The Sun.
London, England, 1856-07-04 00:00:00

THE COUNCIL. OF WAR.

PAINTED BY AUGUSTUS LEOPOLD EGG, A.R.A.
The absence of Mr. Egg from this year's Exhibi-
tion of the Royal Academy has at length been ac-
counted for, and that, moreover, most satisfacto-
rily. Here, in this noble historical picture (now
on view at the Messrs. Graves' Gallery, near the
Opera. Colonnade), is his remarkable contribution
for 1856 to the Art Treasures of the United King-
dom. Thanks to Mr. Roger Fenton, we are all of
us long ago familiar with the subject of the paint-
ing as originally portrayed in one of the
most popular of all his three hundred
celebrated photographs. The Council of War
held on the morning of the taking of the Mame- .
lon ! Otherwise, to give the date with all due pre-
ciseness, on the morning of June the 7th, 1855
the British Commander-in-Chief, the French Com-
mander-in-Chief, and the Turkish Commander-in-
Chief, grouped together. round the little circular _
table at Lord Raglan's head-quarters. Even in the
vague, pinkish, neutral-tints of Mr. Fentoirilibci- -
tograph, the scene has been all along recog-
nised as one inatantaneously arresting the atten-
tion of all chance spectators, even of those
flaneurs of Pall-mall and loungers of Piccadilly,
who have sauntered from time to time round the
apartments adorned with the Crimean Collection,
glancing negligently to the right hand and to the
left, with an air of negligent indifference. Coloured
into life-like verisimilitude by the magic brush of
Mr. Egg, the incident represented at once assumes
to iteelf an importance commensurate in
some degree both with the value of the
picture as a work of art, aid with
the magnitude of the incident of which it is so
strikingly commemorative. It would iSe rather
difficult we fancy to decide with accurac4which is.
really the most admirable of the three gteett histo-
rical portraits here preserved for tit 4 ultimate
wonder of posterity-, as well as for the fmmediate
recognition of actual contemporaries. Standing
in front of the picture, the spectator
observes seated in front of him on the opposite
side of the little council table, with his right
elbow resting upon it, Omer Pasha with his griz-
zled beard and his dark and flashing eyes,—the
very beau ideal of what you might reasonably have
expected in the greatest of all the living
warriors of Turkey, the defender of Kalafat,
the victor of Giurgevo, and the hero of
Oltenitza ! Upon the Pasha's right band,
that is of course to the left of the spectator, sits
Lord Raglan in a black frock coat and regimental
trousers, wearing as his head dress what he almost
always wore as such in the Crimea, a broad-
brimmed white felt hat, with a still whiter
scarf wound round it. Added to which last-
mentioned items of his costume, the circumstance of
a glaring white wall forming the background, tow•
titer with the unmilitary peculiarity of his lord-
ship's white cravat, and that, too, of his smooth-
shaven face,—and the difficulties the artist had
to contend with in this one portraiture, may in
some smallfdegree, perhaps, be conjectured. Yet over
every one of these difficulties as to outline and
colour Mr. Egg has triumphed so completely that
his artistic skill has, perhaps, never before been
more conspicuously manifested. So completely
has he triumphed over the various obstacles to suc-
cess enumerated, that the pale profile, the
white cravat, the white wall, the white hat,
and especially, and above all let us say, the white
scarf twisted about the crown of it, tend each and
every one of them actually to enhance the artistic
beauty of the composition, and to perfect the
charm of the portrait as a work of art by the
very subordination of all other considerations
to that of absolute and literal truthfulness.
Confronting Lord Raglan upon the opposite
side of the small circular table of Council, to the
left of Omer Pasha, to the right of the spectator,
is standing Marshal Pelissier—standing, not seated
like his companions—eagerly pointing out to them
upon the plan spread open upon the table, the.
immediate scheme of operations. The gold-
laced cap jauntily tilted forward on the white
bullet-head of the old dare-devil Soldat d'Afrique,
the massive epaulettes, the embossed riding-whip,
the blazing Star of the Legion worn even in cow=
parative undress—all tell characteristically enough
the well-known coxcombry of the gallant com-
mander-in-chief of our heroic Allies, the General
who rides to battle in his carriage ! And who would
fain dash through the serried ranks of the foe, we
might conjecture, as O'Connell threatened again
and again, to drive through acts of Parliament—
namely, in a coach and six ! There the three
great Captains are—preserved to us in vivid
colours upon canvass by the master hand
of Augustus Leopold Egg—as they actually
were at the Council of War held on the morning
of the taking of the Mamelon. You can see at a
glance that the Council is just upon the instant of
" breaking up"—it is visible in that one glance,
upon that instant—in the resolute decision
of Pelissier, in the amiable satisfaction
visible upon the features of Raglan, in
the fiery joy conspicuous in Omer Pasha's
every lineament. The moment chosen is,
we cannot but think, most admirably. The
Council of War has reached its consummation.
Another minute or two, and the little table will
be deserted, the trumpets will be sounding, the
drums rolling, the whole of the extended camp of
the Allies in one grand spirit-waking commotion.
The Commanders-in-Chief no longer brooding over
a chart in deliberation, but each on his accustomed
" coign of 'vantage," directing the movements of
their forces and watching the development of
their movements with eager looks of vigilance
and satisfaction. Yonder, upon the Green
Hill over there Sir Calla Campbell with
his black-plumed Highlanders. Yonder, at
the post of honour and of danger, the wild Zouaves,
waved forward by their dauntless leader, General
(now Marshal) Bosquet, " going in like a deli:a
pack of hounds," as a British officer re-
marked, who watched them upon that me-
morable 7th of June, streaming over the
verge of the disputed Mamelon. But hold !—Hero,
still before us in Mr. Egg's admirable historic paint-
ing, still at the Council Table, in that last minute
or so of final deliberation, life-like, all but breath-
ing, are the Allied Commanders-in-Chief ! Each
inimitable as a portraiture. Together admir-
able as a renowned group, reminding us of a
very memorable occasion, the occasion of the first
seizure by the Allies of one of the great keys of Se-
bastopol. Supposing Mr. Egg to have done
nothing else during the past season, he has done
enough for his own lame, we are satisfied, in the
production of this single masterpiece. A master-
piece about to be engraved, we Believe, in the
highest style of art under the competent auspices
of the enterprising firm of the Messrs. Agnew and
Sons, of Manchester.