"+Dear Charles+,--I shall be delighted to come to your house, also
Maria, William, and Henry.--Yours, +Neddy Landseer+."
The only other occasion on which Landseer departed from his usual
routine of work seems to have been when he was on a visit to the
Duke of Bedford at Woburn Abbey, in December, 1826, at which time
the artist was in his twenty-third year. He set himself to sketch a
couple of sportsman's cards, of which we give the one considered the
most picturesque, and best calculated to show the great painter's
versatility and ingenuity. The writing is that of the Duke of Bedford,
and, to judge by the number of hares, rabbits, and pheasants bagged,
sport at Woburn Abbey during this particular week must have been fairly
brisk. There is no question as to the genuine nature of this veritable
curiosity, for on the back of it is written the signature--in ink
almost faded--of Lady Georgiana Russell.
From our remarks in the previous chapter on "Pictures with Histories,"
it will be readily gathered that behind nearly every canvas which
Landseer touched some happy incident lies hidden away. His magnificent
work, "A Distinguished Member of the Humane Society," was suggested to
him by seeing the noble creature which figures in the picture carrying
a basket of flowers in its mouth.
"Lion"--a picture he painted for Mr. W. H. Merle for £50--has its story
to tell. Landseer particularly wished to see the dog--Lion--excited.
There chanced to be in the house a live mouse in a trap. The mouse
was let loose, Lion gave chase, and the next instant the mouse had
disappeared. There was no accounting for such a rapid exit, when
somebody suggested that possibly Lion had swallowed it. And such was
the fact; the poor little mouse had found safety in the dog's huge
jowls. Immediately Lion's lips were opened the tiny creature jumped out
uninjured and made good its escape.
Lion, being a particularly powerful dog, was not easy to play tricks
with. On one occasion whilst he was walking along the bank of a canal,
a passing bargeman began to poke him with his oar. With a sudden rush
and a jerk, Lion seized the oar, and lifted his tormentor into the
water. It is interesting to note that Lion's portrait was despatched in
a heavy case to Paris, just at the time of the Revolution, and narrowly
escaped being used as a barricade.
Here is another anecdote of one of Landseer's pictures. "Beauty's Bath"
was a portrait of Miss Eliza Peel, daughter of Sir Robert Peel, in
which she is shown with a pretty little pet poodle, named Fido, in her
arms. At the time the picture was engraved and about to be issued to
the public, Sir Robert was not on the best of terms with the populace.
This the publisher knew, and saw that, if he issued the work as "a
portrait of Miss Peel," it would ruin the sale. Accordingly, he gave it
this very taking title, by which it has ever since been known.
One day Sir Robert met the publisher and demanded why the title had
been changed. He was assured that "Beauty's Bath" was most appropriate.
"Oh! yes, that's all right," said Sir Robert. "I've no objection to
that. Only," he continued thoughtfully, evidently thinking of the pet
poodle and his charming daughter, "which do you intend for the beauty?"
"Well," replied the publisher merrily, "you pay your money and you take
your choice!"
[Illustration: HUNTSMAN AND HOUNDS.]
Landseer loved to have his artistic joke. This is excellently seen in
the two sketches which we reproduce. "Huntsman and Hounds" is a little
pen-and-ink drawing done for Miss Wardrop at the age of thirty-four.
Miss Wardrop, herself, was fond of the pencil and brush, and was
particularly partial to animals. She found no small difficulty in
drawing accurately a horse's hoofs. One day she went to Landseer and
told him frankly of her non-success, at the same time asking him to
give her a hint as to the best way of drawing them correctly. The
artist good-humouredly complied with her request, and showed her that
it was by no means necessary to depict them at all. This he did by
hiding the horse's hoofs in a wealth of grass, as shown in the sketch.
[Illustration: "THE EXPECTANT DOG."]
"The Expectant Dog" is another example of the artist's merry moments.
The poodle was the property of the Hon. F. Byng, a distinguished member
of the Humane Society, and also prominent through his connection with
the Metropolitan Commission of Sewers. Landseer was dining with Mr.
Byng, when he was asked to make a little sketch of Mr. Byng himself.
This he immediately did by drawing that gentleman's favourite dog with
its head up a sewer in the midst of a puddle of water, and a rat making
a very speedy exit at its approach. The eminent Commissioner of Sewers
saw the joke at once, as did also his friends, and for many a long day
he was known by the nickname of "Poodle Byng."
