THIS painter, so well-known in Belgium, has a comparatively narrow reputation in our country. Those who have visited Brussels are aware of the rank assigned him by his own people; but to the bulk of the British public he is little more than a name, if even that. This may be in some measure due to the fact, that, as a whole, the paintings of Wiertz are characterized to a painful degree by the same fantastic morbidness that marks the writings of Edgar Allan Poe, a morbidness hardly falling in with the healthy tastes of Englishmen. And it must also be noted that the painter throughout his life took especial pains to prevent the dispersion of his pictures, so that at the present moment the little gallery at Brussels, known as the Musée Wiertz, contains nearly all the productions of his brush.

Antoine Wiertz was born at Dinant on the Meuse, on the 22nd February, 1806. His father, a native of Rocroy, had served in the French Republican army, but obtaining his discharge in 1803, had reverted to his trade,—that of tailor-and ultimately obtained a post in the Dutch police. It was from his father that Wiertz was believed to have inherited his love of freedom, and his fierce, independent spirit, which carried self-reliance to the verge of cynicism. As a child, he is related to have said to his mother, "I would be a King for this-that I might do as I like, and turn out a great Painter." And this depreciation of kings for their attributes of political power, was shown later in life, when he refused a medal awarded as a royal prize for one of his pictures. King," he said, "is not Michel Angelo." When still quite young, he exhibited much of that universality of genius which marked the period of

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the Renaissance. He had aspirations, and in a sense faculties, for poetry and music, as well as for painting; he was exuberant in creative activity, as Leonardo da Vinci and other ancient Italians were in various directions of art. Fortunately, physical power was not equal to such pressing calls, and, warned in time, Wiertz settled down to the branch in which probably his only real strength lay, and painting became the object of his life. At ten years old, he began to draw portraits, without previous training of any sort, and in wood carving, he achieved a horse and a Madonna,-life being absent from the one, and devotion from the other, as might naturally be supposed. His first grand commission, however, was from the innkeeper of the village, who not only requested him to paint a signboard, but supplied him with oil-colours for the purpose. The boy threw himself into the work with the real ardour of genius, and was only grieved to think that the Black Horse scarcely admitted of those lights and shades he was so anxious to attempt to produce. More scope for fancy was afforded by a second signboard-entitled Le Commis Voyageur, where in addition to a horse, the introduction of a human figure became allowable. These two signs were of course sufficient for village fame, and the gossips predicted that the little Antoine was destined for great things.

At fourteen, though still without training, he had made considerable progress in his art. His mind had enlarged, and his aspirations expanded : little of the boy was left even in his person, for his figure was tall and supple, and muscular beyond his years; his features straight and clearly cut, hair and eyes of the jay's wing, and a carriage with the dignity of manhood.

His great distress was that he had seen no masterpieces: the Stations of the Cross or the rude altar-piece in the village church only serving to convince him how different such art must be. The great genius of the Low Countries seemed to claim him as follower and disciple, and in his feverish fancy, he imagined Rubens to visit him in dreams, and to whisper in his breathless hearing, "Follow me, Antoine, follow me. Quick! to Antwerp where I live in my imperishable canvases." Of course this journey to Antwerp became an absorbing desire, and at last thither he repaired, with what feelings those only who have experienced the fulfilment of a great and cherished wish can imagine. An anecdote is told of him shortly after his arrival in the city, which discloses how completely the order of the social world was in his mind regulated by artistic merit, and recalls a well-known incident in the life of Beethoven. When standing one day in the Museum, absorbed in contemplation before a picture by the great Master, the Prince of Orange, in all the prestige of his Waterloo fame, passed along the gallery,—and a friend touched Wiertz on the arm : "The prince! Antoine," he said, "take off your hat." "Mais non," replied the artist, recalled to the outer world, and, pointing to the masterpiece above him "Je ne l'ai pas ôté pour celui-la."

And now began one of those striking struggles of the kind maintained with such perseverance by our own Haydon, which, while they excite a sense of the nobility and self-reliance of the men who can go through them, still leave a dreadful sadness in the thought that such things must be. Poor Wiertz had genius, enthusiasm, courage, industry; but he had no money beyond what would supply the barest necessities of life. And so in a miserable garret, twelve feet by six, lighted by a window in the roof, and furnished (if the word is not inappropriate) with a narrow bed and a couple of chairs, he fought his weary way to reputation. So cold was his lodging

in winter, that when he awoke, his hair was sometimes stiff with frost. But still he worked on with the greatest assiduity. By day he painted, and at night he studied anatomy in his bed, for he could not afford a fire. He has fallen to sleep with the human skeleton by his side, when exhaustion would no longer permit research; and his eyes on awakening have rested on the dread object, which almost made him believe he had faded from unconsciousness into the region of death, where the unfleshed frameworks of bones might pass for natural inhabit

ants.

