Chapter III: Part I (2)

As against all these theories, Major-General Gordon, writing to Dr. Schliemann in 1896 from the Royal Arsenal, Woolwich, of which he was then Controller, points out that the Svastika is obviously Chinese, and that on the breech of a large gun captured in the Taku Fort in ’61, and at the time of writing lying outside his office at Woolwich, the same symbol is displayed. Dr. Lockyer, who was for many years a medical missionary in China, also says that the sign is thoroughly Chinese. Colonel Sykes, another authority on matters Chinese, concludes that according to the Chinese authorities, Fa-hiau, Soung-Young, and Hiuantusang, the ‘doctors of reason,’ Taosee or followers of the mystic cross were diffused in China and India before the advent of Sakya in the sixth century ~B.C.~ (according to other authorities in the eleventh century ~B.C.~), continuing to Fa-hiau’s time, and that they were professors of qualified Buddhism, which it is stated was the universal religion of Thibet before Sakya’s advent, and continued until orthodox Buddhism was introduced in the ninth century ~A. D.~ As to this Colonel Tod holds the opinion that the first Buddha of the four flourished circa ~B.C.~ 2250. This was Budh the parent of the lunar race. ¶ The Greeks undoubtedly connected the symbol with the cult of Apollo, but it seems probable that the sign came to them from Egypt, where the Tau which was a cross was anciently a symbol of the generative power, and afterwards was introduced into the Bacchic mysteries. Such a cross has been found at Pompeii in a house, in juxtaposition with the Phallus and with other symbols embodying the same idea. This mystic Tau, or Standard of the Cross as it has been called, formed just half of the Labarum,[33] or idolatrous war standard of the Pagans. The Labarum bore at once the crescent and the cross, the crescent as the emblem of Astarte the Queen of Heaven, and the cross as that of Bacchus. ¶ The controversy, if so it can be called, will doubtless rage for all time, but the one essential point remains salient: namely, that the symbol is admittedly universal, and equally admittedly it is the basis and the mainstay in one form or another of all conventional decorative design. It is to be found everywhere in our modern life. In our household appointments, in our mural decorations, in the shapes and adornment of articles of our furniture. Even does it come down to us in the shape of those old irons on houses with which we are all familiar, and which, though a few persons fondly believe them to be so placed for the purpose of remedying cracking walls, are regarded by every right-thinking country person as a protection against lightning and fire. Unconsciously Svastika permeates our whole existence. We cannot even sit down to dinner without finding it set before us in some of our table appointments; and nowhere is the symbol more constantly and more permanently evident than in oriental rugs and carpets. In every specimen of these, of whatsoever provenance, and no matter how much the flowing line of curves may have encroached on the rectilineal design of convention, the Svastika is traceable. It may not be at once discovered in the main body of the pattern, though it is always present, but it is invariably and inevitably to be found in the border, which it may at once be said is as much an historical asset as is the central design itself.

Double. Single.]

Of course throughout the natural working of Time’s processes, the merging of myths and the blending of conceptions, certain bold and salient developments, if projected with sufficient force and persistency, must ever remain paramount. This is the case with the Svastika and with that other symbol, that of the lotus, with which it is almost invariably found in conjunction. There are many indeed who claim that the two symbols are indivisible. Professor Goodyear, no mean authority, is specially insistent on this point. He holds that it is the lotus that is the keynote of decoration. The lotus, he contends, is the Tree of Life, or rather the accepted Tree of Life is really the lotus in one or another of its many aspects. The spiral scroll, he urges, comes from the bent sepals of the lotus much exaggerated, which being squared becomes the Greek fret or meander or key pattern, and this doubled forms the Svastika. ¶ The Lotus and the Tree of Life will form the subject of the next article.

[_Previous articles of this series were published in Nos 1 and 3, for March and May, 1903._]

