'other side.' — ' It seemed impos-

JET. 56.] LAST VISIT TO PARIS. 155
'sible to reach our destination, (about thirty-five
' mUes), that night.' Matters mend, however. And
the evening witnesses their landing on 'the Quai
'Havre at Rouen; where, just before the window,
' was a beautiful ship moored, taking in her cargo : —
' called " Jeanne d'Arc." '
At Rouen, he examined, with more attention than
on previous visits, the old Market-Place where his
Heroine was burned : — where stands ' a Statue to her
'memory/ and 'a fountain runs.' — 'I filled my
' Uttle water-bottle and drank of the stream myself;
' went to the Cathedral and the Church of St. Ouen,
' which is indeed lovely : — such simple, chaste, pure
' Gothic, — Uke York Minster.' — A ' finer thing than
' even the Cathedral at Rouen itself.'
Thus much, from Paris, (Aug. 20th), to his Niece :
whom, 'if anything can make dearer, — which is
' next to impossible, — it is/ that he is far away.
Paris, ' gay, lively, extraordinary/ — with its im
posing Public Works and Galleries, — impresses him
more favourably than before ; though stiU reminding
him, in ' its gaiety and whirl/ ' of Bunyan's " Vanity
Fair." ' As ' an intelligent friend ' teUs him, " you
'feel as at a BaU, and desirous to get home, — though
' late in the morning." ' A place he has often visited
' with advantage to his Art/ is Paris ; ' but would not
' Uke to Uve in : as in London, or in York, — dear old
'York.' Since his last visit of 1830, ' they have improved'
it, 'by grand fountains in the Place Louis Qui/ize}
' trottoirs in the streets/ &c. ; have made the Louvre
a greater marvel than ever : ' so that there now seems

156 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1843.
' no end of it.' And the French are candidly con
fessed ' to be a very clever, ingenious people, and to
' do extraordmary things.'
On the 19th, 'to the Statue GaUery in the
' Louvre/ and sketched ; afterwards, ' with my friend
' Bishop Luscombe ' ' saw the Spanish Pictures, and
' the wonderful accessions they have made.'
On the 22nd, he is painting in the Louvre, — and
from his chosen Masters, the Venetians, as usual :
'making a Sketch of Mrs. Titian, and Master hold-
'ing her the glass to see her nice face, — one much
'like your Titian face/ (to Mr. Spencer).
The 23rd finds him 'in the middle of France,'
at the goal of his PUgrimage : the ancient ' City of
' Orleans, Banks of the Loire.' Whence, he com
mences with an emphasis, accounts of his expe
riences : to his brother Walter, and to Mr. Spencer;
accounts which vary Uttle in substance, and are here
woven into one.
Standing on the very spot signaUzed 'by the
' Maid/ ' where she fought and conquered,'—1' ground
' sanctified by her piety and patriotism / — he ' hopes
'to catch a ray of inspiration' for his 'intended
' Trio : ' and, (with better reason) , to get ' informa-
' tion that wdl be useful ' to the same.
'I crossed the River to-day/ (Aug. 23rd), 'over
'which she rode triumphantly into the City, with
' her convoy of provisions ; and reUeved the starving
' citizens.' * * A fine wide ' river, the Loire at
' Orleans : ' but now ' turbid with rain and wind ; '
the weather being ' stormy, Uke the times of poor
4 Joan.'

JET. 56.] ORLEANS : VESTIGES OF ITS HEROINE. 157
Seeking whatever may remain ' appertaining to
' her or her exploits,' he has cause to complain, ' there
' is not much.' The ' Improvers have been busy. And
' scarce a vestige remains of either the old Bridge or
' old Cathedral.' ' What animals/ cries he, ' these
'Corporation men often are: to destroy the only
' existing memorials of their glory!' Hehas, however,
,' got a ' better notion of the situation, and other
' curious and interesting particulars ; so does not/
(addressing his Brother), ' consider his labour in
' vain.' Subsequently, more memorials of Joan were en
countered than had at first been anticipated. He
' found fragments of the old Wall, but aU the Gates or
' Bars gone :' dived into ' the dark ceUars of a Cabaret,
' where are the only remains of the old Bridge she
'crossed in triumph/ and 'saw the arches of the
' rings to which they then attached the' [dlegible] . Of
the Cathedral, ' mostly more modern than Joan's
' time, some parts round the Choir seem the same ' as
that in which she 'went to return thanks/ after
having ' brought in the convoy and raised the Siege.
'It was something to know you were on the spot
' where this Heroine trod, and exerted herself in the
' cause of her country.'
' An old painted Banner/ was also faUen in with ;
'which used to be carried in civic procession: — where
' she is painted kneeling / also, 'the Virgin Mary and
* Christ, and a view of the old Town on the other
' side. Which' latter 'wiU be useful.' An ' ingenious '
and ' respectable ' tradesman, at once farrier and ' a
' sort of Antiquarian/ had ' preserved this old Banner

158 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1843.
'of the Maid/ and gave the Painter a 'Uttle book
' of the matter.' ,
' Another view ' ' of the Town as it was,' he saw
' in the Town-hall : with the Walls, Gates, and old
' Cathedral standing.'
After two days and a stormy night in Orleans, —
such ' a windy night Mr. Wood and myself could
scarcely sleep/ — he returned to Paris, ' weU tired :'
content, ' on the whole, to have come so far,' and to
have ' witnessed and sketched some of the scenes ' of
his Heroine's exploits.
In Paris, he and his friend, with whom, reports
Etty, 'I get on capitaUy, — he is very kind and
'good/— spent several additional days. 'Painting
' and drawing in the Louvre/ — for the last time, as
it proved, — Etty has his hands fuU, of business and
pleasure : ' dining several times ' with his old friend,
Bishop Luscombe, ' at his beautiful residence in the
' Champs Elysees/ and 'witnessing their' (the French)
'wonderful exertions in the Arts.' He visits 'the
' Tombs of the Kings, and the Cathedral of St. Denis ;'
visits the ' superb Palace and Gardens of VersaiUes :
'seeing the grandes eaux play, to the delight of
' thousands / wondering at the ' prodigious Gallery,'
admitting Vernet's Battles, &c, to be ' very powerful,
fuU of genius and 'talent.' Finally, one night, he
occupies a pit-stall 'at the Optra Franqais: the
'BaUet and whole Spectacle superb.'
'A time of severe exertion:' wherein he 'got
'through a great deal/ under 'the Sun of France,
' whose power/ — &c. ' The heat, the rain, the whirl

JET. 56.] FRESH FROM THE CONTINENT. 15D
¦* of Paris/ make him ' long for a Uttle rest ;' after the
much done and seen.
At the end of a fortnight's absence, the sight of
'our own beautiful Island hanging over the blue
'Ocean, breasting it with her albe cUffs;' sight of
' the nibbling flocks of sheep cropping the grass in
' the happy vaUeys near Folkestone/ ' under a beau
tiful sunny sky;' make him, as of old, ' happy that
'England' is 'his country.' September finds him in
his own Home, 'improved in knowledge and in
'health,' — for French 'living and wines weU agree
' with him :' — but with a ' Uttle of the fever of a long
'journey and a great exertion' on him, and 'the
* whirl of the Folkestone Railway hardly out of his
'head.' Before resuming more famUiar labours, he
amuses his fatigue by announcing himself to more
than one friend, as ' red-hot from France ; ' and by
recounting how, among other achievements, he had
lately been sketching ' from the Antique, in the cool
* marble HaUs' of the Louvre, ' looking out on green
'trees, — quite a treat:' — sketching, ' and painting.'
Which latter 'was hotter work: the Long GaUery
4 closer and warmer.' He had made, in all, three
* smaU OU Studies : a small Sketch of Titian and
' his Mistress, a bit of Paolo, and an Italian Costume
' of Victor Carpaggio, an old Venetian.'
During the Autumn of 1843, Etty apphed himself
to smallJPictures for his friends, the Dealers, — CoUs,
Wethered, &c. ; who have, he teUs them, 'a glut-
' tonous appetite : ' continuing, with the sums realized,
to buy ' Stock.' The two gentlemen just mentioned

160 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1843.
were two among the prmcipal engrossers of his
works, in these years. Vice-ChanceUor Wigram, Mr.
Knott, Mr. Serjeant Thompson, had for some time
been frequenters of his Studio, and purchasers. At
a distance, in Liverpool and Birmingham, were many
others: at the latter place, Messrs. BuUock, Birch,
Roberts, and, above aU, Mr. GiUott ; the weight of
whose purse, and his frequent presence in London,
enabled him to distance all the rest.
A visit to Mr. GUlott was in this and subsequent
years added to the prescriptive York one, as a regular
item in the programme of annual recreation. His
hospitable friends the Singletons, at Givendale, had
been previously enroUed on the brief Ust of those with
whom Etty deUghted to pass a few days of relaxation.
During the last ten years of his Ufe, the peaceful
hours there spent, free from constraint and ceremony ;
— aud he cared not to visit where he was not whoUy
at his ease and master of his liberty; — numbered
among the happiest of his yearly retirement.
Pleasantly situate on the south-west edge of the
East Riding Wolds, commanding the Valley of
York, this part of his native County, quite distinct
from more famdiar parts of it, yet distant only a mile
or two from scenes known to his boyhood, — Pock-
lington, Hayton, &c, — came to be equaUy dear,
though its acquaintance was made late.
' Sweet Grivendale, thy Vale of Peace,'
is the commencement of a quatrain of verse from
Etty's hand. In florid prose, an excerpt from a
Letter to his Niece of uncertain date, may represent
divers like : celebrating Autumnal pleasures there.

JET. 56.] 'THE HAPPY VALLEY.' 161
' Givendale was looking lovely. Sweet shone the
' Sun on the green slopes and uplands. Soft sailed
' the fleecy clouds ; and fanned the trees, the zephyrs.
' Quietly grazed the cows and the sheep. The brooks
' tumbled their crystal water over the pebbles in the
' vaUey. Peace seemed to reign. The crows saded
' over our heads. The white doves shone in the sun-
' shine. The blackbirds and robins shot across the
' lawn ; and whistled their autumnal song. The little
' Church lay snug on the hill-side. — And the Fish-
'ponds are in capital trim.'
The abode of his friends lay close to one of the
little lateral valleys which abound in these Yorkshire
Wolds, — as in all hdl countries : — a secluded, some
what bare, but verdant dale. Within which, at one
end, was embosomed, when Etty knew it, a smaU Nor
man Church (a Nave only), with red roof and gabled
bell-cot ; simple, picturesque, homogeneous with the
simple scene, (as the handiwork of our ancestors is
ever) : since replaced by an erection in the Church
warden style, which size and position do somewhat
to save from utter irrelevance. Of this favourite scene,
— 'the Happy Valley/ as he loved to caU it, — the
Painter never tired. Here, after sitting and chatting
freely with his hostess, or after escaping from the
Table, — for long after-dinner sessions were his aver
sion : — here he liked to walk, enjoying the peace and
serenity of Nature. Here too, he often sketched.
Along this valley nestled two Fish-ponds : a sketch
of one of which, Etty, — introducing some boys, &c, —
exhibited in 1843, under the title, In the Greenwood
Shade. The Garden again, and a seat at its end, were
VOL. II. M

162 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1843.
favourite retreats : from which post, on the brow ofthe
hill, may be caught a noble panorama : stretching in
one direction, (southward), to the far-spreading Hum
ber; — Howden and Goole Church-towers visible on a
clear day, and to the East, the grander towers of
'Dear York' itself. A more manageable scene to
his right, (as he sat), the Painter sketched : — pasture
with its sheep, and fine trees, in the foreground; a gap
in the trees revealing a glimpse of the distant land
scape. From the garden, sometimes begging a flower
or two, specially deep and brUUant in hue : of these he
would make his ' Studies in Colour.' Once, he got
up a little Exhibition in his room, of sketches from
Givendale scenes and Givendale ' stUl-life :' — deep
toned blue-bell, convolvulus, poppies, brUliant dragon
fly, and the like; drawing up a sportive Catalogue,
and inviting the family to a ' Private view.'
The receipts of 1843 enabled the Painter to add
many a hundred to the ' Etty Fund.' His Pictures dis
persed as fast as he could produce them. Few were
painted seUing for large sums : only two (the En
tombment and the Graces), for as much as two hun
dred guineas ; another, (Flemish Courtship), for one
hundred. The total incomings, — mainly realized by an
aggregate of smaUer Works and Studies, — amounted
to some £1300 ; according to loose occasional entries
in the Diary : in reaUty to more, probably.
This year appears to me the first, in which Fame
and Fortune, — long with their usual caprice waver
ing, — fairly lighted on Etty; in such proportions as his
works had intrinsicaUy for nearly twenty years
merited. His Reputation had risen as high as it

JET. 56.] THE ' SUMMER-TEMPLE' AGAIN. 163
ever did, untd the great access received from the
Exhibition of his Works in 1849. He and his were
much courted. It had become a matter of favour
to secure a Picture direct from his Studio. Large
sums are said to have been proffered -for the sup
posed secrets of his practice : — had there been any to
seU them. Noble Lords and busy Statesmen paid
him the compUment of occupying his time, by flatter
ing visits to his Studio; among others in this year,
Sir Robert Peel and Lord Lansdowne : whom, says a
privileged intimate, he received to a ' lunch of beef
' and porter / though ' he might have given a glass
* of good port, which he always had for a friend, and
' would bring out in pint bottles.'
February, 1844, found Etty again at work for the
' Rustic Octagon.' The Fresco of Circe, and the
Sirens Three, was one instinct with poetic feehng, —
with grace and beauty ; in all higher respects a noble
work : but no model Fresco technicaUy, no ' perfect
' monster/ — coldly correct and unexceptionaUy duU.
Nor was it highly finished. The inequality of finish
was a result due, partly to the tendency of Etty's
latter practice generally, — that of gaining unexampled
splendour and vigour of effect by few and bold
touches; in part, to those habits, long famdiarity
and long mastery in oils had rendered incurable : —
those despairing and forgetful touches on the dry
plaster, (utterly futile), mentioned by Mr. MacUse.
For Etty's mode of painting, — the reverse of neat;
no plodding effort of merely dexterous craftmanship; —
was at once swdt, impulsive, and pondering, — d plu
sieurs reprises, to use an apt Gallicism. •
m 2

164 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1844.
The original understanding, moreover, as to these
Frescos was, that they were experiments. And the re
muneration ultimately accorded by the experimentaliz
ing Patron, — £40, is not that for which 'English
gentlemen expect to secure important imaginative
works from artists of eminence : far less finished
Pictures of importance. Under such open-handed
encouragement, no fortunes, it is plain, wUl be made :
if so much, indeed, as rent and taxes paid. That a
Prince Consort, ' himself salaried on the English
scale, should remunerate English painters according
to a German schedule of prices, was by some con
sidered anomalous. The tentative nature of the
undertaking has been pleaded as an excuse : one,
however, which impUes the experiment to have
been made, (as in fact it was), at the Painters', not the
Princely Patron's cost.
Mr. Maclise, a younger and, on system, more
elaborate painter, had made the Prince Consort a
free gift of very careful finish on his Fresco. Etty's
therefore, by its juxtaposition, suffered : — at a super
ficial glance, and in eyes better qualified to judge of
'the accurate making-out of the parts/ than of
' Colour and general effect / of mechanism, than of
imaginative feeUng or creative power. An uneducated
— or superficiaUy educated — Taste cannot under
stand a Picture deficient in finish ; is only appealed
to by something smooth and neat. To blunt per
ceptions, the elaborate finish of a Tea-board or a
Winterhalter counts for more than the poetic thought
boldly dashed in by inspired hands, in aU the glow of
fervid genius.-

JET. 57.] AUGUST ' TASTE.' 165
One of Etty's fellow-labourers beneath the frigid
sunshme of august Patronage not regardless of ex
pense, himself sincerely admiring the 'beauty of
'parts of what' Etty called his ' experiment/ and the
'perfect harmony of Colour/ — ¦' breadth and harmony,
'beating the rest of us hollow/ — had observed dissa
tisfaction on the part of Royalty. With the friend-
Uest intentions, he privately counselled Etty to add,
for the sake of gratifying the Queen and Prince,
a little more precision of detaU : and by a few days'
labour, to make the whole Picture equal to the
Sylphs at the angles, and in quaUty, such as would
do his Art uniform justice.
As 'those exquisite gems,' — the Sylphs, were al
luded to by Mr. Leslie : — alone ' worth, in my opinion,
f100 guineas each/ examples, proving 'how much of
' the beautUul quality of your Art you may give to
4 Fresco / — truly ' Denizens of air ; —
Their fluid bodies half dissolved in light.'
Etty always sensitive to the opinion of his Patrons,
above aU things solicitous of ' giving satisfaction/ —
even when the " distinguished Patronage" consisted in
'" commanding" a laborious work, and paying a tithe
of the market value ; determined to do more than his
friend had counselled. Genius is lavish with its
-wealth. The Frescos were becoming ' of more con-
' sequence ' than had at first been anticipated. And
though, as was quickly discovered, 'Fresco may be
'altered, and with almost as much facUity as oils/
alterations did not come naturaUy to Etty, in
-the unfamiliar medium.

166 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1844.
Writing to Colonel Anson, the Prince's Secretary,.
under the impetus of what he had heard, he, with
a dangerous frankness and modesty, declares his-
own original expectations verified. 'Not satisfied
' with the result of the Experiment, ' for such he
considers it, yet ' most anxious from the first/ — I '
quote from a draft of his Letter, — ' to make the work
'worthy of his Royal Highness and his illustrious
' Consort's approbation, as weU as more worthy of
' those of my compeers / he declares himself 'desirous
'to be aUowed' another trial-: 'in the hopes of
' better success.' He, in fact, offers to make, (at his
own expense), an entirely fresh attempt : to be painted
in the more familiar, and to him more favourable,.
environment of his own Studio, and inserted in its-
place afterwards ; a thing easily done ; — the mode in
which the small corners of his first Fresco had been
executed. — 'Labouring under a certain diffidence/
he explains, ' in painting in a place to which I am unac-
' customed, — particularly on a scaffold, — were I to re-
'peat the attempt there, it would probably be un-
' successful.' He proposed either to ' paint the same
' subject of Circe and the Sirens again, or the other
' sketch of Hesperus. — ' This, as his Royal Highness
'pleases.' A sketch of great beauty, for the group of
Daughters Three, he left at the Palace, — ' on appro-
' bation.' Painting industriously on the Hesperus, and va
rious lesser Pictures, Etty, despite his visit of the
year before to Orleans, left the Joan of Arc in statu
quo. The latter, elbowed by Fresco and minor efforts,
had again to stand over another year, and yet another.

JET. 57.] THE ' HESPERUS.' 167
March 19th, writing to Mrs. Bulmer, he speaks
of portrait : teUs her he has been painting ' your
'Uttle god-daughter. Her sweet eyes, pretty little
'face, and her being a sort of pet of yours, seduced
" me to depart from my usual denial of Portraits. I
' took some pains and trouble with her, and I hope
' succeeded.' At the Academy, he challenged criticism with his
second conception from Comus : —
" All amidst the Gardens fair
Of Hesperus and his Daughters Three,
That sing about the golden tree;"
'Painted the size ofthe intended Fresco.' — 'Tis but a
Fancy Sketch, was his second more important work.
A fancy group of partiaUy draped, female figures, —
a bouquet, as it were, of beautiful forms and hues, — ¦
it exemplifies the characteristic excellences of Etty's
latter practice : sunlight glory of colour, and a free,
riant glow of happiness, and of delight (in Nature
and in his Art), — so faithful an expression of the pre
dominant feelings of the man himself. Because, in
fact, his sensations were thus vivid, their eloquent
expression spontaneously foUowed his hand :— from
the day it had once attained mastery enough to
respond fully to his wdl. The maturer he grew,
and the freer his touch, — however blurring, the
more direct and unmistakable became this ex
pression of the born Artist's innate fervour and
enthusiasm. May 12th, writing to Mr. Robert Davies of York,
Etty reports, ' The Queen was at our Private View,

168 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1844.
' Royal Academy ; Prince Albert at our Dinner, yes-
'terday week. And it wiU please you, and some of
* my York friends, to hear that he paid me a com-
'pUment, on my Picture of Hesperus.' Solicitous
as ever in behalf of Antiquities, the Painter
hopes ' they wiU not, as you say, destroy that gem
'the Round Tower at the end of Mary gate. The
'vile system of Destruction of what can never be
'replaced, must, if possible, be arrested.'
June 26th, gossiping to Mr. Colls, he has again
cause to mention 'Fresco!— Oh, that word! For
' the future, it wiU be a " word of fear." I am in the
' midst of it, but hope this week will finish. And,
f entre nous, I think neither fear nor favour wiU
'induce me to undertake another. — But I have hopes
' of wax ! and I have got in, (in outline), the Circe
' and Sirens Three, for that trial ; — and, I hope, shaU
'make something of it. I am about a female
'figure at the St. Martin's-lane ; a chaste attitude ;
'which I shall keep for you, if you like it. * *
f My Brother is still here, amusing us occasionally
' by " yarns " of perils by " flood and field /' tiger-*
'combats, piratical encounters, drifting out to sea,
' &c, &c. : which, in one and thirty years' bailing
f under Oriental suns, he has seen and under + ,
' gone.' —
'ReaUy something seems wanting,' the Painter
' tells his absent friend, ' when you are away so long.'
— ' Your coffee-pot will grow rusty for want of use,
' and the little table too. * * I know by experience
'how irksome dawdling about by the sea-side, — or
' any. side is, without some occupation.'

JET. 57.] AUGUST COURTESIES. 169
Notwithstanding the verbal compliment of Prince
Albert at the Academy-Dinner, Etty's second Fresco
(Hesperus) was never put up. The Sketch, when
shown to Royalty, had been accorded a glance, and
the request to 'take it away.' 'Poor man, he
' doesn't know what we want,' are the words reported
to have been used on that occasion. — Ignorant of
this August verdict, the Painter had, with his cus
tomary zeal, set to work on his Fresco ; and sent it in.
His own modest confessions were made a handle
against him ; his voluntary exertions to secure Royal
approbation, construed into the ' wish ' (uncondi
tional), to have his 'Fresco removed as a faUure.'
To obUge him, the Prince in person gave orders that
it should be. And, Etty being ' unwilUng/ according
to the Court version, ' to execute the Fresco on the
' wall ; ' the Prince was ' obliged to employ somebody
' else.' These were the pretexts. Mr. Dyce, a Painter
then swiftly rising into favour, who had accepted a
commission to paint one of the Frescos, — ere knowing
which one, — was ordered to execute a substitute for the
condemned Fresco, (yet on the waU) : Etty's second, the
result of laborious and thoughtful months, lying, the
while, in an adjoining room, ready to be put up. Mr.
Dyce naturally demurring at the ' obnoxious position '
in which he was to be placed; the Prince, who ' showed
' plainly, that he did not appreciate the ground ' of
demur ; took the responsibility of that.' — It was ' an
' affair between him and Mr. Etty.' Almost the first
hint the latter received of the intention to supersede
him, was a letter (July 8th) from his successor, Mr.
Dyce, announcing the unpleasant situation in which he

170 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1844.
found himseU"; and appealing to his friend's gene
rous construction of his almost involuntary part in
the transaction. A refusal of the commission would,
it must be confessed, have been an impossible act of
heroism for a mere flesh and blood Painter; and
nugatory : entailing simply, the substitution of some
more wiUing rival ; and, for a very competent prac
titioner in Fresco, the loss of Court patronage, aU-
powerful in the Parliament's ' New Palace at West-
' minster/ (where the People are paymasters), — the-
height whither Mr. Dyce was then climbing, and
whereon has since gathered his laurels.
July 7th, Etty received, (the Diary records), a
'letter from the Palace, and £40:' the sum at
which, some of his associates had in February, (' by
'request'), sent in their 'account;' uniformly, and
by common agreement; — a sum they were not ex
pected to much exceed. Once, if not more than
once, Etty had refused the same, as beside the mark.
But Princely munificence would take no denial.
On receipt of which £40, Etty retired from
the field, a loser from August condescension, by
some £300 or £400 : taking into account all the
time expended on these Frescos. The whole busi
ness had proved fruitful in vexations, an unprece
dented disturbance ofthe unworldly Painter's peace;.
of life ordinarily so tranquil and happy. From the
first, not liking to go to School again, he had been
averse to making the experiment. The iU success
which was its sequel, and the slight put upon him
at last, — and so cavalierly, — were mortifications he
was calculated to feel keenly enough : what with the

JET. 57.] THE CONDEMNFD FRESCOS : RESCUE. 171
natural modesty of his temperament, his sensitive
ness to Fame, his habitual ' respect for Royalty' and
for aU ' powers that be.'
Concerning the fate of his Frescos, Etty was seldom
known but to maintain sUence. His dislike to Fresco
itself, as a method of paintmg, he would more freely
communicate. 'One evening,' — relates Mr. Maclise, —
' a year or two later, meeting Mr. Cope and myself
' coming from the House of Lords, where we had been
' at work aU day at Fresco : on our teUing him of
'what we had been engaged on, he expressed to us
'his dislike of the process; said we were not to be
' envied. Any style of Art for him but that ! With
' a grave kind of comicality, he made a repeUent
' gesture with his arm, and repeated Macbeth to the
' Ghost :— * Approach thou like the rugged Bussian bear,
The arm'd rhinoceros, or the Hyrcan tiger ;
Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves
Shall never tremble.'
The despised Frescos fell ultimately into .the hands-
of Mr. CoUs: who, on application to Mr. Gruner,
rescued them from a shed at the back of the PimUco
Palace. At the next change of possession, the two
Frescos for which Etty had, from the Prince, re
ceived £40, — and from Mr. Colls, a further, like
sum, — became Mr. Wethered's, on payment of
£400 : in whose possession they stUl remain.
Etty had, in the course of his career, small cause to
be grateful to the 'higher circles' for patronage.
Throughout, the buyers of his Pictures were nearly
aU of the Middle class : not fashionable coUectors,

172 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1844.
who acquire a reputation for Taste by deputing to
Dealers the formation of their splendid collections;
nor aristocratic Ddletants who make 'Patronage'
their peculiar mission in life.
An ' Independence/ for himseU7 and Niece, inde
pendence and ' a Cottage in York/ had become the
object of Etty's exertions: no Ulegitimate aim surely,
after he had wrought thirty years with empty pOcket.
To achieve it, he worked as hard as he had ever done :
in somewhat altered channels to the old; but with
equal enthusiasm, equal loving enjoyment of his Art
for its own dear sake. Yearly harder, in fact, he
worked, until the final retirement in 1848 : — an ample
competence realized; the ambitious, long-planned,
Joan of Arc achieved. Yearly, under the stimulus
of his new aim, conjoined to that of an eager demand,
he applied himself more and more unremittingly, and
at all seasons, to Production.
Surrounded by an eager circle of Dealers and ad
mirers, he was rapidly attaining his desire. 'This
' makes more than 100 guineas in the week/ he some
times has occasion to tell his Niece when absent : on
finishing a Flower Girl or other graceful study, and
counting the receipts. — 'We shaU soon have over
£150 a year.' The 'Etty Fund/ as to which kind
friends continued regular inquiries, had aheady
(1844) swoUen to £5000 :— its commencement hav
ing been made Uttle more than three years before.
Considerable as were the gross sums realized by
the Pictures and studies, Etty's habits of constant
work and of facUe execution enabled him to pro
duce in ever-increasing numbers ; his prices remained

JET. 57.] INCREASING INDUSTRY. 173
exceedingly moderate. Much less, he on system
asked, than many painters of (confessedly) far
slighter pretension to fame or merit now charge : on
the strength of the market for Modern Art, Turner
and Etty have been most instrumental in creating.
Disapproving of the high price system, he thought
the young men were ' going too far ; ' prophesied it
'would not last.' Pictures like the Backbiter of
this year, and its companion, Eve at the Fountain, —
two lovely small specimens, were painted for Mr.
CoUs, at £30 each : who has since given more than
£500 for the same pair. He sold little henceforward,
to private hands ; not even to personal friends, — unless
buyers of old standing. He preferred disposing of
his works as they were pamted, to a few dealers (and
quasi dealers) in London and the Provinces ; whom,
as having been the first to discover his value, he
Uked to befriend. ' I have hah a dozen/ he would
say, ' who wdl take all I can paint.' To the last,
for aU but his most important works, he charged old
friends at almost the old prices. So little mercenary
was Etty throughout : whether paintmg in obscurity,
— ' for Fame and the Honour of his country / or, in
the height of his reputation, and the decUne of
his health, for 'Independence, and a Cottage in
York.' During these years, even his York visits became
shorter : weeks, — six weeks generaUy, — where they
had used to have been months ; lodgings taking the
place of a smaU house of his own. A house in York,
(commenced in 1834), had, we have seen, been aban
doned two years since. From that time until final

174 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1844.
Retirement, he contented himself with modest lodg
ings, — one smaU sitting-room, two like bed-rooms, —
in GUlygate: GUlygate, a humble street without
York WaUs, the green fields near. UnwilUng to
change them for others, he, in sundry years, even
put tip with one 'lodging-room,' as North-country folk
caU a bed-room ; rather than go elsewhere. On which
occasions. Miss Etty, his usual companion now, abroad
as at home, has to be accommodated elsewhere, or
to stay behind in Buckingham Street. So much of
a favourite was the simple, inexpensive home. The
sunny Uttle parlour, he would say, was ' good for a
' Painter.' The humble prospect visible from his bed
room window it pleased him to look out upon, and
once he painted : the green level field opposite, with
its trees, red-tUed shed, and haycock, — a quiet simple
scene. The Miss Burnetts, his landladies, had a
mother affected with a paralytic stroke. Every morn
ing, as he came down for his short morning walk
countryward, before his eight o'clock breakfast, Etty
would step into the kitchen and ask Mistress Burnett
how she did. It ' reminded him of Home/ he said,
' and of his own mother.' He Uked, too, to use at
the Minster her big, old-fashioned, red morocco
Prayer-book; with its clear large print, and old-
fashioned ' Companion to the Prayer-book.'
Here, on the same frugal scale as in years of far
inferior fame and fortune, the Painter received his
many and assiduous friends : here, in cramped space,
painted the Portraits he stiU favoured a chosen few in
York with executing. Dining dady at others' tables,
he had small occasion (in York) to give dinners. Till

JET. 57.] YORK EMPLOYMENT. 175
noon, he would sit reading ; in the afternoon indulge
in one of his favourite stroUs.— Minster-service he
still haunted, on week-days occasionaUy, and twice
on every Sunday: taking on that day, 'between
' Services/ the old accustomed walk to Huntington
MUI, two miles out of York, and a snatch of Sunday
dinner there, at Brother John's.
To GUlygate, Etty had in the Autumn of 1844,
brought two or three unfinished Pictures : painting on
them during the absence of his Niece; who had
accompanied his Brother Charles on a short Conti
nental trip. Her absence from England, and ex
posure to the risks of a sea voyage, was to the affec
tionate Painter, a serious distress.
'I have been painting/ he thence writes to Mr.
Colls, (September 16th), ' a portrait of a youth, to
' amuse my mind tiU Miss Etty came ; — finished it
'to-day: — and a trifling Landscape Sketch or two;
'during which, I longed for the portable Easel. I
' wiU thank you to order one for me, that it may
' be ready another year. * * The effort to "paint
' like Nature," — for who can ? — is something. And
'therefore, I am glad you are making what you
' caU " puny efforts." '
To Mr. Wethered, he (this same September 16th),
relates that he has ' been in the HiU country, last
'week, enjoying the fine air/ and that to his 'great
4 relief, Miss Etty and Captain Etty have returned
' from a tour up the Rhine, as far as Neufchatel, and
'back through Paris, — and, London.'
During October, ' our ancient City is very gay.' On
his Brother Charles Etty's account, whom he wishes

176 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1844,
to show 'something of the aristocracy of the City
'and County/ he is 'necessarUy drawn into some
'of those gaieties:' taking tickets for 'Lord De
'Grey's BaU, and the Grand Hunt Ball.'— 'Not
'getting home this morning/ (October 8th), — he ac
quaints Mr. Wethered, — ' till about three ; from the
' Earl De Grey's Ball. But late hours and champagne
' suppers don't do so weU with me as tea at home,
' and to be in bed by twelve. * *
' This day forty-six years ago, I left my father's
'mansion, — a humble but happy one, — and my
'dear mother's apron-strings and care; to be cast
' on the wide world among strangers : — at a dis-
'tance from home, to strike out for myself and
' earn my bread ; according to the primeval decree.
'Seven years of Bondage brought me near to
'that period when happiness dawned upon my
'Ufe: — the morn, when my heart's desire was
' about to be accomplished, by enlisting as a sol-
'dier in the ranks of my beloved Art, and
'fighting under its banner. Here I am a
'veteran in the cause, in that city whence I
' departed, sorrowing to leave my home : hap-
'pily, then unconscious of the rough billows
'which lay between me and that haven of peace,
'God has been pleased to lend a guiding star
' to lead me to.'
The October of 1844 was also made memorable to
Etty, and more pleasurably than that of 1808 '.
by a Meeting, — not a fareweU, — enacted in York;
a meeting and dinner together of the five Bro
thers, from Java, HuU, York, London. Such

JET. 57.] OVATION AT EDINBURGH. 177

to

gatherings are always difficult to compass, where,
as in most families, the members are widely
scattered, and of still more various callings. This
was the first for thirty years ; the first since they
had all gone out ' to seek their fortunes.' And it
was the last. Five years later, Death had overtaken
two of the party, and made another like impos
sible. The same month witnessed an incident stiU
more notable in the Painter's uneventful course :
an unforeseen honour, — the first of its kind, — paid
him during a short and sudden visit to, Edin
burgh. It had been a cherished wish, that of
seeing once more his ' five Great Pictures ; ' after
long absence ; and in their new abode. Some years
previously removed from the ' Octagon room' of the
Scottish Academy's old quarters, to a more com
modious but crowded room in the - Edinburgh
'Royal Institution/ there, they had been often
publicly exhibited, attracting the admiration of
many a wandering artist. To show his brother
from Java these triumphs of his skdl as a
Painter, samples of his power and success, evi
dence of years not whoUy wasted, was a strong
additional inducement to the journey.
This flying visit was made, like his only previous,
during the duU season at Edinburgh. But fourteen
years had rendered Scottish friends still more en
thusiastic towards the Painter of the Judith and the
Combat. A demonstration was improvised by the
Academy, on the spur of the moment, for Etty's
second (and last) day in Edinburgh; taking the
VOL. II. N

178 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1844.
orthodox British form of a Dinner, (Oct. 17th) :
dinner ' at Barry's Hotel.' Notwithstanding the
shortness of the notice, some thirty members of the
Academy assembled to receive him. This tribute
was made doubly welcome to Etty by the presence
of his newly regained Brother, a skilful practical
man immersed in affahs, unversed in Art, Uke
most practical EngUshmen. Better able to appre
ciate the tangible results of the Painter's gifts than
the gifts themselves, he had previously perhaps, been
unconvinced of a Success he was himself disquahfied
from apprehending. Here, however, was evidence
that the Painter had not laboured in vain dm'ing
the past thhty arduous years : even as worldly favour
was concerned.
At the threshold of the feast, a further, unex-
, pected compUment awaited Etty. The folding-doors
being thrown open, which separated Ante-room from
Dining HaU, — a ' large and magnificent ' one, bril
Hantly lighted, — the Painter's eyes were saluted, to
his strange delight, by his chef-d'oeuvre, the Combat :
at the upper end of the room, and of a table
sumptuous with plate. The Picture was set in ' rich
' and massive festoons of crimson cloth ; ' and effect
ively lit up by ' two elegant chandehers, suspended at
' the upper corners.' — A display, which ehcited
unanimous applause. The first occasion, it was pro
nounced, on which the Picture had had a position
worthy of its surpassing power.
Of course, the chief guest had to make a speech.
Wherein, he aUudes to his ' peaceful Triumph' as the
'recognition of a principle, — the principle which

JET. 57.] ADDRESS TO YORK STUDENTS. 179
' made him an Artist : ' the ' independent exertion
' of mind, unawed by fear, uninfluenced by favour.'
Further generalities follow : as to the gratifying
'suffrages of his brethren/ — an 'elevated aim in
'Art/ — 'subjects worthy of Art's powers/ conclud
ing with a panegyric on Scotland, — a country
'' romantic and pleasing ; ' — its ' city of Palaces/ men
'talented and brave/ women 'beautiful and vir-
' tuous / &c. — An authentic after dinner effusion, it
must be owned !
The Scottish Artists' recognition of the great
Painter did them as much honour, as to him it
was a seasonable set-off to recent slights and
mortifications at the hands of more august Per
sonages. He returned well pleased with his
' successful trip to the ' noble city of Edinburgh :' —
his Brother Charles also, who 'is not easUy
'pleased.' 'I went last Saturday/ — he details to his Brother
Walter, (Oct. 19th),—' to Hull. * * In going,
4 Eastrington' (his Brother's birth-place), 'caught
' my view. I immediately thought of you ; and in
' coming back, impressed on my mind the aspect
'and character of its Church; and made a slight
* Sketch of it from memory, for you.'
' I have an address/ it is mentioned in the same,
' (from York), to deliver to the Students in the
' School of Design here; — encouragement and advice:
' in the hopes of doing good to the cause of Art in
'my native city.'
In this Address, the Painter characteristically
exhorted his youthful hearers to ' Industry, patient,
n 2

180 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1844.
' persevering, and untiring; ' ' throwing overboard, as
' useless or worse, — mischievous, — aU-vain notions of
'yourselves, fostered, perhaps, by injudicious friends:
'that you are geniuses.' He teUs them, to 'study
'with accuracy and care the objects of Art in the
' School, but also, the varied forms and Colour
' which Nature presents : — the beauty of plumage in
' birds, the colours and shapes of shells, flowers, and
'plants, both wUd and cultivated. Try to express
' these ; with a pure, accurate, and ' clear Outline : —
' the first essential. Without this, the best Colouring
'is almost a nonentity. Add careful detail, and
' finish : on which, much of the beauty of Ornament
' depends.' — He at the same time offered, out of his
own purse, an annual premium of two guineas : for
an original Design, for Stained Glass. The like
also, he announced from his Brother, Captain Etty:
' for the best Drawing or Painting, in body colours, of
' the wild flowers, weeds, and grasses of an English
'hedge-bottom; done accurately from the objects, in
' arrangement as weU as detaU.'
On his way to London, the Painter took Man
chester : showing his Brother Charles, the Sirens;
and thus completing a mutual review of aU his large
Works.

