the Empress Josephine; the Pope; Cambaceres, Duke of Parma,
arch-chancellor; the Duke of Plaisance, arch-treasurer; Mareschal
Berthier, Prince of Wagram; M. Talleyrand, Prince of Benevento, grand
chamberlain to the emperor; Prince Eugene Beauharnais, viceroy of the
kingdom of Lombardy; Caulaincourt, Duke of Vicenza, grand écuyer;
Mareschal Bernadotte, Prince of Ponte Corvo, and afterwards King of
Sweden; Cardinal Pacca, councillor of the pope; Cardinal Fesch, the
uncle of Napoleon; Cardinal Caprara, then the Pope’s legate at the court
of France; the Count D’Harville, senator and governor of the palace of
the Tuileries; Esteve, grand treasurer of the crown; Mareschal Prince
Murat, afterwards King of Naples; Mareschal Serrurier, governor of the
royal Hotel of Invalids; Mareschal Moncey, Duke of Cornegliane,
inspector-general of the gendarmerie; Mareschal Bessierre, Duke of
Treviso, general of the imperial guard; Compte Segur, grand master of
the Ceremonies; the beautiful and heroic Madame Lavalette, and the
Countess of La Rochefoucault, ladies of honor to the empress; Cardinal
du Belloy, archbishop of Paris; Maria Annunciade Carolina, wife of
Murat; Maria Paulina, wife of Prince Borghese, Duke of Guastalla; and
Maria Anna Elisa, Duchess of Tuscany, and Princess of Lucca and
Piombino;--the three sisters of Napoleon; Hortense Eugenia Beauharnais,
daughter of Josephine, and wife of Louis Napoleon, King of Holland,
together with her son Louis Napoleon; Maria Julia Clary, wife of Joseph
Napoleon; Junot, Duke of Abrantes, colonel-general of hussars; Louis
Napoleon, grand constable; Joseph Napoleon, grand electeur, King of
Spain, afterwards a citizen of the United States; Mareschal Le Febvre,
Duke of Dantzic; Mareschal Perignon, governor of Naples; Counts de Very,
de Longis, D’Arjuzen, Nansouty, Forbin, Beausset, and Detemaud, all
filling distinguished posts; Duroc, Duke of Frioul, grand mareschal of
the palace; Counts de Jaucourt, Brigade, de Boudy, and de Laville; the
Baron Beaumont; the Duke of Cossé Brissac; Madame, mother of the
emperor; Count Beaumont; Countess Fontanges; Madame la Mareschal Soult;
the Duke of Gravina, ambassador from Spain; Count Marescalchi, minister
of the kingdom of Lombardy; Count Cobenzel, Austrian ambassador; the
Turkish envoy; Mr. Armstrong, ambassador from the United States; the
Marquis of Luchesini, Prussian envoy; M. and Madame David; and the
senator Vien, master of the artist; of whom the emperor said, when
viewing the picture, “I perceive the likeness of the good M. Vien.”
Whereto the painter replied, “I was desirous to testify my gratitude to
my master, by placing him in a picture, which from its subject will be
the most important of my labors.” There were, besides, the poet Lebrun;
Gretry the musician; Monges, member of the Institute; Count D’Aubusson
de la Feuillade; chamberlain, etc., etc.
The Bourbons, upon their restoration, unmindful of the arts, and
actuated by a mean spirit of vengeance, ordered this chef d’œuvre of
David to be destroyed, which was accordingly done!! When Napoleon
returned to Paris, the existing government, conceiving it important that
the picture should be replaced, requested David to repaint his former
picture, which he felt great repugnance to do, regarding it as not
within the province of real genius to repaint former productions. He
was, however, prevailed upon to acquiesce, and the government agreed to
pay the same price that he had received for the original, 100,000
francs. Upon Napoleon’s second abdication, the Emperor Alexander, aware
of the history of the performance, made overtures to become possessed of
it, after David had completed it at Brussels; but, though his offers
were munificent, the painter refused to part with it, and left it to his
son, who subsequently exhibited it in London.
DAVID AND THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON.
During David’s exile at Brussels, the Duke of Wellington called on him,
and said, “Monsieur David, I have called to have my portrait taken by
the illustrious painter of Leonidas at Thermopylæ.” David, eyeing
fiercely the man who had humbled his country, and dethroned her Emperor,
replied, “Sir, I cannot paint the English.”
DAVID AND THE CARDINAL CAPRARA.