THE DUTCH EXHIBITION AT THE GUILDHALL

❧ ARTICLE I.--THE OLD MASTERS ❧

There is every probability that the current exhibition of early and modern pictures by Dutch artists will prove to be one of the most popular which has yet been held at the Guildhall; not, indeed, because it is of finer quality than its predecessors, but from the fact that the pictures are well within the grasp of the average man. There is nothing incomprehensible to those least acquainted with Dutch art, and there is something that will appeal to all. It must have occurred to many with regard to pictures of Holland by artists of varying nationality that only the Dutchman really grasps the subtleties of the country. All the rest look upon it with alien eyes, and give us but the external form. They never get behind the veil and infect us with that indefinable exquisiteness and charm so characteristic of Holland with its pastoral flats, pollard willows, canals, picturesque craft and windmills and, most wonderful of all, that delicate atmosphere softening the harshest lines into a melodious ensemble, and overhead the immensity of sky, vast in its expanse and with its delicacies of blues and greys. The finest Dutch landscape painters have always painted in a minor key; whenever they seek to modulate into the major they lose themselves and become commonplace. This applies equally to Rüysdael and to Jacob Maris; doubtless it is an expression of the national temperament of the Dutchman. Generally upon emerging from a contemplation of the old men into a modern artistic environment a feeling of repulsion creeps over one, but this is not the case here. Rüysdael and Rembrandt seem strangely in harmony with Maris and Mauve, and in this fact may be found a plea for the endurance of the latter. A very different impression is given, for instance, when one leaves an eighteenth-century French picture and comes to a modern French landscape. The modern Dutch school have maintained the traditions of their predecessors, and one of them at least--Jacob Maris--is worthy to be put on the same plane as Rüysdael and Hobbema. ¶ In the small gallery upstairs the student of seventeenth-century Dutch art will find much to admire, still more to interest him, and not a few examples which will tax his ingenuity as to attribution. Among these last are some of the six pictures ascribed to Rembrandt. The most important, and perhaps the one which should attract the most attention, is the large landscape Le Commencement d’Orage, which is surpassed by little in the landscape work of Rembrandt for poetical intensity and incisive truth. This picture is by most modern critics denied to Rembrandt; as the question is one which must be fully dealt with, its discussion may conveniently be postponed to the end of this paper. ¶ When we leave this and come to the portraits we find but one, the Portrait of the Painter’s Son Titus, which has any serious pretensions to be considered as coming from his brush. Against this, however, nothing can be urged in point of quality. Of the Dutch master’s last and finest manner--it is dated 1655--it has all the pathetic realism of his unsubdued genius. It is interesting to compare this canvas, which is undoubtedly a portrait of Titus, with that of the same boy in the Wallace collection. As this is dated authentically 1655, the Hertford House picture should be painted within the next year, or at the latest in 1657, whereas it is approximately dated in the catalogue 1658-60. On the score of quality there is little to choose, but perhaps the English picture is in a better state of preservation. The Head of a Man, a careful work, and with many good qualities to recommend it, is in all probability a work of Solomon de Koninck, who was one of those pupils of Rembrandt who assimilated most of his technicalities. The extreme timidity of many of those points in which the bolder qualities of Rembrandt would be brought into play, such as the handling of the nose, mouth and hair, go far to convince us of the correctness of this attribution. Coming to The Portrait of the Artist, it appears quite incomprehensible that a picture of such inferior artistic qualities should have been seriously considered for so long a period as a work of the master. Coming from the collections of M. de Calonne, the Marquis Gerini and Mr. Agar, engraved by Seuter and Townley, quoted in Smith, it serves to show the hazy idea of even the best connoisseurs in the early days of the last century. Such a work would be difficult to affiliate upon any of the best known of Rembrandt’s pupils. The weakness of the drawing and lack of power and roundness are clearly the work of but a second-rate man of the period. The signature, moreover, presents no claim to serious consideration. In Ruth and Naomi is possibly to be found the work of a very interesting painter of the school of Rembrandt--Karel Fabritius, who is little known yet in this country. It is painted with remarkable strength and solidity, and although not a great achievement, is worthy of comparison with some of those pictures which are ascribed to the greater light upon very slender foundation. The picture, however, is in such bad condition and has suffered so much that no one can tell what it may have been when fresh. ¶ More interesting upon the whole than the representation of Rembrandt and his School is that of Frans Hals. His so-called Admiral de Ruyter (which is not a portrait of that admiral) for decision and fearless handling has not an equal in the gallery. It is not Hals as we see him at Hertford House, careful and conscientious, though successful, but the spontaneous, daring master whom we find at Haarlem and in the Louvre, at Cassel and St. Petersburg. It is the Hals that we not only admire but also love, the wonder of the cultured art-loving public, and--may we add it?--the despair of the modern portrait painter. Such brushwork has only been equalled, we shall not say surpassed, by a few masters, of whom Velasquez stands out prominently. When, however, we turn to Van Goyen and his Wife and Child, we have another instance of more than doubtful attribution. The landscape is probably by Van Goyen, for it has many of his characteristics of tree draughtsmanship and sober colour. The figures, however, betray nothing of Hals beyond his influence, and even the latter is only just allowable. They are well and strongly painted in parts; but Hals would never be guilty of such loose handling as is observable in the child in the foreground or such weak drawing as the foot of Van Goyen betrays. There is but little from which to deduce an attribution with any degree of certainty. The present ascription is part of that system which insists on fathering upon Hals all the portraits in this manner and of this period, in much the same way as in the past all portraits which betrayed any of the technicalities of Rembrandt were attributed to that master.

