Protogenes of Rhodes, sailed thither to pay him a visit. Protogenes was
gone from home, but an old woman was left watching a large piece of
canvass which was fitted in a frame for painting. She told Apelles that
Protogenes was gone out, and asked him his name, that she might inform
her master who had inquired for him. “Tell him,” said Apelles, “he was
inquired for by this person,” at the same time taking up a pencil, and
drawing on the canvass a line of great delicacy. When Protogenes
returned, the old woman acquainted him with what had happened. The
artist, upon contemplating the fine stroke of the pencil, immediately
proclaimed that Apelles must have been there, for so finished a work
could be produced by no other person. Protogenes, however, drew a finer
line of another color; and as he was going away ordered the old woman to
show that line to Apelles if he came again, and to say, “This is the
person for whom you were inquiring.” When Apelles returned and saw the
line, he resolved not to be overcome, and in a color different from
either of the former, he drew some lines so exquisitely delicate, that
it was impossible for finer strokes to be made. Having done so, he
departed. Protogenes now confessed the superiority of Apelles; flew to
the harbor in search of him; and resolved to leave the canvass as it
was, with the lines on it, for the astonishment of future artists. It
was in after years taken to Rome, and was there seen by Pliny, who
speaks of it as having the appearance of a large black surface, the
extreme delicacy of the lines rendering them invisible, except on close
inspection. They were drawn with different colors, the one upon or
rather within, the other. This picture (continues Pliny), was handed
down, a wonder for posterity, but especially for artists; and,
notwithstanding it contained only those three scarcely visible lines
(_tres lineas_), still it was the most noble work in the Gallery, though
surrounded by many finished paintings by renowned masters.
This celebrated contest of lines between Apelles and Protogenes, is a
subject which has greatly perplexed painters and critics; and in fact,
Carducci asserts that Michael Angelo and other great artists treated the
idea with contempt. The picture was preserved in the gallery of the
Imperial palace on the Palatine, and was destroyed by the first fire
that consumed that palace, in the time of Augustus; therefore it could
not have been seen by Pliny, and the account must have been related by
him from some other work. In regard to its vagueness, one of the
principal causes, undoubtedly, is a mutilation of the text; but the
whole thing is told with obscurity. Suffice it to say, that in the
opinion of Professor Tölken of Berlin, and the best modern critics, this
wonderful piece could not have contained only _three simple lines_, as
stated by Pliny, else how could it have been termed “the most noble work
in the gallery, and the wonder of posterity.”
At the time this occurrence took place, Protogenes lived in a state of
poverty and neglect; but the generous notice of Apelles soon caused him
to be valued as he deserved by the Rhodians. Apelles acknowledged that
Protogenes was even in some respects his superior; the chief fault he
found with him was, that “he did not know when to take his hand from his
work;” a phrase which has become proverbial among artists. He
volunteered to purchase all the works he had by him, at any price he
should name, and when Protogenes estimated them far below their real
value, he offered him fifty talents, and spread the report that he
intended to sell them as his own. He thus opened the eyes of the
Rhodians to the merit of their painter, and they accordingly secured his
works at a still higher price.
In Protogenes, the able rival of Apelles, the arts received one of the
highest tokens of regard they were ever favored with; for when Demetrius
Poliorcetes was besieging the city of Rhodes, and might have taken it by
assaulting it on the side where Protogenes resided, he forbore, lest he
should do an injury to his works; and when the Rhodians delivered the
place to him, requesting him to spare the pictures of this admired
artist, he replied, “that he would sooner destroy the images of his
forefathers, than the productions of Protogenes.”
ANECDOTES OF BENJAMIN WEST.
HIS ANCESTRY.
Cunningham says, “John West, the father of Benjamin, was of that family
settled at Long-Crendon, in Buckinghamshire, which produced Colonel
James West, the friend and companion in arms of John Hampden. Upon one
occasion, in the course of a conversation in Buckingham palace,
respecting his picture of the Institution of the Garter, West happened
to make some allusion to his English descent, when the Marquis of
Buckingham, to the manifest pleasure of the king, declared that the
Wests of Long-Crendon were undoubted descendants of the Lord Delaware,
renowned in the wars of Edward the Third and the Black Prince, and that
the artist’s likeness had therefore a right to a place amongst those of
the nobles and warriors, in his historical picture.”
