Chapter VI: Part 6

“M. David, this is well; very well indeed; you have conceived my whole idea; the Empress, my mother, the Emperor, all, are most appropriately placed, you have made me a French knight, and I am gratified that you have thus transmitted to future ages the proofs of affection I was desirous of testifying towards the Empress.” After a silence of some seconds, Napoleon’s hat being on, and Josephine standing at his right hand, with M. David on his left, the Emperor advanced two steps, and turning to the painter, uncovered himself, making a profound obeisance while uttering these words in an elevated tone of voice, “_Monsieur David, I salute you!_”

“Sire,” replied the painter, “I receive the compliment of the Emperor, in the name of all the artists of the empire, happy in being the individual one, you deign to make the channel of such an honor.”

In the month of October, 1808, when this performance was removed to the museum, the Emperor wished to inspect it a second time; and M. David in consequence attended in the hall of the Louvre, surrounded by his pupils; upon which occasion, at the Emperor’s desire, having pointed out the most conspicuous _éleves_, who received the decorations of the Legion of Honor: “It is requisite,” said Napoleon, “that I should testify my satisfaction to the master of so many distinguished artists; therefore, I promote you to be an officer of the Legion of Honor: M. Duroc, give a golden decoration to M. David!” “Sire, I have none with me,” answered the grand marshal. “No matter,” replied the Emperor, “do not let this day transpire without executing my order.” Duroc, although no friend to the painter, was obliged to obey, and on the same evening the insignia were forwarded to M. David.

The King of Wurtemberg, at the suggestion of the Emperor, also waited upon the artist to inspect his labor, who, on contemplating the performance, and in particular, the luminous brightness spread over the group in which are the pope and Cardinal Caprara, his majesty thus expressed himself: “I did not believe that your art could effect such wonders; white and black in painting afford but very weak resources. When you produced this you had, no doubt, a sunbeam upon your pencil.”

This compliment, which displayed great knowledge of the art, surprised the painter, who, after offering his thanks, added: “Sire, your conception, and the mode in which you express it, bespeak either the practical artist or the well informed amateur. Your majesty has doubtless learned to paint.”--“Yes,” said the king, “I sometimes occupy myself with the art, and all my brothers possess a similar taste; that one in particular, who frequently visits you, has acquired some celebrity; for his performances are not like the generality of royal paintings, they are worthy of the artist. M. David” added the monarch, “I dare not hope to obtain a copy of this picture; but you may indemnify me by placing my name at the head of the subscribers to the engraving, pray do not forget me.”

The personages represented in this picture are as follow: the Emperor; the Empress Josephine; the Pope; Cambaceres, Duke of Parma, arch-chancellor; the Duke of Plaisance, arch-treasurer; Mareschal Berthier, Prince of Wagram; M. Talleyrand, Prince of Benevento, grand chamberlain to the emperor; Prince Eugene Beauharnais, viceroy of the kingdom of Lombardy; Caulaincourt, Duke of Vicenza, grand écuyer; Mareschal Bernadotte, Prince of Ponte Corvo, and afterwards King of Sweden; Cardinal Pacca, councillor of the pope; Cardinal Fesch, the uncle of Napoleon; Cardinal Caprara, then the Pope’s legate at the court of France; the Count D’Harville, senator and governor of the palace of the Tuileries; Esteve, grand treasurer of the crown; Mareschal Prince Murat, afterwards King of Naples; Mareschal Serrurier, governor of the royal Hotel of Invalids; Mareschal Moncey, Duke of Cornegliane, inspector-general of the gendarmerie; Mareschal Bessierre, Duke of Treviso, general of the imperial guard; Compte Segur, grand master of the Ceremonies; the beautiful and heroic Madame Lavalette, and the Countess of La Rochefoucault, ladies of honor to the empress; Cardinal du Belloy, archbishop of Paris; Maria Annunciade Carolina, wife of Murat; Maria Paulina, wife of Prince Borghese, Duke of Guastalla; and Maria Anna Elisa, Duchess of Tuscany, and Princess of Lucca and Piombino;--the three sisters of Napoleon; Hortense Eugenia Beauharnais, daughter of Josephine, and wife of Louis Napoleon, King of Holland, together with her son Louis Napoleon; Maria Julia Clary, wife of Joseph Napoleon; Junot, Duke of Abrantes, colonel-general of hussars; Louis Napoleon, grand constable; Joseph Napoleon, grand electeur, King of Spain, afterwards a citizen of the United States; Mareschal Le Febvre, Duke of Dantzic; Mareschal Perignon, governor of Naples; Counts de Very, de Longis, D’Arjuzen, Nansouty, Forbin, Beausset, and Detemaud, all filling distinguished posts; Duroc, Duke of Frioul, grand mareschal of the palace; Counts de Jaucourt, Brigade, de Boudy, and de Laville; the Baron Beaumont; the Duke of Cossé Brissac; Madame, mother of the emperor; Count Beaumont; Countess Fontanges; Madame la Mareschal Soult; the Duke of Gravina, ambassador from Spain; Count Marescalchi, minister of the kingdom of Lombardy; Count Cobenzel, Austrian ambassador; the Turkish envoy; Mr. Armstrong, ambassador from the United States; the Marquis of Luchesini, Prussian envoy; M. and Madame David; and the senator Vien, master of the artist; of whom the emperor said, when viewing the picture, “I perceive the likeness of the good M. Vien.” Whereto the painter replied, “I was desirous to testify my gratitude to my master, by placing him in a picture, which from its subject will be the most important of my labors.” There were, besides, the poet Lebrun; Gretry the musician; Monges, member of the Institute; Count D’Aubusson de la Feuillade; chamberlain, etc., etc.