We now turn to some works by Sir Joshua Reynolds, to which a history is
attached, and, in so doing, there occurs a somewhat curious incident,
which has the interest of connecting two of our greatest painters. Sir
Joshua's famous picture of "The Gleaners" shows one of the toilers of
the field carrying a bundle of wheat on her head. This figure was put
in, as the lady--Miss Potts--who posed as the model for it, happened
to be staying with her friends, the Macklins, where Sir Joshua was
staying also. Miss Potts was destined to become the mother of Sir
Edwin Landseer; for, some time afterwards, she met John Landseer,
loved and married him. In passing, it may be mentioned that Sir Joshua
is credited with having expressed the opinion that if an artist
painted four or five distinctly original subjects in his lifetime,
the achievement should be sufficient to satisfy the demands of the
expectant public. Hence he painted no fewer than a quartette of "The
Strawberry Girl," each single picture being as good as the others,
though probably the first one painted would be preferred for choice.
Any of them would easily fetch £2,000 or £3,000 each. We have
had the privilege of examining Sir Joshua's own ledgers, and in 1766 we
find that he was only receiving £150 for a whole length portrait,
£70 for half-length, £50 for a kit cat (36 in. x 25 in.), and
£30 for a head. Gainsborough received about the same figure.
The recent tragic death of the Duke of Bedford suggests to us a picture
which Sir Joshua painted of "The Bedford Family"--a work worth, at the
lowest estimate, £10,000. The curious circumstance of allowing this
valuable painting to be turned towards the wall in a darkened room
for a great number of years is in itself suggestive of some unknown
story. At last it was decided to have the picture renovated, for it
had become perfectly black. It was accordingly sent to be cleaned; but
it was found impossible to remove the dire results which a darkened
room and a dusty atmosphere had worked upon it. It was then suggested
that the very opposite means should be tried. The canvas was hung in a
room, the roof of which was of glass, through which the bright sunshine
could fall upon it. As the week and month passed by, the sunlight
scattered the gloom by degrees, until, at the end of a year, all had
disappeared, and the rich colouring was once more visible. One of the
boys represented in the picture is Lord William Russell--the father of
the late Duke of Bedford--who was killed by his valet in 1840.
[Illustration: "THE BEDFORD FAMILY."]
A "Sir Joshua" worth £15,000 has been thrown out of window during a
fire, and reached the ground untouched by smoke or flame. This was
"Lady Williams Wynn and children," which now hangs at Wynstay. A
very interesting incident may be told to show how minute Sir Joshua
was--even to a hair. At the sale of his books, there was found amongst
the leaves a little curl wrapped up in a small piece of tissue paper on
which the artist had written "Lady Waldegrave's hair." He had painted
a picture of the Countess of Waldegrave and her daughter, and, in
order to get the exact colour of the hair, had persuaded the Countess
to cut off a lock. It was recently beautifully mounted, surrounded by
portraits of the pictures connected with it, and presented to the late
Countess; and it now hangs underneath the original work.
Can a leopard change its spots? Yes, so far as a pictorial leopard
goes--as may be illustrated by a painting by Sir Joshua of Master
Herbert as a Bacchus. He made an error here, for he depicted the god
of wine surrounded by lionesses, when, of course, leopards should
have figured in the festive scene. The engraver in whose hands the
picture was placed saw the mistake, and took it upon himself to add the
spots to the lionesses, thereby converting them into leopards in his
engraving. He even went further, and painted the necessary spots on the
animals on the canvas. One hundred years passed away, and the picture
was sent to London to be cleaned and restored, when, to the great
dismay of the cleaner, he noticed that as he worked the leopards began
to lose their spots! Examination soon showed what was the reason. All
the spots were removed, the lionesses appeared in their proper skins,
and so the picture now appears.
We reproduce two pictures by Sir Joshua Reynolds. The history of one is
as sensational as the other is broadly humorous. They happen, too, to
be the stories of a husband and wife.
[Illustration: MRS. MUSTERS.]
Mrs. Musters was a great beauty of her day, and in 1778 Sir Joshua
painted her. The picture he sent home to Mr. Musters to his seat at
Colwick. An application was received from the artist that the canvas
should be returned to him, as he desired to make one or two important
alterations which would considerably benefit the picture. It was sent
back to him, and it remained in his possession seven years. Time after
time it was applied for, but all to no effect--it was impossible to get
it back; the applicants got nothing but excuse after excuse. At last,
in desperation, Sir Joshua declared that he had spoiled the work, and
so destroyed it, and to make up for this he painted another of Mrs.