WEST’S BIRTH.
Galt says Benjamin’s birth was brought on prematurely by a vehement
sermon, preached in the fields, by Edward Peckover, on the corrupt state
of the Old World, which he prophesied was about to be visited with the
tempest of God’s judgments, the wicked to be swallowed up, and the
terrified remnant compelled to seek refuge in happy America. Mrs. West
was so affected that she swooned away, was carried home severely ill,
and the pains of labor came upon her; she was, however, safely
delivered, and the preacher consoled the parents by predicting that “a
child sent into the world under such remarkable circumstances, would
assuredly prove a wonderful man,” and admonished them to watch over
their son with more than ordinary care.
HIS FIRST REMARKABLE FEAT.
The first remarkable incident recorded of the infant prodigy, occurred
in his seventh year; when, being placed to watch the sleeping infant of
his eldest sister, he drew a sort of likeness of the child, with a pen,
in red and black ink. His mother returned, and snatching the paper which
he sought to conceal, exclaimed to her daughter, “I declare, he has made
a likeness of little Sally!” She took him in her arms, and kissed him
fondly. This feat appeared so wonderful in the eyes of his parents that
they recalled to mind the prediction of Peckover.
LITTLE BENJAMIN AND THE INDIANS.
When he was about eight years old, a party of Indians, who were always
kindly treated by the followers of George Fox, paid their summer visit
to Springfield, and struck with the rude sketches which the boy had made
of birds, fruit, and flowers, they taught him to prepare the red and
yellow colors with which they stained their weapons and ornamented their
skins; his mother added indigo, and thus he was possessed of three
primary colors. The Indians also instructed him in archery.
HIS CAT’S TAIL PENCILS.
The wants of the child increased with his knowledge; he could draw, and
had colors, but how to lay them on skillfully, he could not conceive; a
pen would not answer, and he tried feathers with no better success; a
neighbor informed him that it was done with a camel’s hair pencil, but
as such a thing was not to be had, he bethought himself of the cat, and
supplied himself from her back and tail. The cat was a favorite, and the
altered condition of her fur was attributed to disease, till the boy’s
confession explained the cause, much to the amusement of his parents and
friends. His cat’s tail pencils enabled him to make more satisfactory
efforts than he had before done.
WEST’S FIRST PICTURE.
When he was only eight years old, a merchant of Philadelphia, named
Pennington, and a cousin of the Wests, was so much pleased with the
sketches of little Benjamin, that he sent him a box of paints and
pencils, with canvass prepared for the easel, and six engravings by
Gribelin. The child was perfectly enraptured with his treasure; he
carried the box about in his arms, and took it to his bedside, but could
not sleep. He rose with the dawn, carried his canvass and colors to the
garret, hung up the engravings, prepared a palette, and commenced work.
So completely was he under this species of enchantment, that he absented
himself from school, labored secretly and incessantly, and without
interruption, for several days, when the anxious inquiries of his
schoolmaster introduced his mother into his _studio_, with no pleasure
in her looks. He had avoided copyism, and made a picture, composed from
two of the engravings, telling a new story, and colored with a skill and
effect which, to her eyes, appeared wonderful. Galt, who wrote West’s
life, and had the story from the artist’s own lips, says, “She kissed
him with transports of affection, and assured him that she would not
only intercede with his father to pardon him for having absented himself
from school, but would go herself to the master, and beg that he might
not be punished. Sixty-seven years afterwards the writer of these
memoirs had the gratification to see this piece, in the same room with
the sublime painting of Christ Rejected (West’s brother had sent it to
him from Springfield), on which occasion the painter declared to him
that there were inventive touches of art in his first and juvenile
essay, which, with all his subsequent knowledge and experience, he had
not been able to surpass.” A similar story is told of Canova, who
visited his native place towards the close of his brilliant career, and
looking earnestly at his youthful performances, sorrowfully said, “I
have been walking, but not climbing.”
WEST’S FIRST VISIT TO PHILADELPHIA.