Turning from this to a Group of Three we have a splendid example by a master whose history is enshrouded still in much mystery, but who was, if one can judge from his art, a pupil of Hals--we are referring to Jan Miense Molenaer. It was evidently painted in the earlier portion of his career and has much in common with The Spinet-players in the Rycks Museum at Amsterdam. A scene which Hals would have revelled in depicting, full of uproarious good humour, the picture presents attractions quite apart from its superb technical qualities and masterly composition. Curiously enough, upon the same wall we have two examples, Jovial Companions and The Health of the Troop, by Molenaer’s wife, Judith Leyster, a painter of the school of Haarlem of the period when Hals was at the height of his fame. They are both catalogued as being collaborations by Hals and Judith Leyster, but beyond the potent influence of the former they have nothing to do with him. As pictures they are interesting to the student, but not for any striking qualities which they present. The brushwork is of a character which one expects from a painter who from self-assurance endeavours to emulate a bold and dashing manner without possessing the ability of the prototype, with the inevitable result of a coarse disjointedness irritating to the last degree. The colour scheme of each is unpleasing too, blues and reds being foiled against one another with a rashness which is born of over confidence. Of quite another character is the little Portrait of a Gentleman by Thomas de Keyser. The strong and firm modelling of the face has not a weakness apparent anywhere, whilst, as is usual with this master, he has placed a restraint upon himself which sustains him through the most arduous task without loss of dignity or ease of presentment. This grasp of his material leaves him when he attempts anything on a large scale: he loses concentration and becomes straggling. The picture is, however, overcleaned. ¶ But to revert to the school of Hals again, there are few more instructive pictures in the exhibition than The Portrait of a Dutch Lady by Jan Verspronck, who was in many respects his cleverest pupil. This is a remarkably characteristic example, the authenticity of which is convincingly attested by the presence of the signature with the date 1643. It must have occurred to many students that the scarcity of Verspronck’s pictures is accounted for by their being not infrequently converted into examples of the better-known master. They lend themselves very readily to this from the strong affinities of technique. The great point of difference is to be found in the lack of brilliancy and freedom, qualities eminently characteristic of Hals, both in his early and late period. But the delicate silveriness and luminosity of Hals find an echo in the finest portraits of Verspronck. I remember seeing a portrait of a man some years ago in London which was ascribed with all confidence to Hals, until a close examination revealed the traces of an obliterated signature of Verspronck on the background. Further, I have always held the opinion that the superb Portrait of a Lady at Antwerp is by this master, and a contemplation of the present picture strengthens this view. ¶ One other portrait is well worthy of mention, although it may be observed that it hardly comes within the scope of an exhibition of Dutch Art, but we should have been considerably the losers without it--the Portrait of Ambrogio, Marchese di Spinola, by Cornelis de Vos. It is a superb piece of direct portraiture, full of dignity and precision, and the ruff and breastplate are handled with remarkable accuracy and vigour. ¶ Of the genre paintings the most attention will be attracted by The Cook Asleep, a picture ascribed to that very rare master Jan Vermeer of Delft. There is little of his characteristic technique displayed in the treatment of the accessories--the fruit and the bottle. Still, the girl, particularly in the head and bosom, and the handling of the table-cloth, point to the work of the great Delft master, to say nothing of the signature, which has every appearance of being authentic. Nevertheless, to extol it as a masterpiece--it is set forth as such in the catalogue--by Vermeer, is quite unjustifiable when one remembers the picture in Mrs. Joseph’s possession, the two in the Six Collection at Amsterdam, or those in the Rycks Museum, the Louvre, and at Dresden and Berlin. There are weaknesses, as witness the flat painting of the arms, and the diffusion of light is not grasped with his wonted skill. It lacks just that which delights one most in the master’s work. It is unfortunate that a better picture to represent Vermeer’s contemporary Gabriel Metzu could not be obtained than A Woman Dressing Fish. I cannot agree with Smith in describing it as ‘this excellent little picture’; indeed I have grave doubts as to its being a genuine picture at all. Neither does a Portrait of a Lady worthily display the magic and refined art of Terborch, for the painting is careful even to timidity. Better by far is the Portrait of a Young Woman, which, in spite of an unequal tussle with the restorer, still presents some of his most charming qualities. Both the head and hands are in his best manner, and the black dress with its semi-transparent frills is full of such delicate painting as characterizes The Portrait of a Gentleman in the National Gallery. ¶ A most interesting panel, A Lady at a Harpsichord, is ascribed to Palamedes. Great confusion has existed with regard to his works in the past, arising from the fact that several painters have an almost identical technique and painted similar subjects. Foremost among these are Willem Cornelisz Duyster, Pieter Codde, Dirk Hals, and that controversial and mysterious master, Hendrik Pot. The fine picture at Hampton Court, described in the Commonwealth Inventory as ‘A Souldier making a Strange Posture to a Dutch Lady, by Bott,’ which has been in turn assigned to Pieter Codde, Poelenburgh, Palamedes, Mytens, and Hendrik Pot, is now permanently and rightly ascribed to the last, an attribution arrived at by careful comparison with other works, and further confirmed by the presence of Pot’s initials on the chimneypiece--all in addition to the suggestive entry in the Commonwealth Inventory. Now the panel in the exhibition is almost identical in treatment, and also with that of the Convivial Party in the National Gallery, and I think that Pot is much more likely to be its creator than Palamedes. ¶ The life work of Jan Steen, so badly illustrated at present in our public galleries, is well summed up by the humorous and most masterly Portrait of Himself. Seated on a chair, he bawls without restraint a ditty, no doubt culled from his own cabaret, accompanying himself with a mandoline, which he plays with evidently greater gusto than expression. Steen was no idealistic dreamer: he believed in earthly enjoyment, and from this fact arose the tales of dissipation of which modern investigation has proved the falsity. Still, he seems to have largely been in sympathy with the views of Omar Khayyam, and making ‘the most of what we yet may spend.’ ¶ The ascription to Adriaen Brouwer of An Interior with Figures is perhaps another misnomer. There is none of his exquisite transparency, the colouring is opaque and lacks the brilliancy of his palette, and the draughtsmanship has not nearly his precision. Again, the figures in the foreground, although having much in common with Brouwer, betray the influence of David Teniers, an influence still more marked in those talking through the window. Consequently there is a strange mixture of Dutch and Flemish art, which points to a master conversant with both. Two men suggest themselves as its author, Hendrik Sorgh and Joost van Craesbeeck, and the weight of evidence is in favour of the latter, largely because of the Flemish sentiment which pervades the whole composition and the presence of mannerisms which are peculiar to Brouwer, which leads one to give the preference to Craesbeeck rather than to Sorgh. Some particularly fine examples of the still-life painters of Holland are shown, Jan van Huysum and Jan van Os especially; whilst one of the three canvases by Willem van Aelst (No. 167) is quite a new revelation of his powers.