181

CHAPTER XXIV.
CHARACTERISTICS.
"Winter Campaigns — The Daily Journey— The Daily Sufferings —
Proceedings-iii the Life-School — Students' Recollections — Mr.
Maclise's Reminiscences — Translation of Nature— Faith in Her
— Etty's Mode of Painting — His ' Medium " — Social Meetings
— Accessibleness— Kindness to Students — Good Counsel.
To brilliant hours in Edinburgh, succeeded the
accustomed gloom of a London November: — a
month, during which ' the only sunshine I ever
' see/ the Painter teUs Mr. Vint, ' is the gaslight
-1 shining on the Figure in the Life.' — 'We must go to
'Naples to see the Sun.' Of 'fog most dense/ he
writes, to Mr. Spencer, (November 24th) . ' When I
'went out to the Royal Academy, at six o'clock, we
'could not see from one lamp-post fo another : — with
' difficulty got across the road. One omnibus was
'driving up St. Martin's Church steps, and others
* running foul of each other. At last I got there,
' painted my portion ; and got safe home to tea and
' my own Fireside : which I left no more that night.
¦' * * You have had some difficulty in getting a
'Lord Mayor this year; but have at last, I hope,
•' succeeded. — Honours civic go a-begging, it seems :
' Not so, our Academic honours. There, many are
' called, but few chosen. Of sixty candidates, two
¦' only : of whom Dyce was one, — whom you know.'

182 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1837-47.
Again, .to Mr. Wethered, (November 27th), he
makes the report, — it might have been a daUy one : —
'I suffered much with my cough, last night, in
' coming home. * * The frosty and foggy state
' of the atmosphere, prevalent in November, irritates
'the uvula; and brings on fits of my cough, — some-
' times very annoying. But soyez tranquille, mon
* ami ! God is good as weU as powerful. I intend
' to keep as quiet as I well can ; and thus steal over
' the hard season.'
Accounts these, of the battle he had to fight, — which
may be accepted as true of any winter during the
last ten years of the Painter's abode in London. The
rheumatism, cough, asthma, from which he had so
long suffered, complicated with disease of the heart,
and at last with rheumatic gout, were always much
aggravated by Winter, and atmospheric changes ; but
more seriously still, by his habits of life : the fre
quent alternation between heated Life- Academies and
the cold ah of the streets. Much as Etty suffered
during the trying nights of winter, in journeying to-
and from the Academy, he would not faU at his
post : however thick the fog, or searching the wind-
Rarely, even during his severest attacks, could he be
persuaded to rehnquish the famUiar close to a long
day's painting at home : of an horn' at the Academy.
The entreaties of friends were unavaUing. — ' I shall >
' be miserable, if I don't ,go : ' — was his reply. ' I
' would rather die at the Academy, than stay at
' home.' Acquaintances have seen him returning home on
foot, on damp, foggy nights, constantly obliged to

JET. 50-60.] THE DAILY JOURNEY. 183
stop to regain his breath. Sometimes, indeed, the
exchange of an overheated atmosphere for a dense
London fog, would bring on a fit of coughing, so vio
lent, he could scarcely crawl home at all; stagger
ing from lamp-post to lamp-post, — clinging to each.
'There goes Etty, drunk!' a Student would cry. The
temperate Painter, speechless with asthma, was unable
to rebut the charge.
One foggy night, during his latter years, though
having promised his Niece to stay at home, he, — as
not unseldom happened, — could not resist the temp
tation of saUying out to the Academy. She, on
foUowing in quest, is met by a friend, who teUs her,
he"' had passed a drunken man : '—shortly after, as she
had expected, encounters a couple of men, bringing
the supposed drunkard home. Sometimes, he would
be sent home in a cab. — ' I confess my sin/ replies
Etty, (in his Autobiography), to his calumniators. 'I
' am fond of drinking : but only a harmless beverage,
— lea.' To one of his doctors, suddenly called in
during the night, as often before ; who, having found
him gasping for very breath, was plying him with hot
brandy and water : — 'You will have much to answer
for/ he jokingly gasped out. ' You will make me a
brandy-drinker in my old age.' Throughout, patient
in suffering, and cheerful, his doctors describe him to
have been.
' Living/ writes Mr. Maclise, ' on the top of a cir-
' cular staircase, in ' Buckingham Street, and every
' evening having to ascend another, — to the interior
' of the dome in the Royal Academy Rooms, — Etty's
'exercise, I have often thought, was a peculiar one :

184 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. ' [1837-47.
' constantly, with the interval of a walk along the
' Strand, moving in the lines'

These hundred stone steps (or nearly), leading to
the Life- School, which he had to conquer dauy, and
second hundred to his top floor in Buckingham Street,
were as trying as the night fog. At last, it took
some time ere he could recover from theh ascent.
And the fits of coughing which would interrupt his
work, painful to himself, became painful to others to
see and hear. After one of these, he would rest his
head in his hands for five minutes ; then, arouse him
self, and paint away again : until another came on. —
And they were frequent. Despite which interrup-'
tions, simdarly glorious Studies from the Model were
achieved as of old ; — equally, or stUl more, magical
Flesh Painting.
Etty's memory is inextricably associated with the
Life-Schools of the Royal and the St. Martin's Lane
Academies. AU old Academy Students have some
reminiscences to teU of him, and of his mode of
Painting there. . AU can remember, ' in the silence
' generaUy preserved in these places, listening to his
' approach, as very slowly he ascended the stairs, lite-
' rally gasping for breath.' And how, ' when he had
' reached his place, he would be obliged to sit inac-
'tive: before he could recover the effort of ascent,
* and commence his labours.' — 'When once he did
'begin/ continues Mr. Charles CoUins, — to whom I
am indebted for some interesting recollections;-- -'the

¦MT. 50-60. J REMINISCENCES BY FELLOW-ARTISTS. 185
'process was rapid enough, and sometimes, very
' peculiar. ' He would (sometimes), after having out-
' lined the Figure, cover the whole with an applica-
' tion of dark brown transparent colour ; and then
' commence painting into this. A practice, which I
'remember, in my first enthusiasm for the Artist
' endeavouring to imitate : — not always with the hap-
' piest results.' —
'His palette he brought ready set, and did not
' hold on his thumb ; but screwed it to the side of his
' board. He seemed to make a conscience almost
¦' of using aU the colours on his palette. By the time
''the evening's Painting was concluded, they were
' generally involved in one mighty sweep, covering
'the whole surface of the palette. Whatever the
' tints, they were generally made to come in in the
' background, or in the Figure, as they were avail-
' able.' '
By Mr. Maclise I have been kindly furnished with
a very full and graphic account of the ' proceedings
' of Etty in the Life- School' of the Academy : remi
niscences which, with others aheady incorporated,
present that distinguished Painter in the graceful
light of one of the great Colourist's warmest,
most generous admhers. Contributed, ' as so many
' texts, hints/ — which if, adds the writer, ' in the
' slightest way suggestive of any remarks in honour
' of my friend, or iUustrative of him as man or Artist,
' it wiU give me great pleasure : — they are here printed
in extenso. I have not thought it right to meddle
with so authentic a Portrait.
' The course of his life for years, had, as it appeared
to me/ — Mr. MacUse commences, — ' so little incident,

186 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1837-47.
'that beyond what I observed of him in the Life-
' School, of the Academy, I could inform you of no-
' thing. And even there, it was the same routine
' course of study.' Of the part Etty played in that
arena whereof he long formed the most characteristic
feature, ' the Students, and Members would recognise
' such traits, as : his punctual arrival at six o'clock,
' with his mdlboard under his arm, and a Uttle flat
' wooden case, of about a foot long, six inches wide, and
' two in depth, containing his palette — already set, — a
' few brushes, a bit or two of chalk,- white and black,
' and a little brass receptacle for his vehicle, — some-
' thing like an ink bottle, — with a screw lid. ,He would
' wait tiU aU the Students took theh choice of a view
' of the Figure ; and then, would take the best vacant
' seat : generaUy, on the extreme right or left of the
'lower chcle of seats that surround the Model; — all
'the others being generaUy occupied. In a calm
' way, even to slowness, — compared to the eager rush
' to work of the Students, — he would place his brown
'paper mdlboard on a drawing board, and begin
' slowly, but with great power, to delineate from the
' Model, — in charcoal. He would spend generaUy
'the first evening and even the second, in making
' an Outline. This I always suspected, was an ex-
' ample to the Students : who too often commence
' theh Studies in Colour before they have made a good
' Outline. Then, perhaps, he would, with the com-
' mon pen and ink in the room, (for the Students
' to sign their names in the book of attendance), go
' over the charcoal Outline. He then would rub over
* his tablet some of his vehicle, and a little asphaltum,

JET. 50-60.] PROCEEDINGS IN THE LIFE-SCHOOL. 18T
' — touch in the masses of shadow, transparently,
' and begin to paint in the lights ; dragging the
' edges of the lights with a free hand into the
' shadow. Next night, he would repeat the process
'to stUl further progress : and so on to completion.'
' It was always curious to see that whatever view
' of the Figure he was compelled, as it were, to take,
' always appeared to be the best view, from his ad-
'mirable treatment.
'The vehicle he used was old raw linseed oU, a
'little sugar of lead, and a few drops of spirits of
' turpentine. 'A long slip of wood, to serve for palette, without any
' hole for the thumb, he used to screw to the left-hand
' side of his board, with a little brass screw that his
'box also contained. — The whole of his apparatus he
' invented for the restricted room in the School.
'Sometimes, his colours would fall short on his
' palette. He had no bladders of colour or tubes, to
' replenish it. For this would increase the bulk of his
'box. — And in this case, I have seen him borrow
' from the well- supplied palette of some neighbouring
'Student: who always seemed to think it a com-
' pliment to be aUowed to contribute, even in that way,
' to his Study.
' I have seen him paint, — a year or two before his
' death, apparently insphed by the fine form (more
'than usual), of a female figure, — a Study, the size
' of life, on two large pieces ; which, when united,
* made excellent proportion. This was in consequence
• of the restricted space of the seats.
' It was delightful to see how beautifuUy he gene-

188 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1837-47.
' ralized and ideaUzed the forms of his Studies. There
4 was the flavour of Nature in them. But the contours
'were for ever varied by his own admirable percep-
' tion of the beautiful. If there was poverty in the
' line, or flaccidity in the form, — his pencil seemed to
' refuse to portray it. And, taking into consideration
'that both were studying 'from the same original, it
' was very curious to see his glowing Study sometimes,
' contrasted with the wretched, meagre truth of the
4 person who happened to sit next him; and who
' drew with dull literality.
' Sometimes, I thought his faUing sight (he would
' not wear glasses, — fearful of stUl further impahing his
'vision), seemed, as it were, to increase his mental
* perception of the beautiful : as it prevented him
'from seeing some mdividual detad, — some pecu-
' culiarity of form, some minutiae of toe or finger,
' some wrinkle, or the individual shapes of the
-'features of the face. AU these were generaUzed,
' and poeticaUy, as it were, made mysterious, by his
'blurring brush. Scarcely ever, by form or face,
¦* could you trace from which individual Model he
' made his copy.
' It was the same with his Colour. AU local pecu-
'liarities of hue, aU discoloration, — he never gave.
' Sometimes, the Nude is as faulty in Colour, as in
' Form. But you never could trace such deformity
' in his Study. Greenish hues were turned into
' pearly tones. And bad yeUows were inclined to rich
" ones ; and cold purple hues translated into car-
4 nations.' It is, perhaps, weU to add, lest some countenance

JET. 50-60.] FAITH IN NATURE. 189>
seem (unintentionally) lent, by some of Mr. Maclise's
genial words, to the notion so fatal to exceUence in
Art, so treacherous a guide to young Artists, — that
they are not to paint Nature as it is, but as it ' ought
' to be ; ' — to add the declaration Etty himself used to
make with apparent sincerity : that he ' was not a
' great Artist, — only copied what he saw.' No man, in
fact, ever painted with more habitual, almost hourly
reference to Nature. He painted ' what he saw : ' —
saw not with ' dim, common' eyes, but with inspired
ones; with the idealizing insight of the Poet, the
generalizing eye of the great Colourist. Etty's Stu
dies from the Model, or from StUl Life, are faithful
portraits ; but not servile imitations. The glory of
those objects is given, — the sentiment ; and the poetic
feeUng of his mind involuntarily betrayed. Ab
sorbed in admiration of Nature's shifting combina.
tions of line and hue, the Painter's enthusiasm
imparts a lyric glow, as it were, to the Piece. The
Model may have been — no superfine heroine; may have
been jaded with long standing. But a tinge of Etty's
own riant Fancy and happy mind : — a flush of colour
perhaps, in the upturned, glancing face ; or one of his
noble, purple backgrounds of sky, or sea ; has sufficed
to confer a sentiment on the Study, and transmute it
into a Picture. His fidelity, on the other hand, to
the combinations of line and hue he actuaUy saw,
is evidenced by those unusual effects in his Studies,
which to many seemed unnatural; but wherein he
has been since borne out by the Calotype: — great
length of limb say, (in proportion to breadth), from.
shoulder to waist, — a natural result, often, of the

190 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1837-47.
Model's attitude and of the Painter's point of view.
He adhered to the aspects of beauty Nature actuaUy
presented to him : not falsifying what he saw by ' im
proving' it into accordance with a narrow, traditional
standard. For he had faith in Nature :— in Nature,
as she showed herself to- him. Hence, his greatness.
Hence, his new harvest from the boundless field. AU
his Academy Studies have, in the -prevailing grace of
curve, and harmonies of contrasted hue, — as of a
piece of counterpoint, whereof not a link is to be lost,
— that deep claim, as interpretations by Art of
Nature : such as, in a different domain, Hunt the
Water-Colourist's mysteriously beautUul translations
of common things have.
For two hundred years, beside Rubens, there has
been but one man who could paint flesh : — and that
one, Etty. Considering this: that, consequently,
most of the painting we see, is in a very radical point
false, and that a Painter is a Painter, — as contradis
tinguished from a draftsman, — only in so far as he is
a Colourist; some glimpses of Etty's mode of working
cannot be without interest. It were vain, however,
for a man to hope to paint Uke Etty, by following
any system. Art is no system, in the great Artist.
From the beginning, he had made Light and Colour
a special study ; had tried and examined every colour,
under every light, — under aU raised lights, &c. But
he had none, he would say, which others did not
use. It was his mode of applying them which gave
him his superiority. People were always wanting
him to try new discoveries in Colour, or vehicle.
The stress laid on the tool, instead of the right use

JET. 50-60.] ETTY'S ' SECRETS.' 191
of it, is the characteristic of the feeble and incom
petent. Like all great Colourists, in fact, he used few colours,
and simple. The complexity did not lie there. It is the
bungler in the Art who needs a different tint, for every
different effect. ' In Etty's hands/ declares a Painter,
from whom I have before quoted : with ' three colours,
' and white, — anything approaching to a yeUow, a red,
' and a blue ; — he could produce a sweetly coloured
'Picture.' Much of his magical truth and har
mony was the result of mixture and contrast : green
to look blue by contrast; and so on. Yellow and
white hues, blended and contrasted, as he knew how
to blend and contrast, produced the pearly tones of
the flesh. Those beautiful effects of rosy cheek and
hps were the product of simple red and white, — not
carmine. At an Exhibition, he would observe, ' Ah !
they are aU using one colour : ' and aU wrong. The
result, a brick- dust hue in the flesh tints. His
nesh tints were sun-Ught.
Young painters were continuaUy teasing Etty
about his ' Medium : ' — that all-important point with
a certain class of Students. 'Tell them/ Etty
would say, a good deal bothered by the subject :
'teU them, the only medium I use is Brains.'
They could not beUeve but that he had ' a Secret ; '
that some trick or artifice went to the production
of his wondrous flesh tints; something beside the
skUful combination of ' a few simple, primary colours :'
judgement developed by years of practice, aiding the
native gift of eye and hand.
'With regard to the vehicle he used, obligingly

192 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1837-47.
writes Mr. Richard Colls, — who, a great favourite
with Etty, often painted with him in latter years, —
' on which subject so many are curiously interested :
'his mode was most simple. 'He had no secrets, or
'peculiarities. Like Sir Joshua, he had tried all
' things, including wax, and, last of all, the abhorred
' lime for Fresco. But, after forty years' experience;
' he told me, he invariably made (his medium of one
' part saturated sugar-of-lead water, one part mastic
' varnish, and one of linseed oil ; occasionally, a few
' drops of turpentine added. This was his general ve-
' hide. He commenced his pictures very frequently,
' with water colour ; using pure white for his high
'lights. — His draperies were usually prepared in
' this manner ; also, his armour, which he painted so
' admirably. It was his substratum, or foundation ;
• over which he glazed. This, he conceived, gave his
' works brilliancy :— unlike some of the Old Masters;
'where the ground was red; the colours sinking
'lower and lower. Whereas, the white underneath
' always maintained the vigour and freshness of his
' tints. Etty used a fuU brush. His canvases were pre
pared always, — by Brown of Holborn, of whom he
had his colours, — in a somewhat pecuhar manner:
with a rough absorbent ground, tempera or fresco
like ; good for Colour. He had marveUous power
over his materials. And those admitted to his Studio
in latter years, wondered not a little at his free
mode of dealing with them. Himself quiet and en
grossed in his work, ' Talk away/ he would exclaim
to such privileged friends, whUe glancing at his ' sub-

MT. 50-60.] SOCIAL GATHERINGS. 193
ject ; ' walking a long way back to look at his effects,
or giving a dab — 'in the nearest place for effect,' from
his palette : the colour on which, reports one observer,
he always stared hard at, before fixing with a palette
knife. Sometimes, he would take off the glaze
' with his thumb/ or ' dab it with a pocket hand-
' kerchief, — always in the right direction:' painting,
in fact, with nails, handkerchief, palette knife, as
neither Model nor connoisseur ever saw man paint
before. The extremities, as for instance, the feet of
Joan of Arc, he carefuUy penciUed out, andpainted^
with his brush.
After study at the Academy, concluding at
eight, Etty held his social meetings. 'We had
' tea,' — relates Mr. Maclise, one of those whose fre
quent wont it was, to go home with him at that
hour, — ' tea, in the making of which he prided him-
' self; capital muffins and buttered toast. A few old
'friends were generaUy assembled. We closed the
' evening early, with perhaps a petite verre of Ma-
'raschino.' Tuesday was the open day at Etty's : none
being invited, many coming. In earher years, —
when Stothard was alive, Breakfast had been the
hour of meeting : relinquished, as one much exciting
Etty too early in the day. More than one genera
tion of Artists he had seen assemble in his rooms.
To FuseU, Flaxman, Stothard, Constable, HUton,
succeeded MacUse, Dyce, Herbert, and theh com
peers : Turner supplying a connecting link between
the two eras. Presiding as host with scrupulous
attention, he spoke but little himself; watching the
VOL. II. o

194 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1837-47.
conversation as it passed from friend to friend. When
alone with a chosen intimate, and then only, Etty would
converse, and warmly enough: on subjects which
interested him. In ' general society/ he to the last,
remained too shy and diffident to take apart:— would
often, at a dinner party, sit without saying a word.
The Dealers can speak to Etty's readiness to oblige
them in repairing Pictures from his hand, when in
jured : in payment of such troublesome labours ask
ing the most trifling sums. In his accessibUity the
reverse of Turner, he would give an interview to
any one, however humble ; never refusing to settle a
doubt as to the authenticity of a Picture bearing his
name. His good nature was severely tested by the
things which passed for ' Ettys, ' and the gratuitous
assumption on the part of theh fortunate owners that
they conferred a right to intrude on his Studio and his
time. Infatuated connoisseur or dealer was fre
quently bringing some miserable daub, gravely to
ask : ' Was it a genuine Etty ?' — The Painter would >
quietly look at it, and respond : ' I have sins enough
to answer for ; but this is none of mine.'
Some there were to prove themselves not unde
serving of his kindness. I find, for instance, one
' G. D.,' who designates himself ' Waiter at the Hotel,
' Stamford/. in a modest, well- written letter, (Jan.
11th, 1846), expressing gratitude for the Painter's
kindness, in having authenticated, some years before,
a genuine Etty (an Academy-Study), in G. D.'s
possession: the letter accompanying a present of
game. An ' admirer of the Art ' he acknowledges
himself, though in ' a humble position/ — an admirer

JET. 50-60.] KINDNESS TO STUDENTS. 195
especiaUy, of Ettty's Works : of whom he asks, that
if again passing through Stamford, he wUl allow his
correspondent to show him his ' Uttle coUection.'
Etty's kindness of disposition, — so well known to
all his friends, — was in no respect more evident than
in his accessibleness to Students. The merest tyro
often asked, and received, his advice. Various letters
of gratitude from Students, some from Ladies,— among
whom I may instance one known to the Public, Miss
M'lan, — speak to counsel and aid freely bestowed,
and highly prized. Many others there were, known
or stUl unknown, in whose progress he took a friendly
interest ; arming them with introductions, lending
his Studies, &c. More than one estabUshed Artist
yet remembers his first interview with Etty, as an un
friended novice, applying for information and aid
towards admission as Student into the Academy : —
how the great Painter, after giving a Uttle preUmi
nary advice, rubbed up some Indian ink, (his custom),
filled his pen with a camel's hah brush, and wrote an
introduction to a friend likely to forward the business.
' Don't praise a young man too much/ Etty would
say : ' it ruins him.' But he was always open to rising
merit. To his generous recognition and encourage
ment of it, especiaUy if appearing in the beloved
Historical line, there was no arriere pensee : — as,
among others, Mr. Maclise, Mr. Frost, and Mr. Dyce,
each can testify. ' He always/ — avows the first-named
of these Artists, — ' from my first entering the School
' of the Academy, took kind notice of my poor
'efforts; and shortly before the distribution of the
'Medals, reUeved my anxiety as a competitor, by
o2

196 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1837-47.
'whispering to me that I should receive the Gold
'Medal.'
He was very popular among the Students, and for
no reason more, perhaps, than because he did not
stand aloof from them. ' I remember/ mentions Mr.
Charles CoUins, 'his asking all of us. Students of
' the Life-School in St. Martin's Lane, to tea and
' supper. The impression of his rooms, looking out
'over the river, was delightful. We enjoyed our-
' selves exceedmgly : examining his Sketches and
'Studies; — and made very welcome. This was very
' good natured of him. Students feel very strongly
' such attentions from those who have advanced to
' high honours in Art.'
Etty was not afraid of a compromise of his dignity,
by committing himself to such kindnesses towards
Students: any more than by ' studying' with them on
equal terms. He did not nurse his dignity, nor chng to
a supercUious reserve, as the right mode of maintain
ing it. Yet was he by no means indifferent, as we
have seen, to his position ; — was a staunch stickler
for the due upholding of the various gradations of
rank in Ufe : for humble relations remaining humble
relations, if they could not raise themselves by their
own industry, self-denial, or abUity ; and for Students
approaching 'the sanctum sanctorum of genius/ by
'decent and regular steps,' — as in his own young
days. Kind and accessible as he was, he came to have
a perfect horror of such too numerous Students, as,
' without letter, sometimes even without manners,'
were continuaUy invading his peace ; — and got out of
theh way whenever he could. \

JET. 50-60.] GOOD COUNSEL. 197
His advice to Students, and to those in whose
career he took ahinterest, was always of a kind, — in
keeping with his own practice : — to stimulate con
stancy and fideUty of ann. Its general character is
weU Ulustrated, by such samples as that from an
Address at the York School of Design, which concludes
the precedmg Chapter ; and again, by the foUowing
fragment of a note, penned in a previous year, to his
some-time PupU. — 'My dear James, in aU human pur-
1 suits, disgusts, inconveniences, and difficulty wUl
' unavoidably arise. But if you mean to be of any con-
' sideration in the world, they must be met with firm-
' ness, looked in the face, and resolutely opposed. If
' you do this, they wdl flee from before you. Then
' is the time : — watch the opportunity. AvaU your-
'setf of it. Let your word be "Forward!" — and
' victory is assuredly yours ! '
EquaUy sound were his counsels to the same PupU,
as to the practice of his Art : — ' that it is fhst neces-
' sary to aim at a careful and truthful representation
'of Nature, in her most beautiful forms/ that, ' the
' reins can safely be given to imagination, only when
'the hand and eye have been educated, and the
'judgement matured.'

198

CHAPTER XXV.
BUSY FOR AN INDEPENDENCE. 1845-6. (iET. 58-9.)
Solitude — Alarms — Unsparing Labours — The Ustening Indian —
Letters to his Niece — Studies from Nature — Ettys at a Pre
mium — Pursuit of Models under Difficulties — A Footing in
York — Approaching Retirement — The Year'B Pictures — On the
Hanging Committee — A Memorable Exhibition — Declining
Finish — Pugin's ' Castle ' — Domestic Anxiety — Turner —
Happy Anticipations.
During the early months of 1845, Etty had to en
dure privations which aggravated the ordinary trials
of winter : the absence of his Niece and indispensable
companion, then in Yorkshire, with his Brother
Charles. The social Painter found solitude difficult
to bear. Impatient for letters, a disappointment
was resented with customary vehemence. A week's
silence reduces him ' almost to despair.' He ' fancies
' her Ul/ or, if aheady Ul, ' dead.'
' I dreamt/ — he recounts, (January 6th), — ' last
' night, or rather this morning, that I saw thy Grand-
' mother, — my Mother, — who smded upon me her
' sweet smde ; surrounded by several of her sons, as
' well as me. She smiled and said : — " You see in
' what happy harmony we live ! " I haded it as a
'good omen. And a bright sunny morning, put

MT. 58.] A FAMILIAR INCIDENT. 199
' me in better spirits than I was before : untd eleven
' o'clock, when the postman not arriving, my intense
'anxiety for thy health and safe arrival got more
' than this heart of mine could bear. — And I almost
' panted for breath.' * *
To Mr. Wethered, he writes, (January 9th), of
illness and death among brother Academicians.
' Collins, I am glad to hear, is better. We entered
'the Royal Academy the same week, as Students.
'Poor Smhke died last Sunday night,— a talented
' man in his time, as Historical Painter : — father of
'Sir Robert, the Architect. Three vacancies, and
' probably soon another ! It is striking to be a
' member of so small a circle : — of whom, two or three
' generaUy die in a year ! — This tastes not of " love or
'joy." I do not pledge myself to that, or any other
' subject, or any time. But I indulge in Hope : —
' " And Hope exulting smUed, and waved her golden
'hah.'" * *
The sudden bursting forth of a Fhe in Etty's
neighbourhood, — one, in which warehouses of com
bustible materials were numerous, — was no infrequent
incident to vary the monotony of his quiet life. Two
alarms occur in Miss Etty's absence : ' the first, in
'the daytime, and trifling/ he reports, (To his Niece,
January 23d) . — ' Ann had been out. She saw volumes
' of smoke rushing out of Stafford's area, and Stafford
' himself coming out of his door, crying, " Good
' God ! we are aU on fire !" She despatched a boy for
' the engines. — And soon one came, accompanied by
'a lot of idle boys and men, with great hurras.
' HappUy, it proved more alarming than serious :

200 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1845.
' soot from the chimney ignited. The assistance of
' sweeps put it out.
'The second was more serious. In the dead of
' night, or rather at half-past three this morning, I
' heard a ring at the bell. * * Ann went down ; soon
' returning in the greatest alarm; — " Fire, fire !" I
' drew up my bed-room blind. Sure enough, there
' was a fire, apparently coming out of the Leeds
' Warehouse ! With my grey coat on, and neither
' shoe nor stocking, I ran up the planks/ (to the
roof top) ; ' and was relieved, by seeing it was the
' Straw at the bottom of ViUiers Street : a mass of
'fire running all over it. This was sufficiently
' alarming. For, if the warehouse or trees had caught,
' or the flag-staff, we should have been in the great-
' est jeopardy. I put on my things, and saUied out,
'leaving dhections with Ann, to stand by the
' " thatched cottage," and prevent any sparks settUng
'on it: which injunction she strictly obeyed tUl
' almost starved, and trembling with cold and fear.
' I endeavoured to get more engines into play : — the
' fire raging, so as to threaten the house adjoining. —
'Fortunately, the tide was rising. And we got a
' second engine, at which I worked lustUy for a con-
' siderable time. It sent a deluge, Walter says ;
' which in time reduced the Fire to reason. By half-
' past five, the fierceness was subdued, and our fear
' allayed. — They took down the names of those that
' worked the engines/ the Painter's ' among the rest ;
' and distributed money to each. Mine I divided
' among some poor fellow-labourers near me. I had
' previously sent for four pots of porter. For they

JET. 58.] UNDAUNTED TO THE LAST. 201
worked cheerfully.' Disbursing " aU the sixpences
' and halfpence in my pocket, I returned home ; ,
' went to bed for an hour or two. And, bless God !
'our sweet, and (when thou art there), happy Home
' is safe, and smiling in the sun.'
A characteristic instance the above affords, of Etty's
incurable tendency, never to spare himseU exertion
or exposure, despite faUing breath, and trying cough.
— ' Breath and cough yesterday so bad/ he confesses,
(February 2nd), ' that Mr. and Mrs. Walter Etty/
(then staying with him), ' and Mr. Colls, all advised
' me not to go to the Academy. But no ! I wUl
' complete my duty/ (as Visitor) , ' if I die at my post.
' It was the last night of the (first) tedious month of
' thy absence. I completed it gloriously : when I got
'into the warm air of the Life- Academy, was right
' enough. Mendoo and I brought aU the works/
(Academy Figures), 'and traps— shield, bow and
arrows, sword, ' &c, — safe home before nine :
'Charley's Figure finished. Mr. Jones and others
' were delighted with it. It is a very novel effect of
'Light and Shade. That done, my cough and bad
' breathing returned, and I suffered severely till ten :
' when, my bed-room getting warm/ and ' a strong
' dose of Dr. Bright's Mixture/ give ease.
'Charley's Figure/ the Indian Alarmed, was
painted for his Brother, from the Indian Model,
Mendoo, a favourite with Etty ; — who sat to him for
the Pluto and Proserpine, and many another work.
The paraphernaUa of ' shield, bow and arrows/ and
the rest, Etty had taken to the Academy; acces
sories, by help of which a Model was, from a mere

202 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1815.
' Academy Figure/ converted into a Picture : as we
have seen to be Etty's not infrequent custom, when
his turn came to be 'Visitor' in the 'Life.' And
to the last, he would now and then excite ' something
' of a sensation/ among the Students, by setting a
group of Two :— stdl, as of old, ' a thing very unusual.'
Of this same fine Figure of the Indian Alarmed
and Listening, he speaks, (February 5th), to Mr.
Charles Etty himself, in explanation : ' He has his bow
and arrows 'ready, listening to a coming enemy, or
'perhaps, "My Uncle," as youcaUthe Tiger.— These
' things, my dear Charles, wdl, if aU go weU, be last-
'ing mementos of you and me. When the hand
' that painted them, and the heart that welcomed you,
' after thirty-one years' absence, are mouldering into
' dust, in York Minster ; your chUdren wdl look at
' them, and think of theh Uncle WUUam.'
' Industrious, though anxious, ' he is getting toge-
' ther/ he tells Miss Etty, ' somewhat to keep us
' comfortable, and, I hope, happy.'
By the 1st of February, he had 'had the plea-
' sure of completing the large Copy of the Combat :' —
a Copy originaUy painted by an Edinburgh artist,
for Doo's Engraving. Etty, 'having gone nearly
' aU over it ' himself, had ' made it/ in fact ' one of
'his own.'
The Engravings from Etty's Pictures stiU re
mained few and mediocre. This fine work of Doo's, —
even yet the only Line Engraving executed from any ot
Etty's more important works, — is also, the only one
which fairly represents the Painter. The enterprise was
too sphited an one, an enduringly valuable, instead