David introduced the Cardinal Caprara, as the Pope’s legate, into the
picture of the Coronation of Napoleon, without his wig. The likeness was
exact, and the Cardinal remonstrated with David on the omission,
desiring him to supply it. The painter replied that he never had, and
never would paint a wig. The Cardinal then applied to the Minister of
Foreign Affairs, and represented that as no pope had hitherto worn a
wig, it might seem as if he (Caprara) had purposely left his own off, to
show his pretensions to the tiara. David however stood firm as a rock,
even before Talleyrand, and said, “his Eminence may think himself lucky
that nothing but his wig has been taken off.”
DAVID AT BRUSSELS.
David, then advanced in years, severely felt his exile at Brussels. He
lived very retired, saw little company, and seldom went abroad. It is
related that Talma, during a professional engagement at Brussels, got up
the tragedy of Leonidas, expressly to gratify his old friend, and
invited him to the theatre to see the performance. David consented to
go, but told Talma he must pardon him if he should happen to _nod_. As
soon as David was recognized in the theatre, the whole house rose _en
masse_, and gave three hearty cheers for the illustrious exile, which so
affected him that he burst into tears. When the performance commenced,
so far from giving way to sleep, he became completely absorbed in the
interest of the play, and when the curtain dropped, he exclaimed,
“Heavens! how glorious it is to possess such a talent.”
PIERRE MIGNARD.
There have been found occasionally some artists, who could so perfectly
imitate the spirit, the taste, the character, and the peculiarities of
great masters, that they have not unfrequently deceived the most
skillful connoisseurs.
An anecdote of Pierre Mignard is singular. This great artist painted a
Magdalen on a canvass fabricated at Rome. A broker in concert with him,
went to the Chevalier de Clairville, and told him as a secret, that he
was to receive from Italy a Magdalen of Guido, and one of his
masterpieces. The Chevalier caught the bait, begged the preference, and
purchased the picture at a very high price. Some time afterwards, he was
informed that he had been imposed upon, for that the Magdalen was
painted by Mignard. Although Mignard himself caused the alarm to be
given, the amateur would not believe it; all the connoisseurs agreed it
was a Guido, and the famous Le Brun corroborated this opinion. The
Chevalier came to Mignard; “There are,” said he, “some persons who
assure me that my Magdalen is your work.” “Mine!” replied Mignard; “they
do me great honor. I am sure that Le Brun is not of that opinion.” “Le
Brun swears it can be no other than a Guido,” said the Chevalier; “you
shall dine with me, and meet several of the first connoisseurs.” On the
day of meeting, the picture was more closely inspected than ever.
Mignard hinted his doubts whether the piece was the work by Guido; he
insinuated that it was possible to be deceived, and added that, if it
was Guido’s, he did not think it in his best manner. “I am perfectly
convinced that it is a Guido, sir, and in his very best manner,” replied
Le Brun, with warmth; and all the critics unanimously agreed with him.
Mignard then said, in a firm tone of voice, “And I, gentlemen, will
wager three hundred louis that it is not a Guido.” The dispute now
became violent--Le Brun was desirous of accepting the wager. In a word,
the affair became such as could add nothing more to the glory of
Mignard. “No, sir,” replied the latter; “I am too honest to bet, when I
am certain to win. Monsieur le Chevalier, this piece cost you two
thousand crowns; the money must be returned--the painting is by my
hand.” Le Brun would not believe it. “The proof,” continued Mignard, “is
easy; on this canvass, which is a Roman one, was the portrait of a
Cardinal; I will show you his cap.”
The Chevalier did not know which of the rival artists to believe; the
proposition alarmed him. “He who painted the picture shall mend it,”
said Mignard; and taking a pencil dipped in spirits, and rubbing the
hair of the Magdalen, he soon discovered the cap of the Cardinal. The
honor of the ingenious painter could no longer be disputed.
SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS.
This eminent painter was born at Plympton, in Devonshire, in 1723. He
was the son of the Rev. Samuel Reynolds, who intended him for the
medical profession; but his natural taste and genius for painting,
induced his father to send him to London to study painting under Hudson,
when he was seventeen years of age. In 1749, he accompanied Captain,
afterwards Lord Keppel to the Mediterranean, and passed about three
years in Italy. On his return to England, he established himself in
London, where he soon acquired a distinguished reputation, and rose to
be esteemed the head of the English school of painting. At the formation
of the Royal Academy in 1768, he was elected president, and received the
honor of knighthood. In 1781 he visited Holland and the Netherlands to
examine the productions of the Dutch and Flemish masters, by which he is
said to have improved his coloring. In 1784, on the death of Ramsay, he
was appointed principal painter to the King. He died in 1792, and his
remains were deposited in the crypt of St. Paul’s cathedral, near the
tomb of Sir Christopher Wren. He formed a splendid collection of works
of art, which, after his death, brought at public sale about £17,000;
and the whole of his property amounted to about £80,000, the bulk of
which he left to his niece, who married Lord Inchiquin, afterwards
Marquis of Thomond. He never married, but his sister Frances Reynolds
conducted his domestic affairs. He was fond of the society of literary
men, kept open house, and seldom dined without his table being graced by
the presence of some of the chosen spirits of the land. He was simple
and unostentatious in his habits, and affable in his deportment; and
while his table was abundantly supplied, there was an absence of all
ceremony, and each guest was made to feel himself perfectly at home,
which gave a delightful zest to his hospitality.