In the ninth year of his age, he accompanied his relative Pennington to
Philadelphia, and executed a view of the banks of the river, which so
much pleased a painter named Williams, that he took him to his studio,
and showed him all his pictures, at the sight of which he was so
affected that he burst into tears. The artist, surprised, declared like
Peckover that Benjamin would be a remarkable man; he gave him two books,
Du Fresnoy, and Richardson on Painting, and invited him to call whenever
he pleased, to see his pictures. From this time, Benjamin resolved to
become a painter, and returned home with the love of painting too firmly
implanted to be eradicated. His parents, also, though the art was not
approved by the Friends, now openly encouraged him, being strongly
impressed with the opinion that he was _predestinated_ to become a great
artist.
WEST’S AMBITION.
His notions of a painter at this time were also very grand, as the
following characteristic anecdote will show. One of his school-fellows
allured him, on a half holiday from school, to take a ride with him to a
neighboring plantation. “Here is the horse, bridled and saddled,” said
the boy, “so come, get up behind me.” “Behind you!” said Benjamin; “I
will ride behind nobody.” “Oh, very well,” replied the other; “I will
ride behind you, so mount.” He mounted accordingly, and away they rode.
“This is the last ride I shall have for some time,” said his companion;
“to-morrow I am to be apprenticed to a tailor.” “A tailor!” exclaimed
West; “you will surely never be a tailor?” “Indeed but I shall,” replied
the other; “it is a good trade. What do you intend to be, Benjamin?” “A
painter.” “A painter! what sort of a trade is a painter? I never heard
of it before.” “A painter,” said West, “is the companion of kings and
emperors.” “You are surely mad,” said the embryo tailor; “there are
neither kings nor emperors in America.” “Aye, but there are plenty in
other parts of the world. And do you really intend to be a tailor?”
“Indeed I do; there is nothing surer.” “Then you may ride alone,” said
the future companion of kings and emperors, leaping down; “I will not
ride with one who is willing to be a tailor!”
WEST’S FIRST PATRONS.
West’s first patron was Mr. Wayne, the father of General Anthony Wayne,
who gave him a dollar a piece for two small pictures he made on poplar
boards which a carpenter had given him. Another patron was Mr. Flower, a
justice of Chester, who took young West to his house for a short time,
where he was made acquainted with a young English lady, governess to Mr.
Flower’s daughters, who had a good knowledge of art, and told him
stories of Greek and Roman history, fit for a painter’s pencil. He had
never before heard of the heroes, philosophers, poets, painters, and
historians of Greece and Rome, and he listened while the lady spoke of
them, with an enthusiasm which he loved to live over again in his old
age. His first painting which attracted much notice was a portrait of
Mrs. Ross, a very beautiful lady, the wife of a lawyer of Lancaster.
The picture was regarded as a wonderful performance, and gained him so
much reputation, says Galt, “that the citizens came in such crowds to
sit to the boy for portraits, that he had some trouble in meeting the
demand.” At the same time, a gunsmith, named Henry, who had a classic
turn, commissioned him to paint a picture of the Death of Socrates. West
forthwith made a sketch which his employer thought excellent, but he now
began to see his difficulties, and feel his deficiencies. “I have
hitherto painted faces,” said he, “and people clothed. What am I to do
with the slave who presents the poison? He ought, I think, to be painted
naked.” Henry went to his shop, and returned with one of his workmen, a
handsome young negro man half naked, saying, “There is your model.” He
accordingly introduced him into his picture, which excited great
attention.
WEST’S EDUCATION.
West was now fifteen years old. Dr. Smith, Provost of the College at
Philadelphia, happened to see him at Lancaster, and perceiving his
wonderful talents, and that his education was being neglected,
generously proposed to his father to take him with him to Philadelphia,
where he proposed to direct his studies, and to instruct him in all the
learning most important for a painter to know.
WEST’S DEDICATION TO ART.
