PEACE
A flock of sheep and goats are pasturing
on the meadowland above some cliffs which rise abruptly
from the sea. To those familiar with the scenery
of England the place recalls at once the white cliffs
of Dover. The caretakers are a lad and his sister,
who have brought with them a younger child. A
shepherd dog is their assistant, one of those intelligent
animals trained to keep the flock together and to lead
it about.
It is noontide of a bright summer
day. The sea lies blue and still under the clear
sky. The flock no longer graze industriously,
but rest in scattered groups. The young people
amuse themselves quietly on the grass, and the dog
has stretched himself for a nap. Overhead two
large sea gulls take their flight through the air.
There is a single reminder here of
a time when all was not so peaceful, the
rusty old cannon in the midst. From these uplands
a battery once frowned across the Channel, threatening
destruction to the approaching enemy. The booming
of guns resounded where now is heard only the lowing
of cattle and the laughter of children. Happily
the cannon has now so long been out of use that it
has become a part of the cliff, like one of the rocks.
The flock gather about it as a rallying place, and
in its black mouth grow tender herbs for the lambs
to crop.
No cottage is in sight, and we judge
that our young people have brought their flock from
a little distance. Two sturdy goats act as beasts
of burden in the family, both equipped with saddle
and bridle. As they rest now at one side they
are the impersonations of docility and dignity, but
a hint of mischief lurks in their complacent expressions.
One feels decidedly suspicious of the old fellow with
the long beard. Twin lambs lying at the cannon’s
mouth are the softest and daintiest little creatures
of the flock. So, evidently, thinks the sheep
beside them, gently nosing the woolly back of the one
nearest.
The children are of the best type
of English villagers, with fresh, sweet, happy faces.
All three are well dressed and have the tidy appearance
which is the sign of family thrift and prosperity.
The girl has her hair brushed back smoothly from her
forehead and knotted at the back like a little woman’s.
She bears herself with a pretty air of motherliness
toward her brothers. Like other English village
maidens, she is skilled in all sorts of domestic duties
and has few idle moments through the day. Her
sewing-basket lies beside her on the ground, and while
the dog looks after the sheep, she busies herself
with her work.
Evidently she has some knitting under
way, and the work comes to a pause while she winds
a new skein of yarn. The little toddler may now
make himself useful by holding the skein. He is
proud of the honor and watches the rapidly moving
thread with fascinated eyes. So deftly do the
fingers untangle the snarls that the task is converted
into a game as absorbing as a cat’s cradle puzzle.
Even the older lad, of the manly age to feel himself
superior to such amusements, peers over the little
one’s shoulder with genuine curiosity. In
the excitement of their occupation, the little knitter’s
straw bonnet has slipped from her head far down her
back, leaving the plump neck exposed to the sun.
The full significance of the picture
is best understood in contrast with the companion
subject, War. The two pictures have been called
by a critic “true poem-pictures.”
The painter means to show here that the choicest blessing
of Peace is the prosperity of the humbler classes,
who are the bulwark of the nation. Agricultural
pursuits can flourish only when arms are laid down.
Happy is the land where innocent children and dumb
beasts can roam in safety over the country.
The long level stretch of land and
sea adds much to the impression of tranquillity in
the picture. The imagination has a delightful
sense of liberty in great spaces. Ruskin has
told us that this is because space is the symbol of
infinity. However we may explain it, we certainly
have here a pleasant sense of looking across illimitable
space over a world flooded with sunshine.
The picture recalls the stories of
Landseer’s first lessons in drawing in the pastures
near his boyhood home. Here he practised all day
on sheep, which are the best subjects for the beginner,
because they keep still so long! In later years
his preference was for animals of livelier action,
but in this exceptional instance, as if in reminiscence
of his youth, he painted a pastoral scene with much
artistic feeling.
There are a good many more figures
in the picture than are usual with our painter, and
he therefore had a more difficult problem in bringing
all the parts into harmonious relations. It is
interesting to contrast it with the altogether different
kind of composition in the companion picture of War.