The Bourbons, upon their restoration, unmindful of the arts, and actuated by a mean spirit of vengeance, ordered this chef d’œuvre of David to be destroyed, which was accordingly done!! When Napoleon returned to Paris, the existing government, conceiving it important that the picture should be replaced, requested David to repaint his former picture, which he felt great repugnance to do, regarding it as not within the province of real genius to repaint former productions. He was, however, prevailed upon to acquiesce, and the government agreed to pay the same price that he had received for the original, 100,000 francs. Upon Napoleon’s second abdication, the Emperor Alexander, aware of the history of the performance, made overtures to become possessed of it, after David had completed it at Brussels; but, though his offers were munificent, the painter refused to part with it, and left it to his son, who subsequently exhibited it in London.

DAVID AND THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON.

During David’s exile at Brussels, the Duke of Wellington called on him, and said, “Monsieur David, I have called to have my portrait taken by the illustrious painter of Leonidas at Thermopylæ.” David, eyeing fiercely the man who had humbled his country, and dethroned her Emperor, replied, “Sir, I cannot paint the English.”

DAVID AND THE CARDINAL CAPRARA.

David introduced the Cardinal Caprara, as the Pope’s legate, into the picture of the Coronation of Napoleon, without his wig. The likeness was exact, and the Cardinal remonstrated with David on the omission, desiring him to supply it. The painter replied that he never had, and never would paint a wig. The Cardinal then applied to the Minister of Foreign Affairs, and represented that as no pope had hitherto worn a wig, it might seem as if he (Caprara) had purposely left his own off, to show his pretensions to the tiara. David however stood firm as a rock, even before Talleyrand, and said, “his Eminence may think himself lucky that nothing but his wig has been taken off.”

DAVID AT BRUSSELS.

David, then advanced in years, severely felt his exile at Brussels. He lived very retired, saw little company, and seldom went abroad. It is related that Talma, during a professional engagement at Brussels, got up the tragedy of Leonidas, expressly to gratify his old friend, and invited him to the theatre to see the performance. David consented to go, but told Talma he must pardon him if he should happen to _nod_. As soon as David was recognized in the theatre, the whole house rose _en masse_, and gave three hearty cheers for the illustrious exile, which so affected him that he burst into tears. When the performance commenced, so far from giving way to sleep, he became completely absorbed in the interest of the play, and when the curtain dropped, he exclaimed, “Heavens! how glorious it is to possess such a talent.”

PIERRE MIGNARD.

There have been found occasionally some artists, who could so perfectly imitate the spirit, the taste, the character, and the peculiarities of great masters, that they have not unfrequently deceived the most skillful connoisseurs.

