howling without,--cold, but not feeling it,--cheerless, comfortless,
but senseless to such,--there sits, perhaps a youth, perhaps an aged
man. A book lies open, and his red eyes greedily devour the thought.
Or it is a picture that he muses on; perhaps a statue, a carving, a
device; perhaps (although it may seem wonderful) a building. Or he
writes,--ponders and writes; or draws,--ponders and draws. Or it is
music that he loves,--sweet melody--soft harmony--in the still night,
when grosser men have ceased their turmoil’s jarring discord. How
intent he is! He forgets the world--forgets himself--forgets the cold
March night---in some strange lore! The chill of opening spring is but
as the warmth of kindest, sunniest Autumn. That cheerless home of his
is lost--lost in the vision of a beautiful heaven. The bleak black
noon of night is _without_! within it is a brilliant daylight scene;
and he is very happy! He is alone with Art,--his soul surrounded with
the beautiful. He is drunk with love of Loveliness as with a drug.
Sorcery-struck, the earthy of him sleeps, and the supernal self is
breathing a celestial air. _He_ is not in the dim, damp chamber,--cold
and comfortless. Earth singing a wild winter-song without,--_he_ is far
away! Fool that he is,--poor dreamer! _Fool?_ _Dreamer?_ NAY!”
[Illustration]
_THE DOUBLE SURPRISE._
A husband wishing to surprise a beloved wife on her birthday, came to
Sully, the painter, and got him to paint his portrait “on the sly.”
It was begun forthwith, and Sully was to have it carried home and put
up while the wife was out. But before it was half done, the wife paid
him a visit by stealth. “Pray, Mr. Sully,” said she, “could you not
contrive, think you, to make a portrait of me by such a day (Sully
stared), for that is my birthday, and I should like of all things to
surprise my husband,” “Why,--a--a,” said Sully, seeing that she had
no idea of the trick, “I do believe that I could; and if you will
manage to draw your husband away the night before, I will have the
picture hung up for you and all ready to receive you in the morning.”
“Delightful!” said she. To work he went therefore, and so closely was
he run that once or twice he had to let the husband out of one door
on tiptoe, while the wife was creeping in at another on tiptoe. Well,
the portraits were finished: they were very like. The night before the
birthday arrived, and Sully finding both parties away, each being
decoyed away by the other, hung them up (the pictures, not the parties)
in their superb frames, just where they required to be hung. The rest
of the story we may as well skip,--for who shall describe the surprise
of both, when the wife got up early, and the husband got up early, both
keeping their countenances to a miracle, and each feigned an excuse to
lead the other into the room where the two portraits appeared side by
side!--_Monthly Magazine_, 1826.
[Illustration]
_THE IDEAL PART OF PAINTING._
“Painting is an act that leads to infinite exertion, and the perfection
of it appears difficult to be ascertained. The grandest performances
of the greatest masters cannot circumscribe the limits of the art.
Raphael has executed prodigious works; but yet we dare to think that
he may be excelled, and this great man laboured every day of his life,
with a hope to surpass himself. I am certain that had his life, which
was a short one, been extended to ever so great a length, and had his
progress in his art kept pace with his increasing years, the idea of
perfection which he cherished would have prevented him from being
satisfied with what he had, and he would always have aimed at further
improvement. No one but a painter can imagine this infinite process
in the art: other men consider it as confined to very narrow limits.
The artist himself sees his toil expanding itself every moment into
infinite extent. This art may be compared to geography; where a dot
stands for a city, a sea, or a kingdom.”
In confirmation of this opinion of Charpentier on the infinite progress
of the ideal part of painting, let us hear the sentiment of a painter
of our own country: “I believe there never was such a race of men
upon the face of the earth; never did men look and act like those we
see represented in the works of Raphael, Michael Angelo, Correggio,
Parmegiano, and others of the best painters; yet nature appears
throughout. We rarely or never see such landscapes as those of Titian,
Annibal Caracci, Salvator Rosa, Claude Lorraine, Jasper, Poussin, and
Rubens; such buildings, in magnificence, as in the pictures of Paul
Veronese; but yet there is nothing but what we can believe may be. Our
ideas even of fruits, flowers, insects, draperies, and indeed of all
visible things, and of some that are invisible, or creatures of the
imagination, are raised and improved in the hands of a good painter;
and the mind is thereby filled with the noblest, and therefore the
most delightful images.”--_See J. Richardson’s works, “Science of a
Connoisseur.”_
[Illustration]
_SATAN AT A PREMIUM._
Vandermyne, the Dutch painter, was taken into Yorkshire by a Mr.
Aislesby, to paint him some pictures; but he committed such excesses
that he was at length turned out of doors. Under these circumstances he
went to a draper at York, where he had frequently been with his patron,
and took goods for clothing on credit; and as in conversation he
discovered that the draper had saved a few hundred pounds, he persuaded
him to part with it, promising him five per cent.: then getting a
tailor recommended to make the clothes, he afterwards decamped in a
hurry. It was some months before Mr. Aislesby had occasion to go to
York; and when he called on the draper, the latter ventured to ask
after the gentleman, when the other exclaimed he had turned the rascal
out of doors for his drunkenness and dissolute conduct. On this an
explanation took place, and the man was advised to get a picture for
his money, as the painter was no farther off than Scarborough. The
advice was followed, and he found the artist, who, after a bottle,
painted before he left him a large head of _Satan after the Fall_. This
picture was exhibited gratis at the draper’s house at York, and by
the company it attracted amply repaid him. The poor tailor, who lived
opposite, and had made the clothes, being mortified at the other’s
success, determined to walk over to Scarborough to see if he also
could get a picture. On being introduced to the artist, he begged with
many bows and scrapes that as the artist had painted a picture for
his neighbour that was likely to make his fortune, he would likewise
paint one for him; and as his account was not so great as the other’s,
he observed that he could not expect so large a one; but added, if he
would be so good as to paint him _a little devil_, he should be much
obliged. The whim took; he got a small picture and returned to York,
where both pictures were exhibited with great _éclat_. He died in
Moorfields, 1783, aged 68.
[Illustration]
_LOVE OF THE PICTURESQUE._
A white partridge having been captured in Shropshire, and being a great
curiosity, it was sent to Pugh with instructions to paint its portrait.
Pugh, who was a tolerably good painter, was no sportsman, and painted a
large oak with the white partridge perched on one of the branches. When
told that partridges always sat on the ground, he said, “That might
be; but it looks so much more picturesque to have a landscape in the
background; and I can’t alter it, for an extraordinary bird ought to
have an extraordinary situation; it exalts him above his fellows.”
_THE DUTCH PAINTER AND HIS CUSTOMERS._
“I vork in my studio one day, ven one gentleman wid de _lunettes_ come
in, make one, two, tree bow, very profound, and say, ‘_Gut morgen,
meinheer!_’ I make one, two, tree profound bow, and say de same. Den de
gentleman look at all my picture very slow and deliberate; den he say,
‘Dat is goot; dat is beautiful; dat is vondrous fine.’ Den, he say at
last, ‘Sare, vil you permit me to bring my friend de Baron von A----
to see your fine vork?’ I say, ‘Sare, you vil do me von favour.’ Den
he make tree more bow more profound dan before, and he go vay. De next
day he bring his friend de Baron, and dey two make six bow all very
profound, and dey say dat all is very beautiful; and den de Baron say,
‘Sare, vil you let me bring my friend de Count von A---- to see dese so
fine vork?’ and den dey make der bow once again, and go vay, and I see
dem no more. Dat vas von German gentleman.
“Anoder day, von little gentleman came in wid von skip, and say, ‘_Bon
jour, monsieur! charmé de faire vôtre connaissance._’ He take up his
_lorgnette_, and he look at my first picture, and he say, ‘Ah, very
vell, sare! dat is von very fine morsel!’ Den he pass quick to anoder,
and he say, ‘Sare, dis is truly admirable; after dis beautiful nature
is vort notting;’ and so in two minute and a half he get trough dem
all. Den he twirl his cane, and stick out his chin, and say, ‘Sare, I
make you my compliment; you have one great talent for de landscape; I
shall have de honour to recommend you to all my friend; _au revoir,
monsieur_;’ but I see him never again. He vas von French gentleman.
