Lear and Cordelia (after painting by Gilbert Stuart Newton)
EngraverEngraved by
Richard Hatfield
(British (English), 1809-1867)
AfterAfter
Gilbert Stuart Newton
(British (English), 1794-1835)
DateAugust 1840 (published)
MediumEngraving mounted on board
DimensionsSheet (trimmed to image): 11 3/4 × 9 1/8 in. (29.8 × 23.2 cm)
Sheet (loose descriptive section, max.): 4 3/8 × 13 15/16 in. (11.1 × 35.4 cm)
Sheet (loose descriptive section, max.): 4 3/8 × 13 15/16 in. (11.1 × 35.4 cm)
Credit LineUniversity Transfer from Max Epstein Archive
Object number1976.145.514
Object TypePrints
On View
Not on viewA contemporary review of this engraving overflows with praise:
“Lear and Cordelia, from the painting of Newton, is a subject as touching and as full of pathos as can well be imagined, calling upon our sympathies in every point in which they can be affected. The anxious and ardent features of the kneeling Cordelia—the torpid and deathlike state of the storm-worn monarch—and the solicitous regard and attention expressed in the countenance of the physician, excite the deepest interest. All which are borne out by one of the most brilliant, clear, and luminous engravings we ever remember to have seen.”
Interestingly, the original painting by Newton had been harshly disparaged in the Tatler in 1831 as “beyond question a failure.” The later critic’s softer treatment may owe to improvements in the engraved version—or, perhaps more compellingly, to a posthumous respect accorded to Newton, who had died in the interim.
“Lear and Cordelia, from the painting of Newton, is a subject as touching and as full of pathos as can well be imagined, calling upon our sympathies in every point in which they can be affected. The anxious and ardent features of the kneeling Cordelia—the torpid and deathlike state of the storm-worn monarch—and the solicitous regard and attention expressed in the countenance of the physician, excite the deepest interest. All which are borne out by one of the most brilliant, clear, and luminous engravings we ever remember to have seen.”
Interestingly, the original painting by Newton had been harshly disparaged in the Tatler in 1831 as “beyond question a failure.” The later critic’s softer treatment may owe to improvements in the engraved version—or, perhaps more compellingly, to a posthumous respect accorded to Newton, who had died in the interim.