REYNOLDS’ NEW STYLE.
Soon after Reynolds’ return to England from Italy, in 1752, he commenced
his professional career in St. Martin’s Lane, London. He found such
opposition as genius is commonly doomed to encounter, and does not
always overcome. The boldness of his attempts, and the brilliancy of his
coloring, were considered innovations upon the established and orthodox
system of portrait manufacture, in the styles of Lely and Kneller. The
old artists first raised their voices. His old master Hudson called at
his rooms to see his Turkish Boy, which had caused quite a sensation in
the town. After contemplating the picture some minutes, he said with a
national oath,--“Why, Reynolds, you do not paint as well as you did when
you left England.” Ellis, an eminent portrait maker, who had studied
under Kneller, next lifted up his voice. “Ah, Reynolds,” said he, “this
will never answer, you do not paint in the least like Sir Godfrey.” When
the young artist vindicated himself with much ability, Ellis, finding
himself unable to give any good reasons for the objections he had made,
cried out in a rage, “Shakspeare in poetry, and Kneller in painting for
me,” and stalked out of the room. Reynolds’ new style, notwithstanding
the vigorous opposition he met with, took with the fashionable world,
his fame spread far and wide, and he soon became the leading painter in
London. In 1754, he removed from St. Martin’s Lane, the Grub-street of
artists, and took a handsome house on the north side of Great
Newport-Street, which he furnished with elegance and taste. Northcote
says his apartments were filled with ladies of quality and with men of
rank, all alike desirous to have their persons preserved to posterity by
one who touched no subject without adorning it. “The desire to
perpetuate the form of self-complacency, crowded the sitting room of
Reynolds with women who wished to be transmitted as angels, and with men
who wished to appear as heroes and philosophers. From his pencil they
were sure to be gratified. The force and facility of his portraits, not
only drew around him the opulence and beauty of the nation, but happily
gained him the merited honor of perpetuating the features of all the
eminent and distinguished men of learning then living.”
REYNOLDS’ PRICES.
“The price,” says Cunningham, “which Reynolds at first received for a
_head_ was five guineas; the rate increased with his fame, and in the
year 1755 his charge was twelve. Experience about this time dictated the
following memorandum respecting his art. ‘For painting the
flesh:--black, blue-black, white, lake, carmine, orpiment, yellow-ochre,
ultramarine, and varnish. To lay the palette:--first lay, carmine and
white in different degrees; second lay, orpiment and white ditto; third
lay, blue-black and white ditto. The first sitting, for expedition, make
a mixture as like the sitter’s complexion as you can.’ Some years
afterwards I find, by a casual notice from Johnson, that Reynolds had
raised his price for a head to twenty guineas.
“The year 1758 was perhaps the most lucrative of his professional
career. The account of the economy of his studies, and the distribution
of his time at this period, is curious and instructive. It was his
practice to keep all the prints engraved from his portraits, together
with his sketches, in a large portfolio; these he submitted to his
sitters; and whatever position they selected, he immediately proceeded
to copy it on the canvass, and paint the likeness to correspond. He
received six sitters daily, who appeared in their turns; and he kept
regular lists of those who sat, and of those who were waiting until a
finished portrait should open a vacancy for their admission. He painted
them as they stood on his list, and often sent the work home before the
colors were dry. Of lounging visitors he had a great abhorrence, and, as
he reckoned up the fruits of his labors, ‘Those idle people,’ said this
disciple of the grand historical school of Raphael and Angelo, ‘those
idle people do not consider that my time is worth five guineas an hour.’
This calculation incidentally informs us, that it was Reynolds’
practice, in the height of his reputation and success, to paint a
portrait in four hours.”
REYNOLDS IN LEICESTER SQUARE.
Reynolds’ commissions continued to increase, and to pour in so
abundantly, that in addition to his pupils, he found it necessary to
employ several subordinate artists, skillful in painting drapery and
backgrounds, as assistants. He also raised his price to twenty-five
guineas a head.