An anecdote of Pierre Mignard is singular. This great artist painted a Magdalen on a canvass fabricated at Rome. A broker in concert with him, went to the Chevalier de Clairville, and told him as a secret, that he was to receive from Italy a Magdalen of Guido, and one of his masterpieces. The Chevalier caught the bait, begged the preference, and purchased the picture at a very high price. Some time afterwards, he was informed that he had been imposed upon, for that the Magdalen was painted by Mignard. Although Mignard himself caused the alarm to be given, the amateur would not believe it; all the connoisseurs agreed it was a Guido, and the famous Le Brun corroborated this opinion. The Chevalier came to Mignard; “There are,” said he, “some persons who assure me that my Magdalen is your work.” “Mine!” replied Mignard; “they do me great honor. I am sure that Le Brun is not of that opinion.” “Le Brun swears it can be no other than a Guido,” said the Chevalier; “you shall dine with me, and meet several of the first connoisseurs.” On the day of meeting, the picture was more closely inspected than ever. Mignard hinted his doubts whether the piece was the work by Guido; he insinuated that it was possible to be deceived, and added that, if it was Guido’s, he did not think it in his best manner. “I am perfectly convinced that it is a Guido, sir, and in his very best manner,” replied Le Brun, with warmth; and all the critics unanimously agreed with him. Mignard then said, in a firm tone of voice, “And I, gentlemen, will wager three hundred louis that it is not a Guido.” The dispute now became violent--Le Brun was desirous of accepting the wager. In a word, the affair became such as could add nothing more to the glory of Mignard. “No, sir,” replied the latter; “I am too honest to bet, when I am certain to win. Monsieur le Chevalier, this piece cost you two thousand crowns; the money must be returned--the painting is by my hand.” Le Brun would not believe it. “The proof,” continued Mignard, “is easy; on this canvass, which is a Roman one, was the portrait of a Cardinal; I will show you his cap.”

The Chevalier did not know which of the rival artists to believe; the proposition alarmed him. “He who painted the picture shall mend it,” said Mignard; and taking a pencil dipped in spirits, and rubbing the hair of the Magdalen, he soon discovered the cap of the Cardinal. The honor of the ingenious painter could no longer be disputed.

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS.

This eminent painter was born at Plympton, in Devonshire, in 1723. He was the son of the Rev. Samuel Reynolds, who intended him for the medical profession; but his natural taste and genius for painting, induced his father to send him to London to study painting under Hudson, when he was seventeen years of age. In 1749, he accompanied Captain, afterwards Lord Keppel to the Mediterranean, and passed about three years in Italy. On his return to England, he established himself in London, where he soon acquired a distinguished reputation, and rose to be esteemed the head of the English school of painting. At the formation of the Royal Academy in 1768, he was elected president, and received the honor of knighthood. In 1781 he visited Holland and the Netherlands to examine the productions of the Dutch and Flemish masters, by which he is said to have improved his coloring. In 1784, on the death of Ramsay, he was appointed principal painter to the King. He died in 1792, and his remains were deposited in the crypt of St. Paul’s cathedral, near the tomb of Sir Christopher Wren. He formed a splendid collection of works of art, which, after his death, brought at public sale about £17,000; and the whole of his property amounted to about £80,000, the bulk of which he left to his niece, who married Lord Inchiquin, afterwards Marquis of Thomond. He never married, but his sister Frances Reynolds conducted his domestic affairs. He was fond of the society of literary men, kept open house, and seldom dined without his table being graced by the presence of some of the chosen spirits of the land. He was simple and unostentatious in his habits, and affable in his deportment; and while his table was abundantly supplied, there was an absence of all ceremony, and each guest was made to feel himself perfectly at home, which gave a delightful zest to his hospitality.

REYNOLDS’ NEW STYLE.

Soon after Reynolds’ return to England from Italy, in 1752, he commenced his professional career in St. Martin’s Lane, London. He found such opposition as genius is commonly doomed to encounter, and does not always overcome. The boldness of his attempts, and the brilliancy of his coloring, were considered innovations upon the established and orthodox system of portrait manufacture, in the styles of Lely and Kneller. The old artists first raised their voices. His old master Hudson called at his rooms to see his Turkish Boy, which had caused quite a sensation in the town. After contemplating the picture some minutes, he said with a national oath,--“Why, Reynolds, you do not paint as well as you did when you left England.” Ellis, an eminent portrait maker, who had studied under Kneller, next lifted up his voice. “Ah, Reynolds,” said he, “this will never answer, you do not paint in the least like Sir Godfrey.” When the young artist vindicated himself with much ability, Ellis, finding himself unable to give any good reasons for the objections he had made, cried out in a rage, “Shakspeare in poetry, and Kneller in painting for me,” and stalked out of the room. Reynolds’ new style, notwithstanding the vigorous opposition he met with, took with the fashionable world, his fame spread far and wide, and he soon became the leading painter in London. In 1754, he removed from St. Martin’s Lane, the Grub-street of artists, and took a handsome house on the north side of Great Newport-Street, which he furnished with elegance and taste. Northcote says his apartments were filled with ladies of quality and with men of rank, all alike desirous to have their persons preserved to posterity by one who touched no subject without adorning it. “The desire to perpetuate the form of self-complacency, crowded the sitting room of Reynolds with women who wished to be transmitted as angels, and with men who wished to appear as heroes and philosophers. From his pencil they were sure to be gratified. The force and facility of his portraits, not only drew around him the opulence and beauty of the nation, but happily gained him the merited honor of perpetuating the features of all the eminent and distinguished men of learning then living.”