Coming to the landscape men, in some respects a pleasurable surprise awaits us, and in others something akin to disappointment. The latter was furnished by the representation of Jacob van Rüysdael, by whom no less than three examples are shown. Good as they all will be considered, not one shows to the full the intensely poetical side of his genius, a side which, exemplified by the magnificent View of Haarlem in the Mauritshuis at the Hague or the View over an extensive flat wooded Country in our own National Gallery, places him far ahead of any painter of the Dutch school for the rendering of dreamy poetry of nature. He must yield the palm to Hobbema in tree painting and to Cüyp in landscape full of delicate shimmer and sunny glow, and if Philips de Koninck is his equal in the presentment of immensity of distance, he is left far behind by Rüysdael’s atmospheric achievements. One point may be conceded to Hobbema, namely, that he is more equal: he never painted a bad picture, whereas Rüysdael frequently did so; but when the two are seen at their best, the latter surpasses him by reason of his superiority in catching that essentiality of landscape--_stimmung_. For want of these qualities A Forest Scene, fine as it is from a technical standpoint, and in a perfect state of preservation, does not show the better side of Rüysdael. The Seapiece is better, but fails by reason of its obviously forced sky. Its redeeming feature is the masculine painting of the sea and its finely-felt distance. Perhaps the best is the so-called View on the Brill, which is impressive whilst remaining unsatisfactory. It is particularly unfortunate that a picture of Rüysdael in his best and most soulful mood could not be found, for then he would more than hold his own against any of the _plein air_ men in the remaining galleries. By Hobbema there are two superb panels, A Woody Landscape with a gentleman on a grey horse, and A Landscape, between which, although painted at different periods of his career, there is little to choose in point of quality. However, the latter suffers from over cleaning, particularly in some of those parts--notably the middle distance--where Hobbema shines most, and this gives it a rawness quite foreign to the picture in its pristine state. Still, they are both profound in their grasp of nature and magnificence of achievement. Cüyp, too, is equally well represented by A Herdsman and a Woman tending Cattle, with its suffusion of golden sunlight over the placid river. A delicately soft and delicious haze, so essential a feature on a summer afternoon in the vicinity of a river, envelops the whole composition from the finely-grouped cattle and figures in the immediate foreground to the distant tower, and the portrayal of the relation of the exquisitely truthful sky to the landscape was vouchsafed to no Dutchman to a greater degree than to Cüyp. This is the only example here of the Dordrecht master, for few will consider seriously the pretensions of the Head of a Cow to be from his hand. It is signed (but it is to be questioned if it is a contemporary signature) Berchem, and it is possible that it is by that master, but there are other men equally likely. ¶ A capital little landscape with cattle represents the art of Adriaen van de Velde at its best. It is well that such a picture has been chosen, for it is in its original condition, unlike all too many which have become dark in parts owing to the employment of unstable pigments. Another noteworthy example is that by Jan van der Heyden; whether or not one is allowed to altogether admire such finish, one cannot but wonder at the minute and painstaking rendering of detail and at the masterly way with which, in spite of his _finesse_, he preserves the unity of his composition. ¶ When we come to the Aart van der Neer, a Moonlight River Scene, we are confronted with a clever picture, but one which almost presents doubts as to its being really from the hand of the master. In the first place it is painted with a much fuller brush and broader handling than is usual with Van der Neer. The trees, instead of being delicately, even minutely wrought, are treated in broad masses, and the buildings have not his directness; and one’s doubts are strengthened by the figures. Now Van der Neer was never loose--if anything, his failing is in the opposite direction--but here we have men in the foreground who are even clumsy, whilst the whole work has a lack or transparence which raises grave doubts whether it is a Dutch picture at all. Here and there is just a trace of a copyist, although a man of no mean talent and one who was copying to arrive at the spirit of the Dutchmen. We have at least one man of the English school who, if this hypothesis has foundation, is capable of this, and many little mannerisms are very like him; but some good authorities regard the picture as an early work of Van der Neer, much over-cleaned and repainted. ¶ The two Jan van de Cappelles are of unsurpassable beauty. In the little Seapiece, with its placid water, an awful stillness pervading the whole scene before the approaching storm, the last glimpses of lurid light which catch the distant town before a complete envelopment in inky blackness of the scene is accomplished, and the depth of the picture, are quite wonderful. But it is rather to Off Scheveningen we look for a thoroughly characteristic Van de Cappelle. The wonderful sky and the amount of atmosphere infused into the whole theme raises it quite on a level with the River Scene of the Wynn Ellis bequest in the National Gallery, an equal of which for pure aerial painting we have yet to see in a European Gallery. The present example is one which surpasses Willem van de Velde at his best in all the higher qualities of art. Another curious picture is the Rising in a Dutch Town, ascribed to Gerrit Berkheyde. ¶ We will now return to Le Commencement d’Orage; and in this connexion it may be convenient to quote the passage referring to this picture which occurred in the notice of the Guildhall Exhibition published in _The Times_, since it expresses a view now widely held. The passage is as follows:--‘Another picture, of great beauty and greater importance, has for more than a century borne Rembrandt’s name--ever since de Marcenay engraved it with that attribution. Yet it is absolutely certain that Lady Wantage’s great picture, The Beginning of the Storm (174), is not by Rembrandt at all, but is the masterpiece of Philip de Koning, who has two or three similar but smaller works in the National Gallery, and whose signed pictures since the days when Dr. Waagen wrote, have become perfectly well known. Such a picture places de Koning in the very first rank of landscape painters, and it is unjust to deprive him of it. It would take us too long to give reasons for the change of name, but there can be no doubt whatever about it. The picture, of course, shows the influence of the mighty teacher throughout, but it is in point of fact a better, truer, less fantastic landscape than he himself ever painted. It makes the Cassel and other landscapes seem what they really are--dreams, not transcripts from nature in any sense of the term.’ ¶ That the opinion thus dogmatically expressed is that of the majority of critics cannot be denied, but I venture still to acquiesce in the attribution to Rembrandt and I will give my grounds for so doing. In the first place the view is just of such a character as de Koninck painted--an extensive landscape seen from a height with river and distant sandhills, the intervening space studded here and there with hamlets. When, however, we come to compare the technique here with that in accepted pictures by de Koninck, such as the landscape No. 836 in the National Gallery, the only similarity which can be traced to him is in the handling of the bank of the river at the right and the bushes above it. But this is much too powerfully realized for de Koninck, it has a force and breadth which the pupil never put forward. This point can be observed by comparison with the National Gallery picture, which has a very similar foreground only much more restrainedly achieved. Again, the qualities to be found in the roofs by the windmill on the left of the picture and the trees over them are such as are found in all Rembrandt’s work, whether he is working in oil or with the etching needle. Further, none of the finest works of Philips de Koninck have such an impressive and powerful opposition of sunlight and gloom as we have here. He may be wonderfully fascinating in rendering the delicate silveriness of certain phases of atmospherical freshness but he is never soul-stirring, which is a quality I claim for Lady Wantage’s picture. In the sky painting there is much affinity between this and the Peel picture as regards the cloud cumuli, but a reference to the Landscape with Tobias and the Angel (No. 72) in the National Gallery will disclose an identity which demonstrates that the other similarity is only of such a character as would be found in the work of a very clever pupil assimilating his master’s technique.