“In the year 1761,” says Cunningham, “the accumulating thousands which
Johnson speaks of, began to have a visible effect on Reynolds’
establishment. He quitted Newport Street, purchased a fine house on the
west side of Leicester Square, furnished it with much taste, added a
splendid gallery for the exhibition of his works, and an elegant
dining-room; and finally taxed his invention and his purse in the
production of a carriage, with wheels carved and gilt, and bearing on
its pannels the Four Seasons of the year. Those who flocked to see his
new gallery, were sometimes curious enough to desire a sight of this gay
carriage, and the coachman, imitating the lackey who showed the gallery,
earned a little money by opening the coach-house doors. His sister
complained that it was too showy--‘What!’ said the painter, ‘would you
have one like an apothecary’s carriage?’
“By what course of study he attained his skill in art, Reynolds has not
condescended to tell us; but of many minor matters we are informed by
one of his pupils, with all the scrupulosity of biography. His study was
octagonal, some twenty feet long, sixteen broad, and about fifteen feet
high. The window was small and square, and the sill nine feet from the
floor. His sitter’s chair moved on castors, and stood above the floor a
foot and a half; he held his palettes by a handle, and the sticks of his
brushes were eighteen inches long. He wrought standing, and with great
celerity. He rose early, breakfasted at nine, entered his study at ten,
examined designs or touched unfinished portraits till eleven brought a
sitter; painted till four; then dressed, and gave the evening to
company.
“His table was now elegantly furnished, and round it men of genius were
often found. He was a lover of poetry and poets; they sometimes read
their productions at his house, and were rewarded by his approbation,
and occasionally by their portraits. Johnson was a frequent and a
welcome guest: though the sage was not seldom sarcastic and overbearing,
he was endured and caressed, because he poured out the riches of his
conversation more lavishly than Reynolds did his wines. Percy was there
too with his ancient ballads and his old English lore; and Goldsmith
with his latent genius, infantine vivacity, and plum-colored coat. Burke
and his brothers were constant guests, and Garrick was seldom absent,
for he loved to be where greater men were. It was honorable to this
distinguished artist that he perceived the worth of such men, and felt
the honor which their society shed upon him; but it stopped not here--he
often aided them with his purse, nor insisted upon repayment.”
THE FOUNDING OF THE ROYAL ACADEMY.
“The Royal Academy,” says Cunningham, “was planned and proposed in 1768
by Chambers, West, Cotes, and Moser; the caution or timidity of Reynolds
kept him for some time from assisting. A list of thirty members was made
out; and West, a prudent and amiable man, called on Reynolds, and, in a
conference of two hours’ continuance, succeeded in persuading him to
join them. He ordered his carriage, and, accompanied by West, entered
the room where his brother artists were assembled. They rose up to a
man, and saluted him ‘President.’ He was affected by the compliment, but
declined the honor till he had talked with Johnson and Burke; he went,
consulted his friends, and having considered the consequences carefully,
then consented. He expressed his belief at the same time that their
scheme was a mere delusion: the King, he said, would not patronize nor
even acknowledge them, as his majesty was well known to be the friend of
another body--The Incorporated Society of Artists.”
The truth is, the Royal Academy was planned at the suggestion of the
King himself. He had learned, through West, the causes of the indecent
bickerings in the Society of Artists, and declared to him that he was
ready to patronize any institution founded on principles calculated to
advance the interests of art. West communicated the King’s declaration
to some of the dissenters, who drew up a plan which the king corrected
with his own hand. See Spooner’s Dictionary of Painters, Engravers,
Sculptors, and Architects, article West.
REYNOLDS AND DR. JOHNSON.
In the year 1754, Reynolds accidentally made the acquaintance of Dr.
Samuel Johnson, which ripened into a mutual and warm friendship, that
continued through life. Of the fruit which he derived from this
intercourse, Reynolds thus speaks, in one of his Discourses on Art:
“Whatever merit these Discourses may have, must be imputed in a great
measure to the education which I may be said to have had under Dr.
Johnson. I do not mean to say, though it certainly would be to the
credit of these Discourses if I could say it with truth, that he
contributed even a single sentiment to them; but he qualified my mind to
think justly. No man had, like him, the art of teaching inferior minds
the art of thinking. Perhaps other men might have equal knowledge, but
few were so communicative. His great pleasure was to talk to those who
looked up to him. It was here he exhibited his wonderful powers. The
observations which he made on poetry, on life, and on everything about
us, I applied to one art--with what success, others must judge.”