JET. 58.] CHIT-CHAT. 203
of an ephemerally popular work, to be produced at
the sole risk,— on the hand-to-mouth system, — of any
(horse or dog) Print-seller. It was promoted by
Mr. BickneU, a liberal patron of Art. After a delay
of some years, the Engraving was issued by Hogarth ;
the Society of Arts distributing a certain number to
Subscribers to the Exhibition of Etty's Works.
February 19th, Miss Etty's return being at hand,
and the Painter's memory tenacious of harmless
Uttle superstitions, he announces, that 'yesterday
' morning being fine, he saw the same good omen as
'before, lately. — Two bhds on the parapet, a third
' soon came; — and once more, three crows sail away :
' first, two together; then one, some distance behind.'
An omen, wherewith ' Charley's arrangement of
'sending thee safely packed to Town/ well har
monizes. —
'I finished my Visitorship last night. Six long
'weeks frost, and cold, and fog. Yet all is over,
'bless the Lord! and never one minute behind my
' time, but often long before it. Now, I am clear for
'the year. * *
'I fancy I see Charles on his legs at the
'Supper! It puts me in mind of his Brother
' BiUy, who nursed him ; and ' who, ' at the time he '
(said BiUy) 'was at PockUngton School, was always
' thinking of his little Charley : ' whom he had left at
home.' March 2nd, he thanks her — for her ' sweet little
' coronal of snowdrops : ' ' now before me in my bed-
' room, — pure as the light of Heaven which on them
' shines.' He, ' yesterday, in a Uttle Picture finished

204 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1845;
' for Mr. CoUs/ put in ' some of these on a Female
'Head, with jet-black hah. The pure white and
' green, — green and a golden mixed, — made a pretty
' fantastic wreath : on her lap a basket of rich fruit and
'flowers.' So that the Picture is seen only to be
' coveted. * * A sweet peace reigns around my
'little bed-room.' — 'It is a peaceful spot, to be so
' near the middle of the MetropoUs : quiet as the
' country, — without its distance.'
The seven Pictures sent to the Academy, — Uke,
the four which had preceded it at the Institution, —
aU sold readily. AU, with the exception of Aurora
and Zephyr, and the repetition of a classic theme
— a favourite from of old, — Cupid interceding for
Psyche; aU belong intrinsicaUy, to the class,
' Studies from Nature : ' — Nature, as seen in Life-
Academies and Studios, by eyes such as Etty's. A
class now a predominant one with him, one proving
so marketable : to it, — invited by ever fresh delight
in the study, ever freer powers of hand, — he, of his
own accord, leant more and more exclusively. Five
such we have : the Flower Girl, — aUuded to in his
letter to Miss Etty ; — Or like a Nymph with bright
and flowing Hair; — A Votive Offering; — the before-
mentioned Indian Alarmed ; — Study of the Head
of a Little Boy.
Within the past year, two of Etty's friends and
patrons had died, — Mr. Knott and Mr. Wright : the
latter a friend, dating from far less prosperous days.
The sale of Mr. Knott's fine coUection from Con
temporary Painters, was one memorable, at the time,
for the high prices the modern English School com-

JET. 58.] A LINGERING MAIL-COACH. 205
manded. The five Ettys, — all obtained from the
Painter at first hand, — sold at great premiums : the
Diana and Endymion for 210 guineas, — secured
six years before, at £130; — the Andromeda, for
210 guineas also, bought five years before, at
£120; — the Bather at the Doubtful Breeze Alarmed,
(to a Dealer), for 225 guineas : — for which, only two
years previously, seventy had been given. At Mr.
Wright's sale, in June, the Bivouac of Cupid and
his Company, changed hands at 370 guineas ; To
Arms Ye Brave, at 390.
In July, the Painter paid the South-eastern
Coast a visit : — Brighton, Hastings, Dover, Rams
gate, Canterbury. Stopping also, at Winchester,
St. Cross, and Netley Abbey ; he accompanied his
Brother Charles to Southampton. To whom, em
barking for Java, he, on the 20th, bade a last
adieu. In September, was resumed the old familiar mode of
reaching HuU and York : — in preference to Railway,
an outside place on a Stage-coach; with aU its conco
mitants of night fog, furious driving, and refractory
horses. And he rejoices in the old famUiar experiences :
the gradual exchange of the 'gas-lights of London'
for the 'dark landscapes under the veU of night.'
The coach, which still, (1845), makes such experiences
possible in that journey, is the 'Louth Mail.' 'It,
' and the Lynn and Cambridge, are the only two Mads
' yet in the field : — of the goodly phalanx, which, —
* with scarlet coats and studs of great beauty, — left
' Lombard Street in proud array, in former times.'
For the Head of his stUl unaccomplished Joan of

206 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1845.
Arc, Etty had, during the Autumn, dashed off a vigo
rous and briUiant Study, to which he refers, writing
(Nov. 23rd) to Mr. Wethered : first remembering an
anniversary he seldom forgot to note.
* * 'More last words! This morning I hadfor-
' gotten three things I wished to say.' — ' One was,
' to tell you, to-day is the anniversary of my coming to
' London, Forty years ago: which I consider the dawn
' of my professional life. Another was to beg a favour:
' that you would be kind enough not to part with the
' head of Jeanne d'Arc just sent.' The request is made,
from 'motives of delicacy to the young lady who so
' kindly sat for it; and also, because I do not wish it
'much seen, ere the Pictures appear. The first
' reason is most weighty. I was taken by surprise;
' or I might have hesitated about parting with them.
' If you do that, the end wiU be equaUy gained.'
The lady who had ' so kindly sat,' had been first
seen in Westminster Abbey, — had there struck his
fancy as suitable for the head of his chosen heroine.
He set his Niece on the stranger's track : who traced
her to Kensington. By dint of management, — appU-
cations to Verger, and Kensington tradesmen, the
skUful envoy extracted from them, first, the calling,
then the name, of the lady's father ; finaUy, for the
' celebrated Artist,' obtained, (a delicate business), his
and the lady's consent to her sitting. A characteristic
instance, among many like, of the channels through
which Etty often obtained his Models for the Head; —
at the cost of no smaU pains and embarrassment. The
feminine tact of his ' Right Hand' always proved
invaluable in perfecting the discovery, and opening a

JET. 58.] SERENE HOURS. 207
negotiation. Sometimes, at the Theatre, the Painter's
eye would be taken with a picturesque face in the
boxes ; and he, issue the injunction to his Niece to
'keep her eyes about her.' On one of these occasions,
a difference of opinion arose during theh exit from
the theatre, as to which cab the Beauty had entered.
Etty foUowed the one he was positive contained the
admired Face, — foUowed, runnmg breathless through
the mud, to Great RusseU- Street : where his zeal was
rewarded, by a lady stepping out, elderly, and — not
beautiful. Of the lady Etty first saw in Westminster Abbey,
he painted more than one vigorous sketch. One, taken
as the Painter had seen her, in her bonnet, listening
to Dr. Wordsworth, his friend Mr. Spencer possesses :
remarkable for spirit, colour, and force: — evidently,
struck in at a heat.
A Sunday morning at home, characteristic of many,
— such as he was wont to follow up, by paying his
religious dues in the afternoon, at the beloved, in
spiring Abbey, — is described to Mrs. Bulmer : writing
December 1st of this year. —
' Reading and thinking tranquilly, — the Sun
' shining on the picture of York-Minster Choir, and
' my beautiful picture of De Witt's interior of a Dutch
' Church,— made the morning pass speedily and hap-
' pUy away. I sit and think of York and Italy, scenes
' that are past, and friends that God has yet blessed me
' with : and I hope long will. Imagination and me-
' mory lend their wings to the spirit. Lands and seas
' are compassed, while' one is ' sitting in one's chair.
' Such delights, content and atranquU mind can give.'

208 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1846.
The commencement of 1846 finds Etty 'better,
' decidedly, than last winter.' Member of the New
Council, Visitor in the Painting School for January,
he goes ' to the Academy, at night and by day, without
'any very serious inconvenience.'
The wish, — one of old date, — ' to hve in or near
dear York ' had grown in strength. 'But whether,'
he would write, ' the Gods wdl ever grant my prayer,
' or throw it to the winds, no oracle of Delphi tells
'me.' The idea it had given him so much delight to
entertain, of a house within the City WaUs, near the
Minster and his. friends, — Mr. Edward Harper, Mr.
Spencer, and others, had during 1845 approached a
nearer realization. By the end of that year his future
rethement was definitely settled. He had bought him
self a house ' in Dear Old Ebor, by the river-side ;
' where/ — as he afterwards announced the fact to Mr.
Spencer, — ' I mean to hang my harp on the widows,
and sit on ' the sunny bank to meditate : if it please
'Almighty God so far to bless me. So that when you
' walk to York, some day, you must caU in, sit down
and rest.'
A home to his mind had not been secured aU at
once. He had begun by taking a domicile his friends
had found for him, in ' Gray's Court :^a sequestered
and partly ancient court, near the Cathedral. At first,
in high delight with the house, which, at the rear,
looked out on the City Walls by Monk Bar ; he had
quickly discovered it to be ' small and dark,* as well
as damp; and was glad to creep out of his rash
bargain. The next to offer itself, was one, he ' some twenty

JET. 59.] TAKES A HOUSE IN YORK. 209
' years ago/ had faUen 'in love with/ he tells his Brother
'Walter:' 'within a stone's throw of the spot where
'most of us were born, yet most open and pleasant;
'by the river-side with a smaU plot of ground in
'front, and pleasant prospect up the river, (at back).
' It is freehold ; detached almost entirely, — which I
'like, from dread of fire.' Some years before pro
mised the refusal of it ; the chance had seemed so
remote, 'I had almost given up the idea. But an
' opportunity did occur.' And to embrace it he had
paid York a second visit, express, towards the close of
1845. — 'This/ he continues, (Januury 14th), 'I signed
' an agreement to buy ; and pay for, in Aprd next.
' And if it please Almighty God, I mean to spend the
' latter years of my lhe in the old City, where I took
' it up.'
' You say/ ' resumes Etty later, to his Brother, — no
longer his neighbour, — ' you thought my house would
' be better in green fields. Green fields near a city,
' are soon laid with brick and mortar. And I am
* never happy long together, away from a River: which
' is more difficult to build on.' — ¦' I shall be near aU
'those points to which I am so attached :' the house
'in a protected' position, with 'a sunny bank, where
* we can find a snug corner for you. There are some
' stables which, if I live to get into' the house, ' I
' mean to pull down :— as I shan't set up my carriage,
' (unless a wheelbarrow) ; — and on theh site budd a
bath, — an Academic room over that. These are my
' present notions. Man proposes : a Greater than he
' disposes, — and decrees ! It is happy we see not
'into the mysterious book of Fate and the Future.
VOL. II. p

210 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1846.
' At aU events, we can enjoy by anticipation. Budd-
cing castles in the air is pleasing at least, if not
' very profitable. The bricks and mortar of such-
' like fabrics are cheap ! If the RaUroad rascals/ — even
Buckingham Street, had, in 1845, been threatened
by wild Railway projects,— ' if the RaUroad rascals,
' as I call the speculators who would turn me out of
' my favourite Chambers, wdl let me rest tiU Michael-
' mas, 1847, I shaU have been twenty-one years in
• the upper set : twenty two and a hah, if not twenty-
' three and a hah, in the budding altogether ;' — ' shaU
'have served three apprenticeships in them,' and
' shaU ' (then) , ' be sixty years and a hah old. I should
' like, if it please God, to spend the last ten years of
' my lhe in the City of my fathers,— hear the solemn
anthem sweU in the shrine of St. Peter : where
'beauty of Colour first saluted these eyes, — and
' where I knelt to Him that made them.'
Finished Studies of female form, under the title,
and with the accessories of a Bather, were, like Studies
of Colour from StUl-Life, growing favourites with
Etty : both classes of subject much in demand among
present admhers. A fine Bather was exhibited at
the British Institution, in 1846 : a Female figure,
stooping in the water, — giving occasion, aver critics,
' for the greatest variety of curve.' It was accompa
nied by two of a simUar character, — Children Re
posing after Bathing ; and the Pirate, — a swarthy
figure, bearing off his fair prize : a subject affording
the Painter ample scope for bold contrasts of hue.
The principal Picture of the season was the second
Choice of Paris ; inferior to the first in every thing but

JET. 51.] PRODUCTS OF THE YEAR. 211
Colour, — and in its sketchy, unset character, signifi
cantly foretokening the drawbacks destined to aUoy
the power of the Joan of Arc.
' Your last little present of forget-me-nots/ — men
tions Etty to Mrs. Bulmer, — ' and violets/ (in a letter),
' sadly flattened at first, by Betsey's gentle care re-
' vived. A little Infant Psyche, with Cupid by her
'side, is gathering them now, in the Exhibition.' —
The Sea Bather a specimen of Etty, in the direction
— the immediate, unsophisticated study of Nature, —
in which faUure neveronce overtook his practised hand,
— was, of aU his Bathers, one of the finest : firm in
outUne, deep in tone. Minor pieces, characteristic
of the powers and the deficiencies peculiar to this
period, were the Juvenile Scribe : — bold, but sketchy ;
exceUing in Colour, — in vigour of hand, rather than
in precision ; and the Still- Life an effect of Colour
exclusively, — and legitimately so.
One of his compositions, from Comus, —
" Circe, with the Sirens three,
Amidst thefioweiy-kirtled Naiades ;"
the subject of his first Fresco, was exhibited in the
same year : a needful self- vindication, after the Royal
snubbing, he was known to have received.
In this year, Etty was on both Council and Com
mittee of Arrangement, at the Academy.—' I should
'indeed enjoy/ he declares, (April21st), toMx. Spencer,
' — when they come, the Spring Zephyrs from the Ouse,
'in and around the Plantations. At present, their wings
' are icy and cold ; and want the geniality that inspires
'poetry. The sunny fireside pleases better. I am
in the midst of the bustle and difficulties of the
p2

212 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1846.
' approaching Exhibition : which, I am happy to say,
'promises to be a good one, and wdl, I think, please
' you. * * I join with you in execration of the
' hideous engineering and Railway mania, — that seems
' swaUowing up all that is estimable and lovely on
'our earth. I hope some good Angel wUl arrest
'its progress of desolation and destruction. * *
'The kettle boUs for breakfast, and duty calls me to
' the Royal Academy ; where hanging is not out of
' fashion, — not that sort practised at Newgate, a more
'innocent, though not always inoffensive mode: far
' from it, as I expect to learn by and bye.
The ' incessant exertion' involved by his office, super
added to 'these East winds and fogs' — which 'wither
' him, as he were a plant/ — much aggravate his diffi
cult breathing and cough; 'had last night,' he relates,
(April 26th), to his friends, the Buhners, 'almost worn
' me out. I with difficulty got home : ' — having, in fact,
been sent home in a cab. ' Genial skies/ genial 'atmo-
' sphere and suns would make me weU. MeanwhUe,
'the worst, I hope, is over at the Academy. We
'have almost mastered our difficulties. And by
'this time next Sunday, I hope to feel another
'man. To-morrow week, the PubUc are admitted.
' And nothing/ then ' remains, but for the servants
'to receive the shUlings; and the Treasurer to
' take care of them. A capital Exhibition it wUl be.
'Portrait has given way to Subject, — Domestic and
' Landscape ; which, you know, is more interesting.'
The greater prominence of Subject- Pictures this year,
was a result partly attributable to the fact of Etty's
having been on the ' Hanging Committee.' The Exhi-

JET. 59.] LACKING 'FINISH.' 213
bition fulfiUed his prediction :— is stUl remembered by
Exhibition-goers, for its general exceUence ; as one in
which, then rising men, like Frith, Ward, and others*
made a conspicuous figure; wherein too, Landseer's
Peace and War, and Muheady's Choosing the Wed
ding- Gown, drew the suffrages of aU.
Exclamations against ' smudginess' were, as to Etty,
yearly gaining the ascendant among the talkers about
Pictures, — not the lovers of them, nor the buyers.
The superficial characteristic arrests the attention of
superficial people ; who get no further. The Choice
of Paris of this year, and some of the small Pictures,
lent a handle to the growing complaint : especially
amid the glare of the Exhibition, and looked at some
few inches off. Even in the Circe, loyal subjects found
cause for a cheerful endorsement of Royal opinions.
The Sea-Bather, however, firm in handling as bold,
won the general voice : effectively giving the lie to the
assumption, that masterly drawing, and clear depth
of tone, had come to be beyond the veteran's reach.
After many postponements, Joan of Arc is actuaUy
'the next work on hand:' of which, 'I trust/ writes
he, nothing untoward ' wiU prevent such a completion
' as may be satisfactory to my friends, worthy of her,
' and honourable to myself. This is my prayer.'
A visit in the summer to Mr. GUlott of Birming
ham, Maker of Pens and Buyer of Pictures, was
foUowed by another, to his friend Pugin: at his
Ramsgate ' Castle.' From the latter sanctuary, he
apprises his Niece, (July 11th), how, 'instaUed in the
' state bed-room, — state without nonsense and with
'real comfort; ' — sitting ' on a beautiful, green velvet

214 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1846.
'chair/ at the 'oak table/ whereon he is writing; 'his
, window looking - out on a beautiful bay, luxuriant
, corn-fields, and, in the distance, the coast of France /
he ' only wants one thing : ' — her presence.
Sunday (July 12th). ' This was a glorious morning.
' The bell rang at six. I got up about seven. At eight,
' is Mass in the Chapel : this morning, — to accommo-
' date Stanfield, who has to come some distance,—
'half-past.' Before that hour, he hears the ' Lark at
'Heaven's gate, singing/ — truly a Matin song, —
' soaring and singing, tdl a mere apparent speck ;
' its little wings flashing back the sunshine : singing
'over our heads the Heavenly hallelujah of Nature
' and ecstasy, for the best part of an hour. Herbert
' and I watched its unthing praises tiU we went into
'the Chapel. * * Oh! that dear Lark! Sure,
' something holy is in that breast, that little breast,
' that sang so loud and untiringly ! * *
'The butterflies are dancing by dozens over the
' golden corn-fields.' — ' The swallows are building
' their nest, under the eaves ; indeed, have buUt it,
' and are feeding theh young : shooting silently by.
' AU Nature looks gay. * * Pugin treats me like
' a prince.' And 'I am truly enjoying myself : — as far
' as I can without thee-'
To his Brother Walter, he tells the same tale:
that he is ' breathing the pure breath of Nature, from
' off corn-fields, golden with plenty ; seas azure and
' green / &c. ' You would delight to see this house/
he assures another friend . — 'It is so unique and truly
' comfortable : all in the old English style. There never
' was but one Pugin : one of the most marvellous

JET. 59.] AFFECTIONATE ANXIETIES. 215
'men of his age. Architecture, painting, drawing,
' music, singing, aU come alike to him. Beside he is
' one of the best fellows in the world.'
' Next morning/ (Monday), he set his palette ; and
'painted on the three backgrounds of the three
' Cupids : ' from Ramsgate sea and landscape. Of
these Pictures, one was a Psyche, not a Cupid : one of
Etty's beautiful little gems in that kind.
We have seen how indispensable to the Painter, the
companionship and services of Miss Etty had long
been. During his Brother Charles's stay in England,
Etty was more than once agitated by apprehensions
of losing her. A similar fear had once, — years pre
viously, — brought him up post from York, in much
excitement. Her Ulnesses, which were frequent,
equally disturbed his peace. In the Autumn of this
year, when, during her absence, on a visit to Mr.
GiUott, such an attack seized her, the bare idea of
danger kept the Painter from work a whole week :
an extraordmary phenomenon with him, to whom a
day was spent unnaturaUy, without a brush in hi3
hand. News of her recovery sent him back to his
easel with new energy : though ' his heart flutters ' of
a day, as post-time draws nigh.
In high sphits at the good news, he recounts, (Sept.
3rd), how, getting up betimes as usual, — at five or
six, that is, — he has been successfully working up
those things left undone before : how he has progressed
with the St. John, and the 'Tambourine Sketch;' and
has finished a portrait of a Lady-friend, on which he
had for some time been occupied. He mentions
also, a visit from Turner: whom, 'as I was going

216 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1846.
' out to-day, I met coming down our street. I made
'him turn back; as he was coming to see me.
' He had heard I was going to estabhsh a School in
' York ! and wanted to know what apartments I had.
' I thought he meant in York. No ! not so : here.
4 He liked my view ; and seemed a little disappointed
4 1 was not going sooner. However, he was very
* good, drank a glass of wine ; and, I believe sincerely
wished me well, wherever I went; said he should
be sorry.' — That commanding Watch-tower, with its
picturesque look-out, would, in fact, have been a far
more suitable position for the great Landscape
Painter, than the dingy house in Queen Ann Street,
he had tenanted so long.
For Turner, Etty always declared his 'great
' veneration/ as for one ' who had done some of the
'finest things in the world;' sharing however, the
sentiments of the orthodox as to his late works : pro
nounced some, at least, of them ' fiery abominations.'
'When he abandons Nature, I must abandon him:'
was Etty's somewhat superfluous declaration.
The Painter had by this date, become bond fide owner
ofa House in York: on payment of some £1100. Proud
to command such a sum, and to possess a ' house of
'his own,' he never regretted the bargain. Fond as a
chUd of his new possession, he was more constant to his
liking. The more he sees of his mansion, — ' open, quiet,
' with a pleasant bit of garden, and a tranquil prospect
' over several others,' — the 'more he Ukes it :' — (writing
from York in September) . Cheerful and commodious,
in the centre of York, yet out of the bustle, it reaUy
had many recommendations; though not so dry or

JET. 59.J THE NEW POSSESSION. 217
healthful, as if it had stood— on ' the Mount/ say. But
a sentiment, or an old habit, overpowered all other
considerations with Etty. Having lived by a River
the greater part of his hfe, he must stdl live by one.
The position, — beside St. Martin's Church, removed
a Uttle back from Coney Street, (York's principal tho
roughfare), commanding the Ouse at the rear; — re
minded him of famUiar Buckingham Street. He
can sit looking down the river, and admire the sun
sets, as in former times from the terrace-walk of
his friend Atkinson's garden, in Lendal ; can gaze on
his favourite, ' taU sphe' of North Street Church ; and
even catch a glimpse of the ' distant Wolds, through
' the sacred belt of our dear WaUs.' Aheady, he ' feels
' as much at home in an arm-chah, by a fire/ in his
otherwise unfurnished house, ' as if he had been
' born there.'
A letter to Miss Etty, (Sept. 11th), describes recent
doings in York, and ' a soUtary walk on dear Knaves-
* mire : ' — 'Knavesmhe, the haunt of my boyish
' days, where 1/ in those days, ' used to take my two
'poor Scotch cows; — the old MUI of Father's near,
'pasture aU around. * * The day was lovely: —
'the sun warm and golden; the atmosphere and
'scene most pleasant.' — 'The swaUows and swifts
' darted by in the sun, and seemed to welcome me, in
' my sweet solitary ramble. Here an old horse biting
'his mouthful of grass; — there a cow, crumping : aU
'peace and pleasantness. I entered the sweet and
'solemn, natural, Gothic Cathedral of Knavesmhe
' Wood. The last time I was there, was with poor
'John Harper. The sun darted in here and there,

218 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1846.
' as it does in the Minster. — I turned my thoughts
'homewards. The crows were collecting theh even-
'ing council. I gathered some sweet httle forget-
' me-nots, and brought them home.'
This was written from ' the Vale of Givendale/
where Etty was staying with his friends, making
Sketches of horses, for his Joan of Arc. His great
desire was, to see a horse which had lain down,
rolling on the ground; as he subsequently introduced
one in the centre compartment of Joan of Arc:
there, ^voluntarily rolling over amid the throng and
press of the sortie. But the difficulty was to hit
the right moment. A servant would hastdy an- .
nounce the favourable conjuncture, and he rush out
to secure it, — always arriving too late: taking, how
ever, his disappointments very cheerfully.
For the steed on which the heroine herself is
mounted in that scene, Etty, in the course of his
preparations for the Joan of Arc, made divers visits
to Astley's, TattersaU's, &c. It being one of his few
attempts in that kind, the praise subsequently won
from so competent a judge as Landseer, was, of
itself, felt no mean reward.

219

CHAPTER XXVI.
LAST FRUITS. 1846-7. (jgt. 59-60.)
The Last Epic — A Struggle — A Sincere Te Deum — Large Canvases :
an Anxious Removal — Unexpected Purchasers — The Painter's
Intentions — The Picture's Reception — Joan at the State —
Leslie's Eulogy — Sorrow — Feasegate in Ruins — Spring Plea
sures—The Meur de Lis : its Progress — A Unique Frame —
The York Home : Prospective Delights— School of Design: a
Task Achieved — Last Appearances at the Life-Academy. —
Setting Glories — Alarms : from Eevolution — From Fire.
In October, animated by dreams of approaching
rethement, Etty commenced earnest application to
the belated Epic. Refusing to accept commissions
for ' Little Bits/ he made his friends Wethered, Cods,
and others, promise a six months' abstinence from
such demands. — 'Out of bed/ — records the Diary,
— one day, by six in the morning, another by five, an
other as early as four ; he had unmistakably plunged
into ' full work'—' one of the best cures for the rheu-
' matism/ protests he, as usual. Despite the remedy
gloomy November with its fogs, brings the usual at
tacks on his ' trachea, bronchial tubes, and throat, —
'with cough and asthmatic accompaniments.' The
winter was a severe one throughout. And Etty yearly
grew less adequate to enduring winter at all. He flag
ged not, however, at his work : compressing into six
months, amid ' struggles for very breath/ the last des
perate effort which was to translate conception into
achievement. The strong wiU and giant energy

220 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1846-47.
sustained the valetudinarian. But throughout, he
suffered much: — 'the 'weather, asthma, cough, in
' triple league/ against him.
' I have been/ — detads he to his Brother Walter,
(Wednesday evening, Dec. 16th), — 'for some time in-
' tending to write to you. Frequent attacks of my
' enemies, — cough, and shortness of breath, and en-
' grossing attention to my dear Joan of Arc, have, tiU
' now, prevented me. At times, the weather's severity
'has nearly floored me. But I have again rallied;
' and, fighting side by side by my inspiring Heroine,
'have, — if I may beheve what folks say, — done
'wonders. Certainly, she is an inspiring subject: —
' worthy of the Poet's pen, and Painter's pencil. If
'God wdl only grant me health and favourable
'weather, I hope to make my Pictures worthy
' of ' her. As yet, however, prevails ' cold most
'intense. My medical man, Mr. Cartwright, says,
' the thermometer at two o'clock after midnight, on
'Tuesday morning, was 15° below freezing-point.
' On the evening previous, I suffered much : but, at
'that time was snug enough in a warm room, in bed.
' Since which, I have kept at home, and not gone even
'to the Academy :' smce Monday night that is. 'I
' have, fortunately for me, this season, an entire exemp-
•tion from Visitorships at both the Academies ; having
' done my duties in the summer sunshine. * * T. W.,
'jun., of Lombard- Street, has just made a trip to
' Paris : and, as I had when I went there in winter, soon
' had enough of it and the cold. As I predicted, he
' returned home quite in good humour with his own
' country, and coal fires ; ' bringing ' me some colours

JET. 59-60.] THE LAST EPIC. 221
' I had commissioned him to get. * * I am ordered
'to talk as httle as possible, as it irritates my
'cough.' Jan. 14th, 1847, (writing to the same) : — ' My cough
' and breathing are somewhat better. But the season
' attacks me now in another shape, — that of my old
' enemy, rheumatism : and in my hands, too, of all
' things ! I yesterday' returned the ' attack, by having
' one of Mahmet's vapour-baths ; and mean to have
' another on Saturday :' — having 'felt benefit from it.'
' Am now in my bed-room, on the stay-at-home sys-
' tem : the concerts I attend, the singing of my tea-
' kettle. The dances, are those of the hd. York, they
' say, is very gay : parties without end ! What dif-
' ferent atmospheres different constitutions suit !
' Mine is at present certainly not gay : cheerful, yet
' grave. My engrossing subject is a grave and tragic
' one. My repeated attacks are anything but comic !
' I am thankful it is not worse. And my advance-
' ment of the large work, under all these adverse cir-
' cumstances, almost surprises myself!'
Pity, — as I have said, — the fulfilment of the che
rished design had not been coeval with its conception,
¦ — six or seven years before: when Etty's health was
less impahed; his hand stUl retaining its pristine
strength, and his eye its keenness. The mere phy
sical strength requisite to paint pictures of the size of
the Joan of Arc, it would have taxed youth and
health to supply.
The overtasked Painter confessed in the sequel, to a
'fearful Struggle:' — 'with this severe winter, the
'asthma, cough/ and other 'difficulties of getting

222 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1847.
' through my three large Pictures.' Difficulties, which,
' almost overwhelmed me at times / but not quite : —
' made him waver.' But he pressed on. Nothing less
than an unconquerable force of wdl would have
brought him off victorious.
Victorious he is at last: and 'deeply grateful to.'
' God/ Who has ' sustained me/ and ' given me the
' deshe of my heart.' The last instalment of the
' Nine colossal Pictures ' he had all along set his mind
on painting, 'the Three Times Three/ — so frequent
an aUusion on his lips, — is achieved, after many
delays : — after having cost me/ recapitulates he,
(May 5th), to Mr. CoUs, — ' many an anxious thought
'for considerably upwards of seven years/ — seven
' years or more, since the canvases were stretched.
'* * Long choosing, and beginning late, hesi-
' fating among a variety of points in her story,
'years passed ere I could fix my choice/ and further
years in search of information : including the Pilgrim
age to Orleans; with visits by the way, to Rouen,
where as we have seen, he sketched ' the old houses
'there, I dare say, at the time/ — and to Paris,
where he ' saw all the Pictures relating to her that
' had been done in modern times.' These visits, his
applications to his friend Nockalls Cottingham, for
historical data; to Mr. Planche, for correct autho
rities in armour ; and to many others : — aU evidence
that, ' deshous of sparing no pains to do justice to
' her cause/ he was dUigent to render the story with
'substantial, extrinsic accuracy, — as well as intrinsic;
— notwithstanding some artistic hcenses taken ad
visedly.