“Anoder day, I hear von loud rap wid von stick at my door, and ven I
say, ‘Come in,’ von gentleman valks forward, very stiff, and nod his
head, but take never his hat off. He say, ‘May I see your picture?’ I
bow and say, ‘Wid pleasure, sare.’ He no answer, but look at von a long
time, and say not a vord. Den he look at anoder, and say notting. Den
he go to anoder, and look, and say, ‘Vat is de price of dis?’ I say,
‘Forty louis, sare.’ He say notting, but go to de next, and look von
long time; and at last he say, ‘Vat is de price of dis?’ Den I say,
‘Sare, it is sixty louis.’ Den he say, ‘Can you give me pen and ink?’
and ven I give it, he sat down, and he say, ‘Vat is your name, sare?’
Den I give him my card, and he write one order on Torlonia for sixty
louis; he gave me de order wid his card, and he say, ‘Dat picture is
mine; dat is my address; send it home; good morning.’ And so he make
one more stiff nod and valk avay. Dis vas von English gentleman.”
[Illustration]
_PAINTING A SKY._
The following amusing anecdote is given in a volume of the _Polytechnic
Journal_:--
“_S’entr’aider_ is not uncommon in the English School, where points of
departure from an artist’s ordinary habits of work create a feeling
of diffidence; but it rarely occurs that the two names attach to the
work. Sometimes the commonest objects create intense difficulty when
an artist is fastidious and jealous of all foreign assistance; for
instance, to PAINT A SKY is the halting point of one of our artists who
is in the enjoyment of a certain degree of celebrity. This, his foible,
became known to us through a mutual acquaintance, who, calling one day
at his house, had the door opened to him by a female domestic, whose
eyes were red with weeping.
“‘Is Mr. ---- at home?’
“‘Yes, sir, but--but--he’s _painting a sky_, sir;’ and up went the
apron to her eyes as she began to whine anew.
“It struck the visitor that something must be ‘out of joint.’ As he was
hurrying to the well-known _studio_, the girl hastily exclaimed,--
“‘O pray,--please sir, don’t go up; it’s not safe,--he’s _painting a
sky_, and he doesn’t see nobody on sky-days.’
“This expostulation had its effect. ‘Well, well,’ said the other, ‘if
Mr. ---- has given orders not to be interrupted, make my compliments,
and say I will call in the evening.’
“The evening came and the daylight went, and the would-be visitor
addressed himself again to the painter’s knocker, under the impression
that there was then certainly not light enough for ‘painting a sky.’
“The door was opened as before, and the applicant was about,
unhesitatingly, to proceed to his friend’s studio, when he was again
encountered by the servant’s deprecating accents.
“‘What! not to be seen yet?’
“‘Oh no, sir; master’s skying away like a madman. He’ll be the death of
us all.’
“It was ultimately agreed that the visitor should wait a little in a
lower room, as the artist’s usual hour of relaxation from professional
employment was already past. The room into which he was shown was
immediately below the studio, and he took up a book, but from the noise
overhead he found it impossible to read. The painter was pacing up and
down in precipitate and violent action, and from the noise and sound of
splinters, heavy objects of furniture were undoubtedly smashed; lighter
ones seemed to be kicked about with the fury and increased power of
a maniac; the door, too, was slammed with fearful violence, and from
time to time the shivered glass of the windows fell upon the pavement.
“The visitor became alarmed. He was rushing upstairs, when he was met
by a young child who was wailing and lamenting aloud, as if he had been
severely beaten.
“‘What can be the reason of all this?’ demanded our friend.
“‘Oh! Pa’s _painting a sky_,--pa’s _painting a sky_,’ was all, in his
excessive grief, the boy could utter. While yet condoling with the
child, another, younger, rushed downstairs with a rapidity sufficient
to endanger its neck,--the cry as before, ‘Pa’s painting a sky.’
“The second child was followed by Mrs. ----, who apologised for the
prevailing confusion; ‘but,’ added she, ‘this is so often the case when
Mr. ---- has to paint a sky, that it is my most fervent prayer he may
never paint another.’
“The tears stood in the good lady’s eyes; and scarcely had she finished
speaking when an unlucky dog was hurled from above, filling the house
with his shrill and piteous howlings; and, lastly, the cat descended
with a like precipitation. Our friend, despairing of meeting the artist
in a rational state, now took his hat, his departure, and a resolution
to visit him some other day when his employment was not ‘painting a
sky.’”
[Illustration]
_VARIETY OF SKIES._
Ambrose Philips, the poet, was, in his conversation, solemn and
pompous. At a coffee-house he was once discoursing upon pictures, and
pitying the painters who in their historical pieces always drew the
same sort of sky. “They should travel,” said he, “and then they will
see that there is a different sky in every country,--in England,
France, Italy, and so forth.” “Your remark is just,” said a grave
old gentleman who sat by: “I have been a traveller, and can testify
what you observe is true; but the greatest variety of _skys_ that I
found was in Poland.” “In Poland, sir?” said Philips. “Yes, in Poland;
for there are Sobie_sky_, Poniatow_sky_, Sarbrun_sky_, Jablon_sky_,
Podebra_sky_, and many more _skys_, sir, than are to be found anywhere
else.”
[Illustration]
_SLANG OF ARTISTS._
The conversation of artists, when it has reference to their profession,
is usually patched up with phrases peculiar to themselves, and which
may not be improperly called Slang of Art. This jargon, when heard by
persons unacquainted with its application, is apt to lead to awkward
mistakes. A laughable instance of this kind once occurred. A party of
artists were travelling in a stage-coach, in which, besides themselves,
a sedate venerable lady was the only passenger. The conversation
among the artists ran as follows:--“How playful those clouds are!”
“That group to the left is sweetly composed, though perhaps a little
too solid and rocky for the others.” “I have seen nothing of L----’s
lately. I think he is clever.” “He makes all his flesh too chalky.”
“You must allow, however, that he is very successful with his ladies.”
The old lady began to exhibit symptoms of uneasiness, and at the close
of each observation cast an anxious and inquiring look at the speaker.
Her companions, however, unconscious of the surprise they were exciting
(for she entertained doubts as to their sanity), went on in the same
style. She heard them, to her increasing dismay, talk of a farm-house
coming out from the neighbouring trees, and of a gentleman’s grounds
wanting repose. At length they approached an old village church. A
great many observations were made about the keeping, etc., of the
scene, which the old woman bore with tolerable equanimity; but at last
one of the party exclaimed, in a kind of enthusiasm, “See how well the
woman in the red cloak carries off the tower.” The lady screamed to the
coachman to stop, paid him his fare, although advanced only half way on
her journey, and expressed her thankfulness for having escaped alive
from such a set of madmen.
[Illustration]
_A PICTURE DEALER’S KNOWLEDGE OF GEOGRAPHY._
About sixty years back a picture dealer, selling his pictures by
an exhibition at the Town Hall of Doncaster, had, among other
performances, the following subject, according to his catalogue:--“‘A
View in Italy,’ by Caracci, with a figure of John the Baptist baptizing
in the river Jordan.”
[Illustration]
_ON STUDY OF ANTIQUITIES._
Much false wit and unjust strictures have been made on lovers of the
olden time, as if they were all alike nugatory and tiresome. Many
antiquaries have proved men of great sense and ingenuity. Let two
modern ones plead the cause of antiquarianism,--the poets Gray and T.
Warton. Cervantes has well described foolish and useless researches
into antiquity: “Say no more, sir,” says Sancho, “for in good faith if
I fall to questioning and answering, I shall not have done between this
and to-morrow morning; for foolish questions and ridiculous answers
I need not be obliged to any of my neighbours.” “Sancho,” quoth Don
Quixote, “you have said more than you are aware of; for some there are
who tire themselves with examining into and explaining things, which,
after they are known and explained, signify not a farthing to the
_understanding_ or _memory_.”
