William Blake Part 13

"With wrath He did subdue The serpent bulk of Nature's dross Till He had nailed it to the Cross."

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE PRAYER OF THE INFANT JESUS.

_Reproduced by kind permission of Mr Sydney Morse._]

Here was what Blake wanted--an anger and fury only greater than his own.

He proceeded impatiently to tear to pieces the conventional Jesus.

Was Jesus obedient, or gentle, or humble? There is no simple answer. His life was dual--G.o.dward and manward. To G.o.d He was obedient and humble: to man disobedient and proud. His life cannot be explained in terms of law, just because it was a life, and life is greater than law or logic. It was no more possible for Him to keep the letter of the ten commandments than for us. He set aside the Sabbath, He exposed His disciples to murder, He turned the law from harlots, He lived a vagrant life on other people's hard-won gains; He coveted the best gifts for His friends; He lived, not by laws and rules, but by an all-compelling instinct and impulse. He became in the eyes of His contemporaries a criminal only deserving of capital punishment.

Blake read on breathlessly.

A woman, a sinner taken in the act, was brought to this terrible Jesus.

Instantly He became a lamb. With exquisite gentleness, sweetness, and tact, He spoke words chosen not to wound or shame her, and then sent her away forgiven and blest. This was no isolated event. His kindness to outcasts never failed. He was angry with Pharisees, yet even to them strangely without resentment. There was in Him a marvellously tender compa.s.sion, united with a hot hatred of meanness and hypocrisy. All fierce extremes met in Him. Here was what Blake had been seeking all his life--that for which he had been a rebel. Just here, in the old gospel, looming out of the past, he gained his supreme vision of One who satisfied his utmost need. He gazed, and worshipped Him in His immense energy and strength, His lowliness and meekness, Who had deserved all that His chosen people could give Him, yet had borne no resentment when they despised and rejected Him. Slowly Blake saw his life as a mere blot by the side of that resplendent life. Then all resentment died in him. The child spirit returned. He accepted his earthly lot, henceforth content to do his work with all his might, careless whether his generation paid the wages due to him or not.

CHAPTER XII

DECLINING YEARS AND DEATH

Blake, like the Patriarch, wrestled through his dark night till the day dawned. He had wrenched the secret out of the angel messenger. Henceforth he was an Israelite indeed--a guileless Prince with G.o.d, with a word of G.o.d on his lips for such as had ears to hear. Doubtless if we could arrange the details of human experience we would decree that after such a contact with the Divine a man should for the rest of his days sail on a halcyon sea into a haven of rest. But though the giants are slain, their ghosts return; and Blake, like Jacob, was still haunted by spectres which only did not deter him because he had painfully learnt to discern between the shadow and the substance.

The day dawned, but not in the way that most would choose. Worldly success was farther from him than ever. Instead of himself arising like a blaze of light on the England that he loved, it was his spirit that was secretly illumined by the spiritual sun; and while he could live by the memory of his resplendent vision of Christ, yet as he moved among men he was merely observed to halt on his thigh, or in other words to be touched with that frenzy or madness which marks those who have rashly gazed on the sun.

For the next ten years--years of rich spiritual maturity--Blake worked incessantly; but his life was so obscure that his biographers have been able to glean but a handful of facts.

Immense changes were taking place in European literature and art. The new spirit and the old spirit were energetically at work side by side. At home, Jane Austen brought the novel as understood and treated by f.a.n.n.y Burney to consummate perfection. Sir Walter Scott cast a magic glow of romance over the past. Wordsworth was piercing through the sacramental significance of nature. Coleridge was dreaming weird mystical dreams in the open daylight. Abroad, Goethe was exploring the riches of man's fallen nature. Beethoven, bursting away from Haydn, was introducing a world of pa.s.sion into his music. Napoleon was a new kind of man.