JET. 60.] THANKSGIVING. 223
Monday, May 5th, the colossal Three left Etty's
Studio, 'to take theh chance' in the world.— 'I
* painted on the Picture/ narrates Etty to his Brother
Walter, (April 15th), 'tiU Saturday night; and then
'gave Sunday for a general revision of it alone, and
'completion of the portions not yet done. By one
' o'clock, on Easter Sunday, I felt that I ought to go
' to the Abbey, and return thanks to Almighty God,
' for having so mercifully dealt with me, — as to enable
' me to complete so far this colossal effort : — and that
' nothing should prevent me. I went, and never did
' the glorious Abbey look more beautiful. The golden
' sun shone. The Service was fine. And the Dean
'preached a rather fine, philosophical sermon on, " Let
' there be Ught, and there was light." * * I spent
' the evening in peace.' * *
Not in the Abbey alone, did he render his fervent
acknowledgments. He had often said, whde the work
was in progress : ' This wUl be the last of the Three
' times Three. And then shall I pour out thanksgiving
'and praise to Him who has given me eyesight,
' strength of mind, and health, to finish it.' When
subsequently reminded of his promise, and asked if
he had fulfiUed it : ' Yes,' he answered, with much
unction; — 'in York Minster I returned thanks from
'my heart and soul; and afterwards took the
' Sacrament.' The removal of his large Canvases, was, as in pre
vious instances, an arduous and exciting busmess.
' Our good friend GiUott/ Etty acquaints his Brother,
'had the dhection of the mechanic part of the re
moval : which was, in consequence, wed done. The

224 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1847.
'cylinder for the great Picture, was one foot in
' diameter. And the two uprights were merely legs
' for it to stand on, screwed on, tiU it was wanted :
' and would be capital, if sent in the country in a
' box ; as there would be no pressure on the Picture.
' It was, of course, hoUow : of deal, smoothly planed,
'then rubbed with sand-paper; so that the surface
' could not injure. The volume of the cyhnder being
' so large, would take nearly a yard of the canvas to
'go round it. We did not put paper or anything;
'but roUed the Picture face in, contrary to general
'recommendation: as I felt assured the contrary
'would be fatal.' * *
' By half-past four, I was stirring, — Monday morn-
' ing. I had arranged for Brown's men to come at five :
' which they did; Mr. GUlott, at half-past. By six, the
' Picture and cylinder were on the road to Trafalgar
' Square. And before half-past eight, the whole Three
'were not only stretched, but in theh frames, at
' the top of the great room.'
It has been seen, how in previous years, Etty's
own wish to paint a large Picture for York, — only
askiug to be repaid the actual outlay for materials
and expenses, — had faded to ehcit any virtual response.
Later, his friend Mr. Spencer had laboured to inocu
late the York magnates with something of his own
enthusiasm: — obtaining half a dozen promises of
subscription for the Joan of Arc. Others were
wdhng to have lent their names, at the tail of a long
Ust of influential persons, — to keep them in counte
nance : — everybody, in fact, waiting for everbody else
to sth in so unprecedented an enterprise as recognition

JET. 60.] PROMPT PURCHASERS. 225
of Art. People who had been too indifferent to
accept a masterpiece from Etty at (allbut) a gift; who
had, through sheer apathy, allowed theh disinterested
Painter's noblest works to be obtained for nominal
sums, by Edinburgh and Manchester, — and become
the pride of (to him) ahen cities ; — were not likely to
select so unusual an investment for their money,
when the Painter's prices were no longer nominal.
They had, in fact, already adventured (and lost) their
money in RaUway bubbles.
One friend suggested the possibUity of setting on
foot a subscription, to place the Joan of Arc in the
National Gallery. But ' the works/ replied Etty,
'of a living Artist would not be accepted. —
' Death is the passport there :' a penalty he confesses
himself ' not yet wiUing to pay, as a key.'
The Pictures were purchased by Messrs. CoUs,
Wethered, and Wass, jointly, for £2500,— paid down:
it being agreed for the last-named to engrave them.
A different price, to any Etty could obtain twenty
years earUer, for the Judiths ; or ten years earlier,
for the Sirens. ' You have put the golden crown on
4 my head/ he joyfully exclaims to Mr. CoUs. The
sum went to swell (very sensibly) the ' Etty Fund :'
to which it was added, intact.
The rumour of the price the work had commanded,
of itself bestowed on it some interest with many ; and
excited some wonderment. I remember at that Ex
hibition, being accosted by a gentleman 'from the
' country/ desirous of being shown Pictures which
'had sold for £2500.' He had just ' ten minutes to
' spend in the Exhibition/ and had spared those ten
VOL. II. Q

226 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1847.
solely to see ' the Modern Picture/ which had realized
a sum so fabulous.
In the letter to Mr. CoUs which I have aheady bor
rowed from, Etty, at the former's request, describes in
black and white his intentions in these Pictures. And
when, in the Autumn, the proprietors exhibited the
work in the Provinces, a short summary from his hand
of Joan's story as iUustrated in the former, was printed
for the occasion. I wdl interweave gleanings from
the two accounts, as Ulustrating the motives, as the
Germans say, on which Etty painted.
'Destined by the Almighty,' he affirms of his
favourite Subject, ' to be the instrument in the accom-
' plishment of one of His great designs / she became,
' from a simple peasant girl/ a ' heroine, patriot, and
' Deliverer of her country.' — ' Swayed by two powerful
' emotions, rehgious and political enthusiasm/ ' she
' believed herself a chosen instrument in the hands of
' the Deity ; and by the strength of this faith was
' supported.' ' Her mind feednig on itself/ had re
ceived 'impressions, which the simplicity of her
' nature interpreted as direct messages from Heaven.'
' I thought that as she was the Judith of modern
'times, her story, like my First/ and 'like the Epic,
' ought to have a beginning, a middle, and an end /
also, ' like aU my large Pictures, point a great moral
' lesson to the mind : namely/ — ' that heroic self-
' devotion to her country and her Prince, which has
' stamped her fame.'
In the Fhst Scene, he supposes the 'young enthu-
'siast' having found,— 'at the tomb of a knight,
'in the Church of St. Catherine de Fierbois,-the

JET. 60.] THE PAINTER'S INTENTIONS. 227
' Sword she had dreamt of/ ' devoting herself and
'it to the service of God and her country/ — and
' invoking the inspiration from Heaven, which after-
' wards sustained her.'
The Second represents her—' under the influence of
' that Inspiration/ — 'riding to victory / accomplishing
' more by that than by those human passions ' which
actuate ordinary characters : the ' vulgar expression
' of which ' he has accordingly omitted. ' Her eyes
' cast down/ — ' she may be supposed breathing a short
' prayer.' For ' she does nothing of herself. Her
' arm is wielded by a Power, of which herself is scarcely
' conscious.' This mode of treatment ' has given rise
' to an idea that she is not sufficiently excited. The
' effect was intentional. It would have been easy to
' knit the brows, and dilate the nostrd. I conceived
' her in possession of superior power : the serene '
command of which ' I endeavoured to express.' — An
essentially true conception this; perhaps the highest; — .
certainly, the most difficult : but not fuUy reaUzed in
the Picture.
'The incident of carrying off the wounded man
' near the Gate, is the recoUection of one ' witnessed
'by the Painter' in Paris, during the Three Days of
1830. A similar had happened to Joan, 'as she
' was passing the Gate:' whereat she had exclaimed, —
'"I never see the blood of a Frenchman, but my own
' boUs with indignation." '
' In the Last, the tale, — a sad one, — is pretty plainly
' told. She had called for a crucifix.' — ' An English
' soldier, touched with compassion, tied together two
' pieces of wood in the form, and gave it her.' It,
q 2

228 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1847.
' she is clasping to her bosom.' Meantime, one had
been ' sent for from the nearest Church : which the
' Monk is presenting to her view.' — ' Father Avenel en-
' dangered his own safety several times, to administer
' this consolation : tdl she, perceiving his danger,
' begged him to leave her to her fate ! As the smoke
' and flames cleared away, she was seen clasping the
' crucifix, and calling on the name of Jesus. Tradi-
' tion says, a white dove was seen flying towards
' Heaven.' Finished pictures the Joan of Arcs assuredly are
not. Noble as is the appearance they make by them
selves, they, in that respect, suffered at the Adelphi in
1849, by comparison with the Judiths. The day was
past with Etty for careful detad. The sure hand and
patient was his no more. The very facility a Master
in the Art has attained often leads him into habits of
careless execution : a fact, the later stage of many a
great Painter's career illustrates. Above all, time
and strength had been wanting to make them all
they might have been capable of at his hands. But
the power, the vitality, the imaginative suggestion
are there, — the poetic sympathy : together with noble
draftmanship, and glory of Colour. In the main
scene, spirit, energy abound, amid the general action ;
though, in the principal Figure, depth of feeling has
faded to embody itself; — such as would have been
developed at a happier period of Etty's powers. But
in the last tragic scene of the drama, we have a com
position, complete in every sense : the story told
graphicady, simply, pathetically.
Of themselves, the Joan of Arc lent a dignity to

JET. 60.] A BROTHER ARTIST'S EULOGY. 229
the Exhibition of 1847 ; commanding general interest
and criticism : the latter of the usual calibre, lapsing,
much of it, into shrill abuse ; which, during the last
years of Etty's life, had become a habit with the
' guides of public opinion.'
But if he failed to secure applause, which won,
would have been small honour, among lovers of
Art, and brother Artists, his fate was better. More
than one wealthy connoisseur is reported to have
been wiUing to compete for the Pictures, had
rooms large enough been at his disposal. Turner,
Landseer, Leslie, among others, warmly praised
them. The last-named spoke of the concluding
scene as the most tearful and affecting Picture he
had ever looked on. In his Lecture on Etty's works,
three years later, the same competent judge dweUs
on it in a similar sphit : —
' I can call to mind/ he there asserts, ' no Picture
' I have ever seen, of a subject simUar to the death of
' Joan of Arc, — approaching to it in pathos ; and so
' entirely free from the morbid taste with which such
' scenes are often treated. In looking at it, I could
' think only of the heroine and her fate, so dis-
' graceful to two great nations. The mind is not
'drawn from this by any studied elegance in her
' attitude, or in the dark drapery that invests her.
'We seem to see herself, not a picture, as she stands
' appeaUng to Heaven, with a faith which does not yet
' conquer her terrors of a fearful death. The careful
' manner in which the quaint old houses in the back-
' ground are painted, gives a dreadful reality to the
' scene ; and instead of the usual common-place ac-

230 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1847.
'companiment to such subjects, of a lurid sky, Etty
'has shown the heavens clear as the soul which is
' about to wing its way from a cruel world. And,
'like a true poet, he has availed himself of the
'reported incident of the dove rising in snowy
'brightness. Though this Picture and the others
'from the same story are inferior in completion to
'the magnificent series from the history of Judith;
' yet they place the Painter higher, to my thinking,
' as a master of sentiment : perhaps, because the
' subjects are of more interest.'
The Graces, which accompanied the Joan of Arc,
at the Exhibition, has the inadequacies and the
Colour of Etty's later years.
The death of an only daughter of one of his oldest
York friends, known from her childhood to Etty, and
whose beauty had been a favourite theme of his Art ;
tidings of whicli event reached him during his hoh-
day month of April, soon after the joyful completion
of the Joan of Arc; 'plunged me/ — he writes, —
' into the deepest grief. Poor tender flower ! taken
' away from earth to bloom in Paradise. An event
' so sudden and unexpected, (by me), it seems almost
' a frightful dream. She was always a beautUul
' flower ; but, like a beautUul flower, fragile and ten-
' der. * * TiU that hour which shall be yours to
' meet her, the separation is awful. But that hour
'wdl come ! These are the bitter draughts of
' life.' — ' On all sides, amongst one's friends, one
' hears of little but difficulties, pecuniary and other-
'wise, dlness, disease, death. Gracious God! give

JET. 60.] MORE YORK ' IMPROVEMENTS.' 231
' us grace to look at these visitations aright ! But
' they stagger one.' * *
This year, Etty allowed himself, what he had sel
dom done, an early summer visit to York; arriving
just in time to witness a ' new Improvement :' — as
had often happened to him. He was ' startled to see
' the greater part of his native Street, and the ad-
' joining, a heap of rubbish.' Bestirring himself
with influential friends to stay further destruction
of a locality, from old associations interesting to him,
he 'begs as a boon' of the improving Commis
sioners, that they will ' spare what remains of Fease-
' gate, and with it, the House I was born in.' — ' If aU
the Doctors of the Sorbonne/ he protests, (July
22nd), to his Friend Mr. Andrews, — 'were to try to
' put me out of love with York, they would fail :— if
' Commissioners will not improve it too much : so
' much, that I can't recognise "Alma Mater." '
Many who have returned to York, after long ab
sence, have not known the place again. So much in
twenty-five years had it been altered : — what with new
streets; — Antiquities and houses pulled down ; — old
houses refaced, or, if not refaced, theh beautiful
stucco ornament swept away, because more difficult to
repaint than a plain surface. 1848 was a year in
which 'Street improvement/ — architectural jobbing,
that is, — was very rampant : civic Improvement,
which consists, not in substituting, say, a radicaUy
amended drainage,— the present system still depend
ing on a Stream, (the sluggish Ouse), almost without
a current ; — not in anything so useful as that ; but, in

232 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1847.
turning two streets or three into one, of imposing
breadth, for the accommodation of the city's extra
ordinary traffic, — an occasional cart, or stray wheel
barrow. As soon as stage-coaches had ceased to run,
was precisely the moment chosen by our country towns,
throughout England, to widen theh streets. Up to
this very moment, the York people are yet busy, trans
lating the architectural expression of theh city : from a
beautiful and venerable language, into a mean, sordid,
and Babylonish gibberish. Despite its many triumphs,
the Builder faction in York stiU bears a grudge
against the Walls and Antiquities, as having ' stood
' in the way of the Improvement of this city ; ' and
remembers Etty as one ' chddishly fond of Antiquities.
For in fact, he was guiltless of interest in what is
caded ' Modern Architecture.'
The past severe labours of the Spring were fol
lowed by snatches of Summer delights. A letter
from York to his Niece, (May 27th), shows the
Painter vividly impressionable as ever. A trip had
been taken to Scarborough, to see his Brother Walter.
Despite asthma, he had climbed the picturesque
Castle mount : — heard blackbird and lark, watched the
' wild flowers wave.' He delights to speak of Nature
in this, to him, unaccustomed season : its ' freshness,
' youth, and gaiety/ —of the ' gaiety of grace/ of the
'little stars of flowers.'
' I went after I left you/ he apprises his Brother
Walter, 'to Beverley and HuU, for an hour or two,
' to see the folks : came back by mail to Pocklington.
'Walked over to Givendale, passed a few hours there:
' and back to York, Saturday afternoon.' At Bever-

JET. 60.] MAY IN YORKSHIRE. 233
ley, ' I visited dear Uncle ' (Calverley' s) ' monument
'in the Churchyard, carved by himself— Travelling
' about, and seeing the luxuriant and youthful beauty
' of the country, has done my health a great deal of
' good.' A less sunny visit is related, (to his Niece) , to Leeds,
and the young friend's home, whose death he had so
lately mourned. He sees the ' four little motherless
' chUdren / — ' chairs and sofas of Cicely's work, in
' embroidery ; her harp in the corner ; her picture
'hung up:' hears 'her little daughter's inquiries
'why Mother does not come back.' When 'they
' teU her she is gone to Heaven, she says, "Why does
' she not write then ?" '
Of a visit to Kirkham he speaks also : ' Kirkham
' Abbey, — beautiful, though in ruins ; the Nave nearly
'perfect, except the roof; — noble trees growing
' round it. A beautiful river runs by. Apple-trees
'blossom and shed theh sweets; while the bees are
' feeding on these. A sadly sweet and solemn sight.
' We heard not the choral anthem, nor the organ ;
' but the wind sighing among the noble trees, and
' the distant railway shriek : that told the dread tale
'too true, that the days of the glory of God's house
' were passed away/
On his return to London, he took Birmingham
in the way, and his friend GiUott at Edgbaston:
' spent Wednesday there pleasantly. After breakfast,.
' went to the Catholic CoUege at Oscott, by invitation
' of the Bishop, (Wiseman), — the festival of Corpus
'Christi: a grand ceremony, — high mass and pro-
' cessions. Stanfield and Herbert were there. We

234 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1847.
' then dined. The Bishop showed us his curiosi-
' ties in the Museum : splendid chalices, and vest-
' ments;— and was very kind. A gentleman, — Mr.
4 Hardman, gave me a seat in his carriage to Bir-
4 mingham; showed me the Convent, built by Pugin,
' and endowed by his father, ' for ' Sisters of Mercy;
' whose avocation is to visit the poor, the sick, &c. :
' — the order, economy, ventdation, and cleanliness,
' admirable.' As a preliminary to rethement from famUiar
duties at the Academy, Etty had given a farewell
dinner to the Council. Of this date, I find some
harmless doggerel in Etty's usual style of pleasantry,
entitled the 'Parting CouncUlor's Lament/ and
breathing his last adieus, — now that his ' Council
* nights are done/ — to customary, social 'cups of tea,'
' Charley Landseer's pun/ and ' Tommy Uwins' joke/
to which 'rain the joyous laugh.
'Adieu, ye grave petitions !
' Adieu, probation drawings ;'
and ' city jaunts' to London-docks,
* * ' to free the Artist's box ! '
The Joan of Arc, his parting acquittance and act
of fidelity to the Historic and high aims, achieved, —
the crown of a lifetime's labours ; — Etty felt free to
return to that fanciful range of subject which had en
grossed him of late years. The Fleur de Lis was
the first work to occupy him. From his letters to Mr.
Wethered, — for whom he was painting it, — we obtain
interesting glimpses of the Picture's progress : more

JET. 60.] THE ' FLEUR DE LIS.' 235
than can ordinarUy be gathered of the history of his
works from Diary or Letter.
'I should not like anybody to see it, he urges,
(August 12th), 'till the design is complete. It is now
' seen to disadvantage. The frame will take a con-
' siderable time to complete. But as I have really
'disobliged CoUs, Gillott, and my other friends, to
' meet your wishes, and am so driven up in a corner,
' to get anything done, — actually to keep them quiet,
'I must beg of you a little grace; feeling I have a
'just right to ask it of you. Lord Byron says the
'monument, that above all he ever saw, pleased him,
' was — ' Implora pace !'
' I now implore the same thing ; and know your
' goodness of heart too well to doubt your comply-
'ing with the Petition of an almost overwrought
' Painter.' ' Let the Fleur de Lis,' he repeats, ' rest awhUe. It
' is in a very delicate state, and should not be moved-
' The frame, I trust, wUl give it the coup de grace.
' I have been painting three days on Joan of Arc,
(again) ; ' and thinking almost three of the Descrip-
' tion/ (already quoted from) : ' written myself almost
'blind, and got a headache by it.'
August 24th. — ' I am glad you like my sketch
of Joan, in pen and ink. — Your circular picture,
(the Fleur de Lis), ' has been much coveted. Now
'I have stopped you from sending me any com-
* missions, I am going to propose one myself : which
' you may take or not, as you like. But if you don't,
' you're a flat. If you give me fifty, or it may be
' sixty guineas more, (as expenses and trouble grow
' out of it), I propose to carry the Picture somewhat

236 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1847.
' further : — to have a piece of white marble at each
' corner, on which colour and gold, carrying
' through the richness of the Picture's colour to the
' very edge / and ' to paint, myself, the four spandrils;
' with a flower in each on the gold. * * If you
' consent, you will have something unique for your
' boy : which, like good wine, wiU improve by keep-
' ing, tUl he gets of age.'
The Painter has himself 'chosen a lovely bit of
' creamy marble ; which is 'progressing beautifuUy.'
• ' But you must not hurry me/ he reiterates ; ' nor wish
' it sent down before the Exhibition.'
The frame to the Fleur de Lis was one, — Artists
were fain to remark, — which would have ' killed '
outright, any other picture. At the Adelphi Exhibi
tion, a friend, ignorant of its origin, casuaUy inquhed
of the Painter, 'who could have put the picture into
'that outrageous frame.' — 'I designed it myself/
was the unforeseen reply.
Etty was working this Autumn more busily than
ever before, at that season of the year. By the end of
August he has ' nearly done all, and more, than he
had anticipated.' — 'Up early/ commences the ac
count, (to his Niece), of one of these busy days : ' had
' my bathe ; walked to Lambeth. — Poor Westminster
' Bridge ! Barry is a Destructive. It was the finest
view in the world : from it up the river, on a summer
' Sunday afternoon. But 'tis going. Thank God,
' they can't improve the Sunshine, and the Ught of
' Heaven and the breeze of morning. Somethmg is
' left, when I have them and Thee.'
Hard pressed, he is : having ' nine pictures to com
plete, pack up, and take with him, to Mr. GUlott's/

JET. 60.] A FAVOURITE THEME. 237
on his way to York. There, he does 'not expect to
stay long :' is anxious ' to get back, and about the
' Pictures' he intends for next Exhibition, — ' whUe the
' weather is fine.' In September, from his York lodg
ings, Etty, often looking in on his future home, finds it
' surpass his most sanguine expectations :' it, and the
improvements made, — the bow windows thrown out in
his Painting-room facing the river, — for he was a great
lover of bow windows : famUiar acquaintances from
chddhood. More than once, as we saw, he had inter
ceded for such with York tradesmen, (unsuccessfuUy),
when threatened by ' Improvement.' — ' Atkinson has
reaUy pleased me/ — he teUs his Niece, (September
22nd), — ' with the way he has carried everything
through : even to the garden and out-offices. The
only regret is, that we cannot immediately occupy it.
I sat in the Painting-room to-day, in the arm-chair,
looking up the river / and ' heard the breeze blowing
the tide up/ — 'the whistling ofthe wind, the babbUng
of the waves : could hardly tear myself away, — sitting
ruminating. A ring at the beU. — 'Twas a friendly
voice; Isaac Spencer :' who is, (of course), like the
rest of the world, ' enchanted with the house.'
* * 'I met Mr. Hudson/ (of RaUway Fame),
on Tuesday. He, with his usual frankness and good
feeling, instantly asked me down to Newby HaU. I
could not go that day : — went yesterday. He took
me by the rail eighteen mUes, and then in his carriage
and four. A fine old mansion house ;— fine old oaks,
by the fine river Swale. He brought me and Mr.
Nicholson back this morning. Sir Robert Peel came
through York at the time. The Lord Mayor intro-

238 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1847.
' duced me to him. He' (Sir Robert) 'shook hands
' with me cordially ; seemed glad to see me. They
cheered him much at the Station.'
September 4th— from ' My house/Coney Street :' he
gossips in a similar strain. — ' I have got fires lighted;
' and sit looking at a very pretty view : — green fields,
' trees, and rippling river. How I love it ! — only
' want my dear Bairn here to enjoy' the same. ' Here
' are no steam-boats in sight.' — 'A place after my own
'heart.' — 'This is the place, and the only.'
September 5th, again. — ' Have just returned from
' Minster Prayers, after a walk from Huntington ; —
' a nice walk : — now and then stopping, and leaning
' over a gate, to see the cows chewing the cud.
'The sun is setting golden, shedding his parting
'beams into my chamber. The trees are gently
'moving. And aU is peace. * * The Italians
' say, of a house or room, in which the sun never
' enters : — there the physician must. This one is
'like a palace of the Sun. The morning and the
' evening sun peeps in.'
By September 22nd, again in London ; he is again
at work on the Fleur de Lis : ' carrying it higher in
' tone and colour/ — ' making one or two httle sketches
of flowers, with reference to it. If you want it,'
he warns Mr. Wethered, 'what I wish to have it,
' as near perfect as possible, — as my means and
1 powers wUl let me,— you must not be impatient :
' you wiU be the loser. Besides, it does not depend
' on myself only; but also, on the Statuary and frame-
' maker.' — 'You have enough to look at, with-
' out it.' — ' A rich Citizen, the day before yester-

MT. 60.] DUTY FULFILLED. 239
'day, could hardly be prevented carrying off' said
' Fleur de Lis, vi et armis.'
Our next excerpt closes the year with a reminis
cence. * * 'In addition to the solemn thoughts/ —
writing to his old friend Mrs. Bodley, (December
24th), — 'the present important season should in-
1 sphe, and which has always made me feel the
'term "merry Christmas," out of place, I have an
• additional motive for serious thought on this day : —
' nine and twenty years ago, I lost my dear Father.'
At the end of 1847, about the time changes were
being effected in the governing constitution of the
head School of Design, Etty, — in contemplation of
his retirement to York,— resigned his place at the
Councd Board : it being with him ' a point of
' principle not to retain any situation, of which he
' was unable to fulfil the duties.'
It was simply love of York, which had kept him
there so long, ' Desirous/ as is related, in a subse-
qent Speech, ' to watch, at head- quarters, over the
'interests of this, our School,' (the York), 'I served
' as many years in that CouncU, as Jacob served, to
' obtain a wife : without fee or reward ; at a great
' expense of time and feeling, — which I could ill spare.'
The favourite object of his solicitude having success
fuUy passed through its three years of probation, —
had been renewed by Government; — and had now
completed its fifth year. Going on, ' with credit to
' itself, and satisfaction to the CouncU in London / it
continued to do so, as long as Etty lived. Among
other evidences of his interest, the School was in-

240 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1848.
debted to him for a Plaster Cast, — the second ever
executed, — from Flaxman's Shield of Achilles ; which
he had busied himself to procure from Mr. Neeld,
the possessor of the original : who assured the
Pamter, to none but himself would he have granted
the boon. At the Christmas meeting of 1847, a
letter from Etty, announcing the gift, dwells on the
beauties of this masterpiece of the Poetic Sculptor, —
' himself a native of York, (baptized at Bishop HUl
'Church)/ Etty as usual, is proud to remember: —
' native of the same city with Alcuin the Learned.'
February 2nd, 1848:— he reports, that he has
' again begun to paint, and with a zest of pleasure,
' on the Waters of Babylon.' During the remainder
of the Spring, he continued busily engaged in finish
ing his Pictures for the Exhibition.
The only chance whieh yet remained to Etty, of
prolonging his life, was to forsake his old acquaint
ances, — night-fog, and heated Life-Academies. This
was only to be done, by flight from London itself.
As long as he remained in Buckingham Street, he 'y:
could not break through the habit : ' If he had to
' die,— might- as well die/ (he would aver), ' at the
' Academy, as at home.' To the last, though much
too ill to attend the Schools, and suffering more and
more, he was stUl to be seen, ascending the Academy
stairs : resting at each half-flight, panting for breath;
his head on his arm, that on the stair-raU. Breath
less and exhausted, he would reach the School ; then,
— after a while, — set to work in full vigour, as of
old. And a fine Study was speedily the result.
'I believe/ mentions Mr. Maclise, 'I was the Visitor

JET. 61.] STILL CONSTANT TO THE 'LIFE.' 241
' in the School, when he made his last Painting,
'from the Model:'— last, previous to Rethement,
that is. 'And I saw with pain, how more than usu-
' ally distressed he was : when he arrived at the top
'of the stahcase, labouring for breath. I sat near
'him whUe he was making his Study. And we
'talked in whispers together. It so happened, that
' he spoke of his residence in Venice, where he spent
' exactly, he said, a year : and, with a smUe he added, —
'alluding to his copies and Studies from Titian, —
' "sucking the Sweets." He made on that very evening,
' a most splendid and glowing splash of colour, from
' the Figure, that quite rivaUed the original before us,
' in aU the splendour of lamp-light.'
On Mr. MacUse's visiting York in the year after
Etty's death, he recognised, at a Dealer's, a chalk
Drawing by his friend, of one of the last Figures he,
as Visitor, had set for him; a man with his knee up, — -
who, as wiU not unseldom happen, fainted after long
sitting in that attitude: — which study the Dealer
politely presented to Mr. MacUse. During this, almost
his last season of attendance at the Academy, Etty
gave an instance of his customary kindness by ex
changing studies with a Student. A thing he had
now and then done before, when he thought the
Student's point of view better than his ; — sometimes
adding life-informing touches of his own : — an ex
change, such as was always, of course, felt to be a
great honour by the fortunate Student.
It pleased Etty, at this period, (1848), to find himself
making an important figure in a fine CoUection of
modern Pictures, a gentleman of York was forming.
VOL. II. R

242 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1848k
He rejoices at the ' agreeable information/ writing
(April 4th), to Mr. Andrews, that the latter had
bought the Robinson Crusoe; ' and that it was to be
' sent to York ! — there I hope to remain. I congra-
'tulate myself, and you, on this event, which I have
' long desired : — either to possess myself, or some
' esteemed friend. It is a most especial favourite of
' mine. If you ever part with it, pray don't do so,
'without giving me the refusal.
' By not coming down to York as early as at first
'intended, I have been enabled to add several Pic-
' tures to the three I intended to send to the Exhi-
'bition. I have sent seven. The last and least,
'a Landscape Study, painted at Givendale; into
' which I introduced a figure of a shepherd and two
' or three sheep. — I sold it yesterday morning. So
' aU are sold, except John the Baptist, — a large figure,
' of the colossal size.'
These seven, dissimdar enough from the previous
year's contribution, were a no less characteristic one.
If, in fact, we are to look for the new exceUence
specially characteristic of Etty's latter style, a style
alone, as I have said, consistent with his infirm health
and strength ; — for works adequately representing the
last phase of his power; — we must turn, not to the
Graces, or the second Choice of Paris ; but to the
Fleur de Lis ; the Waters of Babylon, (both of this
year); 'Tis but a Fancy Sketch, (of 1844); and a few
other like masterpieces : masterpieces, of a different
kind to any of his former, and unexampled in Art.
They are works as distinctive in sentiment, as any
painted by him, and even more wonderful in Colour.

JET. 61.] THE LAST 'MANNER.' 243
As in aU the products of Etty's later practice, we have
'slightness and boldness of execution/ resulting in
'perfect finish at a, distance.' 'A masterly style,
' masterly without rudeness/ declares Mr. Leslie. At
the latter's Lecture on Etty's works, the Fleur de Lis
was greeted by the Students with a round of applause:
— not without reason. That bright group of youthful
heads is the Triumph of this style ; as signal a tri
umph as ever came to lhe under Etty's hands : for
glory of Colour, and lyrical glow as it were, unsur
passed, nay, unapproached by any Master. In no
other Picture, ancient or modern, is sunlight, the
' glow of summer noonday/ given to equal perfection.
Unmistakable enough, in this riant composition, so
simple, yet so charmingly felt, is that expression of
Happiness, Mr. Leshe notices in Etty's Pictures:
the involuntary expression of his heart, ¦ — of his
' constitutionaUy serene mind/ his vivid and simple
nature. The Picture is, truly, embodied sunshine,
: — a very burst of visual harmony, a radiant Dream ;
worthy to be the crowning gem in some King's
Palace: were such Personages themselves worthy,
oftener, to possess the creations of Genius.
"Etty charged Mr. Wethered a very moderate sum
for the Fleur de Lis. It sold, in 1852, for 1000
guineas : the same price being realized at the same
time by 'Tis but a Fancy Sketch.
The colossal St. John, of which he had been
three years thinking/ and the Aaron, were distin
guished by vigour, fhe, and of course, magnificence
of Colour. For Etty gained rather than lost in capa-
bUity for swift harmonious fusion of hue. SimUar
r 2

244 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1848.
merits, similar defects, characterize Morning Prayers,
— a powerful, if slovenly sketch, — and another study
of Colour, in ' StUl Lhe.'
The holiday month of April did not pass over
without alarms. 'RecoUecting the French days of
'1830/ whereof he had been an eye-witness, Etty,
during the year of Revolutions, was not free from
apprehensions, — even in tranqud England: on the
' dreaded 10th really listened with expectation of hear-
' ing the growl of Artillery, — which had passed through
' our proud MetropoUs a day or two before, — and the
' sharp rattle of musketry ! and prayed God to avert
'from our capital the stain of human blood, which
'had dyed the pavements of so many of Europe's
capitals. * * What an extraordinary madnesst
' seemed to have possessed the minds of European
' people : — with some few exceptions.' EstabUshed
Respectability dreams not of a cause for Discontents;
snug and comfortable itself, esteems a suspension of
its peaceful quiet the worst id that can befal the
world: — is duly 'thankful to Almighty God those
' rascals, (the Chartists) quaded / — ' our Government
' and PoUce' having ' done wonders.'—' Look in the
' Times to-day/ — Etty had adjured one friend,
(April 6th), — ' for one of the finest things I have a
' long time seen : the Declaration of the Emperor
' of Russia ! Thanks be to God ! there is yet some
'right feeling left, when aU the world seems
'mad !' In 1848-9, the Russian Emperor was taken
to be the saviour of Peace and Order, by more
persons, — and professing to be more far-sighted,
than Etty.

JET. 61.] AN ALARM. ' 245
The next Alarm (from Fire) was a better-grounded
one.—' To be awakened, my dear Thomas/ (to Mr.
Bodley), 'from a pleasant dream to a frightful reahty,
'is one of those starthng situations in this changeful
'Lhe, which passeth as a dream :'— wont, as we have
seen, to diversify the calm of Buckingham Street.
'After a tranquil and happy day, sunk to a pleasant
'dream/ — he narrates to another friend (May24lh), —
4 a frightful alarm roused me and my dear Niece.
' Flames of fire seemed enveloping our sacred and re-
' thed dwelUng. My Niece burst into my room in wild
• dismay.— A fire, like the end of the world, was fear-
' fully Ulumining aU around.— " What is it? where is
'it?" "Get up! get up!"— Rings at the beU to
' alarm us of danger. I partly dressed, and got on
' the adjoining roof to see the extent of the danger.
' Never was my poor residence in such fearful immi-
' nence. Fortunately, the wind was the right way, and
' took the innumerable sparks in another dhection.
'The mass of fire and flame, — the crackUng of
'timbers, was something most awful. By numerous
'engines, and a cordial co-operation of the people,
' who sang in chorus whUe they worked ; and by the
' great exertion of the firemen, in about an hour,
' it was much got under : and the danger of its
' spreading stopped.'
The 'Moon rose in sUent majesty on the scene;
' and the Market' (Hungerford) ' was saved.' It was
the fated ' Straw warehouse/ — so fruitful a source of
alarms, — which had taken fire. Not without reason,
Etty had 'expected that ere the morning light, his own
' dear dwelUng, and works of Art, would have been

246 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1848.
' in ashes.' If the wind had lain the wrong way/ (for
him), ' oil warehouse, seed warehouse, and Painting-
' rooms must have gone.' In the very previous
year, a simdar ' dread alarm/ and from the same
' source, — an alarm for which they had ' been looking
' ad the Winter/ — had happened to his Niece during
his absence in Yorkshire.

247

CHAPTER XXVII.
RETIREMENT. 1848-49. (jET. 61-2.)
Removal — A Happy Employment — York Gatherings of his Pic
tures — Finally settles down — Fellowship with the Printers — 13
missed in London — Employments : Autobiography — Kindness
to the Struggling — An old Habit resumed — Winter in York —
Pictures in Hand — Fluctuating Health — Proposal from the
Society of Arts — A Hitch at Manchester— Negotiation — Coup
de Main — An English Spring — A Fallen Potentate — His Cham
pion — Discouragements.
In June, the final flitting was commenced from the
' dear banks of the Thames/ to those equally dear, of
the Ouse. Etty, by himself in York, presides over
the transfer of movables, and household gods:
casts, armour, books, ' precieuses choses,' and some
thousand Pictures, Studies, Copies, &c. ; — 'forty cases '
in all, ' some almost as big as a house.' — Super
intendence of the unpacking was a happy task.
' Be careful of that/ he teUs the Carpenter, ' it was
'painted the day I was chosen Academician/— ' of
'that, — it is my best Picture.' And when, out of
many hundreds, one, a favourite and very fine
Study, (a Male Figure stooping, his hands on his
feet), does not at first come to hand from the
RaUway; he is more concerned about it, than for aU
the rest. Etty was not ignorant of the rare value of
his Studies. In moments of weakness, having: been
tempted to seU certain of the chosen band of his

248 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1848.
favourites, and most excellent ; his nights were sleep
less, — as he would himself narrate, — tiU he had re
possessed himself of them. One of those with
which (in Lhe), he could never be seduced to part,
now in the possession of a Nephew, the Rev.
Walter Etty, was an athlete striving upwards; — at
whose side is written in chalk, in Etty's hand, the
characteristic spur to flagging or weariness : — ' To faint
' or loiter, when only a little effort ! '
' My place in London/ writes Etty from York, (June
14th), ' of which I love in my heart every stick, hole,
' and corner ; seems to have done its work.' There, ' at
'the end of Buckingham Street, in the upper set of
' Chambers, I have enjoyed happiness and peace for
' upwards of twenty-one years.' — ' And, if I live tdl
'next year, shaU have been in the buUding a
'quarter of a century.' — 'Fifty years, this year,
'it is, since I left this dear Old City, and my
'dear Mother and Father, to go among strangers.
'He has blessed me during that long period; and
' brought me back in peace, to within a stone's throw
' of where I was born. * * I have returned,
' bless God ! with Fame, an unblemished reputation,
' and a fortune large enough, or small enough, for
' aU my moderate wants.'
Immersed in the chaos of new arrangements, — busied
on ' a Hanging Committee of his own/ — the Painter
reports progress with due particularity : how, daily,
the aspect of affairs mends ; that ' the principal
'Painting-room is finished, and looks well/ or that
he has hung ' ad the Copies ' in the ' upper great
' Painting-room/ and the Titian (Ariadne in Naxos)

MT. 61.] HAPPY PREPARATIONS. 249
'looks grand over the fireplace; the Jordams little
less, ' at the opposite end.' Sitting in his ' best bed-
' room/ he thinks it ' reaUy an improvement on the
4 old favourite bed-room:' — 'looking right to the upper
' end of the great room, with Lord Northwick's
' Titian over the fireplace.'
Eschewing dinner-parties, as far as may be, the
Painter totters about York, happy in arrangements
and preparations, to avaU, as it will prove, so brief a
whUe: happy in the House and its situation,— one, 'of
* aU others in or near York, he most Ukes / happy
in his native City, from which he feels ' a wish never
' to move again / in the ' dear Minster/ where a staU
is aUotted him, ' commanding a glorious view of the
' Choh.' Within his ' delightful house/ whence hearing
' the chiming of bells, the tone of the organ, from the
'neighbouring Church, and the singing/ — he 'feels
' as much at home almost, as if he had been fifty years
' there.' His Niece's room finished, — whereof espe
cially, and its pretty adornment, he had made a labour
of love : he is impatient for the ' only thing want-
' ing/ — her presence.
SUght aUoys to his felicity he finds in such occur
rences as the recent destruction of the old MiU, —
famUiar to his boyhood, — his Father had occupied.
For which loss he consoled himself, ' by having arm-
'chairs' made of some of its old oak : — of the ladder his
Father's 'beloved steps had descended' so often.
The close of the Exhibition caUed him to his dis
mantled rooms in Buckingham Street; which he
wisely retained, partly furnished, for occasional use :
and where, (now), ' St. John Ufts his arm, and seems to

250 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1848.
' caU aloud ! and the Fleur de Lis blooms in its gold
' white marble and flower frame.'
Anxious that an important Picture of former
years, — Amoretfreed by Britomart, — then in Mr. CoUs'
hands, — should rather find a home in native York,
than return to alien Lancashire, whence it had just
been sold ; Etty interested himself in recommending
it to a York friend : assuring him, truly enough, that
he should ' not again paint such a Picture.' That
gentleman did ultimately purchase it, for £500.
Etty himself had received for it, in 1833, £150.
York was beginning to possess a considerable number
of Etty's works. Another friend, Mr. Nicholson,
had accumulated, (from the Dealers chiefly) , as many
as fifty or sixty. To the Painter, this ' Assemblage of
' his Children around him in his old age/ and the
premiums which they commanded, were sources of
quiet satisfaction : the former destined, however, to
no long lhe. York, the city of Hudson, had lent
itself to the Radway fever ; and, of course., tasted, in
the fulness of time, its proportionate share of the
inevitable consequences. On the 'Radway King's'
dethronement in 1849, many shared in his reverses;
who had tdl then been saved harmless. Both collec
tions had ultimately to pass under the auctioneer's
hammer : leaving to York, — scattered in various cor
ners, — not more than a dozen gems from Etty's hand,
chiefly Portrait.
September 16th, the Painter returned finaUy to
York; settling down (as he fancied) for good; and
feeling that the ' time of rethement from the busy
' world had fully come.' On the 22nd, he reports
himself to Mr. Colls, ' comfortably established in my

JET. 61.] THE HAVEN. 251
' native city, and happy that I am there :' despite
'ah my love and admhation for London and my
• good friends there.' In a house which ' is a Free-
'hold, and his own/ well-fitted for Painting; with its
views of the river and of objects he loved; whence,
'though in the centre of everything/ he, 'in five
' minutes, can be among green fields and trees / a
'glorious Cathedral' near, where he 'can worship
' God in the beauty of holiness ; fragments of the
' piety and splendour of ancient times around :' '
here, he anticipates years of tranquU happiness,
surrounded by kind friends, and feUow-townsmen
who had learned to hold him in respect as a successful
Painter, and ' very worthy man much attached to
' York.' ' Mark well york/ he exclaims, across Seas, to his
Brother in Java : ' you thought, I dare say, I should
' never get there. But Ihave, you see ! There, is the
' Ouse flowing under my windows. And the sun is set-
' ting on the other side of it ; showing a beautiful peep
' of landscape up the river.- — The ferry-boat is rowing
' across with a passenger. And the trees tho' changing
' a little in colour, are yet green and pleasant.'
Oct. 1st, he reports, that after finally completing
arrangements of prints and pictures, he had ' painted
' a little yesterday, for the first time' in his new abode.
On the 8th was celebrated, in ' old York' itself, the fif
tieth anniversary of his departure for Apprenticeship
and Hull. ' Half a century/ — he reiterates as usual, —
' since I left Mother's apron-strings — a loving chUd
' of eleven and a haU years old, to go out into the wide
• world ! I have returned to the place whence I came,
' after many wanderings and exertions.' He takes care

252 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1848;
to send his neighbours, the working Hands ofthe York
Herald Printing Office, 'five shillings to drink his
' health/ in remembrance of his having been a Printer:
Fond of identifying himself as ' one of them/ he did
the Uke by the Yorkshire Gazette office. In London,
too, he had been in the habit of sending his annual
contribution to some Printers' chapel. ' I look some-
' times at your men,' — he tells Mr. Hargrove, —
' and think of bygone days.' From the back windows
of his house he obtained a glimpse of them at theh
work. And it became one of the rethed Painter's
amusements to drop in and watch theh famUiar
operations ; or gossip of printing as it was in his time,
when the whole Newspaper was worked-off by hand :
dismal recollections not being omitted of working on a
Sunday for Peck's Hull Packet. He would exchange
notes with the foreman, who had been apprentice to
that same Peck after Etty's time: — and promise to
' set up a stick some day.' In his annual visits to
Hull, he had always kept up his recoUections of
' bygone times/ by a caU at Peck's office ; and one
day did set up hi type a line : — ' How long it is since
' I was a Printer V
He still pays the old accustomed visits to Fease-
gate, ' to see the old place/ or as much of it, as
Improvement had spared. He stUl, — and in fact, tUl
the very last month of his lhe, — makes the old accus
tomed calls on those anywise connected with past
times ; from the earUest to the last : not forgetting
his GUlygate landladies, the Miss Burnets; nor
again, the young girl, — now not so young, — once his
companion in servitude at HuU.