Before leaving this picture it would be useful to draw attention to the parallel rendering of several details--the trees and the sunlight hill in the background. Now in the second period of Rembrandt, which is tentatively placed by students as lying between 1640 and 1649, much attention to landscape is a prominent characteristic. Particularly was this the case with regard to his work with the needle. This culminated in the production of that most impressive of all his landscape etchings, The Three Trees. If that etching is compared with the present picture, many points of similarity will be observed, not only with regard to the extensive view on the left of that etching, but with regard to its realization and general feeling, beside which the art of de Koninck appears but a triviality. The Three Trees is dated 1643, and I am inclined to place this picture at about the same period, or at any rate between 1640 and 1643. With this date the technique is in strict consonance. Philips de Koninck we know was born in 1619, so that at this period he would be twenty-one, a very impressionable age, and I would hazard the suggestion, although the evidence is purely presumptive, that not only was this landscape the forerunner of The Three Trees, but that its production at the period when de Koninck was probably a pupil of Rembrandt, or at any rate had but just emerged from his studio, influenced the former to such an extent that it actually inspired his future landscapes, the similar character of which is so well known. Hence the importance of Le Commencement d’Orage for us. ¶ Yet another plea may be urged for the acceptance of the work as being by Rembrandt. It is an accepted fact, that the etchings of Hercules Seghers had great influence on Rembrandt. The inventory of his effects made in 1656 shows that he had in his possession six landscapes by Seghers in addition to the copper of Tobias and the Angel, which latter he reworked and it appears in Rembrandt’s work as the Flight into Egypt. Seghers, as is well known, was a lover of these vast Dutch plains seen from a height, as witness his flat Dutch landscape seen from a height with water in the foreground, and a flat Dutch landscape with a winding river. Now Seghers was born about 1590 and died somewhere about 1640, and it is fair to presume that at this latter date Rembrandt came into possession of the plate of Tobias and the Angel. This is the very period to which I attribute the production of Le Commencement d’Orage, and it is a noteworthy fact that prior to this date we have nothing akin to this and subsequent landscapes, so that it is fair to presume that the art of Seghers created the landscape art of Rembrandt as exemplified by The Three Trees and subsequent etchings, and through him the art of Philips de Koninck. ¶ Moreover the picture of Tobias and the Angel in the National Gallery is directly executed under the influence of Seghers, and I have already drawn attention to the similarity between the building of the sky in this picture and that of Lady Wantage’s. In view of these considerations it would seem that the champions of Philips de Koninck must show more adequate reasons before robbing Rembrandt of the authorship of this superb landscape.

