ART.
THE DULWICH GALLERY AT THE BETHNAL GREEN MUSEUM.
1r is now rather more than half a century since the pictures now on exhibition at the Bethnal Green Museum were established at the Dulwich Gallery, in accordance with the will of Sir Francis Bourgeois, R.A. The history of the collection is a somewhat curious one, many of the pictures having been collected before 1807 by the celebrated picture-dealer, Noel Joseph Desenfaus, and intended to form the nucleus of a collection for a National Gallery at Warsaw. The national misfortunes and subsequent death of the King having prevented the execution of the above project, Mr. Desenfaus was left with the pictures on his hands. In 1807 Desenfaus died, and bequeathed all his pictures to Sir Francis Bourgeois, who left them to the Dulwich Gallery, with the sum of /12,000 to provide a suitable building for their reception. This was done by extending the west wing of the College, and there the pictures have remained ever since. It is noticeable that only thirty-nine of the pictures now in the Gallery were originally intended for the National Gallery at Warsaw, the remainder of that collection having been sold previous to Desenfaus' death. It is worth mentioning this, as the number curiously corresponds with the really valuable pictures in the gallery, there being about forty first-rate examples of the Old Masters, principally of the Dutch and Flemish schools, and over three hundred indifferent ones. It is not our intention to give a catalogue raisonne of the pictures, but only to mention a few of the more important. And here it may be noticed that it would perhaps have been wiser if a portion only of the pictures had been moved to Bethnal Green; for all purposes of popular instruction, half the number would have been equally edifying, and the inhabitants of the neighbourhood would not have been exposed to the temptation of admiring copies for originals.
Of course the famous picture of the collection is the "St. Sebastian " of Guido, which used to hang at the end of the room at Dulwich College, and which is certainly a wonderfully striking picture. Considered as an effect of light and shade, it is perhaps hardly to be surpassed. The figure stands out in mellow glow against an almost black background, even the tree behind being scarcely perceptiple in the deep shadow. The "St. Sebastian" of Guido is hardly though, to our mind, a satisfactory person. This effeminate Italian youth, with rounded limbs and upturned eyes, does not present one's ideal of the martyr or hero. There is too much the appearance of dying to slay music, with the drop. scene ready to descend at the right moment. There are here, in this picture, the same faults that are perceptible in all Guido's pictures—unreality and sensuality—and most of all does it lack all the nobility and majesty of death. Of all the representations of this subject which we have seen in foreign galleries (and there is one or more in every gallery in Italy) there is only one that fully realises, to our mind, the spirit of the scene. That is in the Uffizi Gallery at Florence, unaccountably placed in a corner where it is almost impossible to see it properly, and is by Sodoma. The canvas is falling away from the frame with neglect or ill-usage, and few of the visitors to the Tribune stray into that obscure corner. Nevertheless, the picture is one of the greeted masterpieces even in that wonderful gallery, and is noticeable for the contrast it affords in treatment to the Guido above mentioned. Here the St. Sebastian stands illumined by no supernatural radiance in the midst of obscurity, but in the light of a somewhat dull, cloudy day. The tree to which he is lashed grows on the crest of a slight eminence, over which we look down to the valley and open country beyond. Far as the eye can see stretches a fair landscape, rich with woods, hills, and streams, and evidences of men's toil and industry. On the hill to the left rises the city, grey and dim in the distance ; on the right the river tumbles noisily through some dark, old arches ; beyond all rise faint blue mountains. Over St. Sebastian's head hovers an angel bearing the crown of suffering, and surrounded by a glory of golden beams. Close under the hill to right and left, men are pursuing their ordinary occupations ; a group of three figures, one of them on horseback, two on foot, are drinking and dis- puting about some trivial matter ; on the other side two passers-by stop to quarrel by the roadside. But up here, on the crest of the hill, stands the martyr, the life-blood fast ebbing ; three arrows in his body already, and the end not yet come. In the intense agony of his martyrdom he has writhed away from the tree, but his face turns up to the angel and the crown with an expression of rapture struggling through suffering and victorious over death. His enemies have done their worst, a few more moments of anguish and the struggle will be ended and the toil done. All this is said in his face more plainly, and far more eloquently than words can describe it. But what we want more particularly to notice is how this picture, by its delineation of the most simple every-day humanity surrounding the martyrdom, has heightened the horror of the scene infinitely more than Guido could do with all his artificial light and gloom. The fair landscape and the every-day pursuits, contrasted with the pain and death ; the frightful unconsciousness of or still more frightful Indifference of the passers-by to the tragedy that is being acted so ,near them,—all these intensify the feeling to a degree which is far greater than could be produced by any stage effect. In every sense of the word it is a noble picture, and the only one we have ever seen in which there is expressed in one face the supreme intensity of pain and joy ; beyond human endurance would be the pain, but the glory from the angel shines down, and joy takes its .place. Has it not always been, must it not always be so ? Not only with the St. Sebaatians of the world does the way to the greatest happiness lie through pain. Did it not need all the weary years of suffering and conflict ere Ulysses and his cora- panions could realise the surpassing delights of home and peace? Through strife to content, through chaos to order, such seems to be God's appointed rule of life for this world, and through toil and sorrow to the martyr's crown, whether on earth or heaven.