MT. 61.] SORROW AMONG HIS CLIENTS. 253
In his London haunts, the energetic Painter
began to be missed. The November fog, — its old
combatant fled — 'hangs about Buckingham Street,
' as if trying to find you out/ avers one friend. ' The
'Life-School/ (of the Academy), complains the
Keeper, 'hardly looks right without you;' and the
'shelf for Studies unnatural.' Others had heavier
cause to lament the Painter's absence. The humble
custodian of his Chambers, on whom he had laid the
charge of forwarding the earUest news of Academic
doings, — who is the newly-elected Associate, who
•Visitor' for the current month, &c. ; among
other detaUs, — friendly messages from brother
Academicians, or from disciples; — reports 'a deal
' of distress among the Models since you left.
'Bishop's wife has died, — and Mendoo is in the
' Hospital. And the female Models return down the
' stairs, in tears : ' finding their constant Patron
gone. They had lost their best friend. In the habit of
regularly employing two or three Models a day, for
an hour or two each, Etty had also interested him
self in theh wed-doing ; — had bestirred himself to
recommend them to other Artists : often, when they
fell sick, caUing on them, and refusing not succour.
In the absence of accustomed avocations, he
found an engrossing one during the dull season of
the year, in penning the short and desultory Au
tobiography, which appeared in the Art Journal.
FuU of so novel an incident in his career, as turning
his own Biographer, he, to York friends, recites its
substance; — and to distant ones, apologizes for the

254 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1848k
step. As he had formerly painted his own Portrait,
'merely to please his dearest Mother, so now/ — he tells
Mr. Bodley, — he was, ' by others led into' writing one :
in the hope of ' doing some good/ to a young Cousin,
'in the office of the Art Journal, by whom Mr.
HaU applied to him 'to furnish heads and data.'
At some pains to acquaint his friends of the im
pelling ' unavoidable circumstances/ — ' I have been
induced/ he apprises the Keeper, ' to be guUty of
' a piece of egotism, I never intended. But thought
' I had better write what I knew was truth, than
'leave them to make it up by conjecture.' Again,
later, to Sir Martin Shee: — 'I found myself, to
' my surprise, in a late number of the Art Journal,
'in juxtaposition with a Memoir of you.' — 'I
' thought, if I furnished heads and points myseff,
' and the intervening parts were filled up by one
who knew nothing of me ; it might pass current, —
' but not be true.'
This Sketch of his lhe, he wrote with much ease
and rapidity. Imperfect, as a narrative, but a vivid
and graphic piece of writing, it is, above aU things,
characteristic, — in its very incoherences : giving a
faithful and life-like idea of the writer. ' The man
' himself ! ' said of it, aU who knew him. The evi
dence borne on its face, to his simplicity of cha
racter and earnestness, to the singleness and purity
of his aims, — came as a surprise on many. They
had been httle prepared for it, by a casual sight
at the Exhibition, of Pictures, which current precon
ceptions as to the sensuousness and indelicacy of
the undraped human form, had prevented theh un*

MT. 61. J AID TO THE TYRO. 255
derstanding. The real Etty turned out a very differ
ent figure, from the Etty of their fancy.'
The manifest sincerity, — that rare and difficult
attribute of writing, (not to be won by trying for
it), and the fideUty of self-portraiture, drew down
golden opinions. From more than one, — stranger,
as friend, — he received spontaneous Letters of thanks,
for the pleasure and encouragement afforded by his
Autobiography : — thanks too, for ' his testimony in
' favour of religion and virtue.'
Applications for advice and aid from mere tyros
in the Art, till the last continued to be made on Etty :
and till the last to be responded to. A humble pro
vincial Amateur sees a Picture of his, in the Notting
ham Exhibition; and shrewdly suspects some pecu
liarity in the ground. WUl Etty communicate the
nature of it, — if no secret ? The Master of the York
School of Design, anxious to improve himself in the
study of the Figure, Etty voluntarily assisted with
valuable counsel and example.
A characteristic instance of his accessibleness and
kindness to the struggling occurred, soon after his
rethement to York. An unknown Norwich painter,
or asphant to be a painter, — ' anxious to rise from a
' humble sphere of hfe/— having seen some Etty's, in
the Norwich Exhibition, wrote totiie famous Colourist,
to express his earnest desire 'for a few lessons:' or, at
any rate, wiU he send ' a Ust of his flesh tints/ and
his mode of applying them ? The veteran does send
him advice and elementary information, interesting,
as coming from so great a Master; and which tallies
with what has before been said of Etty's ' vehicle/ &c.

256 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1848.
' Power in the Art,' he assures his unknown cor
respondent, must be ' gained more by an Artist's own
' ideas and exertions, than reliance on a Master's
'instruction. — In your practice, be as simple as
'possible. A few colours: Naples yeUow, Ught
'red, Indian red, a Uttle vermUion, lake, Terre
'verte, — or blue, — raw umber, burnt ditto, and
' black ; are about enough. The application, practice
' must give you. As to the vehicle to paint with : —
' a httle sugar of lead, finely ground, about the size
' of a bean, rubbed up with your palette knife; in a
' teaspoonful of mastic varnish. Add to this, two
' spoonfuls of cold drawn linseed od. Mix them weU
' up together. If you like, add a httle spirits of
' turpentine, as much or as httle as you please. And
' with a large brush rub over the canvas or picture
' you have to paint on ! ' This ' is the best me-
' dium :' — ' a vehicle that will keep the flesh tints
' pure.' — ' And/ it is added, ' practise as much as you
' can ! '
A year later, — the day, in fact, previous to Etty's
death, — arrived a letter from the same Artist, soliciting
further kindnesses: then beyond the Painter's power
to grant.
Do what he might to mitigate the first ennui of
seclusion, of the exde from famdiar employments,.
he could not quite evade it. One habit among those
interrupted by his rethement was of too long standmg,
and too firmly planted, to be abruptly broken through.
Daily study from the 'Lhe/ — the passion and deUght
of his career, — he could not, at this late stage, re
nounce. One day, a few months after his settling at

JET. 61. J AN OLD HABIT RESUMED. 257
York, a friend found him much out of sphits. His
old habits broken through, — ' no Royal Academy, no
' School in Margaret Street, — no Models/ he feels
himseh utterly at a loss. He fancied, York being a
smaU place, he could not have a Model without scandal,
— a mob perhaps, or what not : — feared he ' should
'have to go back to London.' His friend offers to
settle the difficulty ; and does so. A Model was found,
and approved of. Next day, Etty, — all eagerness to
paint from the ' Lhe ' again, — begins : — throws in his
glorious white and red. Other Models followed. If
they could not have been obtained, he certainly could
not have stayed peaceably in York. For he hved in
his Art. 'Take away my paintmg/ he would say,
' and you take my hfe : better take that at once/
This, when friends reminded him of his maladies;
and counseded caution.
'We have made a start with the Life here/ he
exultingly acquaints Mr. Wethered, (December 13th) ;
'and have had Models of both sexes. During the
winter, several fine studies were painted from Madame
Wharton, — an old acquaintance ; who paid York a
visit with her Poses Plastiques. The introduction of
the male Model at the School of Design took place,
also, through his means. Despite opposition, Etty
urged its continuance. As long as he hved, and tdl
the death ofthe then Master, (Patterson), it was con
tinued : at the latter's expense, assisted by some of
the Scholars.
Etty had but one regular PupU in his lhe. ' It is
' out of my power to give lessons/ he had assured
the Norwich artist. And the same he repeated to
VOL. II. S

258 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1848-9.
the'Master of the York School of Design : aUowing
him, however, to bring his easel and paint beside
him : as the friend who has supplied much of the infor-
mation^before given as to ' Medium/ &c, — Mr. CoUs,
had before done. During this same winter also, Mr.
Harper, a York friend and amateur, painted in Etty's
Studio. Under our Historical Painter's influence, the
amateur forsook Landscape for a whde, and the draw
ing master exchanged fruit pieces, which he could
paint very fahly, for the 'highest style,' the Figure :
— Etty dashing in a bit here and there.
Frequent visits to the local School of Design he
had himself estabUshed, and regarded now with quite
parental feeUngs, numbered among the duties and
pleasures of Etty's York Ufe : with practical encou
ragement of the Students, by advice, example, the
loan' of his Pictures, &c. He took especial interest
in the ladies' class, and much kind notice of promising
pupds : giving one of the latter as a reward, a book
from his own library, there being no prize that year
in her department; touching on her painting, in
viting her and her companions to see his pictures.
Ad which was thought much of from a man of his
standing. His advice to them was ever, — 'Study
'Nature:' — 'copy flowers from Nature, beginning with
the leaves ; ' — and the Uke. One of the prizes given
by himseh and Brother Charles, as we saw, was for
the best drawing from a common hedgerow flower.
Often in these visits, which he continued to the last,
he would have to rest, leaning against a desk, for
half an hour, — or a whole one, ere he could find breath
to say a word : sitting, Uke any other Student, on a

JET. 61-62.] STILL IN HARNESS. 259
high hard stool, — as from long habif, he preferred
doing in such places. At the annual meetmg in De
cember of the supporters of the School, he even
found breath to deliver a speech.
November in York, and December, had passed with
' little or no fog/ he reports to Mr. Jones : ' which I
' hke to escape. You have witnessed its effect on me.'
Ever increasing difficulty of breathing prevented his
' doing much ' during the ' cold dark days.' But he
had not exchanged constant and unwearied industry for
indolence. Several hours daily, he painted from the
living Model ; in the evening would sketch, according
to custom, ' from Fancy/ or from the Old Masters.
'I am having a conversation with Raphael this
' evening/ would be his exclamation to a friend find
ing him, perhaps, sketching from Raphael's Cupid and
Psyche series. By the beginning of 1849, he was
making preparations for an important Picture, — the
Greek Bridal; had had the canvas set up in his paint-
ting-room : — ' the first step/ as he styled it. After
¦Joan of Arc, he had talked of pamting but 'one
' more' ambitious historical Picture. ' I have made up
' my mind to offer it you/ he had told Mr. CoUs : —
' You have put the golden crown on my head/ —
aUuding to the great price of the Joan of Arc—
' I am determined the world shall never see me in
' my decrepitude. I shall never leave off painting ;
' but shall not exhibit after that Picture.'
He struggled through various attacks of his
chronic maladies. Invitations to conversazione —
' rural sports/ replies he, such as little suit him, and
to which he was never much addicted,— these, or
s2

260 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1849-
others, fad, generady, in seducing him to stir out at
night from his comfortable house : wherein, he keeps
two comfortable rooms ' at a sort of Madeira climate/
— 'the best for cUmate his doctor goes into.' Con
tent 'to breathe and be warm at home, without
' further trouble/ he passed the winter at York ' with
'advantage:' beyond the reach of Lhe Academies,,
and their temptations ' to brave the noxious hydrogen
' of night ah, fog, gas, stove-warmed rooms, and the
' dangerous transition from that heated atmosphere
'to a cold and damp journey home' on foot. —
' Cough and breath have benefited much.'
The remedy came late. For twenty years he had
taken every liberty with his health ; not only risking
extraordinary vicissitudes of temperature, — from
necessarUy over-heated Lhe Academies to night fog,
but neglecting common precautions : exposing him
self to gratuitous risks, despite aU Niece or Doctors
could urge. ' Had he been,' declared one of the latter
after his death, ' as kind to himself as to others, he
' would stiU be among us.' His naturaUy strong con
stitution and athletic frame had given promise of a
longer life, than devotion to his Art suffered his to be.
His nearest relatives all lived to a ripe age : both
Father and Mother exceeding the allotted threescore
years and ten ; some of his grand parents attaining
extreme ages. His Brother Walter died at seventy-
five. His remaining brothers stUl survive: — two,
simUarly advanced in years.
Devotion to the Life certainly shortened his hfe
by many years, — made him old before his time : — lesser
imprudences by a few more. Imprudences, whereof

JET. 62.] A FLATTERING PROPOSAL. 26
he could not to the last be broken. The same energy
which had carried him through so many and severe
struggles in his Art, which had enabled him to get
through so vast a stroke of work in his time, despite
aU obstacles ; was less profitably shown in self-wUled
defiance of the Seasons and of common consistency.
Sometimes he dines out, contrary to his doctor's ex
press injunction; sometimes makes himself breathless
for an hour, by walking, where he should have ridden ;
—still oftener braves the cold ah of winter in one thin
¦coat : confessing himself, when he encounters his
physician, a ' naughty boy/ expectant of 'a scolding.'
Fatiguing labours of an unexpected kind, but not
nngrateful, were yet in store for the invalided Painter.
The Society of Arts had determined to secure, if
possible, Etty's pictures for theh second, (and, as it
proved, last), coUective Exhibition of the Works of
Living Painters. An expression of that wish reached
him at the close of 1848, through his friend Mr.
Roberts, the Academician, a member of the Society's
Council, and one of those instrumental in bringing
the business about. Whde soliciting the Painter's
co-operation, he offered his own services in super
intending the formation of the Collection. Etty,
never indifferent to Fame, having during the greater
part of his career lived for it, and for excellence in
his Art, — alone, gave a glad consent to the scheme :
but, justly thinking that for his own sake and for
that of Art, ' h done at aU, it should be done well/
named the presence of his ' Nine great works ' as an
* essential' basis.
The Society's applications to the Scottish Academy,

262 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1849.
to the Manchester Institution, and to other possessors
of important specimens from Etty's hand, were backed
by additional requests from himself. The Scottish
Academy, — always honourably solicitous for his fame,
— anticipated, with its habitual liberality and courtesy,
the Painter's, by an instant and unanimous assent
to the Society's request.
At Manchester, the same good fortune did not.
attend him. Official obstructions intervened. The
first impediment raised by the (then) Honorary^Secre-
tary of the Institution, was the fact of an Exhibition
being open in the same room with the Sirens, whereof
that Picture formed an attractive, though scarcely
novel feature. A second, less superable difficulty
was borrowed from Etty's own mouth, the deshe he
had himself expressed nine years before : — that it
should never be removed. In the Summer of 1840,
the Painter, who watched his chef-d'oeuvre with a
jealous eye, had been thrown into considerable alarm
and excitement by rumours,- — eventually proving un
founded, — of its intended transfer to a new position y
it having before been damaged in removals from room
to room, by workmen, unaccustomed to his pictures.
Which injury, he had, at the cost of some anxiety and
trouble, himseh repahed. Fearing further mischief
would be done, he, on the spur of the moment, wrote,
(July 23rd, 1840); urging with some vehemence— that
if the Sirens be ' attempted to be removed to the
' room below, it wUl be destroyed. For it is painted
' on that sort of ground which wUl chip off Uke
' plaster.' He ' trusts ' the CouncU ' wiU pay him the
' compUment to consider it worth preserving :' con-

JET. 62.] A HITCH AT MANCHESTER. 263
ceiving it himself ' one of the best Pictures he ever
'painted.' His object was, by stating the case
strongly, to prevent such frequent changes of posi
tion. The question was now drily enough put, — Did he
make such and such statements? Of course, the
Painter could not deny his own hand; must confess,
however reluctantly, to the unlucky missive, so unpro-
pitious to his present wish: — capable at least of that
bias. But he explains, that he was not likely to be
' so mad as ' to propose anything which would really
injure one of his own Masterpieces : ' one of those
' great efforts of my Art/ confesses he, ' achieved in
' the vigour of my life, I can never make again / ex
plains, too, that a man accustomed to his works would
be sent to pack the picture, — a step of itself obviating
the risk previously apprehended by him. And he
hopes Manchester, which, like Edinburgh, was ' one of
' the first places to foster him by its patronage, wdl not
' throw overboard this, my last, earnest sohcitation.'
He neglects no chance of securing the much-
desired link in that ' chain of Nine colossal works/
which forms so important a feature of his ' efforts in
' historic and poetic art.' — ' Efforts,' he avers, ' made
' quite as much from motives of Patriotism as of
' individual interest, — or more so :' and such as he now
confesses himseh very deshous of ' putting before my
' countrymen, ere I go hence, to be no more seen.'
In much excitement and anxiety, he applied to the
first purchaser of the Sirens, — Mr. Daniel Grant,
entreating his goodoffices. He penned a supplementary
despatch to the Secretary, urging, that what wUl add

264 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1849.
to the celebrity and consequent pecuniary value of the
Picture, must be for the benefit of the Institution;
reiterating, that he would ' as soon think of throwing
' a thousand guineas into the river opposite' as risk
the destruction of the Sirens, or propose its removal, if
he ' thought it unsafe, with the precautions' proposed.
To ad which representations, those in power con
tinue to turn a deaf ear : Secretary and Councd stiU
averse. The official mind dwelUng in forms is always
hard to convince, or to turn from a resolve once stum
bled upon. For some time, Etty, not a httle cast down,
ceased not to repine at the anticipated blank in the
briUiant assemblage of his beloved ' ChUdren :' lament
ing the letter which had proved so apt a handle against
himself; and that he had ever let the Manchester folk
have the Picture. His vexation was heightened by
regrets that York friends had involuntarily missed it.
In this crisis, his active friend, Mr. Edward
Harper, a man of business and of energy, offered, —
to the great delight of the desponding Painter,— his
personal services ; started for Manchester : and
there, by dint of prompt decision, and weighty in
troductions, gained the cause. He obtained a special
meeting of the Council, argued the case before it, —
and won unanimous consent, after brief debate, to the
free loan of the Sirens : promising in return unheard-
of precautions for its safety. A Coup d'Etat, which
overjoyed Etty. The Institution had scarcely less
reason to rejoice, at having been saved the discredit
of refusal to serve the Painter, who, by his genius,
had conferred on the City of Manchester a per
ennial benefit ; — not to mention the easy terms on
which the Picture had been obtained from him.

JET. 62.] UNGENIAL INFLUENCES. 265
Meanwhde, amid 'petrifying cold/ and ever
* shorter breathing/ Etty had continued to paint, —
but with difficulty, — for his next, and as it proved,
final appearance at the Academy. Of the four ulti
mately sent, one, painted in a previous year, was
borrowed of Mr. Wethered. The Crochet- Worker,
a Study from the daughter of one of his Nieces, —
a favourite 'subject' with him at this time, — was
painted for Mr." Harper. It, and Gather the Rose
of Love, while yet 'tis time, — a lovely group of
youthful heads, — were products of the current
year. Eurydice, a result of York studies from the
Life, fluctuating health prevented his finishing for
the Exhibition, as he had intended : — the busy cares
which succeeded, prevented his finishing at aU. At
various periods of 1849, several studies simdar in
style to the Crochet- Worker, and from the same or
simdar ' subject/ amused his leisure : also destined
to remain unfinished.
A note to his friend Patten, the Associate, (April
3d), shows Etty in good spirits, as the grand gather
ing of his works drew nigh ; — despite such checks as
had to be encountered. 'I see/ he gady cries, 'thou
' art yet ahve and kicking ! I gave thee a scratch
' last Election : ah I could do; and regret it did
'not bring thee to the scratch. — You have chosen a
' good subject ! I trust you have done justice to it.'
The Spring proved cold and baekward. His
Letters to Mr. Wethered, bespeak its influence. * *
' I put you/ writes he, {April 11th), ' in the same boat
'with my beautiful bhd, — a httle joyous singing
' bird, caUed " Wanderer ;" who, often in the darkest
'days, and when I have been low-spirited, cheers

266 LIFE OF WLLIIAM ETTY, R.A. [1849.
' me by her song, as you do by your sunny letters.
'Its little heart brimful, and overflowing with joy
' and song, seems to say, "Why do you droop ?" — The
' Sun, golden as his little " paletot," breaks out, per-
' haps : and aU is gay ! To-day, the sun smdes, after .
' three of the darkest days I ever saw in York. On
' Easter Sunday, it rained all day. Monday and
'Tuesday were cold, dark, and heartless. To-day,
' I live again.'
Again, April 19th : — ' I am au disespoir at this
' deathly cold ! Nothing has its relish to me. No-
' thing really gives me pleasure. We have lost a
'dear relative, Miss Etty's Sister, Mrs. Purdon of
' Hull, a truly good creature ; the mother of the little
'girl who used to be in London :'— and who, as a
young woman, sat for the Crochet- Worker. 'The
' Wold hills are covered with snow. And aU Nature
' seems undergoing a second death. Don't come
' down at present. AU is chUl, cold, and heartless.
' * * Snow, haU, rain, wind, everything hateful and
'd  ble. But we are thankless creatures : we forget.'
1849 was the year of the notorious George Hud
son's Fall. By April of that year, no name was
in so id odour among the people of York, as that
of the man, whose connection with theh City had
elated them a few years before ; and whom they had
been happy enough thrice to secure for theh ' Lord
' Mayor.' The Painter, loving neither Radways nor Radway
speculation, did not make one of the herd who had
joined the Railway Magnate's following from sordid
motives. Mutual friends had brought him there.
Once having been treated in a friendly manner, having

JET. 62.] A CHIVALROUS DEFENCE. 267
dined at his table, and so on; — subseribing in due
course his friendly £5 to the famous ' Hudson Testi
monial/— Etty was not the man to think ill of a friend,
(and Hudson was the relative of far nearer friends),,
because all the world said ill : scarcely, indeed, to
credit the evidence of his senses, if opposing the
impulses of his heart. He liked to think well of all
the world, if he coidd. 'Do you think George
' Hudson dishonest?' he still, with a laudable thirst
for information, asked valued friends : — ¦ ' / cannot
' think so.' And one fine day in April, in the midst
of the first odium of Hudson's disgrace, ' everybody
'in York' is astonished, by a Letter in the local
Papers, signed ' WiUiam Etty/ defending Hudson :
chiefly by an array of Scriptural texts, — very little
to the purpose, but bespeaking the simplicity and
guilelessness of the writer.
Hudson, he pleads, 'if he were even gudty, to
' the extent his worst enemies say he is, is still de-
' serving of that Charity which thinketh no evil, which
' commands us, " If your brother offendeth, thon
' shalt forgive him not only seven, but seventy times
' seven:" ' &c. Etty did not number among those who
had been brought to ruin, by putting faith in George
Hudson and his Uke : or he might not have talked
quite so amiably. Slightly inapplicable to their
case, perhaps, — his remembrance of such texts; it
contrasts favourably with the howl of those who had
not been hurt, against the man so unanimously
courted and bepraised, before he was ' found out.'
This much, in favour of ' practising at home ' the
' beautiful maxims of Charity, Peace, and Love, so
' eloquently, beautifully and powerfuUy' put forth,

268 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. , [1849.
from York pulpits, and for the ' promulgation of which
' touching truths to the heathen abroad? his feUow-
citizens ' open theh purses so liberally :' this much
he says, — and more, ' supposing he may be culpable.'
But 'were I to give my own opinion of the matter,'
' rashly/ continues he, ' I feel I should be safe, were I
' to risk my existence on the honour and honesty of
' George Hudson. That he may not at all times have
' had that amenity which wins, I am wdling to aUow.
' He was made for carrying this mighty Change. * *
'And none but a man of his power and energy
' could have done it. Bnt if I ever set eyes on a
'man, — and I have had some experience, — whose
' manly port, physiognomy, and whole bearing cha-
' racterized an Honest man, — a man superior to all
' meanness, — it is George Hudson ! a man I am proud
' to caU my friend ! because I know him to be kjnd-
' hearted, generous, and pubUc-sphited to the last
' degree. I was only twice in my life in a Radway
* carriage with him. And on one of these occasions/
' Mr. Hudson gave £400 or £500 to a Church at Dar-
' lington, for the Radway men, without hesitation.' —
' I'll swear — L'U swear, from that honest John BuU
manner, he is honest/ Etty would exclaim. For in
private as in public, he emphatically urged his convic
tion, that the ex-Rahway King had been hardly
dealt with. With such a faith it was wed, he was
cautious of his money ! — The notion, that a swinging
subscription in a public carriage, towards a new
Church, was conclusive evidence in behalf of a pubhc
man, betrays profound insight into character, and
much knowledge of the world.
To wiseacres unacquainted with the man, so

JET. 62.] DISASTER AT SECOND-HAND. 269
Quixotic a flight of Knight-errantry, as this volun
teer defence of a disgraced potentate, was inexplicable.
His known simplicity and integrity prevented evU
constructions. Those who knew him, saw in it only
a characteristic, if extreme, instance of the childlike
goodness of heart, chddlike unworldhness, and cou
rageous good faith, of one stiU 'proud to caU' the
Defaulter ' his friend/ at a moment when— he had
few companions in such friendly pride. To the last,
the Painter remamed an adherent (from afar) of the
ex- King in his faUen fortunes.
As the Spring advanced, many unlooked-for inci
dents there were, to strike as chid to Etty's heart as
the East wind to his ' trachea :' the death, already
noticed, of a favourite Niece ; the reverses of his
'friend' Hudson, — shortly followed by the suicide of
another and nearer friend, ruined by implication in
RaUway speculations. The latter had been one of
Etty's own staunchest adherents and cronies, of
recent years : a kind-hearted man, and warm friend ;
a weU-meaning, though id-informed collector. Dis
aster reached Etty's heart no less surely, that it
came through his friends.
One bright star was dawning, destined to shed a
lustre and reward over the concluding scene of his
hfe. He was himself beginning to anticipate ' a
'great display' from his assembled Works : at the
same time, also, that he should ' not feel easy till they
'were aU returned' to theh respective owners, free
from harm and risk. In health Etty was, — after a
severe attack from his maladies during March and
April, — materially better by the beginning of May.

270

CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE LAST TRIUMPH. 1849. (MT. 62.)
Buckingham Street — Sunshine — Labours for the Show — Omissions
' —Just Cause for Pride — The ' Private Tiew ' — Results of the
Exhibition — Merits of the Scheme — Friendly Sympathy —
Tribute : Eobert Browning — A Clever Counterfeit — Longings
for Repose — Excitements of Town — Renewed Anxieties — At
Groundless Fear — Illness — Release — Return to York — Peaceful
Days — Struggling Health — Rash Experiments — Artist to the
Last— The End.
On May-day, Etty quitted York, exchanging the
quiet so long anticipated, and so briefly enjoyed, for
an exciting and feverish Summer in Buckingham:
Street. He arrived in time for the Academy- dinner ;
at which, — the last he was to attend, — he was seen to
suffer a good deal: his coat hanging awkwardly loose
on his back, — for his frame was shrunken; and he,*
while the speech-making was going on, leaning with
his elbows on the table, and hands to his head,
struggling for breath.
It was after leaving York, whUe busied in getting
his Works together, the fhst melancholy tidings of
his warm-hearted Friend's suicide arrived, to alloy
his happy anticipations ; striking him an ' unexpected
' blow :' — ' when getting much better, threw me back.'
— ' Sad work in York : I dare hardly think of it/ he
exclaims, — of the domestic and social havoc due to
the bursting of Railway bubbles. And, again:—
' May God have mercy on lis and him ! poor dear

JET. 62.] SUNSHINE AND SHADE. 271
'feUow! Oh! how deeply I have felt it!'— 'You
¦'are quite right/ — writing later, (June 15th), to
Mrs. Bulmer, — ' in imagining my heart has been torn,
' — riven by thunder- strokes from quarters whence
'I was least prepared to expect it. — AU seemed
4 sunny at Clifton. I caUed a day or two ere I left.
' The sun shone on the rooms, — on the Pictures,
'the gardens. Beautiful flowers were baring their
¦* sweet bosoms to the sun. The birds were singing, in
'doors and out. Elegances and Arts decorated the
'place within. It seemed everything man could
4 wish : — the kitchen even, like a parlour. Alas ! it
'taught me that all here is vanity. The kind-
' hearted, benevolent individual, whose home it was, —
4 and whom I loved as a brother, had not, unluckily,
' that firmness requisite to withstand the blow of ill
'fortune. * * Truly, the world seems rife with
' calamity.' Sunshine chequered gloom. On the ' same dark
'day, which brought news of poor N.'s untimely
' fate/ a letter arrived from Mr. Spencer, purchasing
Etty's favourite St. John, which had hung on hand,
(the only Picture to do so), since the previous year : —
purchasing it at the considerable price of £450.
The sum was straightway added to the ' Etty Fund /
as that received for the Joan of Arc had before been.
A ' pleasant bit of sunshine/ the unexpected incident
is to Etty. ' It will, indeed, be a pleasure/ he tells
Mr. Spencer, (May 20th), 'to sit and chat with you :
' looking at one end of the room on John the Baptist,
' at the other, to the Magdalene.'
From personal joys and sorrows, the Painter was '
obliged to turn his attention to the aU-engrossing

272 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1849.
preparations for his Exhibition. Most of the holders
of his Works, responded cordiaUy to the caU ; seve
ral, — as Mr. Clow of Liverpool, in the case of the
Dance from Homer, — offering theh Pictures of
theh own accord. At first, the Painter was content
with the prospect of a selection of his best Works.
He himseh excused Mr. Spencer from sending
' your lovely Magdalene^ — 'wdl not disturb her repose
'in her sweet retreat of the Plantations. — There is
' enough without her to give them a taste of my
' quahty.' An omission to be regretted, as of a
Picture, in its class unrivalled.
A stUl more serious omission, was that of the col
lection of Ettys belonging to Mr. Owen of Chel
tenham : including, among other fine specimens,.
'that gem of yours/ — as Etty naively styled his much-
prized chdd, when praying its presence, — The Toilette
of Venus; ('Venus and her SateUites'); which
' never has been seen as it ought to be.' A gem it
truly is, and comparatively unknown, combining, as
before intimated, in moderate dimensions, the ex-
ceUences of his most important works, and of his-
maturest years. On the ground of ' absence from
'home/ the fortunate owner dechned sharing his
privUege with the pubhc : a real loss to the latter,
and to Etty's reputation; which the Painter could not-
refrain from lamenting.
A chosen example of Etty's Art in another class,
— Portraits of Lord Normanton's Daughter and
youngest Son (as children), was also absent. The
Picture was in London : — not so its possessor. By
the Marquis of Lansdowne, no obstacle was made to-

JET. 62.] BUSY FOR THE SHOW. 273
the removal from Bowood, while himself in Town, '
of the Repentant Prodigal .—content that a fit person
was despatched for it from the Society of Arts. The
Society in every case bore the expense of removal ;
and charged itself with the risk. The collection of
Mr. Andrews, of York, including many pictures of
signal value, — the Robinson Crusoe, the Britomart,
&c, — which, declared the Painter, 'we must have on
' any terms :' ' Prince Albert is coming, and we
' must get all the strength possible / — could only be
obtained on condition of theh removal before the
Exhibition's close.
To the anxieties and labours of collection, suc
ceeded, during the first week in June, those equaUy
arduous, of superintending the arrangement and
hanging of his Pictures : — an arrangement which,
when completed, bore eloquent testimony to the
harmonizing hand of the great Colourist. The weU-
contrived concord of the whole, equaUed the splen
dour of the constituent parts : a result, marveUously
aided by the unfailing truth of Colour in each one of
these. 'Very busy/ he reports himself, (June 7th), to Mr.
Spencer. — 'We shaUhave a glorious show. I should
'have liked to have seen your enthusiasm — Saturday'
(next). 'But we must bottle it up for a future day.
' I know you wdl be pleased.' — ' Please God, I will
'give then a taste of my quaUty. Non nobis
'Domine! — The Sirens ; the Combat: the Wise and
' Foolish Virgins ; the Storm ; the Death of Hero
1 and Leander ! Come, my dear boy, as soon as you
' can. None wUl be more glad to see you. * *
VOL. II. T

