The Harbour of Refuge. Frederick Walker, ARA (1840-1875). 1872. Oil on canvas, 1168 x 1975 mm. Courtesy Tate Britain N01391. Image released under Creative Commons CC-BY-NC-ND. Presented by Sir William Agnew Bt 1893. Click on image to enlarge it.

This painting is rightly considered not merely Walker's greatest work but one of the masterpieces of the entire Idyllic School. Claude Philips regarded it as "perhaps the most widely appreciated of all Walker's works, and certainly contains the very essence of his latest style, with all its beauties and most of its defects" (58). The background was painted outdoors at the Jesus Hospital at Bray, Berkshire, near Maidenhead. The original idea for such a composition was suggested to Walker in 1870 at Witley in Surrey by his friends W. Q. Orchardson and Myles Birket Foster who had observed a group of old bent labourers in church sitting on a long bench in front of the pulpit "reposing in the gleams of sunlight that lightened the gloom of the place" (Marks 238). It occurred to them that this was a scene in which Walker would delight so sent for him and he told them he would paint it.

The theme of the painting that eventually resulted is the inevitability of death, with death symbolised by the scythe wielded by the young man. In the painting we find youth contrasted with old age and vigour with decrepitude. The setting of sunset not merely signifies the end of the day but provides an atmosphere of human resignation in the face of death. Walker's friend and fellow artist J. R. Clayton suggested the title when Walker failed to come up with a suitable one. Walker's original design in watercolour for the work is reproduced in Marks (239). In the final design Walker has shifted the mower from the background to a much more prominent place in the right foreground. The group of elderly paupers was initially in the right foreground sitting on a bench in front of a tree before being moved to the right midground and the statue and plinth of the founder of the almshouse was added to the composition. Walker based the pose of the figure of his statue on one supposedly of Charles II that was at that time standing in Soho Square. Marks felt "In comparing the original design with the finished picture, it is noticeable how little the old men have lost by their change in position. Their personality and importance have been preserved in a manner wholly consistent with the account of the growth of the picture out of the simple scene at Witley" (240). The background otherwise remained much the same.

The Harbour of Refuge was extensively reviewed when it was exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1872 to nearly universal praise, although a few critics did express some reservations. The critic for The Builder considered it the most important picture in the entire exhibition:

Taking the art of painting on what we still think its highest ground, the utterance of feeling and sentiment through the medium of representation, we can have little hesitation in pronouncing Mr. F. Walker's contribution to be the picture of the year, and congratulate the artist on his entire success in his own peculiar walk of art, which he abandoned last year with somewhat less happy result. The Harbour of Refuge (227) is one of that class of paintings in which the scene represented is subservient to the deep human interest embodied in the figures, and is chiefly valuable as accessory to their sentiment. We are in the central court of an old almshouse; the old-fashioned, red-tiled buildings cover the picture as a background, with a quiet evening sky above them; in the centre of the court, around the stature of the 'founder,' sit a group of old men half conversing, half dozing; along the path on the left (in the foreground) comes at old woman, bowed down with weight of years, leaning on the arm of a young robust girl, who, with the selfishness of a commonplace nature, contents herself, with mechanically supporting her companion, and turns her looks and her interest in another direction. These alone would form the elements of a pathetic picture, but the real force of the whole thing is dependent on the figure of the man mowing the grass in the foreground: as a mere piece of drawing we have seen few more successful things than the sway and action of this figure, with the scythe thrown back for the sweep, which we expect to hear next moment in the grass; but as a matter of feeling, the introduction of this image of eager, earnest labour, as a contrast to the ebbing life of the aged inmates of the place, is a perfect masterstroke, the eloquence of which will be felt, we think, the more it is studied. Viewing the picture as a mere scene, exception might be taken to the want of decision and knowledge in the details of the building, and to a certain want of atmospheric softness in the sky (though the painter has got rid to a great extent of the disagreeable mannerism of colour which characterised many of his previous landscapes); viewed as a whole, it is a work of which not only the artist, but the English school, may be proud. [377]