EARLY STAFFORDSHIRE WARES

ILLUSTRATED BY PIECES IN THE BRITISH MUSEUM

❧ WRITTEN BY R. L. HOBSON ❧

ARTICLE I

In beginning a series of articles on Staffordshire wares, which are intended to sketch the history of those fascinating old pieces now so eagerly sought by the collector of pottery, our first duty is to select a convenient starting point. It is improbable that in a county so rich in materials as Staffordshire the making of pottery has suffered any serious intermission since prehistoric times; but I think we may safely assume that the collector, as distinct from the antiquary, will feel little interest in any of the productions of this district prior to the seventeenth century. If we except Gothic paving tiles, a few of the better costrels or pilgrim’s bottles, and the mysterious ‘poteries gracieuses de la reine Elizabeth’ (which, whatever they are, no one thinks of claiming for Staffordshire), it may be said that for five centuries after the Norman conquest the ceramic art of this country boasted nothing better than coarse pitchers, gotches, gourds, and gorges of clumsy shape and uncouth ornament, which appeal to few but the sternest antiquarians. With the seventeenth century, however, begins a new period of development, very gradual at first, but full of interest. ¶ To anyone who has recently visited the Potteries, and seen the great conglomerate of towns intersected by railways and tramlines, with its forest of chimneys and the constantly burning kilns of numberless factories that supply the markets of the world, it is difficult to picture the same district 300 years ago, wooded, wild and picturesque. The great towns were then represented by a few moorland hamlets, the teeming factories by occasional ‘hovels’ and ‘sun-kilns,’ and the armies of workmen by the solitary potter, who, helped by one or two labourers or by his own household alone, threw, glazed and fired his weekly ovenload of crocks, which his wife took to town on a donkey to exchange for the necessaries of life. It is not a very promising picture from a collector’s point of view; and yet in the first few years of the seventeenth century and in circumstances little less primitive than those we have just described, a number of pieces were made that are now eagerly sought after by persons of taste. I need hardly say that it is not the common crocks made for the market or fair that have achieved this apotheosis. The vessels with which we are at present concerned were, we may be sure, of the kind ‘made for honour,’ _tours de force_ to celebrate special occasions, and to be cherished among the heirlooms of the poor.

The Pelican in her Piety.]

For the right understanding of our subject, it will be necessary to go into a few technical details gathered from the earliest notice (in Dr. Plot’s ‘Natural History of Staffordshire,’ 1689) of the industry, and from the silent evidence of the pots themselves. At Burslem, which even in Plot’s time was the ‘greatest pottery’ of the district, only four kinds of clay were in use for the body of the wares: bottle clay, hard fireclay which was mixed with red blending clay to make black wares, and a white clay, so called because it produced a yellow ware, which was the nearest approach to white then obtainable. Besides these there were three finer clays reserved for decorative purposes, known as orange slip, white slip, and a red slip which burnt black. Slip, it must be explained, was a creamy fluid made of clay softened by water. The glaze was produced by powdered lead ore dusted on to the ware. For special pieces the ore was first calcined. Used in its simple form, this powder, when fired, covered the ware with a transparent glass of a warm yellow tone, which gave a rich reddish brown surface to a red body, a yellow colour to white slip ornament, and a similar augmentation to clays of other tints. Only two colouring oxides appear to have been used--manganese, from which a colour was obtained varying according to its intensity from purplish brown to black, and commonly used to streak or mottle the glaze, and oxide of copper, which produced a bright green effect. The unsophisticated potter called the lead ore _smithum_ and the manganese _magnus_. A little Latin went a long way in the district. ¶ Such were the simple materials that the seventeenth-century potter had at his disposal, differing scarcely at all from those used by his mediaeval forerunners. Let us see what use he made of them, when working at his best. Fig. I shows an ornamental dish for a cottage dresser. Fig. II is a type of drinking cup used on special occasions. Other not inelegant drinking vessels of the period are beaker-shaped, or in the form of an elongated dice-box with two handles close together; these are always in black ware. Another shape is seen in Fig. III. The principal feature of most of these quaint tygs, or loving-cups, is their astonishing number of handles, which range from two to as many as twelve. It is supposed that the purpose of this equipment was that the cup might pass from hand to hand, and each guest have a fresh portion of the rim to himself, no doubt an excellent arrangement for the first time round! Not content with half a dozen or so of full-grown handles, the potter frequently inserted between each of them a sort of rudimentary handle consisting of a looped strip of clay. Another variety of the tyg was called a posset pot, and was usually distinguished by a spout. The posset pot would seem to have been a family possession preserved with great respect, and used only on special occasions, such as Christmas time. It also suffered from a plethora of handles. Of any exact recipe for a posset I must plead ignorance, but I fancy it as a compound of mulled ale with an indefinite something floating on the surface, succulent, and exceedingly popular. There were other and still more fanciful drinking vessels besides these. A fuddling cup is shown in Fig. VIII. When it is realized that the six cups communicate with each other internally, so that to empty one you must empty all, the force of the name will be apparent. Any doubt as to the use of these formidable vessels is dispelled by the inscription on a similar piece, _Fill me ful of sidar, drink of me_. The puzzle jug is another playful variety. Fig. IX is an elaborate example from which it will be seen that the liquor must be extracted in some unusual way if the drinker wants to get his full measure, and has any respect for his clothes. The rim and handle are tubes, communicating with the body of the jug, through which the contents must be sucked from a spout in front of the rim, in this case the bird’s beak. To complicate matters there are usually one or more concealed holes in the tubes which must be stopped by the fingers, in addition to a false spout or two, such as is seen on the side of the rim. The puzzle jug is a joke of long standing. Specimens have been found which go back to the fourteenth century, and the trick is not quite unknown at the present day. No doubt their existence was prolonged by the far-seeing publican who appreciated the possibilities implied in the following doggerel that appears on one of them:--