274 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1849.
'P.S. 'Awake my Glory/ (David), 'arrived this
'morning:' — two days before the Private View,
that is.
The ' severe anxiety and exertion ' of getting his
Works ready for the public, was crowned by its
reward. — ' If ever I felt proud/ he, some months
later, avowed to his old friend, Mrs. Bulmer, 'it
'was when, after great anxiety, exertion, and fatigue,
' I had completed the arrangement of them; and sat me
' down in a chair, in the midst of these my chUdren :
' the noble Judith ; the animated Sirens ;¦ last, not
'least, Hero and Leander ; — with the Duke of Suther
land's Bevy of Fair Women. I then felt it was
' something to be William Etty. I hope I did not
' feel too much elated. I think I did not. — We have
' had sad lessons lately of Life's vanity.'
*' My Private View was Saturday/ he (June 11th),
relates to his Brother. ' And the effect astonished
' all ! Nobody seemed to expect what there awaited
' them. It was triumphant. I am thankful to
' Almighty God that He has spared me to see that.
' day.' * *
A strange contrast the codection made to the
' dark problems ' of poor Barry, which they covered
from view : — the coherent attainment of exceUence,
instead of the barren asphation towards it.
The general effect was unmistakable enough: a
convincing display of varied, creative power ; harmo
nious as imposing. A unanimous verdict was ex
torted. The one prevahing feehng was of admhation.
None had seen an Exhibition to parallel it. For the
Author of it, it proved a great day, unique in his Ufe;

MT. 62.] HAPPY MOMENTS. 275
a peaceful triumph, fit sequel to a career of unfal
tering labour and aspiration : some per contra to the
stinted recognition accorded the majority of these
noble works at the date of theh production. It
was a piece of ' poetic justice ' — for once realized, an
instalment of posthumous fame. The old man sat
quietly happy, surrounded by 'his children/ — whose
acquaintance he renewed under circumstances so
novel and unexpected : singling out with especial
favour a chosen few, — the Judiths, the Sirens,
the Hero Dying on Leander's Body. He watched
the progress of his ovation, received the congra
tulations of brother Artists and friends : himself con
tent with his life's achievement, — himself, as well as
others, enabled, for the first time, to grasp the
collective result.
' The last time I saw Etty/ says his friend and
admirer, Mr. Maclise, 'was sitting in the centre of
' his pictures in the Society of Arts' rooms. He con-
'fessed some complacency in finding himseh sur-
' rounded by his Works, and receiving such friendly.
'congratulations; but expressed his regret that
' some of his finest were not there; and said there
' were as many more as would fill a room.' WhUe
coUecting and arranging them, Etty had fan
cied he had secured as many as there were ' good
' places for.' Now that the assembled hundred and.
thirty-three samples of his achievement won so much
homage, and so much rejoiced his own eyes to see,,
he could not help wishing for all his best, and de
ploring the absence of such works as the Toilet of
Venus, Mr. Spencer's Magdalen, the Destroying
t 2

276 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1849.
Angels and the Temple of Vice, &c. In his Autobio
graphy he had asserted, his Works, if assembled,
'would almost fid Westminster Had:' httlejanticipating
the assemblage which was immediately to succeed that
declaration. The coUection went into less space than
Westminster Hall. The great room of the Society
of Arts was fdled, and a smader one. That space
sufficed, by reason of many omissions : many
fine portraits, an innumerable series of studies, the
masterpieces aheady mentioned; to which, among
others, may be added those in the Vernon Gallery,
the Diploma Picture, the Circe, the Hesperus.
The Exhibition at once established Etty's fame on
a footing it had never before attained; and left his
enduring claims no longer doubtful. For mere
Fame, it did more than twenty years of silent labour
had effected : anticipating the slow process of further
years ; raising him at once to the position, to which
a wider knowledge of his works in their scattered
condition, would graduaUy have preferred him. It
¦extended a knowledge of the Poetic Colourist to
those who had known Uttle or nothing before ; im
proved it among those who had known much. No
man can carry in his head a weU-digested resume of a
painter's works, such as a coUective edition of them
wdl present. Ad were seen in new relations and in
a new Ught. Most were new acquaintances : save to
those whose recollections stretched over the ephe
meral Exhibitions of thhty years ; and who had not
amid the miscellaneous crowd overlooked these, —
mistaken the counterfeit token for the golden coin.
FoUowing close on the Autobiography which had

JET. 62.] ADVANTAGES OF THE EXHIBITION. 277
aheady diffused better notions of him, this memo
rable gathering lent a triumphal glow to the close of
Etty's life. Just in time to do so it proved, by a
happy chance. The last year of his lhe was the first
in which he became truly known, beyond the confines
of admiring cliques.
It is not every Painter who is calculated to show
to so much advantage in an Exhibition whereof
himseh alone supplies the interest, as WUliam Etty.
Much went to it in his case : — nobUity of purpose,
great attainment, glory of Colour, breadth, variety of
aim and of exceUence, sustained power. Stdl, it is to
be regretted, the pecuniary success of the Society's
two Exhibitions, — of Mulready and Etty, — was not
sufficient to encourage that body in continuing the
admhable scheme it had planned. That the proceeds
were not sufficiently large to forward the project of
purchasing for our National GaUery examples of
great hving Painters, was no reason for discontinu
ing the Exldbitions themselves.
From these, profitable instruction resulted to the
public, honour to the Painter, — and to the Society.
For the increase of our knowledge of Art, of its
Masters, and of theh relative positions in the scale
of attainment, it were to be wished the Works, —
or a selection of them, — of every famous" Painter,
ancient or modern, might be periodicaUy brought
together. As great Living Artists are concerned,
it were an act of justice, and fitting tribute. If,
however, the scheme be again resumed, it would be
indispensable for Exhibitions, wherein so much is
risked, to take place in a detached and fire-proof

278 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1849.
budding : such as could be compassed, say, at the
People's new 'Palace' at Sydenham.
Prince Albert, President of the Society of Arts, as
such, ' paid the Exhibition a visit yesterday/ eagerly
records Etty, (June 15th); 'and paid me a high com-
'pliment from the chafr,' — in reality, a somewhat
faint one, a vague generality : a tribute, such as it
was, difficult, under the circumstances, to have escaped
rendering. By Royalty, Etty's Works were not
visited. The Exhibition 'has made a great impres-
'sion in my favour/ continues he (to Mrs. Bulmer).
'I wish you,' (who sat for it), ' could see the uplifted
' arm of Judith. It never looked so well before, or
' so striking. Then, there is that finest of my fine
' pictures, — Hero Dying on Leander's Body.
To human pleasures, something is ever a-wanting.
Etty would fain have had all his friends witnesses of
his Life's Achievement : a feeUng, with which it is
not hard to sympathize. ' I should have liked you
'to have seen' the Exhibition, is a wish more than
once reiterated, to the same correspondent.
Though some were missing, who should have,
shared and swelled the Triumph, and themselves
have reaped a share of profit and delight from the
noble gathering, — an opportunity once missed, irre
vocable ; many there were, to feel duly inspirited by
it, and to rejoice at the Painter's success : — ' the re-',
' ward of patient, ceaseless tod,' affirms one very early
friend (Albinus Martin). 'The sight/ continues the
latter, ' of an Exhibition of your Pictures alone,
and such an Exhibition, warmed me up; made me
'think of old times, — of poor BiUy Jay, dirty-

JET. 62.] FRIENDLY SYMPATHY. 279
c gingerbread, the one glass of excellent Sherry, and
' endless number of cups of no less exceUent tea.'
Throughout the continuance of the Exhibition,
spontaneous expressions of admhation and gratitude
greeted Etty, from stranger and friend. FeUow-
Artists^ were not backward in such demonstrations :
though among the more pedantic of the 'New
' School/ depreciatory whispers may have been heard.
Speaking generaUy, the younger Artists were stimu
lated ; — those of his own standmg, roused into can
did recognition. Among other instances, I may
mention a Letter from Mr. Cockerell, the Archi
tect, — of cordial congratulation, on the 'good
' fight ' the Painter had fought : rejoicing in his
.achievements ; frankly confessing how much he had
been ' sthred by that splendid Exhibition/ and its
display of 'beauty of thought, energy of purpose,
'and Colour.' 'Pleasure, pride, and elevating
' stimulus/ it had excited in him : such, as when a
friend has aroused, he feels it doing that friend an
'injustice not to acknowledge.' Sir Charles East-
lake, writing some months later, of a ' Song of the
' Sirens/ Etty had had performed near his Picture,
agreeing with him, that a union of the two Arts is
often a help to each, and regretting he had not
been able to see the Picture from the right distance,
and hear the music at the same time ; assures him,
his Pictures were themselves music to him, — to
his wife, no less so: — and that he was sorry when
the Exhibition closed.
One of the last letters Etty ever received, con
tained a passing tribute to his noble poem of the

280 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1849.
Sirens, from Robert Browning, himself a great,
though unvalued Poet. His brief note indicates,—
what whl be no secret to readers of Mr. Browning's.
works, — that poets do occasionally understand Art,
and praise in the right place. Few things are rarer
than a poet's intelhgent appreciation of a painter,
and of the right painter. — I trust the writer wdl
pardon my introducing his words : which I wUl do-'
in this place, rather than later. Bagni di Lucca, Sept. 21st, 1849..
' My dear Mr. Etty. — I was duly informed, by
'my Sister, of your very kind call of inquiry, at
'Hatcham. Yet, surely, you must have divined I
'could not be in England these three years past,,
' or I should not have been so neglectful of my
'privUege, as to leave you unvisited so long. It
'was always too great a delight to me, when
'near your quarters, to knock at your door and
'convince myself that a great Painter and Poet
'could realize his conceptions, as exquisitely in
' London, at this latter day, as in Venice, when
'the Doges were there. I see noble pictures often
' now. But a noble Painter I do not hope to see,
' again, before I return to England ; as I shall pro-
' bably do next year : when it wUl be indeed an
' honour and a pleasure to shake his hand, instead
' of being forced to content myself, as at the pre-
'sent, with saying simply, that
'I am, dear Mr. Etty,
' Yours very faithfully, as admiringly ever,
'Robert Browning-

JET. 62.] COUNTERFEIT STUDIES. 281
' May I venture to send my wife's homage along
' with mine ?— We have often remembered your grand
' Sirens.' About the commencement of the Exhibition in
the Adelphi, Etty received one of those applications
to which he was so accustomed, — to authenticate a
(supposed) Study of his, — but from an unusual
quarter, a brother Artist. For miserable as are many
of the pseudo ' Ettys,' copies have been executed of
his genuine Studies, cleverly enough, to make it diffi
cult for good judges to pronounce, at once.
' I was led/ Mr. Maclise writes, ' into the haunts
' of the Picture Dealers, some months ago, in search
'of my stolen Studies;— and in one of these dens,
'met with the accompanying, and purchased the
'same, to hang by me, as a httle memorial and
' exemplar. I told this to Mr. Wethered. And in
' a day or two, Mr. Colls sent me a most disconcert-
'ing original. But I have since heard, that you
' painted upon a Copy, and made it your own : and I
' try to believe this may be the one. Is it so ?
' I was very near asking you, a short time since.
'But I felt you must be so often vexed by such ques-
' tions, that I had not courage. It seemed somehow,
' easier to put the question on paper. Will you ex-
' cuse it kindly, on this 8th of June, the Eve of the
' Triumph that awaits you to-morrow. * * I saw
' Macready yesterday, who is very well, considering.'
It was not tdl Etty had retained the Study for
a day or two, and ascertained who had the original,
that he could positively pronounce it a copy.

282 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1849.
His labours for the Adelphi Exhibition concluded,
the fhst excitement of the opening days over, Etty
turns to account his restored leisure by painting on
various studies and sketches ; continues to paint, with
occasional interruptions, during the remainder of his
prolonged stay in London. He resumes, too, his
famdiar seat at the Life- School of the Academy, tUl
the close of the summer session. At the School in
Margaret Street, formerly in St. Martin's Lane, he
attended one of the very last meetings previous to its
final dissolution.
Amid the perilous excitements of London, he is
often longing for 'the repose of the country.'
London supplies almost too much to sth him. — 'Your
letters/ — writing (July 13th), to Mr. Spencer,— are
always cheering to me. I think ' of quiet pastures,
' gentle streams :' — &c. * * 'In truth, as the
'hart panteth for the water-brook, so longeth my
' soul for the country.' — ' I am trying to get the
' Sirens' song of old Homer set to sweet music.
' So buy some wax, and good strong cord to bind
' you to the mast ! ' The Painter arranged for a
Band to play in an adjoining room to his Pictures,
hoping to increase the effect of the latter by the
influence of another Art. But as the business was
managed, the result was not successful. As hinted
in Sir Charles Eastlake's note, the music and the
pietures could not be enjoyed simultaneously.
' 0 le belle Arti ! ' continues Etty, in a fine rapture,
to his friend :— Ha Poesia ! la Pittura .' la Musica ! I
'love to linger in the cloistered shade, when in
' anthems clear the Cathedral service is mysteriously

JET. 62.] FAMILIAR CORRESPONDENCE. 283
* heard within, in solemn cadence ! I love too the ex-
•'hUarating feeling which martial music gives : — the
' pride, pomp, and circumstance military, the tramp
' of horse and foot, the trumpet sounding under an
• archway, the flash of arms in sunshine, the pre-
'cision of discipline which our fine Guards display.
'These I have enjoyed lately. * * What enjoy-
' ments are open to us when our feelings are
' attuned either by health or happiness.
'* * Andrews has (yesterday) sold his Britomart
'to Lord Charles Townsend for 600 guineas. To-day
' will be the grand day at Christie's' — sale of Etty's
friend Nicholson's pictures : — 'and decide the fate of
' the dear Graces. The pictures sold tolerably weU
' yesterday. But to-day is the Day ! It was said last
'week, "Etty sells for more than Raphael ! " The
'Lord Mayor gave a grand dinner last Saturday, in
' the style of a city whose merchants are princes,— to
' the Royal Academy and Royal Society : — Music,
' Turtle, Venison. A flourish of Trumpets announced
'the dinner and preceded the toasts.'
At the Adelphi, where Etty dropped in almost
every day, hovering restlessly round his Works, the
exultation of the first day was sustained. The
self-vindication was complete at length. ' It is truly,'
he open-heartedly writes, (August 18th), to his Brother
Walter, — the witness of early reverses, and his rock
of support for so long, — 'truly a triumph, after a
'struggle of many years, to see and feel one's works
'duly estimated, considered, and applauded, in the
'very room' into which ' you took me, to admire the
4 Orpheus of Barry, and his other glorious works. I

284 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1849.
'then, sdently, but secretly, said within myself: — 'I
' also wdl endeavour to rescue my country from the
' opprobrium of foreigners, who have said we can't
* produce an Historic painter; and endeavour to prove
'the country of Milton and Shakspeare is beyond
'theh petty jealousies and malice.'
Anxiety and harass had not ceased with the suc
cessful opening of his Exhibition. That was no
sooner brought to pass, than he became as anxious to
see the Codection scattered again, as he had before
been to form it. The burthen of responsibihty as to
ward the several owners weighed heavdy on his mind.
And to the fever and fatigues of assembUng his Works,
succeeded the fever of apprehension for their safety.
In proportion as he prized these products of his
Hand, — the chief evidences of his genius and skUl ;—
was his nervous dread of their utter loss by Fhe. The
Society's house in John-street, Adelphi, which had
never before held so much treasure, was not fire-proof;
— the reverse of fire-proof: forming part in an exten
sive block, itself situate in a crowded neighbourhood ;
one, from the number of shops and warehouses, espe
cially exposed to danger, as Etty (a neighbour) had
cause to know. Much was at stake : — the results of a
laborious lhe. The chance, however remote, was not
one to be calmly contemplated, — of theh annihda-
tion : — a few scattered remnants alone, perhaps, re
maining of ad he had painted, to remind the world
that such an Artist had once existed. That chance
haunted Etty's mind from the first day of triumph to
the last : the anxiety pursuing him wherever he
went. ' What a calamity it would be ! ' he would

JET. 62.] ANXIETIES AND FEARS. 285
despondingly exclaim : ' My fame kiUed !" It was the
Damocles' sword at his festival. It was small con
solation to the creator of so many radiant forms,
risked in one venture, — and which had but one life, —
to be obUgingly assured ' they were aU fully insured.'
A similar fear conspired, I believe, in the foUow
ing year, to prevent Turner's compliance with the
Society's overtures.
His health broken, in sore need of rest and quiet,
rest impossible for him tUl his Works had reachedtheh
several destinations undamaged, he looked forward to
the day of their dispersion as to one of release ; one,
which was to restore him to his Home, and to tran-
quUlity. He eagerly urged the Managing Committee
of the CouncU to an early close. But visitors, scanty
during the first weeks, had multiplied. The earliest
date winch could be agreed to was the 25th of August.
A second earnest wish of the Painter's was com
pUed with : that a proposed lowering of the rate of
admission should not take place. Etty, mistrustful of
the People, because ignorant of them, shared the pre
judices of his class. Base and stupid prejudices, such
as have prevaUed in the Academy to defeat the efforts
of Mr. Hume ; who would have made that Institution
admit to its Exhibitions the numerous body of in
dustrious and intelligent men, who can afford three
pence or sixpence for such a purpose, and gladly, but
not a shilling : a fact the supercUious wealthy so little
care to realize. There is in England always an eager
multitude ready to pay a shUling for the sake of ex-
clusiveness, and priority : so that the Academy is, in
any case, safe on that side. In 1850, the Society of

286 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1849;
Arts, during the concluding weeks of the Exhibition'
of 'Ancient and Mediaeval Art,' — comprising articles
of the choicest and most fragile nature, crowded into
very close space, — opened its doors at threepence :
with the happiest results. The same thing is pros
perously done at the Edinburgh and Manchester Ex
hibitions. It was a ' gentleman' who broke the Port
land Vas.e. It is not the artisan who pokes his cane
or umbreUa through obnoxious pictures : as a refe
rence to the Police reports wUl prove.
Old friends, who noticed how greatly Etty was
enfeebled by repeated attacks of his disease, trembled
at every repeated attack of coughing. Asthma and
rheumatism, in fact, render him Uttle adequate to.
the ' anxious and harassing time ' he has had to
spend in London. On the very point of starting for
a visit to his friend Bodley, at Cheltenham, he was, —
early in August, — seized by a severe attack of rheu
matic fever : making him ' entirely helpless/ and
requiring 'the strongest medicines.' — 'I could not/
he recounts, ' puU off my coat, open a door, or lift the
' glass of medicine to my mouth, without assistance.'
' Never more, if so Ul/ he assures Mr. Bodley. — 'Burnt
'up with fever and thhst, agonised with pain; I
' knew no rest night or day. But the strong reme-
' dies ' — for the time prove effectual. He now, (August
'11th), 'feels something of himseh once more; —
and 'acknowledges with gratitude the goodness of
'Almighty God. * * The baleful and oppres
sive influence of Sirius, or the Dog Star, hap-
' pdy ceases to-day ! I am always glad when that's
' the case. TeU Martha, and the rest of the dear
' chcle, I feel obliged by theh kind interest about

JET. 62.] RELEASE. 287
' me. — The Adelphi Exhibition keeps open two weeks
' after to-day. — The visitors increase.'
' Bless God ! tranquiUity — and hope of getting
' home— is coming ! with healing on its wings,' is his.
exclamation, (August 18th), to his Brother. The
superintendence of the packing and removal, was
taken off his hands by Mr. Wass. But the Painter
stdl hovered about the Adelphi. At length the day
of the Exhibition's close, and of release from anxiety
actuaUy came. But on the morning of clearing away,
as he stood in the midst of his Works, Etty was in
tears. The grand Whole was to be dispersed again,
and for ever: and he was bidding his assembled
favourites a last adieu.
Of ' the Robinson Crusoe, Hero and Leander, and
' a few of the most precious/ he himself took pa
ternal charge: 'for safety and for succour, lodged
' them here ; ' he reports from Buckingham Street, to
'Mr. Andrews. 'I have been,' he continues (Sep
tember 5th), 'to Oxford, for a few days; as a change
'for me and Miss Etty:' who had been 'rather
' anxiously fearful of the prevailing epidemic' — It was
a year of Cholera. ' Returned last night, in order
'to prepare for my York journey.'
His grand Exhibition closed, and 'all the great
' and small Works returned, unharmed, to their re-
'spective owners/ — Etty, after 'an arduous five
months' campaign, quitted London, — finaUy, as it
proved : himseh, contemplating however, a return to
London in the Spring. At the last sitting of a new
Model who had pleased him,— from whom, and from
some others, he had continued to paint tdl within a
day or two of his leaving London, — he told her to be

288 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1849.
in readiness ' when he came back :' — ' he never came'
added the Model, who retaUed his words. — ' I think it
' wdl give you some little pleasure/ the Painter teUs
' Mr. Bodley, that ' I have not given up possession
' of my London Chambers, as yet ; but have left my
'Painting-room in statu quo. So that when I return,
' I can have a fire lit, bod the kettle ; mix the colours
' and paint at once.' — I hke to feel/ he wrote, but a
fortnight before death, to Mr. Wethered, 'I can
' come up in a few hours, and work in my old shop
' and old corner. There is no place like London.'
Late on the evening of Saturday, September 29th,
Etty reached Coney Street, with his 'ten or dozen
'packages' of Pictures, &c. : rejoicing to 'sit down'
in his 'quiet home/ after 'labours long, and deep
' anxieties, mixed with blessings.' The aspirations of
youth, and resolves of manhood had been fulfilled.
He no longer looked on himseh as a labourer in Art;
yet thought to do a good deal in a quiet way: in his
York Home, — the house he had purchased and fitted
up with such happy anticipations; where he had
arranged his Study-Ught, and surrounded himseh
with aU those Art-objects so famUiar to former
friends and visitors in Buckingham Street.
Happy, and in even gay spirits, after the fever of
London, to be at peace in the ' Home of his Heart/
— ' a City haUowed by sacred and solemn recollec-
' tions : ' he now takes his ease, and — very soon, his
brush. Again he is to be seen, with bowed head and
feeble step, sauntering through York Streets with his
Niece ; looking very Ul, and suffering so much from
oppression of breath, as to be scarce able to speak. He

MT. 62.] PEACEFUL DAYS. 289
totters up the Minster steps, hovers round old fami
har spots : dropping in, as before, on old acquaintance
among the tradesmen, for a chair whereon to rest, —
remarking apologeticaUy, that he is 'rather the
'worse for wear/ — to rest and find his breath. A
few paces, or a single flight of stairs, sufficed now to
rob him of it. Gossip freely he would, as was his
way, and with the humblest, when breath to gossip
came. His sufferings seemed to many, in these
years, 'to have increased the natural benevolence of
' his temper.' His manner had become even gentler
and kinder, — his accessibility greater. To the School
of Design, he pays a visit, arriving too exhausted to
whisper more than, ' I shaU be better by-and-bye/ —
after resuming his usual seat on a drawing stool :— -
leaning against the desk, for hah an hour, tUl easier
moments came. Then, he takes notice of a favourite
female scholar : — promising further advice ' if she wdl
' some day caU on him.'
The Triumph at the Adelphi, — the last[and greatest
of Etty's Ufe, — with its attendant excitement, phy
sical fatigues, mental anxieties and fears, undoubt
edly contributed to hasten his death. On his return
to York, he appeared ' much altered ' to all ; to have
visibly lost strength : — his frame enfeebled by his last
attack ; he looking already the old man, though only
in his sixty- thhd year. Friends who observe the thin,
wasted form, and feel his arm ominously ' give ' in the
hand that shakes his, in theh own minds pronounce
him ' not long for this world.' He himseh bates no
jot of courage ; stdl hopes ' progress.' The ' chronic
'rheumatism remains/ indeed, 'in his hands/ &c: but
VOL. II. u

290 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1849.
he has much more command of them than he had.
And his ' general health ' mends.
'A little neater penmanship/ he cheerfuUy writes,
to Mr. Bodley, (Oct. 5th), ' may characterize this to
' you, than my two last :' (from his sick-room in Lon-
' don) . These wintry feels in the weather give me an
' asthmatic spasm now and then. But I am thankful
' I am no worse ; — when death and disease have been
• so fearfuUy busy around us.'
On his friend Wethered, he lays a few little
commissions. * * 'Pray caU, the fhst oppor-
' tunity, at the Royal Academy. Inquire for Mr.
' Vaughan, clerk ; and deposit in his hands a sovereign
' on my account, to enable him to forward me my
'letters, &c.' — 'Further, at your leisure, caU at
' the Society of Arts : they wUl give you the address
' of  , the Artist. If it is in your beat at all, caU
' on him, and give him hah a sovereign, for one or
' two copies of a little Boy's "Drawing Book," of boats,
' &c, he showed me in Town. I was busUy engaged,
'and, I fear,' rather short with him. He seems
^hardish up : and I, don't Uke to be unkind to an old
'feUow-Student.' October 7th, he reports himseh to the same friend,
'happy as a prince, — nay, happier. Betsey and I
'toddle about: — yesterday, had a delightful walk.
' And both wished you were with us. Within five
' minutes' walk of our house, are the grounds of the
'Museum: where, a band of military music was
'playing soft airs, — the ah balmy, the sky serene.
' Relics of the ancient times' — ' of Old Rome, and
'the glorious Minster, were the background. A

JGT. 62.] FAMILIAR CORRESPONDENCE. 291
'river roUed in front ; — trees gracefuUy waving, tinged
' with hues autumnal.'
Another letter, (October 9th),\& to Mrs. Bulmer. * *
' In the midst of sickness and suffering, a world that
' seems truly the valley of the shadow of death, one
' catches at the recoUection of old times and old
' friendships, as one of the only bits of sunshine left.
' — Passing your' (former) ' house the other day, we
' looked up : but no one was trimming the garden !' —
' Your portrait is opposite me, and my dear Mother's
' and Father's. And we ' lately ' turned over amongst
' some papers, my "FareweU to York," written at your
' house, in 1835, I think. We have been this morn-
' ing to the Plantations, to arrange a place for John
' the Baptist, — " Repent ye, for the Kingdom of
' Heaven is at hand." We went to Acomb, to Mr.
' Smith's ; and to my old friend the Miller : who
' would put in the cab a basket of nice apples, ac-
' cording to custom.'
As long as physical strength to hold the pened
remained, Etty's love of his Art would never have
aUowed him to rehnquish it. To his doctors, it
had for months been a mystery how he contrived
to paint. The rheumatic sweUing of his hands pre
vented his holding a brush with any firmness. Yet,
despite asthma, gout, and the rest, the fire of the
man held out to the last. To those admitted within his
Studio, it was not a Uttle ' strange' to see him : giving
a dab or two with the end of his brush, — retiring,
putting his head in squares, and pondering over the
effect wanted; strange,, too, to watch how much
v 2

292 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1849,
effect was produced, by a few strokes from that
gouty hand.
The state of Etty's Studio, in this month of
October, 1849, witnessed to the habits of perseverance
stUl Uis inseparable companions. Among various
pictures in course of execution, one, — commenced
in this month, — was a Study of a Ringed Pheasant
and Grapes ; rich and harmonious in Colour, vigorous
in character, so to speak, as any he had painted.
The Picture was never finished. A white space with
in a pencil outline, occupying a third of the intended
group, teUs it own story significantly enough. There,
too, stood the large canvas 12f- ft. by 7\ ft., for
that which he proposed, as his last Historic essay,
the Bridal Procession, from Homer.
October 23rd, writing to Mr. Wethered, he omits
not his customary reminiscence : how, ' this day,
' in the year 1'798, he was bound in fetters for
' seven years, and apprenticed to a Printer.' Towards
the latter part of October, he is visited by ' two or
'three sharp attacks' from 'his old enemies, — short
' breathing, rheumatism, and helplessness : last, not
'least, a most -distressing and painful malady, — 'an
' attack of gravel.' But, thank God ! its bitterness
'is/ (October 26th), 'subdued a httle. * * Good
' heavens ! what poor creatures we are, when the
'Lhand of disease and affliction is on us.'
'Very Ul, — in much suffering/ he stiU relin
quishes not the ' hope, ere long, brighter days will
' shine.' — 'I am better, my dear boy/ he assures Mr.
Wethered, (October 30th). 'So don't be down-
' hearted ! By-and-bye, I hope to be better stdl.

JET. 62.] A KIND-HRARTED MISSION. 293
'My complaint is a painful one. Yet am I mer-
* cifully dealt with ; and I hope turning the corner
' toward a better state of things. I have been able to
4 get a walk to-day.'
After a short confinement to the house, he was
always to be seen in York Streets again. One of
the last walks he ever took, — when, in fact, he could
scarcely find breath or strength to walk at aU, — was
directed by his kindly heart: to make inquiries
of a working man, as to the character of one his
•servant was about to marry. If, as he had feared,
he should not prove a good character, the Painter
had determined to break off the connection. A
faithful and valued servant, who had been in his
service some years, ' should not,' he was resolute,
' throw herself away.'
Lists of friends, old and familiar, he had made
for a series of parties, to be given the coming Winter.
The tragic close which awaits every life, in
terrupted this, as many other kind and friendly
schemes. An imprudence more serious than ordinary it
was, which cost the Painter his Life : — was, at aU
events, the immediate cause of shortening it. A young
man in the prime of lhe, was prone, despite cautions
from Miss Etty, to extol in Etty's presence, as the
specific for health and longevity, the bracing system,
on which he throve : of wearing no flannels, bathing
in cold water, &c. The Artist, in the decline of lhe
and decay of his vital powers, — the victim of hah a
dozen different maladies, — must needs try some of
these inviting remedies ; commencing the experiment

294 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1849.
on himseh, by leaving off the flannel shht in which he1
was accustomed to sleep. This he did, on the night of
November 2nd, unknown to his watchful nurse, — '
and despite her urgent dissuasions ; on whom he
practised a little artifice, to effect his purpose: to
the last, above all things, fond of having his own
way. Having threatened to deceive her, he did so,
by shpping the flannel under the bed; triumph
antly informing her, next morning, that he 'had
cheated her:' whereat, she justly feared he had
cheated himself.
Unusually well and cheerful that day, (Sunday),
he went to afternoon Service, at the Minster ; in the
evening, felt much better. And • a conversation with
his Apothecary made him ' quite happy ; ' dispelling
a ' bugbear which had haunted him for years.' To
these sanguine hopes succeeeded, in the night, one
of his customary attacks : difficulty of breathing, and
troublesome cough, ' connected with congestion of
the lungs/ — reports one of his medical attendants.
An attack, which, — tiU the end drew nigh, — few
suspected would prove his last. Little more than a
week previous to his death, he had been seen about
York. To his York friends therefore, accustomed
to hear of his being laid up so often, and to whom
his last brief iUness was scarcely known tiU it was-
over, the inevitable sequel came as a surprise : as-
it was felt, by the lovers of Art everywhere.
November 5 th, Etty scribbled a short note to
Mr. Wethered, teUing him he was ' better.' — ' Let-
' me hear of your welfare. It rejoices my heart.'
On the 6th, another, to his Brother Walter, reports

MT. 62.] LAST EMPLOYMENTS. 295
him ' convalescent/ and ' right glad to see your
' dear hand-writing :' — speedUy branching off into
further domestic details. Both days he had got
to his Painting-room. On the evening of the 6th,
he was worse; the next day confined to his bed
room : a room opening from the Studio, and looking
out on the river Ouse. Thither, — for he died in
harness, — he had his large canvas of the Grecian
Bridal brought. Sitting in a chah during the first
few days of his illness, and proceeding with his
Sketch, until he became too feeble; he, after that,
contented himseh with having the canvas before
him, and dreaming of the intended picture.
The Sketch, though slight, was as beautiful, as
far as it went, as if it had been dashed in when the
Painter's hand was at its strongest. The lights laid in,
in white chalk, the figures in black charcoal; the
whole had been done off at a few strokes : a series
of bold and graceful, curvilinear ones. The musicians
go before the Bride ; two maids at her side. Other
figures follow. The conception of the Picture was,
doubtless, in Etty's mind almost complete. It is an
instance of stupid indifference to the vestiges of a
great Artist, that this interesting memorial of the
Painter's last days, — a characteristic suggestion of a
poetic Picture, life alone had been wanting to realize,
— sold at Etty's sale, (to a young Artist), for the mere
value of the canvas (£2 15s.) : as a canvas, the owner
intending, (when I saw it), to make use of it. The
Sketch itself had, by removals, been nearly effaced.
To the attack on his lungs was afterwards
superadded a slight one of rheumatic gout, in

296 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A. [1849.
the wrists and elbows : ' from the general feeble
ness of his frame, not ftdly developed/ reports
my, medical authority. Not tdl the Saturday did he
submit to be whoUy prisoner to his bed. He con
tinued cheerful. 'I have just parted with my
' Medico, Dr. Simpson ; here comes my Divine,'
he exclaimed, on the entrance of his friend, Mr.
Spencer. He became conscious he was dying. 'I
' don't know !' exclaimed he, to his physician, after the
usual inquiries and repUes : ' but I never felt so in
ah my life! — never! never!' To his^female servant,
he spake of death as ' a great mystery :' ' wonderful !
'wonderful! this death!' Through his window,
commanding the River, and an extensive horizon, a
glimpse was caught of the sun setting, blood-red, in
beauty and majesty, as he had so often seen, and was
no more to see it. The famdiar sight, so soon to be
unfamdiar, smote at the heart of the impressionable
Artist : suggesting much on Earth to which he was
bound by closest ties, — ad he was formed so vividly
to apprehend and enjoy; which was now, for him,
to pass away. Death was hard to understand : and
for a Painter, whose whole life's happiness and occu
pation have been drawn from visible Nature, — as for
aU who have tasted lhe fuUy and vividly, to whom
the capabilities of life are great, — hard, perhaps, to
reconcUe himseh to. StiU serene, however, he con
soled the servant by telling her: — 'You wUl have me
' there / pointing to his Portrait.
A quarter before eight on the evening of the 13th
of November, Etty, — conscious almost to the last, —
had ceased to breathe. The inspired hand lay stiff

JET. 62.] THE END. 297
in death. He died in his sixty- thhd year : after an
illness of ten days ; httle more than six weeks after
his return to his beloved York home. ' Congestion of
* the lungs ' the proximate cause of death.