His poverty-stricken appearance, contrasting so sadly with his youth, made him a familiar figure in the neighbourhood where he resided, but a derisive smile or a shrug of the shoulders constituted most of the sympathy he excited.

He was willing to paint portraits for money, but steadily refused to part with what he considered his "works," and to a visitant who made his way to the garret, and desired to purchase a picture, he replied with sternness, "Keep your money; gold gives the death-blow to art." No Rosetti or Burne Jones of our day could have wished for a sentiment more exalted. However, with his portraits, Antoine managed to sustain the struggle, and to procure some valuable lessons from Herreyns and Van Bree. In 1821, his case being brought to the notice of government, he obtained a small annuity, commencing at 120 florins, and afterwards increased to 200 florins. Satisfied with this slender sum, he was able to adapt his wants to his resources, and at twenty years of age, to lay down this grand but melancholy maxim

"At an epoch when technical skill is preferred to conception, the young artist must be careful to imitate the great Poussin, by painting for posterity; avoiding vulgar taste, and being content to remain poor so that he may become one of the Masters." In 1832, Wiertz gained the Prix de Rome, and thus obtained the means of carrying

out a long-desired project of visiting Italy. He was going to the land of Virgil and Horace, Dante and Tasso, but they were not in his thoughts, the Iliad was his companion. Even in crossing the Alps, he had already conceived the design of chosing a subject from the Iliad. "I keep Homer under my pillow," he wrote, "and it is astonishing how its perusal affects me. When I read of the combats of Ajax or Hector, I am possessed with a fury. I feel a burning desire to produce such a representation as should surpass the old masters." His enthusiasm took shape. A picture was commenced in 1835, the canvas-here again with a curious parallel to Haydon,-being no less than thirty feet in length by twenty in height. The subject was the Combat over the dead body of Patroclus. In less than six months (far too short a time), the painting was completed, and was first exhibited at Rome, where it was enthusiastically admired. The great Danish sculptor, Thorwaldsen, on seeing it, exclaimed, "This young man is a giant." In the summer of the same year, Wiertz returned to Belgium, preceded by his picture, where it was received quite as favourably as in Rome. The press was loud in its praise, and the Academy at Antwerp gave a banquet in honour of the artist. But gratifying as the commendation of his countrymen was, he yearned for the applause of a larger community, and arranged to have the Combat sent to Paris. A series of mishaps on the way, caused the piece to arrive too late for the Salon of that year; and though it appeared in the ensuing season, it was "skied" in such a manner as to pass almost unnoticed by the critics. Wiertz felt the disappointment keenly: hopes that had long sustained him in poverty and privation were rudely dashed. But with real genius rebuffs only lead to increased exertions. removed to Liège with his aged mother, and there in retirement painted portraits for support, and patiently worked away on huge canvases at subjects dis

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closing the exercise of a most powerful imagination. Writing to a friend at this period, he says "To paint pictures for glory, and portraits to keep the pot boiling, such are the fixed occupations of my life." On his mother's death in 1848, Wiertz left Liège for Brussels, and looked round in the latter city for a studio large enough for the scale of canvas which alone satisfied his aspirations.

An old disused workshop was at last discovered suited to his purpose, and in this he at once commenced the work which gave him the rank he holds amongst Belgian artists. It was entitled Le Triomphe du Christ; and in this picture, more perhaps than any other of his works, the two distinctive characters of his genius displayed themselves-originality of conception and ability of execution! The face of the dead Saviour on the cross is seen through a veil of dark and misty clouds, whilst the angels of light to whom the completion of the mystery has been a signal of victory, are represented as driving the spirits of darkness, whose reign is over, into the abyss beneath. Lucifer is prominent amidst the demons; and the figure of the archangel pursuing him has been much admired as a type of irresistible force and life-like movement. contrast between the passion and struggle below, and the calmness and peace of the Saviour's expression, is depicted with singular power.

The

About the year 1850, Wiertz found a friend in M. Rogier, minister of the Interior, a lover and patron of the arts. Through his influence, a studio was constructed by the Government for the use of the artist during his lifetime. The conditions required that the seven large pictures which Wiertz had up to that time executed, were to remain in this building, and, together with such others as he might afterwards paint, were to form a national

museum.

This studio, now called the Musée Wiertz, was a roomy building of the simplest construction. Brick in