Did Blake read the signs of the times? And what did he think of them? We know that he admired Wordsworth, but feared lest nature should ensnare him. The rest is guess-work. Blake could hardly have known how to place himself among the great moderns. It is we, looking back over the lapse of a century, who can see his deep affinity with many that came after him. I would say more. He had antic.i.p.ated much of the better side of Nietzsche's teaching, but had seen it still more clearly in the character and teaching of Christ. He is strictly the Evangelist to the modern world enamoured of art, strength, and spontaneity, to bring it back to Christ.

Amidst these changes we can just discern a change in Blake's spiritual life which is common to all original geniuses. The Psalmist sang: "Instead of thy fathers thou shalt have children whom thou mayst make princes."

Blake had hardly had a father, but he had had friends or brothers that were too apt to play the part of the heavy father. These were pa.s.sing one by one, and their places were being taken by young men, sons who sat at the feet of the wise man and gave him the reverence that was his due.

We cannot say that Blake had a genius for friendship. With none of his old friends had he been really intimate. He was always uncompromising on his convictions, and these were so peculiar that not even Swedenborgian Flaxman could always understand him. His feeling for Flaxman survived with difficulty. What might have grown to a close friendship for Hayley died the moment he saw him as he was. Stothard had refused his offered hand after their quarrel. There remained Fuseli, of whom he wrote:

"The only man that e'er I knew Who did not make me almost spew Was Fuseli."

Fuseli was a learned man who could scamper about the world's history with breathless speed. He lectured on the different ages of art with all the fluency of a Swiss polyglot waiter. Out of the copious flow of his eloquence one can, with long patience, fish up such fine things as this on Michael Angelo: "A beggar rose from his hand the patriarch of poverty," or this on Rembrandt's Crucifixion: "Rembrandt concentrated the tremendous moment in one flash of pallid light. It breaks on the body of Christ, shivers down His limbs, and vanishes on the armour of a crucifix; the rest is gloom."

Fuseli had shared with Blake an admiration for Lavater. In an age of crude scepticism he openly confessed his faith in Christ. With Blake he reckoned outline the foundation of great art. Here was much on which the two men could meet. But Fuseli never quite dug down to fundamental principles.

He declared again and again that "our ideas are the offspring of our senses," and Blake regarded such d.a.m.nable Lockian heresy as rank atheism; and among his other heresies, also d.a.m.nable in Blake's eyes, was an enthusiasm for t.i.tian and Correggio, and a summary denial that Albert Durer was a man of genius. Hence, Fuseli and Blake, with regard for one another, were never intimate friends. It was about the year 1818 that Blake found himself in the midst of a new and younger circle. George c.u.mberland, himself young and orthodox on outline, introduced him to John Linnell and John Varley.

John Varley moved from 2 Harris Place to 5 Broad Street, Golden Square, about 1806. His house was shared with William Mulready, who married his sister. His wife, Esther, was sister of John Gisborne, who moved in the Sh.e.l.ley and G.o.dwin set. Another sister married Copley Fielding. Here was a group of artists connected by marriage.

Varley helped to found the Water Colour Society in 1804, and drew to himself many young men who were more or less his pupils. Among these, besides Mulready, were W. H. Hunt, John Linnell, Samuel Palmer, James Holmes.

With the big, fat, genial Varley Blake soon became friends. Varley was a typical once-born man, and his clean earthiness made its irresistible appeal to the twice-born Blake with his head in the skies. Besides his water-colours he pursued with equal ardour and success the study of astrology.

Minds of Blake's order have been apt to believe in astrology, like Jacob Boehme and Paracelsus; but Varley failed to convert Blake because, no doubt, of the extremely materialistic explanation that he could only give of his science. The stars, according to the astrology that the Western mind scoffs at, are supposed to exert a direct influence on the destinies and characters of men. But there is an Oriental doctrine that dispenses with such a crude theory, considering that the stars have no more direct influence on character than the hands of a clock on time. Like all mysticism, East and West, it regards the universe as the macrocosm and man the microcosm. Between the two there is a correspondence, and therefore the state of the microcosm can be read by the starry indications of the macrocosm as the time can be known by the hands of an exact clock or sundial.