Henry Morley in The Fortnightly Review felt it was one of the best pictures of its kind:

There is no defect of this kind in Mr. F. Walker's Harbour of Refuge; only the garden behind a range of red-brick almhouses, with its ivied chapel, the place of rest for a few people who have found no home in the great world outside. This surely is one of the best pictures of its kind. In its whole effect there is a quiet beauty that gives rest to the eye, the details are simple and unforced. A few old folks come in and out of their doors, are led into the sun, gossip or doze upon the bench about the statue on the lawn, are individually true and full of separate suggestion, while they blend into expression of a single mood of thought. There is spring blossom about them, but on the grass in the foreground is the suggestive figure of the Mower, and near him the bowed figure of age, an old woman tottering upon the arm of a poor girl who has her young thoughts abroad. All is good. For years one seems to have known the thin and restless little man in black among those about the statue, who perks up to hear a bit of newspaper droned out to him. In the course of his life he has fidgeted himself into and out of forty ways of failing to make money. The few figures scattered about are as simple as they would be if we really saw them, and yet – or, and therefore – they are also as suggestive. In painting as in writing strength is lost by overstrain. [701]

E. F. S. Pattison in The Artist admired how Walker treated his elderly subjects with dignity and pathos:

When we leave the portraits, perhaps the marking picture of the exhibition is Mr. Walker's Harbour of Refuge. It challenges attention even in the trying neighbourhood of Millais' dashing work. There may be in these galleries pictures more harmoniously complete in themselves as, for instance, Mr. Leighton's lovely poem, Summer Moon' but there is no picture more considerable in real content. Mr. Walker gives us material enough to furnish out a lifetime of subjects to the average painter. Every figure in the group of old men is a separate study of character read with insight. The attitude of the careless servant who supports the old woman is admirably expressive, but her face – why has Mr. Walker suffered us to look straight into those eyeless sockets. The tone, too, is unsatisfactory, the atmosphere is oppressive, the air seems choked with brickdust. Yet, though there is something of relative failure, there is much of positive achievement, and we have cause to be grateful in the presence of so original an artist, who seizes out of the daily life of his people the elements of dignity and pathos. [185]

The Architect failed to be impressed either by the draughtsmanship or the colour palette of this work: "A Harbour of Refuge, by Mr. F. Walker, A.R.A. – a work which has attracted much attention and various opinions. We consider some of the figures much out of drawing, and the colour such as no atmosphere produces in this country" (256).

A reviewer for The Art Journal praised the work while suggesting that perhaps Walker should strive for higher aims in his subjects:

Again, colour and light are displayed in breadth and force in The Harbour Refuge (227), F. Walker, a proposition extremely difficult to treat in a manner to engage those sympathies with which such a scene should move. This refuge is a hospital or alm house for aged people. Some of its inmates are walking in the pretty garden-like enclosure formed by the four sides of the buildings. It is summer, and a flood of sunshine is poured over the pleasant and fragrant surface of the quadrangle rich with flowers, and a plot of herbage studded with daisies. The feebleness of age is contrasted with the youthful vigour of a strong man who is mowing the grass. The selection of such a topic, by a painter of a certain position, bespeaks great confidence in his power of appealing to the sympathies; but the force shown in dealing with the difficulties of the subject not only justifies that confidence, but suggests that an equally successful result would attend the entertainment of higher aims. It is a scene few painters would take up, and still fewer would conduct to such an issue. [153-54]