298

CHAPTER XXIX.
SUPPLEMENTARY.
Public Funeral— A Cherished Wish— Unfulfilled— In St. Mary's
Abbey — Hero-Worship — A Sordid Topic — Self-righteous
Judges — Ko Monument in York — Homage Elsewhere — Fate
of the Studies — A Protest. *
Etty was buried on the 23rd (November). The Fu
neral was a pubhc one : Mayor and Corporation, and
the School of Design, joining with relatives and
friends in fodowing York's most memorable man to
his grave. The shops were shut; — the streets fiUed.
From the Royal Academy, to which his name had
been so signal an honour, no mark of respect was
forthcoming. Such tokens are not ' usual ' towards
its great men. It is in the habit of honouring only
Itseh; in the person of its President, — whether a
Reynolds — or a West.
It had always been Etty's wish that his remains
should rest within the confines of his beloved Min
ster. That sequel to his hfe had become anhabitual
aUusion with him. He had sometimes contemplated a
' monument, d la Rubens :' — a Picture from his own
hand. — ' Lay me/ he had written once when ' con-
' valescent in a sick-room,' to his friend Mr. John
Buhner, as a memorial of his wishes : — ' lay me by
' my Bride; she who is so lovely to mine eyes, so dear
' to my heart, captivating to my imagination ; whose
' Brow is bound round with rubies, with sapphires,

YORK MINSTER : NO. 299
•with amethysts, with emeralds; who Ufts her head
'into the heavens, and seems a fitting ante-chamber
'thereto. To drop metaphoric flights,— it is difficult
'for me to speak coldly on the subject, — lay me near
'the Choh of the Minster, in, or as near to, the little
' south Transept, (which is near the flight of steps to
' the altar), as is possible. My deshe to be buried in
'the Minster of York is not, I am desirous to be-
fUeve, from ostentation: but from the true love I
'bear that holy, that glorious work, that splendid
' monument of the piety and power of the Past Ages;
'when the House of God was thought worthy of aU
'the perfection that man could give it.'
But York Minster boasts no ' Poets' Corner.' The
sanctuary reserved for Archbishops, Residentiaries,
and the like ephemeral persons, is unavailable for
Genius ; unless it disburse some £500 in fees, as a
peace-offering to the harpies which infest such
places : ' so much for opening the ground / ' so much
'for digging grave/ so much for tablet room; so
much for &c. No provision was found in Etty's
Wdl for expending that sum. No idea seems to
have been entertained by the Authorities or the
Town of waiving such provision ; and burying theh
great Painter in York's famous Church, of theh
own accord : as a fitting honour to the man, and
graceful fulfilment of his known wish. A lasting
discredit to York, this stolid and mercenary indiffer
ence to the cherished desires of the Painter who had
effected so much for the honour of his native city;
and for whom it had done simply nothing.
A place beside his Father and Mother, in Pave-

300 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A.
ment Churchyard, would, as the Church stands in
the centre of York, have contravened the new and
very requisite, sanatory regulations of the City. The
vicinity of a spot next dearest, (to Etty), to the
Minster, — St. Mary's Abbey, was ultimately chosen :
a quiet corner of the adjoining Churchyard of St.
Olave's, within the shadow (almost) of a mouldering
arch of that once beautiful Church. Before a
bricked-up doorway of the ruined fabric, on the
other side of which door stretch now the Museum
Gardens, stands Etty's Tomb, — a large erection. A
tranquil, if somewhat dark and gloomy place : objects
beautiful,, and once dear to Etty, near. In digging
the grave, (a deep one), the relics of three several
eras, as Professor Phillips informs me, were dug
through: a modern layer, a Mediaeval, a Roman.
Etty's is, in fact, a Roman grave. A smaU earthen
ware vase, now in the possession of Professor Philhps,
was found in it.
To the same quiet spot, Etty's Brother Walter, at
the time of the Painter's death too id to leave home,
was also borne, little more than three months after,
(February 23rd, 1850) : at the age of seventy-six.
Within a year, the Painter's old friend, Mr. Brook, —
who had selected the site of Etty's grave, — was, ac
cording to his own wish, laid near.; next a buttress
of St. Mary's.
After death, a cast had been taken of the Painter's
head, unpleasing and untruthful : as aU post-mortem
casts, it has been justly observed, must be. The ex
pression altered, the muscles of the face rigid ; it
necessarUy represents death,— not lhe. A bust of

HERO WORSHIP. 301
Uttle likeness or merit, by an ' idealizing ' Sculptor,
whose aim was ' not so much a hkeness, but a work
' of Art/ was made (in Plaster), to meet the demand
anticipated from the Painter's feUow-citizens. A
monument was talked of. The bust ' did not seU.'
The monument never advanced beyond talk.
One of the chief employments and recreations of
a viUage or country town, is the settlement of other
people's business, — each one for his neighbour : in
termeddling and pronouncing definitive sentence on
matters as to which aU are inevitably ignorant. Not
withstanding Etty's blameless life and lovable cha
racter, the] known kindness of his heart, — aU who
knew him, thinking and speaking only good of him,
— despite the honour his name reflected on York, and
the love he himseh bore it ; a coldness towards his
memory has since his death prevaUed in that in
fatuated City : one never eagerly bestirring itself to
honour him in life, preferring rather to worship mud
idols like its RaUway King, — also a York ' Worthy.'
The aUeged pretext for this local feeling, as it is
one injurious to Etty's good name, — a possession which
in hfe he prized so highly, — must lead me to tres
pass on ground intrinsically private : topics whereof,
however, the York pubUc has aheady constituted
itself judge — without appeal; on which, absurdly
disproportionate stress has been laid.
Etty left behind him a WiU, since the making of
which, in September, 1845, and of its Codicil, in
September of the year following, (on the purchase of
his House), a large portion of the property remaining
at his death had been accumulated,

302 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A.
To his Niece, who had risen from a humble posi
tion in lhe, to be his valued companion, and ' Right
' Hand/ an annuity was bequeathed of £200, with
the house in York for her lhe: of which latter
bequest it is even possible Etty, in his chddhke
innocence of business and of law, may have enter
tained confused notions, as including a life-interest
in its contents also. He never seemed to anticipate
any other sequel, than her continuing to hve in
his loved Home, and its remaining as he had with so
much care and delight, arranged it. ' This house is
'my Castle/ he would say : 'keep it as such ! — keep
' these Studies around you as long as you hve.'
The whole of his remaining property was conferred
on his Brother Walter, — his sympathizer and friend
through life, his stay in the lonely years of poverty
and obscurity ; and who passed in Etty's eyes as,
even more than himself, the architect of his for
tunes. To whom, he never ceased to consider the
money he might make, as of right belonging,— next
to himseh; and to whom, (I may be aUowed to add),
the addition of income was, on his famdy's account,
and from other causes, of serious moment. The
gold lace business, — some years since relinquished, — ¦
had not ultimately proved so reUable an investment
as the Artist's Studio : — which once had looked so
questionable a venture.
The general herd, prone to forget the ladder which
has helped them, would little understand how much
this disposal of his property was a matter of sentiment
with Etty,— the result of a sense of justice. The debt
he owed his Brother, for whom affection never slack-

LAST TESTAMENT. 303
ened,— the Brother whohadenabledhim to be aPainter,
and to continue one, — was not one which in his eyes
could be satisfied by mere repayment, with interest,
of moneys lent. For nearly ten years, the periodic
supplies his Brother had been accustomed to receive
from him had ceased. He and his famdy were to
receive them in another and, (by careful husbandry),
much improved form. It is plain, I think, Etty, in
the main, never meant anything else: from the
moment he had achieved more than the competence
to which his Niece was entitled. And from what he
once thought right, nothing could ever deter Etty, —
-no 'fear of pubUc opinion/ or other fear; as the
tenor of his career in Art abundantly exemplifies.
The WiU was too short and simple an one to please
many. It is always difficult for a bachelor to make
an hreproachable last testament. It is well when
the natural claims of wife and chUdren cut the knot.
Etty was particularly id quaUfied successfully to
achieve, (unassisted), any business act. The numerous
¦humbler members of his famUy, with theh various
expectations ; from whom help had not in his hfe
been withheld, but whom he had ever been averse to
making dependents, or lifting (as he would caU it)
out of theh position ; naturaUy discovered omissions.
Unwdling, he had evidently been, to wander from
the broad and simple disposition of his property which
squared with his Sentiment, always a vehement
guide with Etty, or to lessen the gross sum — not
the immeasurable one it to some seemed, one that
might quickly have been dissipated ere every expect
ant had been satisfied,— the substantial, though

304 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A.
not vast sum which was to put his elder Brother's
famdy in easier worldly circumstance. It is pro
bable too, he in his own mind vaguely deputed,
— what ought*never to be deputed, — the care of some
who had claims on him, to this Brother, a kind and
Uberal man, whose death swiftly foUowed his own ;
and that he reckoned as provision for his Niece's
famUy, that made for her. Less sympathy is due to
those not related to him, with whom kindnesses aheady
received, were the ground for resenting the omission
of posthumous ones ; or who, indebted to him for
pictures far outweighing in value any services ren
dered, may have been disappointed in theh expecta
tion of further additions to theh coUections from his
hand. A prejudice inveterate in many old-fashioned per
sons had long prevented Etty's making a WiU at ad;
— certainly stood in the way of a thhd, modified
according to the increased resources of the last few
years of his hfe. During his last illness, time>
inclination, and the counsel of friends, were wanting
to the embodiment of his latest wishes. No dhec
tions were left in favour of those as to whom he was
weU known to have entertained kind intentions ; nor
even in regard to his Pictures and Studies: as to the
fate of which he must have had decided wishes, — had
he but faced the matter. Men of his stamp seldom
do face such questions. The tacit' understanding
stands for the express, and the wish for the deed.
It was thus, as often happens with the last act, or
omission of a man's Ufe, Etty's WUl gained him, for
the time, the reverse of golden opinions among many

'PUBLIC OPINION' IN YORK. 305
personally interested in it. But the York people
mistook their duty, when taking on themselves to sit
in judgment on private affahs ; of the pros and cons
of which they knew nothmg : deciding for a man how
he should or should not make his whl. Whatever
were or were not its mistakes, he had committed no
crime, nor any act to justify the 'scandal and the
'cry' it aroused in his native town. The whole of
that local wonderment, that base and contemptible
talk, is a sample of the pharasaic, unwarrantable
meddlesomeness which results from idleness and va
cuity. That an unexpected disposition of his pro
perty should, despite the notorious vhtues and merits
of the man in hfe, have given such ' great offence/
as enthely to change the current of feeling towards
his memory ; have shut out every construction of that
act but the most unfavourable, and have obscured
all other memorabiUa of the man ; betrays a method
of judgment incredibly narrow and stupid. The
' coarse black and white ' of such a ' world ' (of busy-
bodies), forms a truly valuable portrait ! The moral
and mental atmosphere of these provincial towns
needs purifying.
It is easy to be wise or liberal at another's ex
pense. These self-righteous judges were not only
scandalized at the criminality of Etty's too brief
Wdl; — bufy. being a thrifty people, found occasion in
it for not opening theh own pockets : for not buying
his bust, or erecting a monument to his memory; —
the more especiaUy as he had not left them the
money to do it with. An exceptionable last testa-
VOL. II. x

306 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A.
ment outbalanced all other claims, — excused them
from the disagreeable necessity of rendering honour,
for once, — where due.
The absence of a pretentious modern ' Gothic altar
'tomb' to the Painter's memory, encumbering the
aisles of York Minster, wiU not grieve the lover of
Gothic art. The presence, in a public budding or
gaUery, of some of Etty's noblest works would prove
his best monument, and the most creditable to York.
It is a phenomenon peculiarly modern, indicative of
torpid local lhe and inteUigence, of the domination
of a benumbing, centralizing spirit : that this City,
possessing, as it did, the capabUity of retaining an
enduring interest, — nay, of becoming a very shrine of
Art, — in its once abundant remains of Antiquity, and
in having given birth to one of the greatest Painters
England has produced, — one, too, singularly devoted
in heart to his bhth-place ; — that it should have so
far thrown these opportunities away, as to have de
mohshed, within the last thhty years, or modernized,
half its antiquities, — its credentials to our respect, in
the absence of other claims; — and have absolutely
nothing to show the stranger, that such a Painter as
WiUiam Etty ever existed.
It is not among York citizens we must look for
enthusiasm towards theh great Painter, but among
men of more equal (intrinsic) rank. Better tribute
than any within their gift was promptly paid his
memory by another Master in the Art, a rarely
though dissimUarly endowed , one. In the March
following Etty's death, his feUow- Academician, once
fellow-Student, Mr. Leslie, then Professor of Painting,

HOMAGE FROM HIS PEERS. 307
devoted one of the Lectures delivered in virtue of his
¦office, to a genial and appreciative recognition of the
genius of his late compeer : — a graceful act. One,
whom he could recollect having been esteemed a
' worthy plodding person' with no chance of becoming
* a good Painter,' was now loyally acknowledged to
rank among the great names in Art.
PUgrimages to York, Etty's birth-place and resting-
place, have aheady been made for his sake. Another
feUow- Artist not unknown to Fame, Mr. Maclise, on
his way to Scotland in the Autumn of 1851, made a
two days' halt in York : rehgiously seeking, among the
things of note in the time-honoured City, aU memo
rials of Etty; nor concealing his enthusiasm for his -
late friend. Under the wdling guidance of Mr.
Sunter, the bookseder, he visited the Minster, the Bars,
and other Antiquities, so well loved by the great
? Colourist ; the house of Etty's bhth, and that of his
rethement and death; his tomb beside St. Mary's
Abbey; and the School of Design in the Cathedral's
immediate precincts, he had established: there
finding many of his Studies (in crayon), — the gift of
his Brother Walter, — hung up for the use ofthe pupds.
'Homage to Etty!' Mr. Machse inscribed after his
own name, in the Visitors' book. Genuine Studies
from Etty's hand were also faUen in with elsewhere,
to the beginnings of some of which he had himself
been privy. And one of a female figure, — painted
on, like so many others, on both sides, he purchased.
'Mr. Sunter was most kind to me/ mentions Mr.
MacUse ; ' and took an interest in my interest.' To
that gentleman, I also can do no less than tender my
x 2

308 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A.
acknowledgments for time cheerfully sacrificed, and
local information abundantly communicated, when I
was in York at the same time as Mr. Maclise, for a
much longer visit : assistance which has proved
materially useful to the present enterprise.
Etty left behind him, as the proceeds of his Art,
besides his house in York, some £17,000 in the funds:
the accumulation of the last eight years, the larger
portion realized within the last three or four. The
sale of his much-prized Studies, Copies, and of his
unfinished Pictures, in the foUowing May, realized a
further £5000 : a much smaUer sum than would
have been obtained had they not been all thrown
on the market at once. In the absence of the testa
tor's dhections, the executors found no other course
open to them : one, however, much to be deplored, as
the Works themselves are concerned. A coUection of
Studies from Nature was scattered at random,— into
any but suitable hands often; — which, judiciously
aUotted, would have been valuable as example to
every town in the kingdom where Pamting is cared
for : to every School of Art, to every Artist, every culti
vated lover of Art. The market being glutted, and
the value depreciated, the Dealers, to make them the
more saleable, were unhappUy tempted to have many
of these Studies doctored, — 'finished' by other
hands, or worked up into set pictures : — in other
words, to destroy them. The value of such works
was, as genuine Studies from Nature by one rarely
qualified. No man can happUy complete another
artist's work. Least of aU does the glowing flesh
and blood of a great Colourist aUow of admixture

FATE OF THE STUDIES. 309
with the coarse clay or superfine wax- work of ordinary
painters of the nude. Even the landscape of a Lin-
nell is beside the mark as the proxy of one of Etty's
grandly conceived, grandly coloured backgrounds : —
backgrounds alone suiting, in sentiment or colour,
the sunlight of his figures. The original harmony
is jarred, the picture blocked up. In the simple study
we had an authentic fragment; in the unfinished
picture an eloquent indication, harmonious and self-
consistent. Many of the Studies have fallen into hands stiU
less scrupulous and intelligent; have been painted
over by inferior men, and hopelessly ruined : a sacri
lege unhappdy, beyond the reach of law.
Let me counsel aU possessors of Etty's Studies to
preserve them with a jealous care. Theh hke wdl
not quickly be produced again. The Promethean art
to fix such shadows of Nature is not an every-day
acquirement or endowment. Even commerciaUy
speaking, a little care is worth whde. In time, an
authentic, unspoded Study of Etty's wiU come to
double its pecuniary value. To the discerning in
such matters, aheady, its worth is not to be approxi
mated by any pecuniary scale. For money avads
nothing to command such products. The demand is
not necessardy foUowed by the supply, in Art, in
Literature. The hand once stiff in death, which
painted the Fleur de Lis, — the eye closed which saw
with the understanding, these ' Academy Studies/ as
they are caUed, witness, — the fabled treasures of the
JEast wUl not secure their parallel.

310

CHAPTER XXX.
RETROSPECT.
A Productive Life— Its Purport Noble — Etty's Art: Eangeof Sub
ject — Based on the Perennial— Short-eomings— Devotion to the
Nude — Current Misconceptions of the Man — Pure Motives —
The Question of Morality : Mr. Leslie — The Works Innocent —
Orthodox Notions of the Human Form — Art's Privilege —
Conventional Propriety — -Why Shocked — An Artist's Faith —
The Native Gift— The Question of Taste.
' My lhe has been/ — averred Etty, in his Autobiogra
phy, taking a summary and characteristic backward
glance at it, — ' since I was free from bondage, and
' pursuing the retreating phantom of Fame, (Uke the-
' boy running after the rainbow) : my lhe has been, I
' say, with the exception of some dark thunder-clouds.
' of sorrow, disappointment, and deprivation, one long
' summer's day, spent in exertions to excel, struggles
'with difficulty, — sometimes Herculean exertions,
'both of mind and body; mixed with poetic day-
' dreams, and reveries by imaginary enchanted
'streams. I have passed sweetly and pleasantly
' along, chewing the cud of sweet and bitter fancies ;
' and regretting my inabihty to do greater and better
' things.' — One ' long Summer's day, ' — his own Lhe
seemed to the suffering, invalided, but happy-natured
Painter : happy in his Art, happy in Nature, happy
in his Artist's temperament, — sensitive, enjoying,
vivid; happy in his sincerity and singleness of"
heart; in his unforced, freely flowing piety of

A FRUITFUL LIFE. 311
feeUng; in his unworldhness. The Summer's day
however, had been no hohday but a working one :
spent in ' exertions to excel/ in ' struggles with dif-
'ficulty/ in victorious achievement. A happy lhe
it had been, because a productive and pure. It was
not all sunshine and ease, no obvious triumph at the
moment. Much of it was passed in obscurity, much
amid uncertainties, not a few, as to the ultimate
worldly result. 'But he hved/ says Mr. Leslie,
'to enjoy the reward of his genius and his virtues,
' even" in this hfe.' The reward was not a money
reward, nor one of empty rumour : though money
and fame came at last.
' There was here little of a Lhe to teU/ persons of
a certain mental conformation confusedly mutter :
the Painter ' was nothing out of his Art.' In fact,
Etty was no Admirable Crichton, no conspicuous
figure at an evening party. His Ufe was one of
achievement not of ' eloquent talk.' It is weU with
any man, and with his biographer too, when he has
been something in his art or craft, or special part
in the general drama of life. Lhe is short; and
aUows smaU time or opportunity for its leading
actors to effect much between the scenes. Etty's
Art might well be enough for him, foUowed as he
foUowed it.
Only for two reasons can any Life be really me
morable; for the results achieved, results whereof
others than the sower reap, — a test at once winnow
ing the few from the many;— or, for the sphit in
which it was fulfilled. In neither of these aspects
was Etty's life wanting. As to results : in them it

312 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A.
was fruitful. He left the world richer than he found
it :• as it is ever the noble privilege of genius to do
in the transcendent degree, — to be the world's bene
factor. A thing it is in the power of all to do and
be, more or less, who will it : in the power of every
bona-fide worker or producer, from the true ruler
of men down to the true tider, — fertilizer of acres.
How much richer he left the world, his Works them
selves declare ; and for some generations wiU, I fancy,
continue to declare, — to those whose eyes are open to
Nature as translated by Art : a body which does not
comprise every citizen, not aU the wise, nor aU the
gifted even. Those who have not the comparatively
rare, aesthetic faculty or impressionabUity, — openness
to Art's language and influences, — a sensibility born
in men, or, not born, improved by culture or stul
tified by mis-culture : — such persons, specious talk of
mine about the Pictures wdl not convince to any pur
pose, wdl little mend matters fundamentaUy.
That the spirit and purport of Etty's Ufe was
noble, — a matter cognizable by a less special jury
than the last, — was resolute, steadfast, loyal, — to the
highest in himseh, and hi Nature so far as he could
divine her meaning, — I think the readers of the
foregoing pages wdl answer affirmatively. No touch
of baseness, — even approximate, — have I been able to
descry in Etty : a thing we can say of few men, ' dis
tinguished/ or the reverse. Only his opinions were
hearsay. His character and his life were real, — not a
tissue of ' appearances/ and slavish compUances, but
independent, seh-subsistent. Giant energy, devotion
to unworldly aims : these quahties are of themselves

CONSTANCY OF AIM. 313
grand ; of themselves characterize a man other than
vulgar. The force and purity of character, the
indifference to the Day and all its ephemeral interests,
were matched by devotion to beauty equaUy rare.
'I have never known, writes Mr. CockereU, 'any
' Artist, excepting always the immortal Flaxman, alto-
' gether so devout and pious in adoration of beauty,
'for its spirituality.' Much was, for its sake/left on
one side by Etty : the world and its frivolities, — its
engrossing emptiness, its factitious 'duties/ and
actual baseness; as in an abrupter, more self-isolating
sphit, but a noble one, by Turner. The inheritance
of these two lay elsewhere ; in a finer world. And uie
reap the fruit of their constancy and high resolves.
A noble Ufe surely, in its sUent way, this of
Etty's ; invincible by vice or sloth : a victorious lhe.
Such are the lives alone worthy of heed, alone (unless
for inverse reasons), worthy the record; or cheer
ing to witness, Of such a kind, every honest man
would wish his own to be, in his own province of
affahs, more or less humbly.
In the sphit of his Ufe, in the informing sphit
of his Art, Etty was a model for aU Artists : not so,
as to the special range of subject, which in his par
ticular case so weU sufficed as the imperfect means
to noble ends. The gifted talker about Art of our
day, — possessed for the moment by one idea, which,
though a very good one, may become very false,
when excluding aU other ideas, — has been guUty of
mourning hystericaUy over Etty as a 'lost mind:'
because he did not paint subjects of his own time, —
did not, &c. Now though it be true, that as the crowd

314 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A.
of Artists, of clever, even of gifted Artists, is con
cerned, there is no more purposeless, valueless
inanity, than what they perpetrate, in the endeavour
to foUow the ' Grand Schools ; ' no more imbeche or
noxious teaching than the Academic one, which mis
leads them into such ineffectual endeavours : yet one
formula does not settle the whole difficult question.
Their guiding star is not necessarily that of sove
reign genius. Every rule has its exceptions. The
Greatest triumph over, and subdue to theh own pur
pose, conditions which are fatal to lesser men. The
strong man freely wields the sword, under whose
weight the stripling sinks. Etty stands by himseh,
without Masters, (of his own day), without pupUs, — an
exceptional case, a successful anachronism: aman such
as appears once in two or three hundred years. He
threw lhe into the'old forms, others are so helpless to
inform with relevance. The very chdd-hkeness of his
character, and his simphcity of heart, enabled him to
feel anew the elsewhere stale, overworn fables, with a
freshness acuter minds may wed despair of. He was
in earnest about them; took them to heart, as the
medium for conveying his perceptions of Nature
and of beauty. Whde fables were often the texts, it
was Nature, reahty, he copied: as faithfudy and
humbly as our Landscape painters themselves, and
far more honestly than many of our painters of
Domestic. Flaxman's fine spirit encumbered itself
far more, and Stothard's also, with the pedantry of
classicism, and with the mannerism, than did Etty.
' No one told him what to paint/ laments Mr. Rus
kin.' No ! truly original genius is not in the habit of

RANGE OF SUBJECT. 315
being told, (to any purpose), by others, what to do.
The very genius consists in seeing for itself what to do.
Few men would have been less at home in ' subjects
'of our own day' than Etty. Devotion to the un
draped human form, new sight of its beauties, formed
a leading and characteristic feature of his originaUty
as an Artist. This tendency naturally carried him
into the world of fable. For the actual world of
our day, — or of any other, unless an Otaheitan, —
does not move about without clothes. Yet the un
draped human form is a reahty too, clothed with
significance by God himseh. ' Dances of nymphs,
'in red and yeUow shawls/ — though these treated
as Etty treated them, have their perennial value
also, — form but a portion of Etty's range of sub
ject. It is a sample of an exaggerative, distorting
spirit,— the implied assertion that they form the
staple of his art. Subjects like Judith, like Joan of
Arc, the Sirens, Youth at the Prow, the Repentant
Prodigal, and many others, are not obsolete; are
typical ones; representative, suggestive; of universal
and perennial meaning: can be treated this year to
as much purpose, — by the competent hand, — as in
that. It is not because an incident happened a
thousand years ago, or but in the past month, that
it is fit for the Artist's purpose : but as possessing
those noble attributes. And if the list of Etty's
Works be examined, it wiU be found, — after deduct
ing the subjects chosen, as I have said, as the text
for exposition of the special range of beauty and
meaning in Nature, he loved to translate upon
canvas, — few painters have ever been less deceived

316 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A.
into the vulgar mistake of thinking an incident
' Historic/ because it happened, or was supposed to
have happened, a certain number of years ago.
That Etty's Art had its faults and short-comings is
a consequence involved in the fact that here was Life.
It is the inane and mediocre who are faultless. The
cuckoo cry, however, once prevalent as to his ' bad
'Drawing/ is one deserving httle notice. Good
drawing was not a mystery above Etty. Sometimes,
it is true, he was neghgent enough. He would com
mence, in his minor works, studying the Model from
one point of view, would proceed at the next sitting
from another; and ultimately forget to make the
necessary modification of his previous work: the
result being, of course, an incorrect whole, though the
several parts had been faithfuUy copied from Nature.
Oftener stdl, unfamdiarity (even among Artists), with
the nude, and with the unusual appearances, — unusual
on Canvas that is, — Nature wdl assume, has led to
the notion Etty's drawing was at fault. There is in
deed, amid the multitude of Etty's studies, sketches,
minor pieces, plenty of careless drawing. The pre
vailing characteristic, however, of his Works is not
bad drawing, but good. ' There was always a grand
' style about his outline/ maintains Mr. Frost, 'which
' was not understood by the uncultivated.' Even when
most careless, more inteUigence of form is imphed
than in the common-place precision of many a pattern
draftsman of the French or German schools.
A passage bearing on this head in a review of Etty's
Works, referred to in Mr. Leslie's Lecture, a good deal
outraged the Professor ; a statement, not meant to ex-

DRAWING OR COLOUR? 317
cuse bad drawing, but to account for the subordinate
influence of Etty's drawing generaUy :— to the effect,
that in Nature as in Art, Drawing and Colour are not
attributes appearing in precisely equal degrees of
perfection at once. The statement had better autho
rity than the writer's own, viz., that of Mr. Ruskin, —
a good observer, though an Ul reasoner. The latter
refers us to the glories of hue of a sunset sky ; — of a
leopard's and tiger's skin : of the peacock, and other
bhds ; of sheUs, &c. True, as Mr. LesUe, miscon
ceiving the statement, thinks it necessary to show, —
true, in Nature herseh often, in much of Raphael
and the earUer Italians, in Titian's and Vandyck's
heads, outUne and colour may both be equally accu
rate, may both be of signal beauty. Yes ! but one
will triumph over the other. Wherever one mani
fests itself in the transcendent degree, arrests atten
tion for its own sake, for its surpassing splendor,
and abstract perfection: there, the other however
correct, however beautiful, plays a subordinate part.
Some effects of landscape are conceived (so to speak),
in outUne; some in colour or light and shadow:
Raphael's figures, (quietly beautiful in colour too), in
the former, Titian's, Giorgione' s, (nobly drawn, also),
in the latter. Is it of Outline we think, when the
sun is setting, a mass of gleaming fire, and a thou
sand shapes of lovehness, (yet, in outline lovely also,
if we examine), are grouped around : — roseate, orange,
tender green ?
Those who knew Etty ' only in his Works ' often
formed conclusions of the man sufficiently wide of the
mark; accused him, as he says, of being a shocking

318 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A.
' and immoral man : ' reasoning from the effect faith
ful renderings of nude form had on eyes unfamUiar
to it, on theh own unprepared, and so far, uneducated
minds,— uneducated to discern the truer aspect and
poetic meanings. Even those who had heard of the
Painter as, ' after aU, a decent kind of man/ made
their own inferences, (reasoning still on the same
false data), as to his mind: that it was 'a gross
one / — &c.
Admhation of Woman's form amounted in Etty to
devotion. Behef in the purity of the nude when
rendered in purity of heart, as in his own case, — with
single-minded though impassioned worship of its
beauties ; was a religion with him : a rehgion inno
cent and true. And his faith, no half-and-half one,
has opened for us a new chapter in Art. Whde in
his worship of 'the female form in itsTulness, beauty
'of form, exquisite rotundity/ painting pictures so
exceptionable in the eyes of stiff-necked ' Propriety /
he thought but of his Art. ' Here ad is consecrated
'to Art/ — an expression of his, — might fittingly have
been inscribed over Etty's Studio.
It was, in fact, the very purity of his lhe, — a life
singularly and uniformly continent, — and of his
thoughts, the simplicity of his character, and the
singleness of his aims, which enabled him to paint
with a more fervid gusto of those beauties, than men
of less intrinsic purity of character dare. They must
resort to subterfuges, sophisticate, 'idealize,' — and
what not.
' People may think me lascivious/ Etty would pro
test : ' but I have never painted with a lascivious motive.

HETERODOXY. 319
' If I had, I might have made great wealth.' The de
claration to be found in his Autobiography, that ' h in
' any of my pictures an immoral sentiment has been
' aimed at, I consent it should be burnt/ had often
before been made in private. None such has ever
come to light ; though everything from his hand has
been raked into the market. Strange indeed, had
the reverent poet in the days of undeserved poverty
been tempted, for profit's sake, so to stultify his Art,
so to degrade his glorious Colour and wondrous
powers of rendering, (because of seeing), Nature.
Once, late in Ufe, when aUowing a friend to make a
selection from his Academy- Studies at a certain
price, he made it, a condition the purchaser
should keep them as long as he lived. — 'I don't
want them/ he exclaimed, with some vehemence,
'in the possession of young men, merely to show
'about to one another. If you want them for
' such a purpose, you shaU not have them ! They
' were painted in privacy for my information and im-
'provement : not to those ends.'
In ordinary matters so orthodox, unquestioningly
accepting the conventions, respectable hearsays, and
orthodoxies around him, — but throwing new Ufe into
them from his own enthusiastic heart, — he was here
on the contrary, as incurably heterodox. The irresis
tible bent of his genius led him to break loose from
the park palings of convention. Independently, and
of his own wdl, he had early chosen his course. And
till the end, he cleaved to it: despite urgent and
unremitting remonstrances of friends. Clerical ac
quaintances 'take him to task;' express theh 'dis-

320 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A.
' approbation.' Fah monitors teU him : — ' You paint
' ladies without dresses, because you don't know how
' to dress them / &c. The Painter took it aU good
humouredly enough; smhed, and kept on his way.
' Very pecuhar and obstinate in some of his opinions/
they are fain to pronounce him: 'not caring what
' others said on a matter as to which he had once
' made up his mind,' — and as to which he felt himself
in the right. The critics made stdl less impression
on him, with their animadversions on his ' reckless-
'ness and bad taste/ his 'pernicious pecuharities/
the ' grossness of his imagination,' &c. For he in tune
came to be ' one of the best abused men in his pro-
' fession.' And to the gross-minded, he seemed gross.
'I have done my best/ — was his answer in private,
— ' humble as it is, to raise the Arts of my country.
' And years hence it wdl be estimated.' He thought
to elevate the general feeUng as to the Nude ; firmly
beUeved it would alter: and also, in respect to himseh
and his own character. Alas ! the ' Public' must see
with his eyes first* with insphed, poetic eyes, not
with duU, prurient ones.
Artists, and even gifted Artists, whose sympathies
Ue elsewhere, the bent of whose genius does not
lead them to deUght in study of the nude, stand
in relation to Etty, as to this question, on Uttle
better footing than the general pubhc. Constable, —
himself an innovator, and discoverer, (of new phases
of beauty), in Landscape, — Leshe, accomphshed Mas
ter in a refined and subtile province of his own, — >
not to mention others of Etty's earUer compeers,
frigid, mere Academic men, Uke HUton and Howard,

MISCONCEPTIONS. 32!
or professional Portrait-painters, with common-place
minds and, worldly aims, — were of those solemnly
to pronounce Etty 'too fond of the Nude!' They
reckoned themselves wiser than he in his own
domain; nQt as in the attitude of learners there,
though themselves teachers from the same large Text
of Nature, at another page. Such judgments argue
they had not been taught by Etty's Art aU it is
capable of teaching; had not received its full message,
nor seen its deeper meaning and value.
Even the Lecture of Mr. LesUe, otherwise appre
ciative, is disfigured by what from less honoured lips
one would call hopeless blundering, on this head:
criticism, in the ' Father of a Family' spirit, of Etty's
'rejection of draperies/ and ' pecuUar treatment and
' choice of subj ect.' Much talk of 'real moral tendency'
we have, enforced by second-hand (nay, thousandth
hand), reference to the hackneyed 'Banishment of
' Poets/ by Plato, from his Model RepubUc : much
dim misconception of the real sphit and tendency of
Etty's Art, — in this aspect of it. WhUe it is con
fessed, — what any ingenuous friend of Etty's must, —
that he himseh, rapt in his own world, went on
thinking and meaning no Ul; disparaging imputa
tions, — disparaging to the whole scope and tenor of
Etty's Lhe, for his achievements were his hfe, — are
cast on the Works themselves and theh influence on
others. 'Etty's Art/ says the Lecturer in one place, 'was
' substantiaUy rewarded, as weU as appreciated. But
'I fear the extent to which he was patronised must
'not be entirely considered as proceeding from a pure,
VOL. II. Y

322 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A.
'love and true appreciation of what is exceUent in
' Painting ; ' &c. — A hasty inference on Mr. LesUe's
part, unwarranted, I think, by a shadow of real
proof. If this were indeed so, — if 'the voluptuous
' treatment of his subjects, in very many instances,
'recommended them more powerfuUy than theh
' admirable Art/ — a fact, it seems, which ' cannot be
' doubted ; ' — how comes it that for twenty years of
Etty's prime as an Artist, during which the treatment
of his subject was to the full as ' voluptuous/ (h ever
so), as afterwards, his Art was very «resubstantiaUy
rewarded : that for part of that time he could barely
make a living by it? If this same 'voluptuous
'tipatment' were so strong a recommendation to the
investment of thousands of pounds in his Pictures, it
is strange the recommendation was at one time, —
during the greater part of his lhe that is, — scarce
sufficient to obtain them purchasers at a few hundreds.
The ' substantial reward ' which Etty's Art ultimately
secured we have seen to be the result simply of the
last six or eight years of his career : — no inconsider
able portion of it, the fruit of such Pictures as the
Joan of Arc and the St. John. Etty could always
have sold more readdy instead of less so, had he been
less sparing of his draperies. Many a wealthy friend,
having the fear of the respectable before his eyes,
otherwise willing to have been a buyer, looked askance
at his nymphs with unbound zones.
The assumption that Etty's treatment of the Nude
is voluptuous, is itself a mistake. Inevitably, from
the very perfection of his flesh-painting, the glory of
life attained,— the good faith with which he rendered

THE WORKS INNOCENT. 323
what he saw, — his treatment may strike the super
ficial as voluptuous. It is glowing Nature he gives
us : not modified as in Sculpture, by restricting imita
tion to one element, — Form, — nor transformed from
itself by passing through the alembic of an alien mind ;
but sympathizingly and faithfully interpreted by a
mind itself vivid and glowing. And Nature is no
ascetic. But only for a very shaUow glance does the
voluptuousness exist. Where there is so much and
so noble power legible, so much and various beauty,
and no hint of evil meaning in the Painter, on the
contrary, the manhest, over-mastering delight in his
Art and in Nature, what room is there for abiding
thought of anything but these attributes : except in
the totally uncultivatedj (by Art), or in the brutish
or inane? The mind of every earnest student— as
every genuine Artist can testify,— is, whde painting
from the Nude, preoccupied with his task, his endea
vours, aims as an Artist. And so, in another way,
is that of him who rightly reads the great Master's
interpretation of it.
It is in quite different quarters young men seek
ing to edify themselves by the ' improper,' must look
for it : and where draperies will by no means be dis
carded. They wiU have made a very bad bargain,
who may have purchased a Picture, or Study, of
Etty's, with such views. Even his Studies, which may
have sometimes faUen into wrong hands, — for they
address themselves only to those who can understand
and learn from them, whether as Artist, or as Student
and lover of Art and Nature, — wdl, in that case, little
serve the ends of theh possessors. The great and noble

324 LIF.E OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A.
in purpose and spirit refuses to lend itself to the
ignoble. The dignity of the Art, — Art insphed by
reverent insight into Nature, — removes the appeal
to another Court. The nude forms of Etty are not
nearly so aUuring as, (to minds untinctured by Art),
many a clever female ' head/ in meretricious style ;
such as fid the Dealers' and Printsellers' windows.
The abstract glory of hue, — as any abstract character
istic carried very far, as in a stricter way, that of
Form in Sculpture, — of itself precludes a voluptuous
appeal. For Colour so far from being ' sensual/ as
the conventional notion runs, — a blunder against
which Mr. Ruskin is almost the only writer on Art,
adequately to protest, — is in reality a spiritual and
ennobUng influence : one however, addressing itself,
in its full eloquence, to relatively few.
Etty himself despised prudery on the subject of
the Nude : with good reason. ' There is nothing
' indecent in my Pictures/ he was wont to insist, —
'only in the vde notions people may bring with
' them, for which they are to be pitied :' — for these
' nasty ideas/ wherewith theh 'nice minds ' are fur
nished. — ' Where no immoral sentiment is intended,
'I affirm that the simple, undisguised, naked figure
• is innocent. To the pure in heart, aU things are
' pure.' In his Autobiography, as often in private,
this life-long conviction of his is maintained. And
' there was no convincing him he was wrong,' mur
mur disconsolate friends. Probably not : for he was
assuredly right.
I for one agree with Etty, that Nature's most
beautiful work is not necessarUy indecent: that where

THE HUMAN FORM 'IMPROPER.' 325
no Ul was in the Painter, there none is. These are,
among what an old writer caUs, ' offences taken, not
'given.' It is indubitable that the single-minded
Etty felt nothing of what others complain ; saw only
beauty, where others impropriety. We are strangely
his inferiors then* if we too, cannot catch sight of the
skirts of the divine. Stupidity or baseness alone
prevents a man seeing, — with Etty's help, what he
saw and interpreted. We are indeed all stupid, more
or less; of our ownselves dull and blunt of sense
and perception : opaque substances partially lumi
nous ; some, more utterly impervious to the light than
others. What men call genius is but the partial ex
ception, — bond-fide sight of Nature, face to face, in
one special direction : clear sight, which very few
have in many directions ; most, in none.
The current assumption that the human form is
only capable of exciting one class of sensations ; that
Nature endowed it with so much grace and so much
beauty, only to elicit them, none others : whether this
or Etty's manner of thinking be the more ennobling,
I leave it to the candid reader to determine. The
reverse of honourable to Humanity surely, those
notions; nay, singularly degrading: the true'blas-
' phemy against Nature/ — agamst God, in his works.
Out of. this slough the true Painter of the Nude
would raise us : above and beyond these misconcep
tions so derogatory. It is Art's noble province, —
one of her divine messages, — the function of Art
like Titian's, Etty's, the Sculpture of Antiquity, to
teach us what the exigences of climate, convenience,
custom, etiquette, otherwise prevent our learning:

326 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A.
to look with new and better-informed eyes. Happy,
who as a youth has learned "from them, that the
human form is capable of inspiring other than
prurient thoughts. Surely, it is a gain to be given
nobler habits of feehng towards it, than those igno
rance and obtuseness have at command. Even men,.
not of the strictest Ufe and conversation, will scarcely
lose, by learning to diversify, not to say elevate, the
ideas they associate with it. The less accustomed we
are to the human form, the more limited our sensa
tions in respect to it, must remain. Condemn, banish
its representation as ' indecent :' and indecent wdl be
aU thought of it. FamUiarize our eyes with the same i
a new and nobler range of ideass is restored to us.
'Accustom yourself/ teaches Goethe, 'to the free
' contemplation of Nature ! She wUl always awaken
' serious reflections. And the beauty of Art wUl hallow
' the sentiments that arise from it.'
The ' notions of propriety ' Etty's Pictures shock,
are, it must be remembered, merely conventional.
In departing from merely conventional propriety, he
did no wrong. Art has a nobler morality. Con
ventional modesty is arbitrary: here means one
thing, there another. In one nation, a woman's face
becomes ' improper ; ' — in another, her eyes : strange
degradation of the divine exponents of expression;
but only more so than that imphed by the notions
current among ourselves, of the human Form divine,
— which also, over and above its beauties of outline,
hght and shade, glories of Colour, and tone, has a
language of sentiment and expression, — notions, as of
something only to be covered up and to be ashamed of.

