Kalkofen, near Aix-la-Chapelle, where he died, July 6, 1790, in the
seventy-third year of his age.
XI
MRS. PAYNE-GALLWEY AND HER CHILD (PICKABACK)
Pickaback is one of the old, old games which no one is so foolish as
to try to trace to its origin. We may well believe that there was
never a time when mothers did not trot their children on their knees
and carry them on their backs. The very names we give these childish
games were used in England more than a century ago.
The picture of Mrs. Payne-Gallwey and her child has long been known as
Pickaback, and will always be so called by many who would not be at
the pains to remember the lady's name. It is one of those portraits in
which the painter, impatient of the stiff conventional attitudes which
were in vogue in his day, drew his inspiration from a simple homely
theme of daily life.
What an ingenious painter Reynolds was, we learn more and more as we
examine one picture after another and compare them with those of his
predecessors. He liked to have his pictures tell stories, and often,
when he had a mother and child to paint, he represented them as
playing together just as they might have done every day in their own
nursery or garden.[14] The Duchess of Devonshire is seen in her
boudoir trotting her baby to Banbury Cross, and the Cockburn children
are surprised in a game of hide-and-seek on their mother's lap.
[Footnote 14: Claude Phillips refers to Pickaback as "one of the most
popular and representative" of this class.]
Mrs. Payne-Gallwey seems to have just caught her little girl up on her
back and to be starting off to give her a ride. Her body is bent
slightly forward in the attitude of one walking with a burden, and we
almost seem to see her move. It is as if in another moment they would
pass across the canvas and out of our sight.
The incident is so precisely like something which happens every day
that we might think the picture was painted yesterday instead of in
1779, were it not for the few signs which indicate its date. For one
thing, the lady's hair is arranged over a high cushion in the peculiar
style affected at this period in fashionable circles. The style was
carried to absurd extremes, ladies vying with one another in the
height of the coiffure until in some cases it actually towered a foot
and a half in height. Over this structure were worn nodding plumes of
feathers, increasing the fantastic effect.
We may imagine how these unsightly erections vexed the artistic soul
of Sir Joshua Reynolds. He was, however, enough of an autocrat to take
liberties with the fashions. When obliged to paint the portrait of a
lady with a "head" (for so the coiffure was called) he always managed
to modify its height and make its outlines harmonize with his
composition.
[Illustration: MRS. PAYNE-GALLWEY AND HER CHILD "PICKABACK"]
A side view was of course much less objectionable than the full
front, in which the face was elongated to such strange proportions. In
this case the face is turned in profile, and its delicacy is enhanced
rather than injured by the masses of hair which frame it. The hair,
instead of being drawn tightly back from the forehead in the ordinary
way, waves in graceful curves, which are quite beyond the art of any
hairdresser. Finally, the massive effect of the hair is broken by the
narrow scarf bound about it and tied under the chin. The curve of this
scarf meets the curve of the profile to form a beautiful oval.
The quaintest touch in the picture is the child's big hat. The same
shape is worn to-day by men, and one might fancy that the baby had
borrowed her papa's hat for the frolic. It is a curious change in
fashions which transfers any part of a little girl's wardrobe to that
of a grown man.
We may feel a little better acquainted with the mother and daughter to
know their names. Mrs. Payne-Gallwey was Philadelphia, the daughter of
General De Lancey, Lieutenant Governor of New York. The child was
Charlotte, who afterwards married John Moseley. Mrs. Gallwey's beauty
is of a very fragile type, and her eyes have a languor hinting of
invalidism. Only a few years later she died, while still in her young
motherhood. Little Charlotte has a round healthy face, but it is a
little sober. Indeed, both mother and child seem to be of a rather
dreamy, poetic temperament. Their mood is hardly merry enough for such
a game, but they enjoy it in their own way with quiet contentment. It
is an idealized version of the ordinary romping game of Pickaback.
The composition is based on lines which cut the canvas diagonally. In
one direction is the line running the length of the profile and
continued along the bodice. Crossing this at right angles is the
shorter line made by the two arms. It is the first of these which
gives character to the picture and produces the impression of motion
which is so striking. It is almost as if a modern photographer had
taken a snap shot of a figure in the act of walking. But in no such
photograph, it is safe to say, would the lines chance to flow in such
perfect rhythm.