Musters in the character of Hebe, after a lapse of seven years. Where
was the original picture? It transpired that George IV.--then Prince of
Wales--was at that time engaged in making a collection of the beauties
of his Court, and had often asked Mr. Musters to allow his wife to sit
for her portrait for this purpose. This Mr. Musters firmly refused.
The Prince then brought some pressure to bear on Sir Joshua Reynolds
to get the picture. How Sir Joshua set to work has already been seen.
The painting was afterwards sold at the Pavilion at Brighton, and was
purchased by the Earl of Egremont of Petworth, at whose seat it now
hangs. It should be mentioned that this is the only instance on record
where Sir Joshua did anything to cast a shade upon a character which
was in every other respect a truly honourable one. The pressure which
the Prince enforced was too great, and he succumbed.
[Illustration: JOHN MUSTERS, ESQ.]
Surely nothing can be more humorous than the fact of a man having
his portrait painted, and, as the fashion in clothing changed, so
having the latest thing in satin coat and flowered vest put on his
figure! Yet this was actually done, and by the husband of the very
lady who figures prominently in the preceding story. Mr. Musters was
exceptionally eccentric. Not content with a picture of himself by Sir
Joshua, he secured from time to time the services of another artist to
re-clothe him up to date. Some years after his death, the canvas was
submitted to a well-known expert, when the momentous question arose
as to how it could possibly be a genuine Sir Joshua when the clothing
was of a date some thirty years after the great artist had ceased to
exist? The picture was put into the hands of a cleaner, when he, almost
bewildered, sent a hasty message to the expert to say that all the
clothes were gradually coming off! Part of the coat had disappeared,
the flowers on the vest were fading, the fob of the watch-chain had
gone. The whole truth was soon made evident, and very soon the old,
though valuable, clothes were all found underneath, and Mr. Musters
appeared in the proper costume of his day as Sir Joshua painted him. As
such he is to be seen in our copy of the engraving from the picture.
The works of Gainsborough are replete with anecdote. One incident is
worthy of being chronicled as associating Sir Joshua Reynolds and this
great artist together. It happened in 1782, when the two painters, to
put it plainly, were not on speaking terms. At the Royal Academy of
that year Gainsborough exhibited a picture, "Girl and Pigs." Sir Joshua
was much impressed with it, and, as a token of his appreciation of
unquestionable genius, and, we venture to think, possibly with a view
to bringing about a renewal of friendship, purchased the work for £100.
It would bring thousands now. The Earl of Carlisle possesses it.
Gainsborough was generous to a high degree. When he was at Bath he
was anxious to paint Quin, the actor, and in return for the sitting
said that he would make him a present of the portrait. Quin refused.
Gainsborough pleaded with him, and made use of these remarkable words:
"If you will let me paint your portrait _I shall live for ever!_" The
actor gave way, but today the picture preserves the memory of Quin. On
one occasion Gainsborough actually gave half-a-dozen pictures to a Mr.
Wiltshire, a carrier, who, "solely for the love of art," volunteered
to convey one of his important canvases to London free of charge. These
pictures were the price paid for the van hire, and two of them now hang
in the National Gallery--"The Market Cart," and "The Parish Clerk."
The two next reproductions we give have exceptionally singular
histories. One indeed is a romance of the purest type. The fact of his
celebrated Duchess of Devonshire having been stolen has probably had
much to do with making the public regard it as the finest thing that
Gainsborough ever did. But art connoisseurs say that the "Hon. Mrs.
Graham" is a far finer bit of colouring. It now hangs in the National
Gallery of Scotland, and its value is put down at £25,000. Here is its
history--a truly romantic one.
[Illustration: THE HONOURABLE MRS. GRAHAM.]
Mrs. Graham was the wife of Captain Graham, who years afterwards
became General Lord Lynedoch, G.C.B. She was only seventeen when her
husband commissioned Gainsborough to paint her. He was passionately
attached to his beautiful wife, their married life was one long day
of happiness, and when, at a comparatively early age, she died, her
broken-hearted husband could not bear even to look upon the picture,
and it disappeared. He tried in every way to put an end to his life
honourably; but at all times failed. He went into the Peninsular War,
volunteered for every "forlorn hope" in the hope of getting killed; but
he seemed to bear a charmed life, and rose to be a Field Marshal in
the English Army, and lived to ninety-one years of age. Where was the
picture of such fabulous value? It was not until after Lord Lynedoch's
death that it was discovered in a furniture warehouse, where it had
been packed away in a heavy case and concealed from view for very many
years.