There are two small figures by Raphael of St. Anthony and St. Francis, but they are not at all favourable speci- mens of his work, and are probably only painted by one of his pupils from his design. For the admirers of the Dutch school of painting there are many choice examples of Teniers, Cuyp, Dow, and Ostade, besides which there is a picture by Adrian Brouwer of the "Interior of an Alehouse," than which it is almost impossible to fancy anything of its kind more beautiful in light and shade, and more delicate in colour. The occupants of the house are all either quarrelling, smoking, or singing, except one who has fallen against a post in his endeavours to leave the room, and seems likely to remain there for some time. In the background is a figure hugging the landlady. A glow of subdued light fills the room, fading gradually into semi-obscurity at the further end, where two men sit over the fire. Throughout the picture there are many very beautiful pieces of colour, of which the pink doublet of the seated figure in the foreground is the most conspicuous. Especially remarkable is the brilliancy of the subdued lights, where they fall on white shirt, or cap, or pitcher, and the gradually-increasing gloom of the room is itself a marvel in chiaro- oscura. Altogether, this is one of the finest specimens of the Dutch school of the Teniers class, and is not inferior to many even of that master. There are many examples of Rubens here, of which the finest picture is undoubtedly "Venus, Mars, and Cupid," as the painter has modestly entitled portraits of himself, his mistress, and his child. There is little to be said of this picture but that it is a good specimen of Rubens' more soulless work,—a good pointing, and nothing more. To see how very different, and how far superior, work to this the artist could do, we have only to look at "The Three Graces," a sketch in umber and white,—three women in light clouds of drapery dancing, but so deliciously delicate and graceful, that it seems hardly possible that it is by the same hand as the "Venus and Mars." Here, too, are the famous Spanish peasant-boys of Murillo, of which Mrs. Jameson says that "they are the finest pictures in the collection,—boyish, rustic, roguish, but as fax as possible from being vulgar." We cannot
say we agree with the celebrated authoress of "Sacred Art ;" but Murillo will always have a certain number of admirers, and these are fine examples of his work.
There is a very famous Sir Joshua. - Reynolds here—" Mrs. Siddons as the Tragic Muse "—of which too much has been written already to necessitate any description or praise. It has always been, in our estimation, one of the finest of Sir Joshua's works, and it is pitiable to see the huge cracks in the varnish, and the deep yellow haze which is gradually overspreading the whole picture. Can nothing be done to arrest the fatal result of Sir Joshua's experiments in novel mediums and varnishes ? Cuyps are very plentiful, there being no less than nineteen here, of which some are very inferior, and indeed of doubtful authenticity. One of these (No. 9), landscape, with battle and figures, is a very beautiful example, the sky being one of the most beautiful effects of warm evening sunshine, that even this painter, so famous for sunlight effects, has produced. There is a small Titian—" The Rape of Europa "—identically the same in composition and colour as the one in the exhibition of Old Masters at Burlington House last winter, but on the whole, perhaps, more brilliant than the larger picture, for which it was the sketch. It certainly forms one of the greatest gems of the collection. The other three. pictures catalogued under the heading of Titian are doubtful, and one at least, the Venus, is evidently a copy or an imitation by a pupil. One of the finest portraits in the collection is the head of an old burgomaster, by Holbein,—a solemn, precise-looking old man, in black furred gown and cap, holding a book in his right hand, with the left clasped in front of it across his chest, the very type of civic respectability and prejudice.
There are several examples of Rembrandt, of which only two are of any importance ; these are "Jacob's Dream" and "Portrait of Rembrandt's Serving-maid." The scene of the former is a rocky heath, with hills in the dis- tance, and no shelter anywhere except one blasted twee, under which Jacob lies sleeping. At the right-hand top corner of the picture the skies are opened, and bathed in warm light ; one angelic figure emerges from the clouds, while another hovers with outstretched wings in mid-air. There has been no attempt to depict Jacob as anything but the ordinary Dutch peasant in the dress of the time ; but his figure is so much in shadow that this is comparatively unimportant, the great beauty of the picture being the figures of the two angels and the 'glory' which surrounds them. The whole partakes more of the character of a fine sketch than a finished picture, being evidently a happy effect produced with but little labour. The portrait of his servant-maid is a fine one, and, to our thinking, preferable to the above-mentioned picture, though it is only a little girl with folded arms said merry smile looking out of a garret-window.
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