XII
CUPID AS LINK BOY
A familiar figure in classic mythology was that of the little god of
love, Cupid. He was the son of Venus, and, like her, was concerned in
the affairs of the heart. Ancient art represented him as a beautiful
naked boy with wings, carrying a bow and quiver of arrows, and
sometimes a burning torch. The torch was to kindle the flame of love,
and the arrows were to pierce the heart with the tender passion. These
missiles were made at the forge of Vulcan, where Venus first imbued
them with honey, after which Cupid, the mischievous fellow, tinged
them with gall. Thus it was that the wounds they inflicted were at
once sweet and painful.[15]
[Footnote 15: Anacreon's Ode XXXIII. in Moore's translation.]
Now Cupid was always bent upon some of his naughty pranks. He was
afraid of nothing, and we read of his riding on the backs of lions and
sporting with the monsters of the deep. He played all sorts of tricks
on the gods, stealing the arms of Hercules, and even breaking the
thunderbolts of Jove. His bow and arrows were a source of great
amusement to him. He delighted in taking aim at unsuspecting mortals,
and his random shots often wrought sad havoc.
One of Anacreon's odes relates how the poet was awakened on a rainy
midnight by the cry of a child begging shelter. The little waif proved
to be Cupid in disguise. After being warmed and dried by the fire, the
boy artfully craved permission to try his bow, to see if the rain had
injured its elasticity. The arrow flew straight at the poet's heart
with a sweet pain, and away flew Cupid laughing gayly at his
exploit.[16]
[Footnote 16: Anacreon's Ode XXVIII. in Moore's translation.]
Cupid was naturally a very popular god, yet his tricksy ways caused
him to be looked upon with suspicion. Every one was anxious to stand
well with him. In some of the cities of ancient Greece, as Sparta and
Athens, he was worshipped with great solemnity, and every five years
festivals were held in his honor.
In our picture the painter has represented the little torch-bearing
god disguised as a link boy. He is dressed in the clothes of a London
street urchin, and behind him are the warehouses of the great city.
The link bearer's occupation was abandoned so long ago that it needs a
word of explanation. In the old times, before there were stationary
street lights of any kind, men and boys used to run about by night,
carrying torches or links, as they were called, to lighten the way for
passers-by.
They were like the newsboys of to-day, running up to each wayfarer to
offer their services, and always glad to pick up a few pennies. They
accompanied parties home from the clubs, the theatres, and all
sorts of entertainments, running beside carriages, as well as foot
passengers. Nor was their occupation solely by night. There sometimes
came suddenly in London a thick fog, shutting out the sunlight as
completely as if it had been night. People caught in the streets at
such times soon lost their way, and the services of the link boy were
then very useful.
[Illustration: CUPID AS LINK BOY]
We may now understand what a capital chance for fun Cupid would have,
playing the part of a link boy. The strangers whom he guided on their
way would little suspect that the link boy's torch was kindling the
flame of love within them. He might lead them whither he pleased, and
finally, disclosing his true identity, would draw his bow upon them
and leave them to their fate.
It is perhaps after some such escapade as this that we see him in the
picture, link in hand, pausing to look back with a smile of suppressed
amusement at some of his victims. It seems very odd to find Cupid in
such surroundings, and especially to see the little god hampered by
the clumsy garments of mortals. They are old and ragged, the cast-off
finery such as is picked up by street gamins. The child's hair is
tossed about his head in unkempt locks, and altogether he looks the
part to perfection.
Yet there are unmistakable signs of his identity in the wings spread
from his shoulders. If you look closely, too, you can see through the
rip in his sleeve the quiver of arrows which the sly fellow thought to
hide under his coat. The face and expression could belong alone to
Cupid. The mouth is shaped in a genuine Cupid's bow, and the pointed
chin shows his astuteness. Mischief lurks in the corners of the eyes
and in the curve of his mouth.