[Illustration]
_THE RESERVE._
A gentleman showing his friend his curiosities, pictures, etc., in his
gallery, on the other praising them all very much, he gave him a choice
of any one of them as a present. The stranger fixed his election upon a
tablet, in which the Ten Commandments were written in letters of gold.
“You must excuse me there,” replied the gentleman; “those I am bound to
keep.”
[Illustration]
_GALLANTRY OF ANTIQUARIES._
“Their Venus must be old, and want a nose.”--_Foote._
Antiquaries are by no means apt to pay great attention to the fair sex;
among those who have set themselves most warmly against that elegant
part of the creation, must be reckoned Antony à Wood, whose diary
affords some instances of his dislike, so grotesque that they claim
attention.
Page 167. “He (Sir Thomas Clayton), and his family, most of them
womankind (which before were looked upon, if resident in the college,
as a scandal and abomination thereto), being no sooner settled, etc.,
etc., the warden’s garden must be altered, new trees planted, etc.,
etc. All which, though unnecessary, yet the poor college must pay for
them; and all this to please a woman!”
Page 168. “Frivolous expenses to pleasure his proud lady.”
Page 173. “Yet the warden, by the motion of his lady, did put the
college to unnecessary charges, and very frivolous expenses: among
which were a very large looking-glass, for her to see her ugly face and
body to the middle, and perhaps lower.”
Page 252. “Cold entertainment, cold reception, cold clownish woman.”
Page 257. “Dr. Bathurst took his place of Vice-Chancellor, a man of
good parts, and able to do good things, but he has a wife that scorns
that he should be in print. A scornful woman! Scorns that he was Dean
of Wells! No need of marrying such a woman, who is so conceited that
she thinks herself fit to govern a college or a university.”
The learned Selden has left no good example to antiquaries, in point
of gallantry. “It is reason,” says he, “a man that will have a wife
should be at the charge of her trinkets, and pay all the scores she
sets on him. He that will keep a monkey, it is fit he should pay for
the glasses he breaks.”--_European Magazine._
[Illustration]
_POETS AND PAINTERS._
The visible emotions that poets are subject to, during the ardour of
composition, are not to be ridiculed as grimaces, for they certainly
assist to put the fancy in motion. Nor are they to be considered as
the struggles of the mind against its own want of fertility; they
often proceed from the powers being under very animated exertion.
Quintilian compares these agitations to the lashing of a lion’s tail,
bestowed on his own back to excite and prepare himself for a combat.
Dominichino used to act the parts of the personages he was about to
represent by his pencil; to use such action, to utter such speeches,
as he conceived their situation and character would demand. And when he
was employed on the picture of the _Martyrdom of St. Andrew_, Caracci,
coming into his room, surprised him in one of these assumed characters.
His voice thundered, and his attitude was fierce and threatening; he
was then preparing to paint the figure of a soldier menacing the saint.
When this fit of enthusiasm had subsided, Caracci ran to embrace this
great painter, and declared that he should consider him from that time
his master, and that he had that day caught from him the true method of
designing expression.
[Illustration]
_FREEDOM OF OPINION._
Sir Martin Archer Shee, in his “Rhymes on Art,” remarks:--“There is no
enjoying a picture in peace while the proprietor is expatiating on its
beauties. All pleasure is destroyed, all improvement prevented, when--
‘The connoisseur his cabinet displays,
And levies heavy penalties of praise;
Exacts your admiration without end,
Watches your eye, nor waits till you commend.’
Neither politeness nor prudence will allow you to dissent, however
erroneous you may think his remarks, or misplaced his panegyric; for,
in the present day, when old pictures bear a price so extraordinary,
to hint a doubt of the various and often incompatible merits which the
owner of the celebrated work chooses to ascribe to it, seems not only
an insult but an injury, since it tends to depreciate his property, as
well as to disparage his taste.” An amusing instance of this difficulty
of forming an independent opinion is given in Richardson’s “Discourses
on the Science of a Connoisseur.” “Some years since, a very honest
gentleman (a rough man) came to me, and amongst other discourse, with
abundance of civility invited me to his house. ‘I have,’ said he, ‘a
picture by Rubens; ’tis a rare good one. Mr. ---- came t’other day
to see it, and says ’tis a copy. G--d d--n him, if any one says that
picture is a copy, I’ll break his head! Pray, Mr. Richardson, will you
come, and give me your opinion of it?’”
[Illustration]
_THE CONNOISSEUR TAKEN IN._
One day, at an exhibition in Brussels, there was a gentleman very
finely dressed, who seemed uncommonly attentive to every picture, and
condemned, like a modern critic, _ad libitum_. Coming at last over
against a highly-finished piece of fruit and flowers, with insects
placed upon some of the leaves, he lifted up his right hand, and
applied his eye-glass, which was set in silver, and curiously chased
round the rim; on the little finger of the other hand, which held the
catalogue, he had an antique, set round with rich brilliants. After he
had pored over the picture for some time, he exclaimed, “Oh, horribly
handled!--the colouring is execrable. Was this thing done for a fly?
never was anything half so wretched. A fly! nothing was ever more out
of nature.”--This speech brought a group of listeners about him: he
then pointed to that part of the picture where this insect was executed
in so abominable a manner; on the approach of his finger, the ill-done
reptile flew away, for it happened to be a real fly.
[Illustration]
_NO CONNOISSEUR._
Lord Chesterfield happened to be at a rout in France, where Voltaire
was one of the guests. Chesterfield seemed to be gazing about the
brilliant circle of ladies, when Voltaire thus accosted him: “My lord,
I know you are a judge; which are more beautiful, the English or French
ladies?”--“Upon my word,” replied his lordship, with his usual presence
of mind, “I am no connoisseur in _paintings_.”
[Illustration]
_THE UNCOURTLY MEDALIST._
“One day,” says the Duchess d’Orleans in her letters, “Mareschal de
Villars came to see me. As he was esteemed a connoisseur in medals,
and wished to examine my collection, I sent for Baudelot, a worthy
man who takes care of them for me, and bade him show them to the
mareschal. Baudelot is no courtier, is utterly ignorant of the tales of
the day, and of consequence knows nothing of M. de Villars’ domestic
uneasiness. He began with acquainting the mareschal that he had written
a dissertation to prove a certain antique horned bust, was not meant
for Jupiter Ammon, but for Pan. ‘Ah, sir,’ said he next, ‘this is one
of our most curious coins. It is the triumph of Cornificius; he has all
sorts of horns; he has the horns of Jove and of Faunus. Observe him,
sir: he, like you, was a great general.’”----“I would fain,” says the
duchess, “have turned the conversation, but Baudelot persisted in it,
till all the company were forced to leave the room, that they might
indulge their propensity to laugh; nor was it without difficulty that,
after Villars was gone, I could convince my medalist of his impropriety
in talking of horns before so celebrated a cuckold.”--_European
Magazine._
_CONNOISSEURS._
To form a judgment of pictures, it seems reasonable, no doubt, that the
connoisseur should be acquainted with the original subjects. Yet how
many persons, who have scarcely seen more of nature than the Parks and
Kensington Gardens, give their opinions of the beautiful landscapes
of the Poussins and Claude, and venture their criticism on their
faults! This fact brings to remembrance a story of a gentleman from the
Heralds’ College, who was much disappointed on the view of the lions in
the Tower, as he found them so very different from what he had used to
delineate them,--rampant, couchant, etc., at the college.
[Illustration]
_OLD BOOKS._
The purchasers of these rare commodities, if they are not irreclaimable
antiquaries, have little reason to defend their very unaccountable
propensities to dust and bookworms. An author is scarce, either because
in course of time the edition has been sold, and by neglect and
accidents lost to the public, and no one has thought it worth while to
reprint it; or because the edition was very expensive, and in the first
place consisted of few copies. If mere antiquity and scarceness are
the grounds on which these very curious purchasers proceed, we might
expect, provided they were well gilt and in good condition, they would
seek their wives among the venerable and scarce specimens of ancient
maidens and widows.