REYNOLDS’ PRICES.

“The price,” says Cunningham, “which Reynolds at first received for a _head_ was five guineas; the rate increased with his fame, and in the year 1755 his charge was twelve. Experience about this time dictated the following memorandum respecting his art. ‘For painting the flesh:--black, blue-black, white, lake, carmine, orpiment, yellow-ochre, ultramarine, and varnish. To lay the palette:--first lay, carmine and white in different degrees; second lay, orpiment and white ditto; third lay, blue-black and white ditto. The first sitting, for expedition, make a mixture as like the sitter’s complexion as you can.’ Some years afterwards I find, by a casual notice from Johnson, that Reynolds had raised his price for a head to twenty guineas.

“The year 1758 was perhaps the most lucrative of his professional career. The account of the economy of his studies, and the distribution of his time at this period, is curious and instructive. It was his practice to keep all the prints engraved from his portraits, together with his sketches, in a large portfolio; these he submitted to his sitters; and whatever position they selected, he immediately proceeded to copy it on the canvass, and paint the likeness to correspond. He received six sitters daily, who appeared in their turns; and he kept regular lists of those who sat, and of those who were waiting until a finished portrait should open a vacancy for their admission. He painted them as they stood on his list, and often sent the work home before the colors were dry. Of lounging visitors he had a great abhorrence, and, as he reckoned up the fruits of his labors, ‘Those idle people,’ said this disciple of the grand historical school of Raphael and Angelo, ‘those idle people do not consider that my time is worth five guineas an hour.’ This calculation incidentally informs us, that it was Reynolds’ practice, in the height of his reputation and success, to paint a portrait in four hours.”

REYNOLDS IN LEICESTER SQUARE.

Reynolds’ commissions continued to increase, and to pour in so abundantly, that in addition to his pupils, he found it necessary to employ several subordinate artists, skillful in painting drapery and backgrounds, as assistants. He also raised his price to twenty-five guineas a head.

“In the year 1761,” says Cunningham, “the accumulating thousands which Johnson speaks of, began to have a visible effect on Reynolds’ establishment. He quitted Newport Street, purchased a fine house on the west side of Leicester Square, furnished it with much taste, added a splendid gallery for the exhibition of his works, and an elegant dining-room; and finally taxed his invention and his purse in the production of a carriage, with wheels carved and gilt, and bearing on its pannels the Four Seasons of the year. Those who flocked to see his new gallery, were sometimes curious enough to desire a sight of this gay carriage, and the coachman, imitating the lackey who showed the gallery, earned a little money by opening the coach-house doors. His sister complained that it was too showy--‘What!’ said the painter, ‘would you have one like an apothecary’s carriage?’

“By what course of study he attained his skill in art, Reynolds has not condescended to tell us; but of many minor matters we are informed by one of his pupils, with all the scrupulosity of biography. His study was octagonal, some twenty feet long, sixteen broad, and about fifteen feet high. The window was small and square, and the sill nine feet from the floor. His sitter’s chair moved on castors, and stood above the floor a foot and a half; he held his palettes by a handle, and the sticks of his brushes were eighteen inches long. He wrought standing, and with great celerity. He rose early, breakfasted at nine, entered his study at ten, examined designs or touched unfinished portraits till eleven brought a sitter; painted till four; then dressed, and gave the evening to company.

“His table was now elegantly furnished, and round it men of genius were often found. He was a lover of poetry and poets; they sometimes read their productions at his house, and were rewarded by his approbation, and occasionally by their portraits. Johnson was a frequent and a welcome guest: though the sage was not seldom sarcastic and overbearing, he was endured and caressed, because he poured out the riches of his conversation more lavishly than Reynolds did his wines. Percy was there too with his ancient ballads and his old English lore; and Goldsmith with his latent genius, infantine vivacity, and plum-colored coat. Burke and his brothers were constant guests, and Garrick was seldom absent, for he loved to be where greater men were. It was honorable to this distinguished artist that he perceived the worth of such men, and felt the honor which their society shed upon him; but it stopped not here--he often aided them with his purse, nor insisted upon repayment.”