The Cupid as Link Boy is one of a number of fancy pictures which Sir
Joshua Reynolds painted for his own pleasure. His portrait orders were
nearly all from the wealthy and aristocratic classes, and the artist
would not have been content without a greater variety of subjects than
this work afforded. He had a fertile imagination for ideal or "fancy"
subjects, particularly for those of a humorous nature. Often when he
chanced to be driving through the streets his attention would be
attracted by some little waif, and he would take the child back to his
studio for a model. Our picture is from one of these mischievous
London street boys, whose face reappears in several other works.
XIII
THE HON. ANNE BINGHAM
Miss Anne Bingham was one of the many aristocratic ladies whose
portraits Reynolds painted, and one of the most interesting of this
class of sitters. Her vivacious face looking into ours wins us at
once, and we should be glad to know more of the charming original.
Anne Bingham was the youngest daughter of Sir Charles Bingham, who in
1776 was created Baron Lucan. Her mother, Lady Lucan, was a remarkably
talented woman, trying her hand with success at modelling, painting,
and poetry. She was ambitious to be an intellectual leader, and like
several other ladies of the time entertained after the fashion of the
French salons, inviting people of wit and learning to meet in her
drawing-room for discussion. Her artistic work was really remarkable.
Encouraged by the advice and help of Horace Walpole, she became a
skilful copyist, and it is said imitated the works of some earlier
painters with a genius that fairly depreciated the originals!
It was thus in exceptionally artistic and intellectual surroundings
that Anne grew out of girlhood. Her oldest sister, Lavinia, who
afterwards became Countess Spencer, inherited the mother's artistic
tastes, and was likewise a favorite with Horace Walpole.
The two daughters were both charming in appearance, and there was a
certain sisterly resemblance between them. If Lavinia's eyes were a
bit more sparkling, judged by the portraits, Anne's mouth was smaller
and more daintily modelled. As a frequent guest in their mother's
drawing-room, Sir Joshua must have known both the young ladies. Of the
elder he painted several portraits; of the younger, but this one,
executed in 1786.
It was a natural and appropriate idea that Miss Anne's portrait should
be made in a style similar to one of her sister, as a companion
picture. Both were represented in half-length figure, wearing white
kerchiefs and broad-brimmed hats.
Those must have been pleasant sittings which gave the veteran portrait
painter Miss Anne for a subject.[17] Plainly there was a perfect
sympathy between sitter and painter. The smile the lady turns towards
the easel is as naïve as that of Miss Bowles herself. She watches his
clever work with an artist's delight, and with the simple spirit of a
child.
[Footnote 17: When her father was created an earl in 1795, she became
Lady Anne.]
Nothing could be more distasteful to such a character than the
affected pose of a woman of fashion. She has dropped into a chair with
a careless grace all her own, and tells the painter she is ready. He
takes up his brush, and lo, the very essence of her smile is
transferred to his canvas.
[Illustration: THE HON. ANNE BINGHAM]
We praise the delicate rendering of the gauzy kerchief veiling her
neck, but it is far less wonderful than the delicate interpretation of
her expression. The fine sensitiveness of her nature, her lively fancy
and sense of humor, her playfulness, her coquetry, her impulsiveness,
her volatile temperament--all this we read in the shining eyes and the
smiling mouth, though no one can say how they were made to tell so
much. The signs of her birth and breeding are in every line, yet she
is something of a Bohemian too. There is a delightful sense of
camaraderie in her smile.
There is a certain portrait by Leonardo da Vinci known as the Mona
Lisa, and famous for its baffling smile. There is a tantalizing
quality about it which makes one forever wonder what the lady is
thinking about and why she is smiling. Nothing could be more in
contrast than this smile of Miss Bingham. There is no mystery in it,
but rather it takes us into her confidence in the most winning way.
The costume interests us not only as a reminder of bygone fashions,
but for its picturesqueness. The bodice is ornamented only by the big
buttons by which it is laced. A narrow belt finishes it at the waist,
with a small buckle in front.