[Illustration]
_EXTRA LOVE OF ANTIQUITY._
It may with truth be observed that those who have lost themselves in
the study of antiquities seem to have dropped their connection with the
world around them, and, like ghosts, to hover round the tombs of their
deceased friends, which they honour in proportion to the remoteness of
their decease. Lord Monboddo, the metaphysician, a great admirer of
the ancients, has professed this taste of “time-honoured” connections
in the most ample and singular manner. Speaking of Greek and Latin
Dictionaries, his lordship says, “I reckon such dictionary-makers, by
whose industry we are enabled to live in the ancient world, one of the
greatest blessings which we enjoy in this.”
[Illustration]
_HOW TO BE A CONNOISSEUR._
A lady, to whom a painter had promised the best picture in his
collection, knew not which to take, and hit upon this stratagem:--She
sent a person to the painter, who was from home, to tell him that his
house was on fire. “Take care of my Cleopatra,” exclaimed the artist.
The next day the lady sent for the Cleopatra.
[Illustration]
_THE CHANDOS PORTRAIT OF SHAKSPEARE._
The history of this very interesting and renowned portrait is as
follows. It is presumed to be the work of Richard Burbage, the first
actor of _Richard III._, who is known to have handled the pencil. It
then became the property of Joseph Taylor, the poet’s _Hamlet_, who,
dying about the year 1653, left it by will to Sir William Davenant,
the poet, who was born 1605, and died 1668. He was a professed admirer
of Shakspeare; and his elder brother (Parson Robert) had been heard to
relate, as Aubrey informs us, that Shakspeare had often kissed Sir
William when a boy. At the death of Sir William Davenant, in 1668,
it was bought by Betterton, the great actor, belonging to the Duke’s
Theatre, of which Davenant was the patentee; and when he died, Mr.
Robert Keck, of the Inner Temple, gave Mrs. Barry, the actress, who had
it from Betterton, forty guineas for it. From Mr. Keck it passed to Mr.
Nicol, of Minchenden House, Southgate, whose only daughter and heiress,
Mary, married James, Marquess of Carnarvon, afterwards Duke of Chandos,
from whom it descended in right of his second wife, Anna Eliza, to
the late Duke of Buckingham and Chandos. It is a small portrait on
canvas, 22 inches long by 18 broad. The face is thoughtful, the eyes
are expressive, and the hair is of a brown black, the dress is black
with a white turnover collar, the strings of which are loose. In the
left ear is a small gold ring. It fetched, at the Duke of Buckingham’s
sale at Stowe, in September, 1848, the princely sum of 355 guineas. The
Earl of Ellesmere was the purchaser, and it now forms part of the grand
collection of pictures at Bridgwater House, in the Green Park.
[Illustration]
_THE FELTON PORTRAIT OF SHAKSPEARE._
The following is the advertisement of the sale of this celebrated
portrait, which took place at Christie’s Rooms on the 30th April 1870:--
“MESSRS. CHRISTIE, MANSON, & WOODS, respectfully give notice that they
will SELL by AUCTION, at their great Rooms, King Street, St. James’s
Square, on Saturday, April 30th, at 3 o’clock, the FELTON PORTRAIT
of SHAKSPEARE. This celebrated picture forms part of an estate in
course of administration under orders of the Court of Chancery. It is
generally supposed to be the portrait from which Droeshout engraved
his plate, the first portrait published of Shakspeare, and has the
reputation of Ben Jonson’s testimony of its resemblance to the immortal
bard,--‘This figure, that thou here seest put, it was for gentle
Shakspeare cut; wherein the graver had a strife with nature, to out-doo
the life: O, could he but have drawn his wit as well in brasse, as
he hath hit his face; the print would then surpass all that was ever
writ in brasse.’ The picture is painted on wood, life-size, little
more than the countenance remaining. On the back is an inscription in
old writing, ‘Gu. Shakspeare, 1597.--R. B.’; presumed to be Richard
Burbage, a well-known player and artist, contemporary with Shakspeare,
and to whom report has always given the honour of painting the only
portrait for which Shakspeare sat.”
The picture had but few admirers, and realized only fifty pounds.
[Illustration]
_PARISIAN CARICATURISTS._
In March, 1851, a singular circumstance occurred in Paris, namely, the
conviction and sentencing of Charles Vernier, the caricaturist on the
_Charivari_, to a fine of 100 francs and two months’ imprisonment. His
crime was designing a head of the Constitution. M. Léon Faucher and
other politicians were shooting arrows at this wonderful mark. The
President was handing them the arrows. Underneath was written, “Who
upsets it completely shall be my minister.” M. Leopold Pannier, the
editor, was condemned to pay 2000 francs fine, and suffer six months’
imprisonment. The passion of the French for political ferment must be
extraordinary to require such severity exercised towards the press and
the arts, added to an extensive system of espionage, which appears to
pervade every society of every grade throughout France. Where “Liberty,
Equality, and Fraternity,” are upon every lip, we find French citizens
amerced and imprisoned for an offence which in England, monarchical
England, is allowed to pass unnoticed. Our caricaturists, had they been
in France, would have been pillaged of every farthing, and rotted in
a felon’s gaol, for producing merely a tithe of the bold, political
hits at royalty, the ministry, and the political events of the French
war, during the reigns of George III. and George IV. The most biting
caricatures were thrown off by thousands within a stone’s throw of the
palace of St. James’s, and wet impressions taken to the King, whose
good nature was above making war upon Art, even if his knowledge of
the English character, and the experience of many years--from the days
of Sir Robert Walpole--had not shown him that disappointment, or even
public spleen, is harmlessly dissipated by a laugh and a stinging
article from some journal,--the true safety-valve for the expression of
public hatred to political partisans or measures.--_Almanac of the Fine
Arts._
[Illustration]
_ITALIAN POTTERY AND GLASS-MAKING._
The early celebrity of Italian pottery is attested by the French word
for earthenware,--_faïence_,--which is only a corruption of the name of
the Italian town, Faenza; and its flourishing condition in past ages
is shown by the works now so eagerly sought for, in which the genius
of Italian art is displayed. But the present commercial importance
of this branch of industry in Italy does not equal the historical
interest that belongs to it. Production is limited, not exceeding the
value of 3,200,000 francs in porcelain and earthenware of all kinds;
while the value of importations from foreign countries amounts to
a somewhat larger sum, One porcelain manufactory, that of Doccia,
near Florence, seems to deserve special notice, This establishment,
the property of the Marquis Ginovi, is chiefly remarkable for the
successful imitations which it produces of old majolica. The total
annual value of the articles made in it is estimated at about 320,000
francs. The introduction of the art of glass-making into modern Europe
is due to the Venetians, who, until comparatively late times, enjoyed
an undisputed superiority in it. They discovered the means of rendering
glass colourless by the employment of manganese. They had the monopoly
of mirrors, the silvering of which was a secret long kept from other
countries, But the mirrors of Venice have now lost their reputation,
the manufacturers of this place being unable to produce plates equal
in dimensions to those made by their foreign competitors. Glass
beads became at an early period an important article of trade with
Africa and the East. They are still made in considerable quantities
for exportation. Venetian enamels have always been famous, and among
the peculiar productions of this place may be reckoned the beautiful
composition called Aventurine, the secret of which is said to be in
the possession of a single manufacturer. Some articles, such as beads,
are made to a certain extent in the city of Venice itself; but the
great glass works are to be found at Murano, one of the islands of the
lagoon. This little island, which had at one time 30,000 inhabitants,
formerly enjoyed a sort of local independence, with distinct laws and
institutions. It had a wealthy nobility of its own, whose names were
inscribed in a separate golden book. Its privileges have disappeared,
its population and riches have declined, but its industrial
establishments are still active, and show signs of prosperity. Before
the fall of the old Venetian republic, the glassmakers constituted a
close corporation with exclusive privileges. The trade was thrown open
in 1806 under the government of the then kingdom of Italy, and a period
of keen competition and low prices ensued, until the year 1848, when
the conditions of the trade were regulated by an agreement among the
manufacturers. The number of persons employed in glass-making at Murano
and Venice is 5000, of whom one-third are men, and two-thirds women
and children. The highest wages are, for men, 12 francs; for women,
1 franc 50 centimes; the lowest for men, 2 francs, and for women, 75
centimes. The annual cost of the substances employed in the manufacture
is estimated at between 6,000,000 and 7,000,000 francs, and that of the
fuel consumed at 600,000 francs. The gross receipts obtained come to
little more than double this aggregate amount. The principal markets
for Venetian glass are in France, England, Germany, and, above all,
in the East, where there is a constant demand for the beads and other
articles known by the denomination of “conterie.” The above facts
are taken from the interesting report by Mr. Herries, published in a
recently issued series of consular reports.--_Pall Mall Gazette._
[Illustration]
_THE PORTLAND VASE._
The Portland Vase is a beautiful cinerary urn of transparent dark blue
glass, found about the middle of the sixteenth century, in a marble
sarcophagus near Rome. It was at first deposited in the Barberini
Palace at Rome (and hence often called the “Barberini Vase”): it then
became (1770) the property, by purchase, of Sir William Hamilton, from
whose possession it passed into that of the Duchess of Portland. In
1810, the Duke of Portland, one of the trustees of the British Museum,
allowed it to be placed in that institution, retaining his right over
it as his own property. In 1845, William Lloyd dashed this valuable
relic to pieces with a stone. Owing to the defective state of the law,
only a slight punishment could be inflicted; but an act was immediately
passed making such an offence punishable with imprisonment for two
years; and one, two, or three public or private whippings. The pieces
of the fractured vase were carefully gathered up, and afterwards united
in a very complete manner, and thus repaired. It still exists in the
Museum, but is not shown to the public.