The reviewer for The Spectator found the picture to be handled in an intelligent way despite being depressing: "Perhaps the picture with most brains in it is F. Walker's The Harbour of Refuge (227). The scene is the quadrangle of an alms-house, and the time it's just after sundown. To be sure, the subject is a depressing one. To be the inmate of such a place implies a life's failure; and such would seem to be Mr. Walker's meaning; for the mower mowing down the grass suggests Time with his scythe as the only friend after the benevolent founder whose effigy adorns the centre of the court. Very sad is the fate of the old woman (finely sketched in black and gray), passing through life's last scene, without a friend, and supported by the listless, dissatisfied stranger-girl, whose fate is not less cruel to be imprisoned in this uneventful nook. As usual with Mr. Walker, the painting, at least of flesh, is a little more than flatting. It is a pity he does not study such work as that of Terberg [? Gerard ter Borch] (in the Congress of Münster), and note the splendour and vigour of the execution even on so small a scale. The sky consists of alternate smudges of gray and gamboge, and it is difficult to speculate on its probable condition twenty years hence. [562]

The critic of The Saturday Review recognized this painting as a "master-work" despite finding its colouration to be too "hot":

Yet Mr. Walker's Harbour of Refuge (227) is after its kind a master-work. The scene is laid in a grass-grown quadrangle with chapel and almhouses around, and a statue of the founder in the centre. The time is evening; the inmates too have reached the evening of life; sunset fades in the saffron sky, broad shadows gather on the ground, and in this place of refuge and of rest poor aged pensioners sit quietly at ease or walk up and down at leisure. The only haste and energy is in a stalwart and remarkably ill-formed mower, whose awkward movement seems to endanger his own legs; 'The man's scythe will cut off his leg' is a remark we have more than once heard. We do not know that the painter means to point an allegory, and yet this figure might suggest old Time with a scythe, or the "reaper whose name is death""; even as the grass and the flowers are cut down, so shall the aged and infirm be gathered to the last garner. Mr. Walker is almost the only water-colour painter who has thoroughly mastered oils; the handling, the texture and impasto, in firmness, solidity, yet transparency, leave little to desire. But the colouring, notwithstanding that it has been brought into absolute keeping, is too hot for ordinary taste; the picture is as a highly seasoned dish over-dosed with curry-powder. [696]

F. G. Stephens in The Athenaeum gave the most extensive description of the painting despite giving it an incorrect title:

Mr. F. Walker's success almost amounts to a triumph. He contributes one large and unusually complete picture, which, as is usually the case with his more important efforts, is marked by great pathos. It is named The Old Almhouse (227), and has for its scene the quadrangle of an hospital for incapable people: three lines of red-brick dwellings enclose three sides of the square, in the middle of which, raised on a quaintly handsome pedestal, with a fountain and a green arbour at its base, standing on high and sunned in the evening glow, is the statue of the founder...The gables of the returns of the building are visible, and overlook the garden. The houses are of one story, with ranges of dormers in the steep roofs, low doors, mullioned windows, and tall chimney-stacks: in the centre is the chapel; its windows are nearly blinded by ivy, – ivy creeps on every side of it: it is surmounted by the usual belfry and vane. A terrace runs before the doors, and leads to steps that give access to the garden. The vane glitters in the evening sun; the ruddy light makes redder and more intense the dark red walls and tiles. It is Halcyon time: rosy clouds, half steeped in golden radiance, float on high; all things bask in peaceful splendour. The flowering trees are still; and the silence which seems to prevail, is broken by the sound of two women's footsteps on the terrace near the stairs, and the hiss of the mower's scythe as he sweeps it to and fro, smoothing the grass in the centre. He lays his back to the work, stretches his lithe limbs, and the heavy blade swings in his arms like a toy; the daisies topple before its glittering edge, the verdure is laid in swathes, each marking a forward stride. He keeps time with every beat of his foot, and, stepping, marks an advance with each swing. The noise of the tread of those who come towards the downward-leading steps, leading to the half-mown sward, is more audible at this moment than usual; for the mower, who labourers in an agony of energy, has passed the blade backwards over the grass, and instantaneously poises it ready for another swing, the making of another swathe. Busy as he is, he might hear the footsteps if he would, although they are irregular and slow; but he pays no heed, and works as if all the world were before the edge of his scythe. One of the two who approach the stairs is a tall, old woman, whose still grand form must have been magnificent in youth; now bent, she stoops over her own feet. A black hood hides nearly all her face. She seems to be watching her tardy and uncertain feet, and holds up the skirt of her grey dress, lest she should tread on it and fall. Her companion is a buxom and common-looking girl, who, more thoughtless than unkind, yet cruelly unsympathetic, lends her arm to the old woman and looks another way. Beyond the mower, and in the middle of the quadrangle, for he works nearer to us than the buildings, groups of old people sit near the base of the statue; among these gossips a lean-faced faced old fellow, wearing a hat in which he seems to have shrunk, it being a world too wide for him now; another old fellow reads a newspaper, – one listens; alone and dozing, it may be dead, for all the life he shows, is a tremendously fat man, who seems to have been stuck on the bench in the morning and left there to doze or die. In thus describing the picture we have said enough to convey the impression that Mr. Walker has been perfectly successful as a designer and as a painter. [564]

