File:Life and letters of John Constable, R. A (1896) (14593044477).jpg

Identifier: lifelettersofjoh00lesl (find matches)
Title: Life and letters of John Constable, R. A
Year: 1896 (1890s)
Authors: Leslie, Charles Robert, 1794-1859
Subjects: Contable, John, 1776-1837 Artists
Publisher: London : Chapman and Hall
Contributing Library: University of California Libraries
Digitizing Sponsor: Internet Archive

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opsto me. On the 16th of October the Houses of Parliament wereburnt; and Constable witnessed the scene from a hackney coach,in which, with his two eldest sons, he took a station on West-minster Bridge. The evening of the 3 ist he spent with me ; and,while describing the fire, he drew with a pen, on half a sheet ofletter paper, Westminster Hall, as it showed itself during the-conflagration ; blotting the light and shade with ink, which herubbed with his finger where he wished it to be lightest. He then,on another half-sheet, added the towers of the abbey, and that ofSt. Margarets Church, and the papers, being joined, form a verygrand sketch of the whole scene. He was now again at work on the Salisbury, from theMeadows. This was a picture which he felt would probably infuture be considered his greatest; for if among his smaller worksthere were many of more perfection of finish, this he considered asconveying the fullest impression of the compass of iiis art. Butit met with no purchaser.
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o D< 5 O 3CO i834-) SALISBURF FROM THE MEADOWS. 295 * December 4///. My dear Leslie,—I have never left my large Salisburysince I saw you. It would much delight me if, in the course ofto-day or to-morrow, you could see it for a moment. I cannot helptrying to believe that there may be something in it that, in somemeasure at least, may warrant your too high opinion of my land-scape in general. December i^th. My dear Leslie,—I write to beg of you to let me put off our visit to for a little. I was all day on Saturday at Ham, and shall be all this day with Wilkie, and I can hardlyspare so much of my valueless time, for though my life and occu-pation are useless, still I trifle on in a way that seems to myselflike doing something; and my canvas soothes me into a forgetful-ness of much that is disagreeable. I could not get on with ; how could I ? you will say. . . . Constable was at this time much disturbed by some transac-tions with the last person mentioned in this note, and with som

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