THE FOUNDING OF THE ROYAL ACADEMY.

“The Royal Academy,” says Cunningham, “was planned and proposed in 1768 by Chambers, West, Cotes, and Moser; the caution or timidity of Reynolds kept him for some time from assisting. A list of thirty members was made out; and West, a prudent and amiable man, called on Reynolds, and, in a conference of two hours’ continuance, succeeded in persuading him to join them. He ordered his carriage, and, accompanied by West, entered the room where his brother artists were assembled. They rose up to a man, and saluted him ‘President.’ He was affected by the compliment, but declined the honor till he had talked with Johnson and Burke; he went, consulted his friends, and having considered the consequences carefully, then consented. He expressed his belief at the same time that their scheme was a mere delusion: the King, he said, would not patronize nor even acknowledge them, as his majesty was well known to be the friend of another body--The Incorporated Society of Artists.”

The truth is, the Royal Academy was planned at the suggestion of the King himself. He had learned, through West, the causes of the indecent bickerings in the Society of Artists, and declared to him that he was ready to patronize any institution founded on principles calculated to advance the interests of art. West communicated the King’s declaration to some of the dissenters, who drew up a plan which the king corrected with his own hand. See Spooner’s Dictionary of Painters, Engravers, Sculptors, and Architects, article West.

REYNOLDS AND DR. JOHNSON.

In the year 1754, Reynolds accidentally made the acquaintance of Dr. Samuel Johnson, which ripened into a mutual and warm friendship, that continued through life. Of the fruit which he derived from this intercourse, Reynolds thus speaks, in one of his Discourses on Art:

“Whatever merit these Discourses may have, must be imputed in a great measure to the education which I may be said to have had under Dr. Johnson. I do not mean to say, though it certainly would be to the credit of these Discourses if I could say it with truth, that he contributed even a single sentiment to them; but he qualified my mind to think justly. No man had, like him, the art of teaching inferior minds the art of thinking. Perhaps other men might have equal knowledge, but few were so communicative. His great pleasure was to talk to those who looked up to him. It was here he exhibited his wonderful powers. The observations which he made on poetry, on life, and on everything about us, I applied to one art--with what success, others must judge.”

DR. JOHNSON’S FRIENDSHIP FOR REYNOLDS.

In 1764, Reynolds was attacked by a sudden and dangerous illness. He was cheered by the sympathy of many friends, and by the solicitude of Johnson, who thus wrote him from Northamptonshire:

“I did not hear of your sickness till I heard likewise of your recovery, and therefore escaped that part of your pain which every man must feel to whom you are known as you are known to me. If the amusement of my company can exhilarate the languor of a slow recovery, I will not delay a day to come to you; for I know not how I can so effectually promote my own pleasure as by pleasing you, or my own interest as by preserving you; in whom, if I should lose you, I should lose almost the only man whom I can call a friend.” He to whom Johnson could thus write, must have possessed many noble qualities, for no one could estimate human nature more truly than that illustrious man.

JOHNSON’S APOLOGY FOR PORTRAIT PAINTING.

Johnson showed his kindly feelings for Sir Joshua Reynolds, by writing the following apology for portrait painting. Had the same friendship induced him to compliment West, he doubtless would have written in a very different strain:

“Genius,” said he, “is chiefly exerted in historical pictures, and the art of the painter of portraits is often lost in the obscurity of the subject. But it is in painting as in life; what is greatest is not always best. I should grieve to see Reynolds transfer to heroes and goddesses, to empty splendor and to airy fiction, that art which is now employed in diffusing friendship, in renewing tenderness, in quickening the affections of the absent, and continuing the presence of the dead. Every man is always present to himself, and has, therefore, little need of his own resemblance; nor can desire it, but for the sake of those whom he loves, and by whom he hopes to be remembered. This use of the art is a natural and reasonable consequence of affection: and though, like all other human actions, it is often complicated with pride, yet even such pride is more laudable than that by which palaces are covered with pictures, which however excellent, neither imply the owner’s virtue, nor excite it.”

THE LITERARY CLUB.

The Literary Club was founded by Dr. Johnson in 1764, and among many men of eminence and talent, it numbered Reynolds. His modesty would not permit him to assume to himself the distinction which literature bestows, but his friends knew too well the value of his presence, to lose it by a fastidious observance of the title of the club. Poets, painters, and sculptors are all brothers; and had Reynolds been less eminent in art, his sound sense, varied information, and pleasing manners would have made him an acceptable companion in the most intellectual society.