The Illustrated London News was one of the few to specifically highlight the paintings allegorical association with the approaching death of the paupers:

Mr. F. Walker exhibits a picture of which, as usual, has the stamp of original genius. It is called 'The Harbour of Refuge' (227), and represents the quadrangle of a country almshouse, with the red brick walls and tiles deepened in hue (too much, it may be, in passages), the grey statue of the founder standing in the centre, beautifully mellowed in tone, and the grass-plot surrounding it intensely warmed by the summer sunset glow which, reflected from the golden sky, glorifies the whole scene. On the terrace to the left a stalwart girl supports a widowed mother, bending low with age – figures, perhaps, too Michael-Angelesque in their proportions for ordinary types. Around the pedestal of the statue sit some of the poor inmates of the almshouse - small but most characteristic figures, deserving the spectator's closest scrutiny; and in the middle of the sward in front a young mower plies his scythe among the grass and daisies. The action of the mower is a little too demonstrative, as it disturbs the sentiment of repose proper to the scene; on the other hand, the superb splendour of the serene summer evening does not interfere with but rather seems to deepen the peaceful, quiet, seclusion of this sanctuary; to intensify its pathetic associations; to suggest the still more profound stillness of fast-coming night, or the sweep, noiseless, and near to most in this last refuge, of the scythe of Death, before which all flesh is grass and as the flowers of the field. [466]

Walker painted a large watercolour replica of this picture during the summer and autumn of 1873 that he exhibited at the Old Water-Colour Society, Winter Exhibition, of 1873-74, no. 33. This work sold at Christie's, London, on November 24, 2004, lot 13. A watercolour study for the pictures is in the collection of the Yale Center for British Art, accession no. B2015.18.10. A reproductive etching of the work was made by R. W. Macbeth.

Bibliography

"Art. The Royal Academy." The Spectator XLV (4 May 1872): 561-62.

Esposito, Donato. "George Heming Mason." Frederick Walker and the Idyllists. London: Lund Humphries, 2017, Chapter II, 44-46.

"Exhibition of the Royal Academy." The Illustrated London News LX (11 May 1872): 466-67.

Marks, John George. Life and Letters of Frederick Walker A.R.A. London: Macmillan & Co., Ltd., 1896, 237-45.

Morley, Henry. "Pictures at the Royal Academy." The Fortnightly Review XVII (1872): 692-704.

Pattison, Emilia Francis Strong. "The Exhibition of the Royal Academy of Arts." The Artist III (15 May 1872): 184-185.

Philips, Claude. Frederick Walker and his Works. London: Seeley & Co. Ltd., 1894, 57-59.

The Royal Academy." The Architect VII (May 11, 1872): 235-37

"The Royal Academy." The Art Journal New series XI (1 June 1872): 149-56

"The Royal Academy." The Saturday Review XXXIII (1 June 1872): 695-97.

"Royal Academy Pictures: Reflected Lights." The Builder XXX (18 May 1872): 377-78

Stephens, Frederic George. The Royal Academy." The Athenaeum No. 2323 (4 May 1872): 563-66.

Created 6 July 2018

New commentary added 4 May 2023