[Illustration]
_A LOST ART._
The most remarkable Chinese porcelain is the Kiasing, or azure pressed;
the secret of its manufacture has been lost, but the specimens which
are preserved are of inestimable value. The art was that of tracing
figures on the china, which are invisible until the vessel is filled
with liquid. The porcelain is of the very thinnest description,--almost
as thin as an egg-shell. It is said that the application in tracing
these figures is internal, and not by external painting, as in ordinary
manufacture; and that after such tracing was made, and when it was
perfectly dry, a very thin covering or coating was laid over it of the
same paste of which the vessel had been formed, and thus the painting
lay between two coatings of chinaware. When the internal coating became
sufficiently dry, they oiled it over, and shortly after placed it in
a mould and scraped the exterior of the vessel as thin as possible,
without penetrating to the painting, and then baked it in the oven.
It is evident that if such be the mode that was adopted, it would
require the nicest dexterity and patient care, for which the Chinese
are remarkable; but, although they constantly endeavour to recover the
exact method, their trials have been hitherto unavailing.--_Sirr’s
“China and the Chinese.”_
[Illustration]
_FANS._
Old English and French fans are both scarce and costly; in 1865 a
collection of old French fans, painted by Boucher and Watteau, was
sold by Messrs. Foster at prices varying from £6 to £30 each; the set
of fourteen fans fetching as much as £195. Recently, three old French
fans were sold by Messrs. Christie and Manson for the large sum of 55
guineas.
An Exhibition of Fans on loan took place at the South Kensington Museum
in May, 1870, a collection both curious and interesting; the objects
of the promoters being to encourage a taste for fans of elegant and
artistic designs, and to promote the employment of female artists
in their manufacture. Much has been done by Mr. Cole and his able
co-adjutors to foster a correct taste, and enable those who follow
Art, as a means of livelihood, to obtain true artistic instruction.
The number of fans in the collection consisted of over five hundred,
many being works of high Art; and it was astonishing to see what little
effect time had had on these little frail and perishable articles of
luxury.
Her Majesty the Queen, the Empress of the French, the Comtesse de
Chambrun, and Lady Wyatt, alone contributed over one hundred and fifty,
all of exquisite design and workmanship.
Mr. Samuel Redgrave, in his Introduction to the Catalogue, says, “The
present Exhibition is part of the scheme of the Department of Science
and Art for the Art Instruction of Women. To promote this object,
the Department offered prizes in competition for fans painted by the
students in the Female Schools of Art in 1868, and again in 1869.” Her
Majesty the Queen, the Baroness Meyer de Rothschild, Lady Cornelia
Guest, and the Society of Arts also offered prizes for competition at
the International Exhibition of the present year (1871), which have
produced many designs of great merit.
The use of the fan has been traced back to very ancient times. They are
evidently of Eastern origin, and are absolutely necessary in the East,
to temper in some degree the fierce heat of the sun. But from tropical
regions they found their way at an early date into Europe, and were in
use at Rome at least as early as the second century before Christ, when
they are mentioned by Terence in one of his comedies. One of the oldest
fans preserved to the present day is that of Theodelinda, a queen of
Lombardy, who lived in the latter part of the sixth century. It is
preserved at Monza, the ancient capital of the kingdom of Lombardy, and
is made of purple vellum, embellished with gold and silver.
The fan has served a variety of purposes besides its natural use
of producing a cool breeze. Spanish ladies, who are accustomed to
attend bull-fights, carry with them fans containing a programme of
the entertainment, and adorned with portraits both of the bulls and
the fighters. In Japan they serve many uses, from being a rod in the
hands of the schoolmaster, to a receptacle for alms in those of the
beggar. The fan has been largely used, too, in religious ceremonies.
In the middle ages it was customary to wave a fan over the elements of
the Sacrament. Fans of this description were attached to long handles,
often elaborately worked in gold and silver. On great occasions,
when the Pope is carried in state through the streets of Rome, he is
preceded by large fans made of peacock feathers, and said to be copies
of ancient fans used in the temple of Jupiter. And in the Greek Church,
when a deacon is ordained, a fan is given to him, part of his duty
being to keep off flies and other insects from the superior priests
when celebrating the Sacrament. The custom is carried out in all parts
of Russia, though, as has been observed, the office must, in that
climate, be a sinecure, at least for great part of the year.
In the middle ages, fans were made of feathers, and their chief
ornamentation was in the handles, which were made of gold, silver, or
ivory, and often set with precious stones. The beautiful wife of Rubens
is represented in portraiture as carrying in her hand a single feather.
The French have long been famous for their fans, and the manufacture
was introduced so early, that a company of fan-workers was established
at Paris in the sixteenth century. In 1683, Louis XIV. formed them into
a special guild. In his and the two following reigns, fans were of
such universal use that no toilet was considered complete without one.
They were made of perfumed leather or paper, and decorated by Watteau,
Boucher, and other artists, the handle being often elaborately carved
and adorned with jewels. At the present day, the making of fans is an
important branch of industry at Paris to the extent of £100,000 yearly;
one manufacturer employing, it is said, upwards of two thousand hands,
some of his fans being most tastefully decorated by the best artists
in Paris, the price of a single fan reaching as high a sum as £1000.
The fan was probably introduced into England early in the sixteenth
century. Stow indeed says that “masks, muffs, fans, and false hair
for women were devised in Italy, and brought to England from France
in 1572, that being the year of the Huguenot massacre, and of the
supremacy in France of Catherine de Medici and her Italian followers.”
Fans were, however, in use at least as early as the reign of Henry
VIII., when they were carried by young gentlemen, sometimes on
horseback. When ladies walked out, their fans were carried by servants.
They consisted of a tuft of feathers set on the end of a handle or
stick, and had much the appearance of powder puffs. The most costly
were of ostrich feathers, and looking-glasses were often placed in the
broad part above the handle, which was elaborately decorated.
The fan was received into great favour by Queen Elizabeth, who,
notwithstanding her great ability in managing the affairs of the State,
and her haughty and imperious temper, was singularly susceptible
to flattery, and bestowed great care on her personal adornment.
Many instances are on record of her courtiers trying to ingratiate
themselves with her by the present of a fan. Amongst them the great
sailor, Sir Francis Drake, gave her a fan of white and red feathers,
with a gold handle embellished with pearls and diamonds. Her favourite,
the Earl of Leicester, also presented her with a fan. It was made of
white feathers with a gold handle set with pearls, emeralds, rubies,
and diamonds, and a device of “a lion ramping, with a white bear
muzzled at his foot,” in token of his own complete subjection to his
royal mistress, his cognizance being a bear. At Elizabeth’s death, her
wardrobe was found to contain an immense quantity of clothing and
finery of all descriptions, including as many as twenty-seven fans.
