On the whole I think the review of Blake’s pencil sketches and drawings impress one as powerfully as any of the work of his which we have previously seen, and mainly for the reason that it is in these that we can most clearly trace his thoughts in process of evolution.

And now all that remains for us to do is to visit the National Gallery, and there in the little octagonal room behind the Turner Gallery seek out those few precious works which are the representatives of his genius to the public at large. Whether that public often penetrates here, or, being here, lingers even momently before the few strange little pictures by Blake which it contains, may be questioned.

That they are not popular, and that the little room is never crowded, needs no demonstration. Blake’s greatness is not of the kind that can ever compete successfully with the claims of such masters as his contemporaries—Stothard, Romney, Gainsborough and Reynolds—whose brilliant and alluring work adorns the galleries through which one must pass to reach the little octagonal room where his few pictures, modestly retired behind the door, await such as will patiently seek them out.

First let us look at the water-colour numbered 43, entitled “David delivered out of Deep Waters.” It has qualities of handling akin to the “River of Life,” belonging to Captain Butts, and the conception is specially Blakean. David, with his arms bound round with cords, floats symbolically on dark waters. Above, seven cherubim, with wings interlacing like the shields of a phalanx, swoop down in rhythmic ranks, with Christ in their centre. The remarkable thing about these cherubim is that two have the faces of children, two those of old white-bearded men, two those of mature manhood, while the centre one alone, immediately below Christ, has the face of a beautiful youth.

The figure and attitude of the Saviour have a noble grace, but the face is weak and ineffectual, as is usual with Blake when treating the divine lineaments.

The effect of the picture—with those strong, ordered wings in ranks, recalling the banners borne in some rich church procession—is one of curious symmetry, of almost heraldic composition. A delicate and remote strangeness of imagination makes itself felt in every line, every tint; and the range of tone is noticeably peculiar, the deepest and highest parts of the scale being used with great effect, while no recourse has been had to the intermediate gamut, so that there is no full body of colour present at all. The nearest approach to it is the quivering pale golden light that is diffused around the figure of Christ.

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DAVID, DELIVERED OUT OF MANY WATERS

Water-colour. In National Gallery, undated