We now come to the picture that was the means of bringing about the
historical quarrel between Gainsborough and the Royal Academy; and, in
order that its history should be fully set forth in these pages, the
writer has searched the various newspapers of that day with a view of
showing the extreme feeling that existed. Gainsborough sent a picture
of the three daughters of George III. to the Academy, with a polite
request that it should be hung the same distance from the ground as it
would be when placed in position in the Royal residence. The Academy
Council ignored this wish, and hung it far too high. This so enraged
Gainsborough--who was of a somewhat irritable disposition--that he sent
for all his pictures, and had them brought back from the Academy. _The
Morning Herald_ of May 5, 1784, says:--
"Yesterday, the three pictures of the Princess Royal, Princess
Elizabeth, and Princess Augusta were removed from the Exhibition Room
of Somerset House on the Strand to Mr. Gainsborough's at Pall Mall,
and from thence are to be fixed as furniture at Carlton House."
_The Morning Herald_ was, however, wrong, there was only one picture,
not three.
Again, the following extract, which appeared in the same paper on May
7, 1784, is worthy of being quoted:--
"Gainsborough, whose professional absence every visitor of the Royal
Academy so feelingly deplores, is fitting up his own saloon in Pall
Mall for the display of his matchless productions, where he may
safely exhibit them without further offence to the Sons of Envy and
Dullness.... By the bye, let it be remembered to the honour of Sir
Joshua Reynolds and Sir William Chambers, that, so far from abetting
the conduct of the Academy Hangmen, they have in the handsomest
manner protested against the shameful outrage offered by these fatal
executioners to genius and taste!"
[Illustration: PRINCESS ROYAL, PRINCESS AUGUSTA, AND PRINCESS
ELIZABETH: DAUGHTERS OF GEORGE III.]
The history of the picture does not end here. It remained at Carlton
House until the building was pulled down, and was then removed to
Buckingham Palace. At some subsequent period an unknown individual
requiring a picture to fit in a space over a door to one of the State
Rooms, positively had it cut down to the required size. It is still
there. Its value at the present moment, had it been left untouched,
would be £20,000; as it is, it is worth about half that sum. Our
illustration shows the painting as it is to-day.
_Two Fishers._
+From the French of Guy de Maupassant.+
[+Henri Réné Albert Guy de Maupassant+ was born on the 5th of
August in the year 1850. His parents lived in Normandy, and
were people of position; but when, in 1870, the war broke out
with Prussia, Guy, then just twenty, buckled on his sword and
served his country as a common soldier. When the war was over,
he became acquainted with Gustave Flaubert, and the brilliant
author of "Salammbô" introduced him to the world of letters, in
which he quickly won himself a foremost place. He is not a very
prolific writer, but the quality of his work is always fine,
and he is one of the best writers of short tales now living.
He is fond of using his experience of the war as a basis for
his stories--of which "Two Fishers" is an excellent example, as
well as of his remarkably artistic style, which tells a story
in its full effect without a word too much or little.]
[Illustration: THE TWO FISHERS.]
Paris was blockaded--famished--at the point of death. Even the sparrows
on the housetops were few and far between, and the very sewers were in
danger of becoming depopulated. People ate anything they could get.
Monsieur Morisot, watchmaker by trade, was walking early one bright
January morning down the Boulevards, his hands in the pockets of his
overcoat, feeling hungry and depressed, when he unexpectedly ran
against a friend. He recognised Monsieur Sauvage, an old time chum of
the river-side.
Every Sunday before the war Morisot used to start at daybreak with his
bamboo fishing rod in his hand, his tin bait and tackle box upon his
back. He used to take the train to Colombes, and to walk from there to
the Island of Maranthe. No sooner had he arrived at the river than he
used to begin to fish and continue fishing until evening. Here every
Sunday he used to meet Monsieur Sauvage, a linen-draper from Paris, but
stout and jovial withal, as keen a fisherman moreover as he was himself.
Often they would sit side by side, their feet dangling over the water
for half a day at a time and say scarcely a word, yet little by little
they became friends. Sometimes they never spoke at all. Occasionally
they launched out into conversation, but they understood each other
perfectly without its aid, for their tastes and ideas were the same.
On a spring morning in the bright sunshine, when the light and delicate
mist hovered over the river, and these two mad fishermen enjoyed a
foretaste of real summer weather, Morisot would say to his neighbour:
"Hein! not bad, eh?"