The hair is frizzed in puffy masses about the face, escaping in a few
curls which fall over the shoulders. This was evidently the favorite
coiffure in the year 1786, as the portrait of the Duchess of
Devonshire with her Child, painted in the same year, shows precisely
the same style. Both ladies also wear low-cut bodices with kerchiefs
arranged in the same manner. The finishing touch of Miss Bingham's
costume is the big straw hat worn aslant on the back of the head.
It has been a favorite device of great portrait painters to dress
their sitters in all sorts of fanciful headwear. Rembrandt's portraits
show an endless variety of caps, turbans, and hats. Rubens was fond of
painting broad-brimmed hats shading the face, one of his celebrated
pictures being a study of this kind called Le Chapeau de Paille (The
Straw Hat).
Now Reynolds was to some extent an imitator of these two men, and it
may be he learned something from their pictures about hats. However
that may be, we see how the hat here proves very effective in bringing
the head into harmonious relation with the whole composition. The brim
describes a diagonal line parallel with the line made by the kerchief
over the left shoulder. The kerchief on the right shoulder falls in a
line parallel with the left arm.
A composition based on short diagonal lines like these is as different
as possible in character from one of long flowing curves like Hope.
Each one is appropriate to its own subject.
XIV
THE STRAWBERRY GIRL
Village life in England before the time of railroads had a picturesque
charm which it has since lost except in remote districts. We learn
something about it in Miss Mitford's sketches of "Our Village" and in
Miss Edgeworth's "Tales." From such books it is delightful to
reconstruct in imagination some of these rural scenes; the wide
meadows where the cowslips grow, the brooks running beneath the
hawthorns and alders, the lanes winding between hedgerows, the green
common where the cricketers play, the low cottages covered to the roof
with vines, and the trim gardens gay with pinks and larkspur. These
villages are connected with the outside world only by the postcart and
chapman. Here modest little girls like Miss Mitford's Hannah and Miss
Edgeworth's Simple Susan move about their daily tasks and run on their
errands of mercy.
Now Sir Joshua Reynolds was a native of Devonshire, a beautiful
English district which all born Devons love with peculiar devotion, as
we may see from Charles Kingsley's descriptions in "Water-babies."
From time to time in his busy life the painter returned to his home
for a breath of country air. On one of these visits he brought back
to London with him his young niece Theophila Palmer, whose father had
just died. Offy, as she was called, soon became the pet of her
bachelor uncle's household, of which she long remained a member. As
she flitted about the house the little country-bred girl with her
fresh healthy beauty was a constant reminder to the painter of the
woods and fields. Perhaps one day as he was looking at her with
special pleasure the picture suddenly flashed upon his fancy of Offy
in the character of a village maid. The idea developed into the
Strawberry Girl, for which Offy sat as model.
A little girl has been sent on an errand along a lonely road leading
out of the village. It may be that like little Red Riding Hood in the
nursery tale she is carrying some dainties to her grandmother. A
basket of strawberries hangs on her arm, and her apron also seems to
be filled with something, for it is gathered up in front like a bag,
the corners dropping over the arm.
Twilight begins to fall as she comes to a turn of the road
overshadowed by a high rock. There are all sorts of queer noises and
shadows here, and she steals timidly past the eerie place, peering
forward with big eyes.
[Illustration: THE STRAWBERRY GIRL]
Yet she is a womanly child, who will not easily be turned back. She
feels the importance of her errand, and is worthy of the trust. The
simple low-cut gown is that of a village maid. An odd cap, something
like a turban, covers her head and adds a trifle to her height and
dignity. Her round face and chubby neck would be the envy of the
puny city child who knows not the luxury of big porringers of bread
and milk. If her hands are rather too delicately moulded for those of
a country child we must remember again that Reynolds was painting from
his own little niece.
In imagination we follow the little maid about the simple round of her
childish pursuits. Every morning she goes demurely to school to fix
her thoughts on "button holes and spelling books." Perhaps it is a
dame school like that in "Water Babies," with a "shining clean stone
floor and curious old prints on the wall and a cuckoo clock in the
corner," Here some dozen children sit on benches "gabbling
Chris-cross," while a nice old woman in a red petticoat and white cap
hears them from the chimney corner.
Our little girl has duties at home as well, and is sometimes seen, a
pitcher in one hand and a mop in the other, making the house tidy. She
can boil potatoes, shell the beans, feed the hens, and make herself
useful in many ways.
