Mysterious Wisdom Read Online Free

Academy’s annual competition between sculptors and painters, in which each was challenged to tackle the other’s discipline, Linnell took first place.
    At the Academy, he was tutored in art theory. He attended Turner’s last lecture on perspective and was there for the first by Flaxman on sculpture. He pored over the art of the past, studying the brawny designs of Michelangelo in which the physical and spiritual meet with a muscular force, as well as the subtler harmonies of Raphael which he knew from the copperplate reproductions of Giulio di Antonio Bonasone, a fine selection of whose engravings he would one day own. He was deeply indebted to these masters of the Italian Renaissance, but it was the work of their German contemporary, Albrecht Dürer, which he most loved, admiring its unique combination of precision and excess: an appreciation that one day he would pass on to Palmer.
    Sometimes, in the evenings, after his day at the Academy was over, he would go to visit Dr John Monro, the physician who had attended George III in his madness. Monro would pay him one shilling and sixpence an hour to make copies from his fine collection of drawings, reproductions which Linnell suspected would sometimes get sold on as originals. He enjoyed the companionship of his fellow students, figures such as David Wilkie and Benjamin Haydon, both of whom were to go on to make names for themselves, but who then were still lads, lunching together on the heavily marinated stews of London beef houses or, when there was no money to spare, larking about in the streets. Sometimes, in summer, they would go down to Millbank to swim in the Thames; or make their way to the house of the hospitable Varley to dine on eggs, bread and butter all washed down with porter and to argue with each other late into the night. And all the time Linnell was reading. He devoured endless volumes: Paley’s Moral Philosophy and Natural Theology , Francis Bacon’s essays, Milton’s Paradise Lost , Homer’s Odyssey and the Bible along with a profusion of Baptist tracts pressed upon him by Cornelius Varley (one of John’s brothers) who by way of supporting argument also persuaded him to go and listen to John Martin, an impassioned but plain-spoken old Baptist pastor. Linnell was impressed by his unflinching conviction and liked to tell the story of how once this old preacher, invited to a grand dinner, had found himself confronted by an array of rich delicacies. ‘There is nothing here that I can eat,’ he had informed his hosts who had immediately made enquiries as to what further choice morsels might be brought. ‘Bring me,’ Martin had said, ‘an onion and a pot of porter.’
    In 1812, Linnell was received into the Baptist faith. From then on, his religious beliefs would infiltrate every aspect of his life. Stringent to the point of severity, he set himself to learning Hebrew and Greek. He did not trust the authorised version of the Bible and, convinced that meanings and truths were getting lost in translation, was determined to read it in its original form.
    By then Linnell was giving a few drawing lessons of his own. In 1814 he was elected a member of the Society of Painters in Oil and Watercolour, a professional organisation which would help to promote him as an artist. Through his Baptist connections his first important portrait commissions began to come in, including one of the crumple-faced Martin who had converted him. It was also in chapel circles that he met Charles Heathcote Tatham, an architect who had studied in Italy and acquired a substantial reputation. Tatham began introducing Linnell into aristocratic society where he would pick up the sort of commissions that would launch his career.
    Linnell needed to make money. He had fallen in love with Mary Palmer, the daughter of his chapel treasurer (but no relation to Samuel). He was hoping to marry her and yet to do so he would have to be capable of