Varley understood nothing of all this, and so failed to convince Blake.

But he gave him what he needed far more, hearty good will and unpatronizing faith and reverence. Blake could pursue his visions and report on them, certain that his companion would believe in his marvels with that perfect credulity which so many are ready to give who have rejected the marvels of Christianity. At his bidding he evoked visions of past worthies, and sketched them while they waited. From 1819 to, 1820 Blake executed no less than fifty heads, including his famous _Ghost of a Flea_.

Those of us who were thrilled in our boyhood by the tales of Lord Lytton like to know that Varley was consulted by him before writing his fascinating _Zanoni_ and _Strange Story_.

A still greater comfort and help to Blake was John Linnell.

John Linnell began by copying George Morland, pa.s.sed under the influence of Sir Benjamin West, and then became a pupil of Varley, who sent him straight to nature. Varley's brother Cornelius attended a baptist chapel, and he induced Linnell to go with him and listen to the sermons of its pastor, the Reverend John Martin. He was convicted of sin, converted, duly immersed, and regularly enrolled. Henceforth religion of a puritanic kind ruled his life, and made him easy to dissenters of the different sects, but stiff and uncompromising towards the Church of England and the clergy. At one time he had thoughts of joining the quakers, whose position is far different from that of the baptists; but he was deterred by Bernard Barton, who, though fond of art himself, warned him that the Friends as a whole looked with extreme suspicion on anyone addicted to such a questionable pursuit as that of making pictures.

Blake was introduced to Linnell by George c.u.mberland in 1818 at Linnell's house in Rathbone Place. They soon became intimate. Their religious conception of art united them, and Linnell much relished Blake's tirades against kings and priests. It was only when Blake spoke with equal licence of the s.e.x pa.s.sion that Linnell felt an adverse tug at their friendship.

Linnell took over for his country house Collins' Farm, North End, Hampstead, and there Blake became a regular visitor on Sunday afternoons until sickness and death put an end to his visits.

North End, now in the County of London, is still a village on the Heath.

On Sat.u.r.days, Sundays, and Bank Holidays it is overlaid with trippers, orange-peel, and paper bags. But no sooner do the holiday-makers return to work than North End and its marvellous portion of heath resumes its mystery, and the dreamer can dream undisturbed till the next people's holiday.

It is pleasant to think of Blake arriving at Collins' Farm, then after the friendly greetings emerging by the Bull and Bush, sacred meeting-house of many artists, crossing the road to Rotten Row, mounting the hillock and viewing the fir-trees which still stand in all their mysterious beauty. If only North End had been south instead of north! Blake declared with seeming perverseness that the North upset his stomach. Varley would have explained to him that his ruling sign being Leo, he required like all lions the warm sunny south.

Linnell introduced him to many of his young friends, who, catching the infection, hailed Blake as a master and sat at his feet to learn. We note this deference because it is what Blake so richly deserved; but even among his new young friends there was nothing like complete discipleship.

Blake's art was an inseparable part of his whole pa.s.sionate, chequered spiritual life. No one whose inner life does not repeat the same broad outlines can really approach near to him as an artist. James Holmes, with his easy, superficial, courtly life, might teach Blake to brighten his water-colours, but he was completely outside of his spiritual travail, and could only wonder mildly why young idealists like Calvert, Palmer, and Richmond could be so preoccupied with Blake's half-crazed thoughts.

Even among those chosen three, there were no sons of thunder.

Edward Calvert caught Blake's spirit in his lovely and simple woodcuts, but quite rightly followed his own bent, which led him ultimately along a different path from Blake's zigzag lightning tract. The master always transpierced Nature, and lived in a transcendental region: Calvert, serene and calm, detected the heart of the Divine beating equally in Nature, and reproduced what he heard and saw in musical and sweet landscapes, where storms never come, and which modern artists would probably prefer to see disturbed by an earthquake.