The art of painting being regarded by the Quakers as not only useless
but pernicious, “in preserving voluptuous images, and adding to the
sensual gratifications of man,” Mr. West determined to submit the matter
to the wisdom of the Society, before giving a positive answer. He
accordingly sent for his son to attend the solemn assembly. The Friends
met, and the spirit of speech first descended on John Williamson, who,
according to Galt, thus spake: “To John West and Sarah Pearson, a
man-child hath been born, on whom God hath conferred some remarkable
gifts of mind; and you have all heard that, by something amounting to
inspiration, the youth has been induced to study the art of painting. It
is true that our tenets refuse to own the utility of that art to
mankind, but it seemeth to me that we have considered the matter too
nicely. God hath bestowed on this youth a genius for art--shall we
question his wisdom? Can we believe that he gives such rare gifts but
for a wise and good purpose? I see the Divine hand in this; we shall do
well to sanction the art and encourage this youth.” The Quakers gave
their unanimous consent, and summoned the youth before them. He came,
and took his station in the middle of the room, his father on his right
hand, his mother on his left, while around him gathered the whole
assembly. One of the women first spake, but the words of Williamson,
says Galt, are alone remembered. “Painting,” said he, “has hitherto
been employed to embellish life, to preserve voluptuous images, and add
to the sensual gratifications of men. For this we classed it among vain
and merely ornamental things, and excluded it from amongst us. But this
is not the principle but the mis-employment of painting. In wise and
pure hands, it rises in the scale of moral excellence, and displays a
loftiness of sentiment, and a devout dignity, worthy of the
contemplation of Christians. I think genius is given by God for some
high purpose. What the purpose is, let us not inquire--it will be
manifest in His own good time and way. He hath in this remote wilderness
endowed with rich gifts of a superior spirit this youth, who has now our
consent to cultivate his talents for art; may it be demonstrated in his
life and works, that the gifts of God have not been bestowed in vain,
nor the motives of the beneficent inspiration, which induces us to
suspend the strict operations of our tenets, prove barren of religious
and moral effect!” At the conclusion of this address, says Galt, the
women rose and kissed the young artist, and the men, one by one, laid
their hands on his head. The scene made so strong an impression on the
mind of West, that he looked upon himself as expressly dedicated to art,
and considered this release from the strict tenets of his sect, as
enjoining on his part a covenant to employ his powers on subjects pure
and holy. The grave simplicity of the Quaker continued to the last in
his looks, manners, and deportment; and the moral rectitude and
internal purity of the man were diffused through all his productions.
WEST’S EARLY PRICES.
At about eighteen years of age, West commenced portrait painting as a
profession in Philadelphia. His extreme youth, the peculiar
circumstances of his history, and his undoubted merit, brought him many
sitters. His prices were very humble--$12.50 for a head, and $25 for a
full-length; all the money he thus laboriously earned, he carefully
treasured, to secure, at some future period, the means of travel and
study; for his sagacious mind perceived that travel not only influenced
public opinion, but was absolutely necessary for him if he wished to
excel, especially in historical painting. There were no galleries in
America; he knew that the masterpieces of art were in Italy, and he had
already set his heart on visiting that delightful country. He made a
copy of a picture of St. Ignatius, by Murillo, which had been captured
in a Spanish vessel, and belonged to Governor Hamilton; he also painted
a large picture for Mr. Cox, from the history of Susanna, the Elders,
and Daniel, in which he introduced no less than forty figures. This work
gained him great reputation, and West always considered it the
masterpiece of his youth; it was afterwards unfortunately destroyed by
fire. After having painted the portraits of all who desired it in
Philadelphia, he proceeded to New York, where he opened a studio, and
Dunlap says for eleven months he had all the portraits he could execute,
at double the prices he had charged in Philadelphia. An opportunity now
presented itself, which enabled him to gratify his long cherished desire
of going to Italy. The harvest had partially failed in that country, and
Mr. Allen, a merchant of Philadelphia, was loading a ship with wheat and
flour for Leghorn. He had resolved to send his son as supercargo, to
give him the benefit of travel, and West’s invaluable friend, Provost
Smith, made arrangements for the young painter to accompany the young
merchant. It happened that a New York merchant, of the name of Kelly,
was sitting for his portrait when this good news arrived, and West with
joy spoke to him of the great advantage he expected to derive from a
residence of two or three years in Italy. The portrait being finished,
Mr. Kelly paid him ten guineas, and gave him a letter to his agent in
Philadelphia, which, on being presented, proved to be an order from the
generous merchant to pay him fifty guineas, as “a present to aid in his
equipment for Italy.”