On rare occasions she has a holiday in the fields, and then what joy
it is in spring and early summer to find the haunts of the wild
flowers which grow in such abundance in the English country. Miss
Mitford writes of a wonderful field where bloomed in season,
"primroses, yellow, purple, and white, violets of either hue,
cowslips, oxlips, arums, orchises, wild hyacinths, ground ivy,
pansies, strawberries, and heart's ease, covering the sunny open slope
under a weeping birch."
A favorite game is making cowslip balls. The tufts of golden flowerets
are first nipped off with short stems, until a quantity are gathered.
Then the ribbon is held ready and the clusters are nicely balanced
across it until a long garland is made, when they are pressed closely
together and tied into a sweet golden ball.
When we remember that the little Offy, who was the original Strawberry
Girl, was transplanted from her Devonshire home to the great city of
London, we are interested to know something of her after life. She
grew to be as dear as a daughter to her uncle. In the dreary days when
he could not use his eyes she was his reader and amanuensis. The many
distinguished guests who enjoyed his hospitality were charmed with her
sweet manners. In the course of time she married Richard Lovell
Gwatkin, a Cornish gentleman in every way worthy of her. "Her
happiness was as great as her uncle could wish. She lived to be
ninety, to see her children's children, and, intelligent, cheerful,
and affectionate to the last, vividly remembered her happy girlhood
under her uncle's roof, and the brilliant society that found a centre
there."
XV
DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON
The eccentric figure of Dr. Samuel Johnson was one of the familiar
sights of London during the middle of the eighteenth century. He was a
man of great learning, a voluminous writer, and an even more
remarkable talker. He was born in 1709, and, the son of a poor
bookseller, he struggled against poverty for many years. Literary work
was ill paid in those days, and Johnson gained his reputation but
slowly. He contributed articles to the magazines, and twice he
conducted short-lived periodicals of his own--the "Rambler" and the
"Idler." He wrote, besides, a drama, "Irene"; a tale, "Rasselas"; a
book of travel, a "Journey to the Hebrides"; and many biographies,
including the "Lives of the Poets." His largest undertaking was an
English dictionary, upon which he spent eight years of labor.
At length his pecuniary troubles came to an end when, in 1762, the
government awarded him a pension of £300 a year. By this time his
great intellectual gifts had begun to be appreciated, and he was the
first man of letters in England. In Thackeray's phrase, he "was
revered as a sort of oracle."
Johnson was now too old to acquire the graces of polite society, even
had he wished them. His huge, uncouth figure and rolling walk, his
countenance disfigured by scrofula, his blinking eyes, his convulsive
movements, his slovenly dress and boorish manners made him a strange
figure in the circles which entertained him.
His appetite was enormous, and he ate "like a famished wolf, the veins
swelling on his forehead, and the perspiration running down his
cheeks." He usually declined wine, but his capacity for tea was
unlimited. Many funny stories are told of the number of cups poured
for him by obliging hostesses, for, oddly enough, he was a great
favorite with the ladies, and knew how to turn a pretty compliment.
His temper was at times very irritable and morbid, and he occasionally
had violent fits of rage. Yet, with all these peculiarities, he had a
kind heart and was sincerely religious. His devotion to his wife and
his aged mother[18] was very touching, and the poor and infirm knew
his charities. In his own lodgings he provided a home for an oddly
assorted family of dependents, consisting of an old man, a blind
woman, a negro boy, and a cat. All the details of his daily life and
habits are minutely described in a biography written by his admiring
friend, Boswell, who was intimately associated with him for many
years. The book he wrote after Johnson's death tells us not only all
about the learned doctor, but much also about his friends.
[Footnote 18: His wife died in 1752, and his mother in 1759 at the age
of ninety.]
[Illustration: DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON]
Reynolds was one of his warm friends, and the two understood each
other well. Often when they were together in company, the painter's
tact and courtesy smoothed over some breach of etiquette on the part
of his companion. At Reynolds's suggestion, the two founded together a
small club of congenial spirits, called the Literary Club.