Psyche sacrificing at the Milesian Temple of Apollo (Anglesey Abbey, Cambs.), which had just been brought to Britain from Italy, and in front of which Turner was recorded as being “both pleased and unhappy while He viewed it, – it seemed to be beyond the power of imitation”. The other picture was a seaport scene, The Embarkation of the Queen of Sheba (The National Gallery, London), that belonged to the wealthy London collector John Julius Angerstein. Turner responded to this painting in a rather dramatic (and wholly characteristic) fashion:
When Turner was very young he went to see Angerstein’s pictures. Angerstein came into the room while the young painter was looking at the Sea Port by Claude, and spoke to him. Turner was awkward, agitated, and burst into tears. Mr Angerstein enquired the cause and pressed for an answer, when Turner said passionately, “Because I shall never be able to paint anything like that picture.”
Turner’s analysis of Claude around 1799 was undertaken not only by looking carefully at major oils like these, but also by scrutinising two books of prints entitled Liber Veritatis (“Book of Truth”). This is a set of 200 mezzotints made around 1776 by the London engraver Richard Earlom that reproduces drawings created by Claude upon the completion of each of his mature paintings. The French master greatly utilised visual metaphor, and there can be no doubt that Turner recognised a good number of those metaphors, for in time he emulated them very closely indeed. Turner’s responsiveness to Claude had a profound effect upon his expressions of meaning, just as it determined the development of many of his compositions and a significant amount of his subject-matter and imagery.
Throughout the 1790s Turner had been obtaining higher and higher prices for his works as demand intensified; an indication of that popularity may be gauged from the fact that by July 1799 he had orders for no less than sixty watercolours on his books. And his increasing status in the marketplace was matched by his growing recognition within the Royal Academy, an esteem that was made official on 4 November 1799 when he was elected an Associate Royal Academician. This was a necessary preliminary to becoming a full Academician, and he would not have to wait long before receiving the higher honour.
At the Royal Academy in 1801 Turner made a major contribution towards such an elevation when he exhibited his finest seascape to date, the Dutch Boats in a Gale: Fishermen endeavouring to put their Fish on Board, which is also known as “The Bridgewater Seapiece” after the Duke of Bridgewater who had commissioned it. The work (reproduced below) caused a sensation. Reynolds' successor as President of the Royal Academy, Benjamin West (1738–1820), compared it favourably to a Rembrandt, which is quite a compliment for a young painter still making his way in the world. Ultimately the impression created by the picture led to Turner being raised to the status of a full Royal Academician at the unprecedentedly early age of just twenty-six, on 10 February 1802. Becoming an Academician granted him entry to a very exclusive club indeed, and one with the best of cultural and economic advantages, that of having a highly prestigious marketplace in which automatically to display his works publicly every year without having to submit them to a selection committee.
In the summer of 1801 Turner made an extensive tour of Scotland, the most ambitious trip he had undertaken so far. After his return he showed his Scottish drawings to his fellow landscapist, the painter and diarist Joseph Farington RA, who noted early in 1802 that: “Turner thinks Scotland a more picturesque country to study in than Wales, the lines of the mountains are finer, and the rocks of larger masses.” But later that same year Turner had the opportunity to study mountains that greatly dwarfed those of Scotland.
In March 1802 a peace was concluded between Britain and France, after some nine years of war. This allowed tens of thousands of Britons to venture abroad for the very first time. Although Turner had already seen mountains in Wales and Scotland, he knew that if he wanted to perceive truly majestic heights in Europe, then he would have to visit the Swiss Alps. Accordingly, that was where he made for in the summer of 1802, exploring some of the western cantons and the northern reaches of the Val d’aosta before making his way to Schaffhausen and Basel. From there he went on to Paris to see the looted treasures Napoleon had installed in the Louvre. In the French capital Turner met Farington, and told him that in Switzerland he had suffered “much fatigue from walking, and often experienced bad food & lodgings. The weather was very fine. He saw very fine Thunder Storms among the Mountains.” In the Louvre Turner closely scrutinised works by Poussin, Titian and others, although unfortunately the numerous Claudes in the collection do not seem to have been on display (or perhaps the Englishman simply missed them, which is understandable, given that he must have been tired and suffering from visual indigestion).
Turner began elaborating his responses to Swiss scenery on his return to England. During the winter of 1802–3 he also produced an impressive painting of the view from Calais Pier looking across the English Channel (it is reproduced below). In the work he made a wittily anti-French statement within a tradition of such sentiments going back to William Hogarth (1697–1764), another artist he particularly admired. Such a secondary purpose was perhaps natural, given that while Turner was busy on the picture all the talk in Britain was of the resumption of hostilities with France.
J. M. W. Turner, Norham Castle on the Tweed, 1816, mezzotint engraving for the Liber Studiorum, Tate Britain, London, U. K.
William Havell, Sandycombe Lodge, Twickenham, the Seat of J. M. W. Turner, RA, c. 1814, watercolour, 10.8 × 20 cm, Private Collection, U. K.
By this time Turner may have become a father. He always refused to marry, but has long been thought to have sired two daughters, Evelina (1801–1874) and Georgiana (?1811–1843). Their mother is thought to have been a Mrs Sarah Danby (1760/66–1861) who was some eleven to fifteen years older than the painter. She was the widow of a London composer of glees and catches, John Danby, who had died in 1798. However, recent research has thrown doubts on the assumptions that the painter had a relationship with Mrs Danby, that he was the father of the two girls, and even that she was their mother. It seems equally possible that the artist’s father may have sired the two girls. An entry in a church register in Guestling, Sussex for 19 September 1801 records the baptism of Evelina, and gives “William and Sarah Turner” as the parents. Yet although the painter commonly used William (rather than Joseph) as his forename, it seems equally possible that the record refers to his father. As the older William Turner would only become a widower in 1804; when Evelina was born he still needed to be fairly discreet about any extra-marital relationship he was having (which is perhaps why Evelina was baptised in an out-of-the-way church in deepest Sussex, rather than in London). Sarah Danby suffered from a more powerful need for secrecy, for she received a widow’s pension from the Royal Society of Musicians which would have stopped payment had it suspected she enjoyed a relationship with a man. Certainly J. M. W. Turner left money to the widow in early drafts of his will, but eventually he revoked that bequest, which suggests that he was not the father of the two girls and that she was not their mother. Furthermore, just to complicate matters even further, perhaps Sarah Danby allowed herself to be thought of as the mother of the two girls in order to protect their true mother, namely her niece, Hannah Danby. This lady always remained unmarried, and therefore had good cause not to be identified as the mother of two illegitimate daughters. She would serve as the painter’s housekeeper in one of his London residences from the 1820s onwards, and Turner would leave her a fairly substantial legacy in his will, which perhaps points to her having been the mother of the girls and his having been the father. Nothing is known of Hannah Danby’s personality or looks as a young woman, but later in life she seems to have been afflicted with a skin disease, which repelled visitors. In any event, it now seems impossible to determine the true paternity of the girls and the identity of their mother.
Turner was increasingly busy during the 1800s. In 1803 he began constructing a gallery for the display of his works in his house in Harley Street. Clearly he did so because a highly acrimonious political rift had developed within the Royal Academy. This threatened to lose the institution its monarchical status, and thus jeopardised its economic survival (for if the organisation had been demoted in rank, then it would have become just another exhibiting society, which the aristocracy would not have supported to the same degree). Turner was merely protecting his economic interests by creating his own gallery.