Samuel Palmer, with youthful impulse and generosity, gave himself to Blake, and, rendered receptive by his love and enthusiasm, soon a.s.similated all the master's principles. Palmer's rich nature allowed of much reverence for Linnell too, and in his early work it is easy to find examples first of Blake's influence and then of Linnell's. Like Calvert, he was deeply and equably devout. He did not demand that austerity which drew Linnell to the baptist, John Martin; nor that pa.s.sion for which Blake went to h.e.l.l. The gentler elements of his soul led him away from harsh sects to the more temperate Church of England, which can, among other things, still nourish those souls that require the kind of diet that George Herbert could provide so bountifully.

We look with extreme interest to see how Blake's professed disciples set about to unite their religion and art. They did it as many other Christian artists have done it, as Fra Angelico did supremely well; yet they missed Blake's daemonic energy, and so have failed to meet that demand of our own age which will at all cost have pa.s.sion for the driving force of religion if it is to have religion at all. Samuel Palmer painted and etched some exquisite pictures; but he was in after years gently apologetic for Blake's _Marriage of Heaven and h.e.l.l_, and he left the problem of the synthesis of religion and art in the light of Christianity precisely where it was left by the best Italian Christian artists.

George Richmond completed the little inner circle of three disciples. He was only sixteen when he met Blake at John Linnell's, North End, and then walked with him back to Fountain Court, Strand, thrilling with a unique impression as if he were verily walking with the prophet Isaiah. For a while he was plastic clay in the hands of Blake, revealing the master's influence in _Abel the Shepherd_ and _Christ and the Woman of Samaria_, but like his friends, Calvert and Palmer, he had sufficient native energy to follow his own instinct, and when he found himself in portrait painting there is nothing to remind us even remotely of Blake. His sitters appear a n.o.ble family. Cardinal Newman, Bishop Wilberforce, Charlotte Bronte, Mrs Gaskell, and many others are extraordinarily beautiful, and might all be taken for brothers and sisters. Richmond's religious feelings brought him into fellowship with the tractarian movement, which of all recent religious movements in England allows most standing-ground for one devoted to religion and art. He did not paint t.i.tans, but he puts us in love with his beautiful family, and that surely is no mean achievement.

Among Blake's friends must be mentioned Crabb Robinson and Frederick Tatham, not because of their intrinsic importance to Blake, but their use to us. Robinson was often sorely perplexed by the vehement paradoxes that Blake wilfully poured into his ears; but at the same time, he thought it worth while to jot them down in his diary.

Tatham came near enough to Blake to enable him to fulfil several of the indispensable qualifications of the biographer. Afterwards he became an Irvingite, and, conscience-ridden, destroyed many of Blake's works that had come into his hands because he reckoned them unsound.

One other very curious friendship stands out, that with Thomas Griffiths Wainewright.

Wainewright was born out of due season. He might have avoided the unpleasant and ugly things that befell him if he had been a contemporary of the Borgias. He was an artist, and art is no respecter of persons. We are tempted to say that art is fallen man's supreme consolation. It is a.s.suredly the meeting-place between a certain kind of saint and a certain kind of sinner. The highest artist-saint, like Jesus Christ, appears to create himself rather than works of art, and such always makes an irresistible appeal to the artist-sinner, as we see that Christ did to Oscar Wilde in his _De Profundis_ and to George Moore in his _Brook Kerith_. The latter seems to be as far as the artist can reach without religion, and it could teach most Christians something about their Master.

When Blake discovered that the Real Man in each one of us has imagination for his chief and working faculty, he overcame once for all the provoking dualism of art and religion, and at the same time he became an attraction to those who live an imaginative life, especially among sinners.

Wainewright was drawn to Blake for precisely the same reason that many modern enthusiasts are who could hardly be reckoned religious. He is permanently interesting to the psychologist as to the artist, and hence he could not escape the notice of Lord Lytton, who introduced him into his _Lucretia_, and above all of Oscar Wilde, who darted upon him, and who, with such a subject, was loosened to write in his most witty, brilliant, and characteristic style.

Here I must mention, in order, Blake's chief works from 1810 to the end.