In her reign a fan was deemed an essential part of a lady’s dress,
and the handle was often made of gold, silver, or ivory, of curious
and expensive workmanship. In a comedy written about this time occurs
the passage, “She hath a fan, with a short silver handle about the
length of a barber’s syringe;” and a little later, in 1649, Sir William
Davenant says, in _Love and Honour_, “All your plate, Vaso, is the
silver handle of your own prisoner’s fan.” Shakspeare, too, repeatedly
mentions the fan, as, for instance, in the following passage in _Romeo
and Juliet_, the scene of which is in Italy:--
“_Nurse._--My fan, Peter.”
“_Mercutio._--Prythee, do good Peter, to hide her face, for the fan’s
the fairer of the two.”
And again, in the same play, showing the custom of carrying the fan
before ladies:--
“_Nurse._--Peter, take my fan, and go before.”
Most writers on costume consider that folding-fans, similar to those
used in modern times, were introduced into England, probably from
France, in the reign of James I. Fan-painting soon became a distinct
profession, but we hear little of the folding-fan during the time of
the Stuarts. The small feather-fan still kept its place as full-dress,
as is shown by a print of the wife of Sir Henry Garway, who was Lord
Mayor of London in 1640, She is represented as holding in her hand a
fan similar to those used in the reign of Elizabeth.
By the early part of the eighteenth century the fan seems to have
become an object of general use, and to have given considerable
employment to painters, engravers, and makers. The manufacture,
indeed, became so important that in 1709 the company of fan-makers,
which is still in existence, was incorporated by letters patent from
Queen Anne. The fraternity was governed by a master, two wardens, and
twenty assistants; but they have never had either a hall or livery.
The age of Queen Anne produced many distinguished writers, both in
prose and verse; and, as we might expect, the fan did not escape
their observation. It is mentioned both by Addison and Pope, but more
particularly by Gay, who published, in 1714, a poem entitled “The Fan,”
where he says:--
“The fan shall flutter in all female hands,
And various fashions learn from various lands.
For this shall elephants their ivory shed,
And polished sticks the waving engine spread,
His clouded mail the tortoise shall resign,
And round the rivet pearly circles shine.
On this shall Indians all their art employ,
And with bright colours stain the gaudy toy;
Their paint shall here in wildest fancies flow--
Their dress, their customs, their religion show.
So shall the British fair their minds improve,
And on the fan to distant climates rove.”
Doubtless, the most reasonable deduction to be arrived at is, that
the fan has its origin in necessity; and in itself, trivial as it may
appear, is perhaps of an importance few would conceive. It is not only
an ornament to an _élégante_ for the purpose, it is said, of flirting
and coquetry, but serves as an instrument to chastise a lap-dog or a
puppy.
From the _Spectator_ of June 27, 1711, it appears that it was no
easy matter for a lady to learn the necessary tactics and manœuvres
of the fan, which, correctly acquired, no doubt formed one of the
“accomplishments” of that age. They are thus described:--“Handle your
fan; unfurl your fan; discharge your fan; ground your fan; recover
your fan; flutter your fan. By the right observation of these few
plain words of command, a woman of a tolerable genius, that will apply
herself diligently to her exercise for the space of but one half-year,
shall be able to give her fan all the graces that can possibly enter
into that modish machine.” Directions are also given for the several
evolutions, but the last, “Flutter your fan,” was undoubtedly by far
the most important.
Among the many subjects devised for fans about this period is a painted
one of Bartholomew Fair, temp. 1721, representing a view of Lee and
Harper’s great booth, Faux, the conjuror, etc. They included also
subjects from the Beggars’ Opera, and the famous works of Hogarth were
called into request for the same purpose. Fans at this time were of
such proportions as to give many opportunities to caricaturists and
writers to make them the object of their ridicule and wit:--
“Say, Jenny, why that monstrous fan?
What purpose does thy bosom move?
Is it to save us or trepan?
Is it to cure or quicken love?
If worn in pity’s gentle cause,
Beneath, unseen, you mean to lie;
I know a thousand eyes it draws,
Which else, perhaps, had wandered by.”
Mrs. Abington, a celebrated actress, was considered an adept at
flirting a fan; and being possessed of the highest refinement of taste
in dress, her judgment and opinion were often solicited by ladies of
rank.
“Pray, ladies, copy Abington;
Observe the breeding in her air;--
There’s nothing of the actress there.
Assume the fashion, if you can,
And catch the graces of her fan.”
In the _Westminster Journal_ of February 23rd, 1751, a writer proposed
a tax on fan mounts, which, he considered, would produce a revenue of
£30,000 per annum.
In the following year an advertisement appeared in the _Daily
Advertiser_ from _employés_ in the fan trade, thanking the Company of
Fanmakers for their efforts to abolish the importation of fans, and
their endeavours, by asserting the superiority of home-made fans over
those of foreign manufacture, to gain the patronage of the ladies, and
the consequent relief of the distressed members of the trade, who,
through the extensive imports of foreign-made fans, were prevented from
obtaining employment.
In the year 1753 the journeyman fanmakers presented the Dowager
Princess of Wales with an elegant fan, which they represented to be far
superior to Indian fans. In the same year a correspondent of Sylvanus
Urban published complaints of snuff-taking by both sexes at church; the
ladies also giving grave offence by the use of the fan mounts which he
saw displayed by a row of ladies while kneeling at the Communion Table.
Among the subjects were:--“Meeting of Isaac and Rebekah,” “Joseph and
Potiphar’s Wife,” “Darby and Joan,” “Vauxhall Gardens,” “The Judgment
of Paris,” “Harlequin, Pierrot, and Columbine,” “The Prodigal Son,”
scenes from the “Rake’s Progress,” etc.
During the latter part of the last and the beginning of the present
century, fans seem to have ceased to be a necessary accompaniment
to a lady’s toilet, although they are still to be seen at balls and
theatres, and of some utility, perhaps, judging from a print in which a
lady and gentleman are represented sitting by each other, the gentleman
“fluttering the fan,”--
“The suit obtained, they tread the mazy round;
At length fatigued, a seat’s convenient found.
Harry, assiduous, plies the glittering fan,
And proves himself a very nice young man.”
_THE TRIALS OF A PORTRAIT PAINTER._
Who can conceive the troubles attendant upon the daily labour of a face
painter? Hoppner once remarked to a young painter, “I’ll tell you what,
sir: when you have to paint a portrait, particularly of a woman, make
it handsome enough,--your sitter or her friends will find the likeness.
Never you forget that.”
An Italian painter, on taking the portrait of a lady, perceived that
when he was working at her mouth she was twisting her features in
order to render it smaller, and put her lips into the most extreme
contraction. “Do not trouble yourself so much, madam,” exclaimed the
limner; “for, if you choose, I will draw you without any mouth at
all.” It is needless to repeat here all the tales that have been told
of the difficulties of a face painter. The following anecdotes will
show to what extent of vanity and folly those people are subject who,
though wishing to hand down to posterity their own portrait or that
of some member of their family, are entirely ignorant of the simplest
rules of Art; and, consequently, give considerable trouble and anxiety
to the artist. For instance, how often in our exhibitions do we find
a portrait painted of a citizen in the dress of a military man, or a
naval officer in the costume of a Roman general in a toga, with bare
arms! Most must be drawn in the manner of ancient Greece or Rome,
instead of their proper habits; the sitter having his head so full of
antiquity that everything must be according to the ancient taste.