DR. JOHNSON’S FRIENDSHIP FOR REYNOLDS.
In 1764, Reynolds was attacked by a sudden and dangerous illness. He was
cheered by the sympathy of many friends, and by the solicitude of
Johnson, who thus wrote him from Northamptonshire:
“I did not hear of your sickness till I heard likewise of your recovery,
and therefore escaped that part of your pain which every man must feel
to whom you are known as you are known to me. If the amusement of my
company can exhilarate the languor of a slow recovery, I will not delay
a day to come to you; for I know not how I can so effectually promote my
own pleasure as by pleasing you, or my own interest as by preserving
you; in whom, if I should lose you, I should lose almost the only man
whom I can call a friend.” He to whom Johnson could thus write, must
have possessed many noble qualities, for no one could estimate human
nature more truly than that illustrious man.
JOHNSON’S APOLOGY FOR PORTRAIT PAINTING.
Johnson showed his kindly feelings for Sir Joshua Reynolds, by writing
the following apology for portrait painting. Had the same friendship
induced him to compliment West, he doubtless would have written in a
very different strain:
“Genius,” said he, “is chiefly exerted in historical pictures, and the
art of the painter of portraits is often lost in the obscurity of the
subject. But it is in painting as in life; what is greatest is not
always best. I should grieve to see Reynolds transfer to heroes and
goddesses, to empty splendor and to airy fiction, that art which is now
employed in diffusing friendship, in renewing tenderness, in quickening
the affections of the absent, and continuing the presence of the dead.
Every man is always present to himself, and has, therefore, little need
of his own resemblance; nor can desire it, but for the sake of those
whom he loves, and by whom he hopes to be remembered. This use of the
art is a natural and reasonable consequence of affection: and though,
like all other human actions, it is often complicated with pride, yet
even such pride is more laudable than that by which palaces are covered
with pictures, which however excellent, neither imply the owner’s
virtue, nor excite it.”
THE LITERARY CLUB.
The Literary Club was founded by Dr. Johnson in 1764, and among many men
of eminence and talent, it numbered Reynolds. His modesty would not
permit him to assume to himself the distinction which literature
bestows, but his friends knew too well the value of his presence, to
lose it by a fastidious observance of the title of the club. Poets,
painters, and sculptors are all brothers; and had Reynolds been less
eminent in art, his sound sense, varied information, and pleasing
manners would have made him an acceptable companion in the most
intellectual society.
JOHNSON’S PORTRAIT.
In 1775, Sir Joshua Reynolds painted his famous portrait of Dr. Johnson,
in which he represented him as reading, and near-sighted. This latter
circumstance was very displeasing to the “Giant of Literature,” who
reproved Reynolds, saying, “It is not friendly to hand down to posterity
the imperfections of any man.” But Reynolds, on the contrary, considered
it a natural peculiarity which gave additional value to the portrait.
Johnson complained of the caricature to Mrs. Thrale, who to console him,
said that he would not be known to posterity by his defects only, and
that Reynolds had painted for her his own portrait, with the
ear-trumpet. He replied, “He may paint himself as deaf as he chooses,
but he shall not paint me as _blinking Sam_.”
JOHNSON’S DEATH.
“Amidst the applause,” says Cunningham, “which these works obtained for
him, the President met with a loss which the world could not
repair--Samuel Johnson died on the 13th of December, 1784, full of years
and honors. A long, a warm, and a beneficial friendship had subsisted
between them. The house and the purse of Reynolds were ever open to
Johnson, and the word and the pen of Johnson were equally ready for
Reynolds. It was pleasing to contemplate this affectionate brotherhood,
and it was sorrowful to see it dissevered. ‘I have three requests to
make,’ said Johnson, the day before his death, ‘and I beg that you will
attend to them, Sir Joshua. Forgive me thirty pounds, which I borrowed
from you--read the Scriptures--and abstain from using your pencil on the
Sabbath-day.’ Reynolds promised, and--what is better--remembered his
promise?”
REYNOLDS AND GOLDSMITH.
We hear much about “poetic inspiration,” and the “poet’s eye in a fine
frenzy rolling.” Reynolds use to tell an anecdote of goldsmith
calculated to abate our notions about the ardor of composition.
Calling upon the poet one day, he opened the door without ceremony, and
found him engaged in the double occupation of tuning a couplet and
teaching a pet dog to sit upon its haunches. At one time he would glance
at his desk, and at another shake his finger at the dog to make him
retain his position. The last lines on the page were still wet; they
form a part of the description of Italy:
“By sports like these are all their cares beguiled;
The sports of children satisfy the child.”