Gentlemen, now try your skill.
I’ll hold you sixpence, if you will,
That you don’t drink unless you spill.

Another pleasant surprise was furnished by the toad mug, in which the drinker as he neared the bottom discovered a well-modelled toad, usually of red clay with white slip eyes. Fig. XI is an example of a rarer class. The owl jug was made with a removable head which could be used as a cup. It is, however, a disputed question whether these jugs are of Staffordshire origin, and it is hinted that they have a suspiciously close parallel in German pottery. Other special forms of a less bibulous kind are shown in Fig. VII, a model of a cradle which tells its own tale; and Fig. X, a horn lantern. Candlesticks, handovens and condiment trays also occur. ¶ We must now return for a moment to technicalities in order to understand the remaining feature of our wares, their ornament. The tyg, jug, cradle or piece of whatever form, was sometimes left to depend for its popularity on its streaky purplish brown or glossy black glaze alone, neither of them a recommendation to be despised; or it was embellished with a scratched design, a pattern impressed by wooden stamps, or applied pads of clay moulded or stamped with rosettes, formal ornament, and occasionally with the human form. I have seen a tyg with busts of King Charles I disposed round its perimeter, an unusually ambitious design for a potter of the period. The handles were made a still more conspicuous feature by the addition of twists of coloured clay, knobs and bosses. ¶ Another and a larger group were ornamented with the slips we spoke of above. These were applied in various ways. First as simple washes to give a light surface to a dark body or _vice versa_ (see Figs. IX and XII). Or again they were dropped or trailed on from a spouted vessel in quaint tracery, dotted patterns, or outlined designs. As might be expected at this period, the tulip more or less conventionalized was a favourite motive. The process is best understood by taking an example. Fig. XII is of light buff ware: the ornament on the upper part, and the inscription and date, WILLIAM CHATERLY, 1696, were traced in black slip dotted with white; the lower half was immersed in black slip, and the pattern added in white; the whole was then leaded and fired. ¶ A third method consisted in dropping slip of one or more colours on the surface and working it about with a wire brush or leather comb until an effect similar to our graining or paper marbling was obtained. Wares so treated are called combed or marbled wares (see Figs. XI and XIII). This process, seen on the tall bottle-shaped costrels attributed to the sixteenth century, continued in its primitive form to the middle of the eighteenth century, when it developed into the agate ware of Whieldon and Wedgwood and their contemporaries. ¶ Lastly, there was _graffiato_ ware, in which a thick coating of slip was laid over a body of contrasting colour and the pattern scratched through so as to discover the body beneath (see Fig. VIII). This kind of ornament has been in use in all countries and from the earliest times. It is seen at its best on Italian pottery from the quattrocento onwards, and the continuance of its Italian name is a compliment to the masterpieces of that country.