“The grandest commission,” remarks an artist, “that ever blessed my
hopes was a series of family portraits,--father, mother, a daughter
just simpering into womanhood, and three as noisy, ugly, wiry-looking
lads as any one would wish to hear, and be anxious not to see. All
were progressing with great satisfaction to the affectionate family
until, in an unlucky moment, I strengthened the shadow under the nose
of Mr. Jones. In a moment all was uproar, one and all declaring that
‘Father never takes snuff, because mother thinks it a nasty, filthy
habit.’ Out, therefore, came the shadow, and of course in, therefore,
went the nose. The only objection made to Mrs. Jones’s ‘likeness’ was,
that it did ‘not look at you;’ but how the deuce it ever should I could
never find out, for the original was wholly incapable of bringing
both eyes to bear upon any given object at one and the same time. The
portraits of the juvenile male Joneses were, as their mother fondly
expressed herself, ‘the very mottle of them;’ ‘but, sir,’ said she,
‘there is one thing I wish you to alter, I don’t like the eyes at all.
I have been married to Jones these twenty years, and, as you see, have
been a fruitful wife to him; I have, besides these, two babbies at
home, and I do assure you, sir, and Jones knows it, I never had a child
born in all our marriage days that had a speck in its eye. Please,
sir, to oblige me by putting them out.’ With a groan I submitted, and
painting out the lights I had, as I thought, properly introduced into
the eyes, sent home the portraits of the young Joneses, every one as
blind as a bat. I should not forget, that when I requested to know
whether Miss Adeliza would be painted in a high or a low dress, her
mother confidentially whispered to me that it was to be a low one, but
I must mind and let the portrait be ‘partic’lar modest about the neck,’
as it was for a gentleman.”
Another story which he relates is of a rough, honest-hearted naval
captain. “All that I did vastly pleased him, until, when nearly
finishing the picture, I had begun to throw an incidental shadow across
the lower part of the figure. The gallant gentleman saw in a glass that
stood opposite what I was about to do, and rushing from his seat,
seized my hand, crying out, ‘Avast there, young gentleman, what are
you about? Who the devil ever saw an officer on the quarter-deck with
his breeches in that mess? No, no, that won’t do.’ I submitted to my
fate, and sent home the portrait with a pair of unpronounceables of
unexceptionable whiteness.”
[Illustration]
_SEDDON’S PICTURE OF “JERUSALEM.”_
On the 23rd November, 1856, the gifted young artist, Thomas Seddon,
died at Cairo on his way to the Holy Land. He was buried with all due
solemnity in the same small cemetery whither he had, two years before,
followed the remains of Mr. Nicholson (a traveller whom he accidentally
met on his first journey to the East), and which he has touchingly
described in a letter written at that time. A marble slab, surmounted
by a simple, plain cross, with the following inscription at its foot,
“To me to live is Christ, and to die is gain,”
marks the spot where his remains rest. On the slab itself is engraved,
“THOMAS SEDDON, Artist,
Who died at Cairo, the 23rd of November, 1856.”
To which is added a verse from one of his favourite hymns,
“Thou art gone to the grave, but we will not deplore thee,
Whose God was thy Ransom, thy Guardian, thy Guide;
He gave thee, He took thee, and He will restore thee,--
And death had no sting, for the Saviour hath died.”
A short time after the melancholy news of his death had arrived in
England, some of his artist friends met together at the house of
Ford Maddox Brown, Esq., for the purpose of considering what steps
they could take to testify their respect for his memory, and their
admiration of his works, which they felt deserved some public notice.
They afterwards invited the co-operation of other gentlemen who had
been acquainted with him and appreciated his efforts, and convened a
meeting at the house of W. Holman Hunt, Esq., which was numerously
attended. Professor Donaldson, John Ruskin, Esq., and others addressed
those present, Mr. Ruskin, remarking, “that the position which Mr.
Seddon occupied as an artist appears to deserve some public recognition
quite other than could be generally granted to genius, however great,
which had been occupied only in previously beaten paths. Mr. Seddon’s
works are the first which represent a truly historic landscape
art; that is to say, they are the first landscapes uniting perfect
artistical skill with topographical accuracy; being directed, with
stern self-restraint, to no other purpose than that of giving to
persons who cannot travel, trustworthy knowledge of the scenes which
ought to be most interesting to them. Whatever degrees of truth may
have been attained or attempted by previous artists have been more or
less subordinate to pictorial or dramatic effect.” At this meeting
a committee was formed, and Mr. W. M. Rossetti appointed honorary
secretary, “for the purpose of raising a subscription for the purchase
of the oil picture of ‘Jerusalem,’ painted by the late Mr. Thomas
Seddon, from his widow, for the sum of four hundred guineas, and to
offer it to the National Gallery.”
The efforts of the committee were most successful. The Society of Arts
kindly lent their spacious rooms for the exhibition of his works,
which were collected for the purpose, and visited by a large number
of persons. Mr. Ruskin again came forward, and delivered a most able
address on the subject at a conversazione held for the purpose; and
the result of these generous efforts was that a sum of nearly £600 was
raised by public subscription. With this the committee purchased his
picture of “Jerusalem,” as they had proposed, and offered it to the
Trustees of the National Gallery, by whom it was accepted; and it is
now at the South Kensington Museum. The balance of the subscription,
after paying the contingent expenses, was presented to Mrs. Thomas
Seddon, as a testimony of the recognition by the public of the merits
of her husband.--_Memoir and Letters of Thomas Seddon, by his Brother._
We cannot conclude this interesting account of the late Thomas Seddon,
without introducing the following eloquent appeal made at the meeting
of the Society of Arts already referred to, by that powerful writer
on Art, John Ruskin:-- “Whether they would further the noble cause of
truth in Art, while they gave honour to a good and a great man, and
consolation to those who loved him; or whether they would add one more
to the victories of oblivion, and suffer this picture, wrought in the
stormy desert of Aceldama, which was the last of his labours, to be
also the type of their reward: whether they would suffer the thorn and
the thistle to choke the seed that he had sown, and the sand of the
desert to sweep over his forgotten grave.”
[Illustration]
_A GREAT PICTURE AND ITS VICISSITUDES._
One of the noblest paintings of the modern school is Lawrence’s “Hamlet
Apostrophizing the Skull,” in the churchyard scene, as represented by
the famous tragedian, John Kemble. It is a full-length, life-size, and
was painted in 1801. Cunningham justly describes it as a work of the
highest order,--sad, thoughtful, melancholy; with looks conversing with
death and the grave; a perfect image of the great dramatist. About the
year 1812, this celebrated picture was exhibited, and for sale, at the
European Museum, King Street, St. James’s, London. Mr. Robert Ashby,
the engraver, of Lombard Street, on visiting the gallery was surprised
to see so fine a specimen of modern art so situated, and inquired of
the keeper as to the circumstance which led to its degradation, from
whom he learnt that Mr. Maddocks, M.P., had previously purchased it
with the intention of placing it as an altar-piece in a church which
he had recently erected in a village called Tre Madoc, in Wales; but
the bishop of the diocese having expressed his disapproval of its
being placed in the church, the purpose of Mr. Maddocks was defeated,
and he sent the picture for sale as above. The price demanded was two
hundred guineas, which Mr. Ashby agreed to give: at the same time
observing that if any other purchaser offered during the time of the
gallery remaining open, he would relinquish his right; his motive
being solely to prevent the picture being returned unsold. The result
was that Mr. Ashby became the purchaser at the price stated, and
retained it in his possession for a time; when the artist, Mr. Lawrence
(afterwards Sir Thomas) wrote to him (Mr. A.), inquiring whether he
would part with the picture, he (Mr. L.) being desirous of obtaining
it for the then Marquis of Abercorn, who had designed to place it in
the saloon at his seat at Stanmore. Mr. Ashby immediately consented to
the re-sale, at the same sum which he had paid, much gratified at the
prospect of its being so suitably placed. Here another interruption
occurred; the Marquis of Abercorn died, and with him the project of
removing the “Hamlet” to Stanmore. From this time it remained in the
possession of Mr. Lawrence, until he obtained the patronage of George
IV., who displayed his liberality and fine taste by purchasing it for
one thousand guineas. William IV., in 1836, presented the painting
to the National Gallery, whence it has since been transferred to a
distinguished place in the South Kensington Museum.
[Illustration]
_THE FRESCOES IN THE HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT._
“Mr. Herbert is, we think, the first painter who has divested the
sacred legislator of adventitious solemnity and conventional marks of
power, and substituted for them the worn countenance and wasted frame
of a chief who leads an army through the desert, and confers upon them
laws destined to maintain a moral dominion over all the generations of
mankind.