WEST’S ARRIVAL AT ROME.
West arrived at Rome on the 10th of July, 1760, in the 22d year of his
age. Cunningham thus describes his reception: “When it was known that a
young American had come to study Raffaelle and Michael Angelo, some
curiosity was excited among the Roman virtuosi. The first fortunate
exhibitor of this lion from the western wilderness was Lord Grantham,
the English ambassador, to whom West had letters. He invited West to
dinner, and afterwards took him to an evening party, where he found
almost all those persons to whom he had brought letters of introduction.
Among the rest was Cardinal Albani, who, though old and blind, had such
delicacy of touch that he was considered supreme in all matters of
judgment regarding medals and intaglios. ‘I have the honor,’ said Lord
Grantham, ‘to present you a young American, who has a letter for your
Eminence, and who has come to Italy for the purpose of studying the Fine
Arts.’ The Cardinal knew so little of the New World, that he conceived
an American must needs be a savage. ‘Is he black or white?’ said the
aged virtuoso, holding out both hands, that he might have the
satisfaction of touching, at least, this new wonder. Lord Grantham
smiled and said, ‘he is fair--very fair.’ ‘What! as fair as I am?’
exclaimed the prelate. Now the complexion of the churchman was a deep
olive--that of West more than commonly fair; and as they stood together,
the company smiled. ‘As fair as the Cardinal,’ became for a while
proverbial. Others, who had the use of their eyes, seemed to consider
the young American as at most a better kind of savage, and accordingly
were curious to watch him. They wished to try what effect the Apollo,
the Venus, and the works of Raffaelle would have upon him, and thirty of
the most magnificent equipages in the capital, filled with some of the
most erudite characters in Europe, says Galt, conducted the young Quaker
to view the masterpieces of art. It was agreed that the Apollo should be
first submitted to his view; the statue was enclosed in a case, and when
the keeper threw open the doors, West unconsciously exclaimed, ‘My God!
a young Mohawk warrior!’ The Italians were surprised and mortified with
the comparison of their noblest statue to a wild savage; and West,
perceiving the unfavorable impression, proceeded to remove it. He
described the Mohawks, the natural elegance and admirable symmetry of
their persons, the elasticity of their limbs, and their motions free and
unconstrained. ‘I have seen them often,’ he continued, ‘standing in the
attitude of this Apollo, and pursuing with an intense eye the arrow
which they had just discharged from the bow.’ The Italians cleared their
moody brows, and allowed that a better criticism had rarely been made.
West was no longer a barbarian.”
WEST’S EARLY FRIENDS.
The excitement to which West was subjected at Rome, his intense
application, and his anxiety to distinguish himself, brought on a fever,
and for a time, interrupted his studies; by the advice of his
physicians, he returned to Leghorn, for the benefit of the sea air,
where, after a lingering sickness of eleven months, he was completely
cured. But he found his funds almost exhausted, and he began to despair
of being able to prosecute his studies according to the proposed plan.
He called on his agents, to take up the last ten pounds he had in the
world, when to his astonishment and joy, he was handed a letter of
unlimited credit from his old friends in Philadelphia, Mr. Allen and
Governor Hamilton; they had heard of his glorious reception at Rome, and
his success with the portrait of Lord Grantham. At a dinner, one day,
with Governor Hamilton, Mr Allen said, “I regard this young man as an
honor to his country, and as he is the first that America has sent out
to cultivate the Fine Arts, he shall not be frustrated in his studies,
for I shall send him whatever money he may require.” “I think with you,
sir,” replied Hamilton, “but you must not have all the honor to
yourself; allow me to unite with you in the responsibility of the
credit.” Those who befriend genius when it is struggling for
distinction, are public benefactors, and their names should be held in
grateful remembrance. The names of Hamilton, Allen, Smith, Kelly,
Jackson, Rutherford, and Lord Grantham, must be dear to all the admirers
of West; they aided him in the infancy of his fame and fortune, cheered
him when he was drooping and desponding; and watched over his person and
purse with the vigilance of true friendship. West always expressed his
deepest obligation to these generous men, and it was at his particular
request that Galt recorded their names, and their deeds.
WEST’S COURSE OF STUDY.