It remains to speak of dates and localities. Those of our wares that have no slip decoration can be traced back to the first years of the seventeenth century, if not to Elizabethan times. They continued to the early part of the eighteenth century, when they either disappeared or were improved out of recognition. Like all primitive wares, they were manufactured all over the country, and though it is certain that a large number of them were made in Staffordshire, it would be difficult to claim any particular piece for that district. Slip decoration, which dates back to mediaeval times, was equally universal. Indeed we know that a well-defined class of slip ware with stamped ornaments and patterns of dots and dashes was made at Wrotham in Kent from 1612-1717. Another group with a distinctive kind of scroll and fern ornament in thin white slip, and inscriptions usually of Puritanical tone, was made in or near London from the middle of the sixteenth century. A third kind is attributed with much probability to Cockpit Hill, Derby. It is characterized by moulded patterns with raised outlines which contained the coloured slips much as the _cloisons_ contain the enamels on _cloisonnée_ work. ¶ But the best slipware of Staffordshire, as exemplified by Figs. I, XII, and XIV, is unmistakable in style, and yields to none in picturesque effect. Our earliest clue to its history was given by the simple legend scratched on the back of a dish similar to Fig. I, THOMAS TOFT. TINKERS CLOUGH. I MADE IT., 166–. Tinker’s Clough is a lane between Shelton and Wedgwood’s Etruria. On the strength of this modest confession the name Toft ware has been applied by many writers to all slipwares of this class, and even to slipware generally. A number of other names, sometimes with dates, are found on these wares (_e.g._ Ralph Toft 1676, Charles Toft, Ralph Turnor 1681, Robart (_sic_) Shaw 1692), many of them no doubt the names of potters, others of those for whom the pots were made. Slipware, though naturally superseded by the finer earthenwares of the eighteenth century, is not yet extinct, and may be seen occasionally at country fairs of the present day. ¶ The question of Staffordshire delft ware is too long to consider here. It is a moot point if any such thing existed before the eighteenth century, and it is certain that delft was never made there to any extent worth considering. But this article would be incomplete if one omitted to give a few of the quaint inscriptions that are a feature of the various kinds of pots we have discussed. They tell their own story and need no comment:--

The gift is small, Good will is all.

Mary Oumfaris your cup. 1678. [Can this spell Humphreys!]

This for W. F. 1691.

The best is not to good for you. 1697. I.B. R.F.

Anne Draper this cup I made for you and so no more. I.W. 1707.

Come good wemen drink of the best Ion my lady and all the rest.

Brisk be to the med you desier as her love yow ma requare.

Robert Pool mad this cup With gud posset fil and

The aposiopesis in the last is pregnant with meaning. ¶ Naturally after all these years good examples of old Staffordshire wares are scarce, and when they appear in the market they can only be bought at proportionately good prices, owing to the eagerness with which they are sought by the collector. And _me judice_ they deserve all the attention they get. There is something genuinely fascinating in their naïve simplicity and their entire lack of all that is artificial or extraneous. We do not, of course, pretend that for instance the use of slip originated in this country, but the particular application of it that is so characteristic of the Staffordshire wares is of purely native development. These early pots are like the potters who made them and their friends who used them, English to the backbone.

[~Fig. XV.~--Cup of Slipware, dated 1719.]

NEW ACQUISITIONS AT THE NATIONAL MUSEUMS

~Victoria and Albert Museum~

~A Mediaeval Silver Chalice from Iceland~

The national collection of silversmiths’ work at South Kensington has lately been enriched by the acquisition of a silver chalice of exceptional beauty and interest, which has reached this country, by way of Denmark, with the history of having belonged formerly to the church of Grundt, a village in the north of Iceland. ¶ As will be seen from the illustration, the chalice is of the early type in which the round contour prevails, in hemispherical bowl, bulb-shaped knop, and circular foot. The bowl is of fine workmanship, fashioned with the hammer with admirable uniformity, and finished with a high polish on the outside. Round its margin runs the leonine hexameter (with some allowances) + SVMMITVR HINC NVNDA DIVINI SANGVINIS VNDA (no doubt for ‘sumitur hinc munda divini sanguinis unda ’).[34] The lettering of the inscription, of which a rubbing is shown, is interesting, apart from the beauty and freedom of its forms, in helping to fix an approximate date for the object it adorns. ¶ The knop, separated from the bowl by a narrow indented necking with beaded edges, is cast hollow, pierced and chiselled with four compartments of foliage. The leafage in each compartment is of a different design, and in each springs from the turned-up ends of a circumscribing band stamped with a row of annulets (see illustration). The upper spandrels so formed are filled each with a small leaf; the lower are blank. ¶ The trumpet-shaped foot is finished round the margin with a bevel, engraved with a rudimentary fret and turned out at the edge in a narrow rim. At its junction with the knop it is enriched with a border of vertical leaves rising from a kind of nebuly band. The workmanship of the foot is notably inferior to that of the bowl; the hammermarks are plainly visible inside, and outside no careful polishing has smoothed away the concentric markings of the turning tool which was used, after the hammer, on both bowl and foot. It may perhaps be suggested that the inferior finish of the foot is evidence of its not having originally belonged to the bowl; but the suggestion is discredited by the excellent proportion existing between the two, and by the similarity of both to the corresponding parts of other examples about to be noticed. It is more probable that a higher finish was imparted to the bowl in deference to its function as the receptacle of the consecrated wine. ¶ To conclude the description, the enriched portions, that is to say, the band of inscription round the bowl, the knop with the parts adjacent, and the bevel of the foot, and these only, are gilt, by the old mercury process, with a pale gold. The measurements are: height 4-13/16 in. (12˙2 cm.), diameter of bowl 3¾ in. (9˙5 cm.), diameter of foot 3-9/16 in. (9 cm.). With the chalice is a paten of plain silver, a slightly concave disc 5-1/16 in. (12˙9 cm.) in diameter, with a roughly-formed circular depression. As this is of very rough make, and has no appearance of being that which originally accompanied the chalice, it need not be referred to further.