“One reason why Mr. Herbert’s picture is so worthy of its fame, is,
that the painter never grudged labour or loss upon it. In 1850 he
was commissioned to paint nine frescoes in the Peers’ Robing Room
at the price of £9000. For several years before he had been earning
nearly £2000 a year, yet he was willing to give up nine years to
work for about half the sum. When he found that the fresco process
was imperfect, he unhesitatingly obliterated his work, and began it
anew in the water-glass method. He was to have received £2000 for the
‘Moses,’ but the commission appointed in 1864 recommended that the
price should be raised to £5000. The same sum is to be paid to Mr.
Maclise for the ‘Death of Nelson,’ and, of course, for the ‘Meeting
at La Belle Alliance.’ It is plain that when the thought of decorating
the Houses of Parliament with frescoes was first entertained, no great
expense was anticipated. Mr. Dyce said he understood that in Munich
Professor Schnorr was paid at the rate of £500 a year, which would
be equal to £700 in this country, and had to pay his assistants. For
this sum Mr. Dyce thought the services of the chief English artists
might be commanded, ‘those at least who are engaged in subjects of
fancy. The services of those who paint portraits would not be obtained
at that sum; but I believe it is taking a high average to state the
income of the more respectable artists of this country at £500 a year.’
Accordingly, the first frescoes in the House of Lords were ordered at
the rate of £400 for the cartoon, and £400 for the fresco. Mr. Dyce was
to paint the ‘Legend of King Arthur’ in the Queen’s Robing Room, and
to receive £800 a year for six years. The eight compartments in the
Peers’ and Commons’ corridors were to have been painted in oil, and
£500 was to have been paid for the first picture, and £450 for each of
the remainder. But when frescoes were substituted, the remuneration for
each was raised to £600.
“The prices paid are not extravagant, though of course somewhat higher
than those paid in Germany. It is well known that King Louis always
bought in the cheapest market. Count Raczynski states that Hess
received £3700 for his frescoes in the chapel of All Saints, and £5000
for those in the basilica of St. Boniface. For the Nibelungen halls in
the Palace, Schnorr, according to the same authority, was paid £2600;
for his frescoes from Walther von de Vogelweide in the Queen’s first
Ante-chamber, Gassen received £360; Folz for the Burger Room, £460;
Kaulbach for the Throne Room, £300, and for the Sleeping Chamber,
£666; Hess for the Theocritus Room, £600; and Moriz von Schwind for
the Tieck Room, £240. Contrast with these figures the price paid to
Kaulbach for his paintings in the New Museum at Berlin--£37,500, with
an allowance of £3,750 for materials.”--_Edinburgh Review, January,
1866._
[Illustration]
_THE RIDING MASTER AND THE ELGIN MARBLES._
Shortly after the Elgin Marbles were thrown open to the public
indiscriminately, a gentlemanly-looking person was observed to stand
in the middle of the gallery on one spot for upwards of an hour,
changing his attitude only by turning himself round. At last he left
the room, but in the course of two hours he again took his former
station, attended by about a dozen young gentlemen; and there to them
he made nearly the following observations:--“See, gentlemen, look at
the riders all round the room,” alluding to the Friezes; “see how they
sit; see with what ease and elegance they ride! I never saw such men in
my life; they have no saddles, no stirrups; they must have leaped upon
their horses in grand style. You will do well to study the position
of these noble fellows; stay here this morning instead of riding with
me, and I am sure you will seat yourselves better to-morrow.” I need
hardly tell the reader that this person was a riding-master, and that
after he had been so astonished at the sculptor’s riders, he brought
all his pupils to whom he was that morning to have given lessons at his
riding-school.--_Smith’s “Nollekens and his Times.”_
[Illustration]
_A HALLOWED SPOT._
I had intended to prolong my route to the western corner of the Green
(Kew), but in passing St. Anne’s Chapel, I found the pew-openers
engaged in wiping the pews and washing the aisles. I knew that child of
genius, Gainsborough, the painter, lay interred here, and, desirous of
paying my homage to his grave, I inquired for the spot. As is usual in
regard to this class of people, they could give me no information; yet
one of them fancied she had heard such a name before. I was therefore
obliged to wait while the sexton or clerk was fetched, and in the
interim I walked into the chapel. I was in truth well repaid for the
time it cost me; for I never saw anything prettier, except Lord le
Despencer’s exquisite structure at West Wycombe. As the royal family
usually attend here when they reside at Kew, it is superbly fitted up,
and the architecture is in the best taste. Several marble monuments
of singular beauty adorn the walls, but the record of a man of genius
absorbed every attraction of ordinary rank and title. It was a marble
slab to the memory of Meyer, the painter, with lines by the poet Hayley.
JEREMIAH MEYER, R.A.,
Painter in Miniature and Enamel to
His Majesty George III.,
Died January 19th, 1789.
Meyer! in thy works the world will ever see
How great the loss of Art in losing thee;
But Love and Sorrow find the words too weak,
Nature’s keen sufferings on thy death to speak;
Through all her duties, what a heart was thine.
In thy cold dust what spirit used to shine;
Fancy, and truth, and gaiety, and zeal,
What most we love in life, and, losing, feel,
Age after age may not one artist yield
Equal to thee, in Painting’s ample field:
And ne’er shall sorrowing Earth to Heaven commend
A fonder parent, or a firmer friend.
WILLIAM HAYLEY, 1789.
From hence I strolled into the vestry, when the clerk or sexton’s
assistant made his appearance; and on the south side of the churchyard
he brought me to the tomb of Gainsborough. “Ah, friend!” said I, “this
is a hallowed spot,--here lies one of Britain’s favoured sons, whose
genius has assisted in exalting her among the nations of the earth.”
“Perhaps it was so,” said the man; “but we know nothing about the
people buried, except to keep up their monuments, if the family pay;
and, perhaps, sir, you belong to this family; if so, I’ll tell you how
much is due.” “Yes, truly, friend,” said I, “I am one of the great
family bound to preserve the monument of Gainsborough; but if you take
me for one of his relatives, you are mistaken,” “Perhaps, sir, you may
be of the family, but were not included in the will, therefore are not
obligated.” I could not now avoid looking with scorn at the fellow;
but, as the spot claimed better feelings, I gave him a trifle for his
trouble, and mildly told him I would not detain him. The monument
being a plain one, and making no palpable appeal to vulgar admiration,
was disregarded by these people. It did not fall in the way, of the
untaught, on this otherwise polite spot, to know that they have among
them the remains of the first painter of our national school in
fancy-pictures, and one of the first in the classes of landscape and
portraits; a man who recommended himself as much by his superiority, as
by his genius; as much by the mode in which his genius was developed,
as by the perfection of his works; and as much by his amiable private
character, as by his eminence in the chief of Fancy’s Arts. The
following are the words engraven on the stone:--
THOMAS GAINSBOROUGH, ESQ.,
died Aug. 2, 1788.
Also the body of
GAINSBOROUGH DUPONT, ESQ.,
who died Jan. 20, 1797,
aged 42 years.
Also, MRS. MARGARET GAINSBOROUGH,
wife of the above
THOMAS GAINSBOROUGH, Esq.,
who died Dec. 17, 1798,
in the 72nd year of her age.
A little to the eastward lie the remains of another illustrious son of
Art, the modest Zoffany, whose Florence Gallery, portraits of the Royal
Family, and other pictures, will always raise him among the highest
class of painters. He long resided on this Green, and like Michael
Angelo, Titian, and our own West, produced masterpieces at four-score.
The words on the monument are--
Sacred to the Memory
of JOHN ZOFFANY, R.A.,
who died Nov. 11, 1810,
aged 87 years.
_Abridged from Sir R. Phillips’s “London to Kew.”_
[Illustration]
FIELD & TUER,
50, LEADENHALL STREET,
LONDON, E.C.
Transcriber's Notes:
Italics are shown thus: _sloping_.
Bold type like so: =strong=.
Variations in spelling and hyphenation are retained.
Perceived typographical errors have been changed.