PRUDERY AND PURITY. 327
Gibbon, speaking of the ancient German women,
and their chastity, attributes to clothes, effects, the
reverse of those ordinarily assigned them : and with
sound reason. FamUiarity and strangeness do sin
gularly modify people's feelings towards the Nude.
' What is one man's meat, is another's poison.'
Habit renders us (here) insensible to Ul, open only
to elevating influences. Persons unfamUiar with
Art, have been known to be 'shocked ' by the Antique.
The Americans, in theh ' Great Exhibition/ added
temporary draperies, where the Sculptor's supply
had been insufficient. The authorities at Sydenham
have also been compelled, by the sensitive deUcacy
of the Clergy, to manufacture a large supply of the
* usual leaf/ for the Antique. Such persons pique
themselves on theh purity of mind ; talk of ' modern
* refinement/ &c. A veneer modesty it is, covering
one knows not what : the fit attendant of a specious
morality, hollow and dishonest. Are Clothes then
the PaUadium of moraUty ? modesty and mere de
corum convertible terms ? morality itself an artificial
habit, secured by the frah fence of etiquette; not
a growth rooted in the conscience and the heart ?
To the case of such interpreters of Nature, as com
pared with the happy-minded Etty, well does the
lament of Mdton apply, against
* * 'guilty shame, dishonest shame
Of Nature's works, honour dishonourable,
Sin-bred : '
in place of purity, feeding us
' With shows instead, mere shows of seeming pure.'

328 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A.
. Notable it is, how well the show suffices. Sh Peter
Lely never painted a ' Beauty/ which is not an intrin
sically immodest picture. It is an immodest soul,
— miserable sight, — which looks forth through the
would-be languishing eyes. Yet no English lady re
fuses Lely admittance into her drawing-room. In
Etty's ease, the immodesty is not in the picture, but
in the spectator's mind : eVremodesty, or often, on the
ladies' part, cant, caught up from Society at large, —
unconscious hypocrisy, perhaps; a spurious, factitious,
suspiciously seh-conscious modesty, the opposite of
real modesty, which is unconscious, — and can take
care of itself. That the contemplation of their own
forms should be ' dangerous ' to women is a singular
chcumstance. Let them rest assured, that as they are
concerned, at all events, there is no harm in Etty's
Pictures ; in inspired portraiture of the female form,
painted with reverent, almost devout deUght and
worship of Nature, of God in his works. As to the
men, aU depends on the eyes they being with them.
They see ' what they bring with them the power of see-
' ing.' The indecency, if it exist, is in theh eyes and
hearts. For which, surely, no Painter is responsible.
Etty's favourite and well-worn text, ' To the pure
'in heart all things are pure/ is not so uniformly
applicable as its converse : — to the impure aU things
are impure, to the profane all things profane. But
the abuse argues not against the use. There are,
indeed, eyes which are a desecration to whatsoever
pure or beautiful they fall on. Not only the creation
of a Titian or an Etty, but ad poetic realities, lose
by exposure to the eyes of some. But are they to be

WHO SHALL BE GUIDES? 329
consulted? Are we to renounce Art and its en
nobling influences, because the thoughts of the multi
tude are evil? Are we to be guided in this matter
by the sentiments of 'reformed' satyrs, — or un-
reformed? of respectable fathers of famdies who
have done 'sowing theh wild oats?' There is a
modern tendency afloat to bow to this authority, in
Literature, in Art, and much else : a base, a dishonest,
a slavish tendency. It is a characteristic feature of
the ' organized hypocrisy/ which styles itself 'modern
'refinement,' that 'fast young men' or fast old
men, lewd livers and lewd talkers; men fresh, in
fact, from impropriety of conduct, will, in 'mixed
' society/ fearlessly denounce the works of an Etty as
' improper : and think they are acquitting themselves
of a pubhc duty in so doing.
The cry, then, raised agaihst Etty's works on the
score of propriety, against his class of subject fol
lowed as he foUowed it, has its origin in most
questionable sources : in>obtuseness, insensibUity, or
mere ignorance on the one hand ; in sham modesty,
hypocrisy, or impurity of thought and the conscious
ness of it, on the other : a base and inane cry. Even
they who christen such Art and such subject
' Sensual,' — thusjhsallowing in the human Form any
higher appeal than a sensual one, — must be possessed
by notions strangely confused : through the force of
dogmas and names ; or of system-mongering, — the
love of theorizing about and about Art, and of elabo
rating theh own fine-spun fancies.
In the boldness and thoroughness of Etty's devo
tion to Nude form lay his heterodoxy, — and his

330 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A.
power ; a boldness born of love and conviction. He
had faith in his convictions, in the glory he saw, in
the singleness of his own intentions. Others, pur
suing the same course of study, palter with the world,
make a compromise with the prevading inartistic
notions, with the dominant cant : themselves (often)
seeing no dl, yet confess it. Never wiU such hot
and cold wooers of Nature be rewarded by the
vitaUty and glow of insphation attending Etty's
hand. Their lukewarm love and little faith are
requited by the frosty innocence and utter powerless
ness to interest us, of theh coldly proper creations :
whether adorned with bits of impossible drapery, or
unadorned. Every study of his bears the impress of
belief. Believing in the high import of what he
painted, his Works teach us something ; teach us the
beauty and significance of the feminine form. We
see, (unless very dull), with his eyes; are endowed —
for the whde, — with something of his faculty. Some,
indeed, accustomed to look, on few but^artificial ob
jects, cannot, however helped, see the beauty of the
Nude ; think clothed figures ' more graceful/ &c. : a
truly factitious taste.
As a young man, Etty had entered on the usual
course of academic study from ' the Lhe/ which so
many painters before and since, have entered on, and
from which brought away so httle. Not content with
making it the means to an end, — good Drawing, — he
threw into the study an intensity of purpose and a
reality, unprecedented ; and thus made it fruitful as
it had never before been ; made ' Academy studies '
what academic studies had seldom or never been, —

THE NATIVE GIFT. 331
works of Art, not mere school exercises : new
readings of Nature's hand and of its meanings. New
readings they are. For, not content with looking at
Nature through the spectacles of the Antique, —
much as he loved the latter, — he learned to paint
what he saw : and as he saw it. To him, too, was
open the whole rich domain of Colour ; from which
the Sculptors were self-banished.
He felt it to be his work, translation of this
particular leaf in the ' open Book : ' the task for
which his genius, (insight), fitted him. He had a
great contempt for devoting the* resources of Art to
portraying the niceties of a sUk stocking or shoe-
buckle. The skilful rendering of the crease in said
stocking or of the pink flesh shining through,
seemed to him about as contemptible an achievement
as a man could set himself. With his love and ap
prehension of the ' unsophisticated human form/ —
no laughable ' forked radish' merely, to him, a poet
and a painter, — it is not strange he 'preferred paint-
'ing' from it,^ 'the glorious work of God/ to imi
tating the 'productions of the loom,' and of the
needle. Draperies, with theh manifold capacities of
grace, theh flowing lines and contrasted curves, — or,
assuming a higher form, as the ever- varying ' echo of
'Form/ and as the exponent of sentiment, of expres
sion,— the function it performs for Raphael, and the
earher Itahans, for Stothard in a later time, — it was
not for him to paint : not for him, but for those who
naturaUy sympathize with and understand theh beau
ties ; whose gift hes that way, in short. Each man
to his task.
And thus, — to speak to the ' question of Taste/ —

332 LIFE OF WILLIAM ETTY, R.A.
what Mr. Leslie caUs Etty's ' indiscriminate parti-
'ality/ — his 'extraordinary predUection/. for the
Nude, was not ' based on a mistake :' but on the con
trary of a mistake. His preference was right for him
seh; would have been erroneous enough, laid down
as the rule for aU painters. ' Artificial objects' may
be as poetic as ' natural ones/ (as Mr. Leslie im
plies), — h not intrinsically discordant with Nature's
laws of beauty and fitness ; and if rendered under the
effects of Nature, and as the means to higher ends,
— expressing sentiment and meaning on the painter's
part. Reynolds's plea for even ' coat and wig/ that
' these things have aU light and shadow/ only ap-
pUes to those who do ' know how to look' for
Nature's part in man's work. But this knowledge
or tendency cannot be acquhed ; must be bom with
a man. It would have been as idle waste and
thwarting of natural leanings, to have set Etty the
task, as it would have been to have sentenced Mr.
Leslie to the Life-School. And the% nude form,
in addition to beauties which coat and wig have
not, is also susceptible of 'light and shadow/ and
of Nature's other and varying modifications. — A man
who could paint such eloquent flesh and blood,
might well be indisposed to sacrifice it at the
shrine of draperies, more or less monotonous : even
in the hope of increasing ' the grace and dignity of
'his figures.' There are many instances in Etty's
works, wherein the mere expression or sentiment of
the figure, — as in the prone Hero on Leander's body,
in Studies such as the Forsaken, &c, — could hardly
be in a nobler key.

ART HAS MANY MANSIONS. 333
We must not forget that figures draped, or un
draped, may be dissimilar means to simdar ends :
or, two Artists' ends may be different ; and both, ac
ceptable. One is inspired by the glory of one phase
of Nature. Another ignoring that, caUs our atten
tion to his chosen point of view. And as I have
said, every Artist out of his province stands in
the position of learner, — one to another. Wherenhis
gift fads him : there, he has to be taught. Hogarth
might teach Etty to understand the living crowd :
Etty, Hogarth the beauty of a living form. Each
would prove a bad scholar to the other, I fear. For
the great Artist, is in general, necessarUy, from the
very intensity of apprehension and sensation which
makes him one, a Sectarian.

335

APPENDIX.
LIST OE ETTY'S EXHIBITED PICTURES.

„ „T  Where Size.
Tear. TITLE. (first) Height. Width.
Exhibited. Ft. in. Ft. in.
1811. Sappho  Brit. Inst. ... 2 11 ... 2 6
Telemaehus rescues the Princess Antiope
from the Fury ofthe Wild Boar  R. Acad.
1812. Cupid stealing the Ring  Brit. Inst. ... 3 0 ... 2 7
A Domestic Scene  R. Acad.
A Portrait  
1813. Courtship  Brit. Inst. ... 1 3 ... 1 5
The Indian Warrior  R. Acad.
The Fire-side  
The Whisper of Love  
"1814. Priam supplicating AchiUes for the Dead
Body or his Son Hector  
1815. A Study  
Psyche   ... 2 0 ... 1 7
Portraits of a Family  
1816. Contemplation  Brit. Inst. ... 3 2 ... 2 10
The Discovery of an Unpleasant Secret.  ... 2 0 ... 2 5
The Offering of the Magi  - — ... 3 2 ... 2 9
Portrait of a Lady ..-  R. Acad.
A Study  
1817. Bacchanalians: a Sketch   ... 1 5 ... 2 0
Cupid and Euphrosyne   ... 3* 7 ... 3 0
1818. Head of a Warrior  Brit. Inst. ... 2 7 ... 2 1
The Blue Beetle: Portraits  R. Acad.
Portrait of the Rev. Wm. Jay (of Bath). 
AjaxTelamon  a...... 
A Study  $.... 
1819. Manlius Hurled from the Rock  Brit. Inst. ... 5 1 ... 4 2
Genii of the Spring : Morning  R.Acad.
Portraits of a Child and Favourite Dog.. 
Penitence : a Sketch  
Portrait of Miss Jay  
Portrait of a Gentleman  
1820. Pandora formed by Vulcan and crowned
by the Seasons : a Sketch from Hesiod Brit. Inst. ... 1 5 ... 1 10
Hercules killing the Man of Calydo with
a Blow of his Fist   ... 5 0 ... 4 3
Magdalen: a Sketch   ... 1 4 ... 1 9
The Coral-finders: Venus and her
Youthful Satellites arriving at the Isle
of Paphos  R. Acad.
Drunken Barnaby  — —
' Mihi minis affuit status
'A duobus sum portatus.'
Bamaba: Itinerarium.

?

336 APPENDIX. Where Size.
Year. TITLE. (first) Height. Width.
Exhibited. Ft, in. Ft. in.
1820. Portrait of Miss "Wallace  Soc. Arts,
in 1849.
1821. Cupid and Psyche  Brit. List. ... 1 9 ... 110
'Where far above, in spangled sheen,
jy; ' Celestial Cupid Venus' fam'd son, advancM,
">lft 'Held his dear Psyche.'—
Cleopatra's Arrival in Cilicia  R. Acad.
1822. Young St. Catherine : a Study  Brit. Inst. ... 2 0 ... 1 9
Sketch from one of Gray's Odes   ... 1 9 ... 1 6-
' Fair laughs the Morn, and soft the Zephyr
blows,
•While smoothly riding o'er the azure realm
„' In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes ;
'Youth at the Prow, and Pleasure at the Helm.*
Venus and Cupid (Descending)  — — ... 3 0 ... 2 5
Cupid and Psyche (Descending)   ... 3 0 ... 2 5
Cupid Sheltering his Darling from the
Approaching Storm  R.Acad. ... 2 0 ... 1 5*
Maternal Affection   ... 3 6 ... 3 5
Venus at the Bath: a Sketch. (Cupid Brit. Inst., ... 0 10 ... 0 9
and Psyche introduced.)  in 1825.
1823. Study of a Little Girl  Soc. Arts,
in 1849.
1824. Pandora, the Heathen Eve, having been
formed by Vulcan as a Statue, and
animated by the Gods ; is crowned by
the Seasons  R, Acad. ... 4 0 ... 4 9s
'Todeekher brows, thefair-tress'dSeasons bring
A Garland breathing all the sweets of Spring.'
Elton's Hesiod.
1825. Nymph and Cupid: a finished Sketch... Brit. Inst. ... 2 2 ... 1 9-
The Combat : Woman Pleading for the
Vanquished. An Ideal Group  R.Acad. ... 10 4 ... 13 3
Portrait of Etty  Soc. Arts,
in 1849.
1826. The Choice of Paris  R.Acad. ...» 7 9 ...10 9
1827. Head of a Jew  Brit. Inst. ... 2 6 ... 2 2
Judith and Holofernes  R.Acad. ... 11 10 ... 15 0
•Thenshe came to the pillar of the Bed,* *
¦' and tqpk down his falchion from thence.'
*'Twas in the happy Olden Time,
* Before the birth of Care or Crime.* 
The Parting of Hero and Leander  
1828. * Venus now wakes, and wakens Love ' ... Brit. Inst. ... 2^5 ... 2 8
MiltonfyComus.
Cupid Intercedes for Psyche ,.„..   ... 2 1 ... 2 7.
Guardian Cherubs : in which are intro
duced resemblances of the Lady Mary
Agar, and Hon. C. W. Herbert Agar,
infant children of the Earl of JNor-
manton  R. Acad.
A Composition taken from the Eleventh
Book of Paradise Lost. (Bevy of Fair
Women.)  - —
Venus, the Evening Star 
Sketch for' the (second) Judgment of Soe. Arts,
Paris ....;.:  in 1849.
1829. A Subjectfrom Ovid's Metamorphoses... Brit. Inst. ... 3 11 ... 3 11
Benaiah, one of David's Chief Captains..' R.Acad. ... 12 0 ... 14 0
He slew two Lion_-like.men of Moab.'
Hero having thrown herself from the
Tower, at the sight of Leander drowned;
dies on his Body  —

APPENDIX. 337

Year. TITLE. (first) Height. Width.
Exhf

Where Size.
(flrst) Height. \\
Exhibited. Ft. in. Ft. in.

1830. Venus and Cupid (Descending)  Brit. Inst. ... 110 ..2 4
The Storm  R. Acad. ... 4 0 ... 4 G
'They cried unto Thee, and were deliver
ed ; they trusted in Thee, and were not
'confounded.'
Judith  
'And, anon after, she went forth and gave
' Holofernes' head to her maid; and she put
1 it in her bag of meat.'
Candaulea, King of Lydia, showing his
Wife by stealth to Gyges, one of his
Ministers: as she goes to bed. — Hero-'
dotua  
The Dancer  
Studyfor Sabrina  Soc. Arts,
in 1849.
Nymph Reposing  
Guardian Genii  
1831. Sketch of a Subject for an Altar-piece.
Martyrdom of some of the Early
Christians  Brit. Inst. ... 2 9 .. 1 10
The Maid of Judith waiting outside the
Tent of Holofernes  R. Acad.
Nymph Angling  
Window in Venice daring a Festa   ... 2 9 ... 2 3
Sabrina   ... 2 8 ..3 1
The Shipwrecked Mariner. (Robinson
Crusoe.)  
1832. Youth at the Prow, and Pleasure at the
Helm   ... 5 0 ... 6 3
The Destroying Angels and Demons of
Evil interrupting the Orgies of the
Vicious and Intemperate. A finished
Sketch   ... 3 10 ... 3 0
Phaedria and Cymochles ; or the Idle
Lake  
1833. The Dangerous Playmate  Brit. Inst. ... 1 9 ... 1
Britomart redeemes faire Amoret  R. Acad.
The Lute-Player   ... 2 6 ... 2
Head of a Philosopher : a Sketch. (Por
trait.) 
Hylas and the Nymphs   ... 3 10 ... 4 4
1834. The Persian  Brit. Inst. ... 1 11 ... 1 7
Gathering Flowers   ... 1 8 ... 1 4
A Sketch made for the Sacred Annual...
* As Mary weeping by the tomb remain'd,
* * 'back she turn'd her eye of tears :
*And there stood Jesus.3   - ... 2 0 2 10
Montgomery/' 8 Messiah.
A Portrait  R. Acad.
The Cardinal   3 3 ... 2 9
1835. The Lute-Player. (Repetition of the
Picture painted in 1833.)  Brit. Inst. ... 2 6 ... 2 9
Nymph and Young Faun Dancing  — - ... 3 0 ... 2 6
Preparing for a Fancy-dress Ball  R. Acad.
Study ofthe Head of a Youth  
Venus and her Satellites, (or 'Venus at
tired by the Graces')  
' There, Beauty's lovely Goddess smiles to wield
'The brandish'd might of Mars's solid shield.
'Loose flow her tresses, heightening every
charm.'
VOL. II. Z

338 APPENDIX. %
„, Where Size.
Year. TITLE v (first) Height. Width.
Exhibited. Ft. in. Ft. in.
1835. Study from a Young Lady: (a 'York
Beauty/)  R.Acad.
The Bridge of Sighs, Venice   — 3 5 ... ^ o
The Warrior Arming. ('Godfrey de
Bouillon/)  •¦•¦ 
Phsedria and Cymochles on the Idle
Lake  '.  
'And all the~way the wanton Damsel found
' New Mirth, her passenger to entertaine.*
Wood-Nymphs sleeping : Satyr bringing
Flowers. — Morning  
A. Magdalen (Kneeling.)  Soc. Arts,
B V *' in 1849.
1836. The Prodigal Son  Brit. Inst. ... 3 1 ... 2 7
A Family of the Forests  R.Acad.
Psyche lays the Casket at VenuB's feet :
Cupid pleads in her behalf  
Venus and her Doves  
Adam and Eve at their Morning Orisons.. York.
Mars, Venus, and Cupid  
1837. Samson betrayed by Delilah  R.Acad.
The Sirens and Ulysses  
1S38. The Good Samaritan  Brit. Inst.
A Bivouac of Cupid and his Company ... S. Acad.
The Prodigal Son  
' I will arise and go to my father.'
A Bacchante and Boy Dancing   7
II Duetto  
Miss Lewis in character of a Flower-
girl  
The Converted Jew  
Somnolency  
1839. Waters of Elle  Brit. Inst. ... 2 11 ... 2 11
'Love's cherish'd gift,.the rose he gave is faded :
' Love's blighted flower can never bloom again.
'Weep for thy fault, in mind, in heart de
graded.'
Diana andEndymion  R. Acad.
Pluto carrying off Proserpine  
The Lady Mayoress of York  
1840. 'Bright-eyed Fancy hovering o'er'  Brit. Inst. ... 3 2 ... 3 2
Group of Children   ... 1 4 ... 1 6
The Little Mariner. (Girl in a Nautilus
Shell.)   ... 1 5 ... 1 9
Andromeda : — Perseus coming to her
Rescue  R. Acad.
Mars, Venus ; and Attendant disrobing
her Mistress forthe Bath  
A Subject from the Parable of the Ten
Virgins   ... 8 1 ... 6 7
Sabrina  Soc. Arts,
in 1849.
Study of a Dog  ¦ 
(^ Three Portraits. (Children of Henry
Wood, Esq.)  
The Jewess. (Small Head.)  
The Wrestlers  - — —
'Angels ever bright and fair*  
1841. Head of a Mahomedan  Brit. Inst. ... 1 5 ... 1 3
Groun: — Morning  R. Acad.

APPENDIX. 339
m™ Where Size.
*ear. TITLE. (first) Height. Width.
Exhibited. Ft. in. Ft. in.
1841. The Repentant Prodigal's Return to his
Father and Home  R. Acad.
To Arms, to Arms, ye Brave !  
StUl Life  .  .
Female Bathers surprised by a Swan ...  ... 4 3 ... 4 3
David. (At his Harp.)  
'Awake, my glory ; awake lute and harp ;
'I myself will awake right early.*
Morning Amusements  Soc. Arts,
in 1819.
1842. The Little Brunette  Brit. Inst. ... 2 4 ... 2 0
A Magdalen  
Two of the Modern Time. (Lady and
Lapdog.)  
One of the Olden Time. (A Warrior.)...  ... 3 9 .., 3 4
The Dance. From Homer's Description
of Achilles' Shield  
The Innocent are Gay  
Venus and Cupid  Soc. Arts.
in 1849.
Study of Paris. (Head.)  
A Magdalen. (Recumbent figure, read
ing.)  
Cupid and Psyche. (Psyche sleeping :
Cupid bending over her.)  
The Mourner. (Semi-nude figure.)  
The Tired Wayfarer  
1843. OntheThames. (Chelsea.)  Brit. Inst. ... 2 5 ... 2 11
Bathers   ... 2 11 ... 2 5
Sketch for a large Picture of Christ
Blessing Little Children. — A subject
intended originally for St. Margaret's
Church, Brighton   ... 2 6 ... 3 9
Dead Game   ... 2 1 ... 2 3
Headof Judas   ... 1 8 ... 1 5
Fruit   ... 1 3 ... 1 7
The Graces : — Pysche and Cupid as the
Personification of Love  R. Acad.
The Eather  
'At the doubtful breeze alarmed.'
The Entombment of Christ  
In the Greenwood Shade  
StillLife  
Flemish Courtship  
The Infant Moses and his Mother  
Cupid scattering Roses  Soc. Arts,
in 1849.
Venus and Cupid  
Landscape. — View of the Stid, Bolton
Abbey  
A Water Nymph. ^Recumbent figure.) 
Nymph robbing Cupid of his Bow  • 
Cupid interceding for Psyche  
Repose. (Recumbent female figure.) ... 
Venus and Cupid  
Study  
1844. Study of a Head. (Afterwards entitled
'The Saviour/)  Brit. lust. ... 2 1 ... 1 9
Sleeping Nymphs and Satyr   ... 2 5 ... 3 3
The Backbiter  R.Acad.

3-iO APPENDIX, Where Size.
Year. TITLE. (first) Height. Width.
Exhibited. Ft. in. Ft. in.
1844. ( Live while you live, the epicure will say,
'And seize the pleasure of the fleeting
day:
'Live while you live, the Christian
preacher cnes,
c And give to God each moment as it flies.
* Lord, in my views may both united be :
' I Uve in pleasure while I live to Thee ! * R. Acad.
The Cardinal  
A Subject from Comus. — Painted the
size of the intended Fresco  
'All amidst the gardens fair
' Of Hesperus and his daughters three,
'That sing about the golden tree.'
'Tis but a Fancy Sketch  
Eve at the Fountain  
Cupid in a Shell  Soc. Arts,
in 1849.
Study°of Colour. (Female Head.)  
Ariadne. (Reclining female figure.) ... 
Head of a Jew  
Contemplation  
Fair Rosamond  
A Naiad  
Repose after Bathing. (Nude sitting
figure.)  
The Bather  
The Signal; or, 'Hero and Leander/
(Nude reclining figure.) 
Grecian Warrior  
1345. Cupid looking after the Gold-Fish.
(Venus standing by, with Pay che.)  Brit. Inst. ... 1 8 ... Ill
TheForsaken   ... 3 2 ... 2 9
Ablution  ¦  • ... 3 2 ... 2 9
Aurora and Zephyr  R. Acad.
The Indian Alarmed  
Study of the Head of a Little Boy  
Cupid interceding with his Mother for
Psyche  
Flower-girl  
A Votive Offering  
* Or, like a nymph, with bright and flow
ing hair  
* Dance on the sands, and yet no footing
seen/  
Meditation  Soc. Arts,
in 1849.
Study of a Head  
Portrait of Matilda, daughter of E.
Bicknell, Esq  
The Bather  
Portrait of a Little Girl  
A Magdalen  
A Rabbi  — —
1846. A Pirate carrying off a Captive  Brit. Inst. ... 3 1 ... 2 6
Children reposing after Bathing   ... 2 7 ... 2 3
A Bather   ... 2 11 ... 2 5
' At the doubtful breeze alarmed,'
The Grape-Gatherer  R. Acad.
Composition, from Milton's Comus  
'Circe, with the SirenB three,
' Amidst the flowery-kirtled Naiades.'

APPENDIX. 341
Where Size .
Year. TITLE. (flrst) Height. Width,
Exhibited. Ft. in. Ft. in.
1846. The Choice of Paris  R.Acad.
The Juvenile Scribe  
The Sea-Bather  
Still Life  
Head of a Jew  Soc. Arts,
in 1849.
' He was despised and rejected of men'.. 
A French Peasant  
The Fairy ofthe Fountain  — —
1847. An Israelite indeed  Brit. Inst. ... 2 9 ... 2 3
A Magdalen Reading   ... 3 1 ... 2 7
Reposing after Bathing   ... 2 5 ... 3 3
Joan of Arc : on finding the Sword she
had dreamt of; in the Church of St.
Catherine de Fierbois ; devotes herself
and it to the service of God and her
Country  E. Acad.
¦ makes a Sortie from the
Gates of Orleans, and scattersjfche Ene
mies of France  
 after rendering the most
signal services to her Prince and Peo
ple, is suffered to die a Martyr in their
cause  
Charites etGratise  
Portrait of Master Wethered  Soc. Arts,
in 1849.
1848. Morning Prayers  R.Acad.
A Study, in Colour, of Objects of Still
Life  
La Fleur de Lis  
A Sketch of Landscape : Givendale, York
shire  
A Group of Captives. * By the Waters of
Babylon'  
Aaron, the High Priest of Israel '  
Him that crieth from the Wilderness,
Repent ye 1  
Nymph after Bathing. (Reclining
figure.)  Soc. Arts,
in 1849.
(Finished) Sketch for Youth at the
Helm and Pleasure at the Prow  
1849. Amoret Chained. Painted im. a previous
yeaxr  R. Acad.
The Crochet- Worker  
' Gather the Rose of Love
' While yet 't is time*  
Three Versions of One Subjeot. (Por
trait of a Lady :— full face and in pro
file . ) Painted in a previous year  
A Catalogue even approximately complete of all Etty's
various productions : — composition, group, and single figure ;
sketch and study; Portrait, Landscape, Still Life; — would
prove an arduous, not to say impossible, task. Difficulties,
scarcely superable, are presented by tlieir multitude, and, in
nine cases out of ten, tlieir ineradicable cliaracter, — of (more

342 APPENDIX.
or less literal) Studies from Nature: precluding the possi
bility of a specific or distinctive title. These difficulties are
not lessened by their being widely scattered among hands
constantly changing ; nor by the fact, that Etty kept no
continuous register of his doings, — nothing pretending to it.
Their very number, it is.for similar reasons, hard to compute.
In addition to the exhibited works, must be remembered
the Diploma Picture of 1828, the two Frescos of 1843 and
1844; various sketches for the same: — sketches, studies,
variations of all his important works. Such sketches and
studies were often finished at a subsequent date, and them
selves worked up into Pictures :— chiefly during the last fifteen
years of his life, when every fra%ment from his hand came to
be in demand. Add, also, not less than fifty or sixty Por
traits : many of them fine samples of his Art ; all bearing
unmistakable traces of his hand.
Two hundred and forty-six Pictures, the imperfect List
already given, itself comprises -. whereof, one-half are Compo
sitions of importance, executed in the maturity of his power.
Almost as many again, — certainly, half as many, — to judge
from such data as lie before me, — desultory entries and casual
"hints, — must have been produced: smaller works, minor
flights of Fancy, Sketches ; and, a still larger class, referable
more or less directly, to the general head of ' Study :' — Land
scape, Still-Life, ' Head,' or imaginatively worked-up reading
from the Ufe.
Again, the Sale, after Etty's death, of the remaining con
tents of his Studio, included above eight hundred Academy-
Studies, samples from almost every period of his industrious
career: some six hundred and fifty mill-boards that is, (oil
studies), whereof nearly or quite a hundred were covered on
both sides ; about fifty chalk sketches from ' the Life ;' about
fifty 'slight oil sketches' from the same. Perhaps a quarter
of the whole contained two or more figures.
As to the number of Academy-Studies dispersed during
Etty's life, it is easier to hazard an inference than to verify
it : undoubtedly, several hundred.
Unfinished pictures, upwards of thirty, he left behind : of

APPENDIX. 343
which the Furydice, and some half dozen studies in the. style
of the Crochet- Worker, were the most important.
Upwards of sixty Copies after the Old Masters were dis
persed at the Sale. To which, add twenty or more previously
distributed among his Eamily, or sold before his death.
Not much under two thousand Canvases (and panels), and
Mill-boards, we are thus justified in inferring to contain evi
dence of Etty's hand, of varying scope and extent. He was
not so far wrong, it would seem, in the conjecture, that if
assembled, his entire works would ' almost fill Westminster
'HaU.'

LONDON- :
THOMAS HABETLD, PBIHTEE. SILVER STKEET,
PALCOH" SQUAEE.

2955