JOHNSON’S PORTRAIT.

In 1775, Sir Joshua Reynolds painted his famous portrait of Dr. Johnson, in which he represented him as reading, and near-sighted. This latter circumstance was very displeasing to the “Giant of Literature,” who reproved Reynolds, saying, “It is not friendly to hand down to posterity the imperfections of any man.” But Reynolds, on the contrary, considered it a natural peculiarity which gave additional value to the portrait. Johnson complained of the caricature to Mrs. Thrale, who to console him, said that he would not be known to posterity by his defects only, and that Reynolds had painted for her his own portrait, with the ear-trumpet. He replied, “He may paint himself as deaf as he chooses, but he shall not paint me as _blinking Sam_.”

JOHNSON’S DEATH.

“Amidst the applause,” says Cunningham, “which these works obtained for him, the President met with a loss which the world could not repair--Samuel Johnson died on the 13th of December, 1784, full of years and honors. A long, a warm, and a beneficial friendship had subsisted between them. The house and the purse of Reynolds were ever open to Johnson, and the word and the pen of Johnson were equally ready for Reynolds. It was pleasing to contemplate this affectionate brotherhood, and it was sorrowful to see it dissevered. ‘I have three requests to make,’ said Johnson, the day before his death, ‘and I beg that you will attend to them, Sir Joshua. Forgive me thirty pounds, which I borrowed from you--read the Scriptures--and abstain from using your pencil on the Sabbath-day.’ Reynolds promised, and--what is better--remembered his promise?”

REYNOLDS AND GOLDSMITH.

We hear much about “poetic inspiration,” and the “poet’s eye in a fine frenzy rolling.” Reynolds use to tell an anecdote of goldsmith calculated to abate our notions about the ardor of composition.

Calling upon the poet one day, he opened the door without ceremony, and found him engaged in the double occupation of tuning a couplet and teaching a pet dog to sit upon its haunches. At one time he would glance at his desk, and at another shake his finger at the dog to make him retain his position. The last lines on the page were still wet; they form a part of the description of Italy:

“By sports like these are all their cares beguiled;
The sports of children satisfy the child.”

Goldsmith, with his usual good humor, joined in the laugh caused by his whimsical employment, and acknowledged that his boyish sport with the dog suggested the stanza.

THE DESERTED VILLAGE.

When Dr. Goldsmith published his Deserted Village, he dedicated it to Sir Joshua Reynolds, in the following kind and touching manner. “The only dedication I ever made was to my brother, because I loved him better than most other men; he is since dead. Permit me to inscribe this poem to you.”

GOLDSMITH’S “RETALIATION.”

At a festive meeting, where Johnson, Reynolds, Burke, Garrick, Douglas, and Goldsmith, were conspicuous, the idea of composing a set of extempore epitaphs on one another was started. Garrick offended Goldsmith so much by two very indifferent lines of waggery, that the latter avenged himself by composing the celebrated poem Retaliation, in which he exhibits the characters of his companions with great liveliness and talent. The lines have a melancholy interest, from being the last the author wrote. The character of Sir Joshua Reynolds is drawn with discrimination and judgment--a little flattered, resembling his own portraits, in which the features are a little softened, and the expression a little elevated.

“Here Reynolds is laid, and, to tell you my mind,
He has not left a wiser or better behind;
His pencil was striking, resistless, and grand;
His manners were gentle, complying, and bland;
Still born to improve us in every part,
His pencil our faces, his manners our heart.”

POPE A PAINTER.

Reynolds was a great admirer of Pope. A fan which the poet presented to Martha Blount, and on which he had painted with his own hand the story of Cephalus and Procris, with the motto “Aura Veni,” was to be sold at auction. Reynolds sent a messenger to bid for it as far as thirty guineas, but it was knocked down for two pounds. “See,” said the president to his pupils, who gathered around him, “the painting of Pope;--this must always be the case, when the work is taken up for idleness, and is laid aside when it ceases to amuse; it is like the work of one who paints only for amusement. Those who are resolved to excel, must go to their work, willing or unwilling, morning, noon, and night; they will find it to be no play, but very hard labor.”

REYNOLDS’ FIRST ATTEMPTS IN ART.

This excellent painter, in his boyhood, showed his natural taste for painting, by copying the various prints that fell in his way. His father, a clergyman, thought this an idle passion, which ought not to be encouraged; he esteemed one of these youthful performances worthy of his endorsement, and he wrote underneath it, “Done by Joshua out of pure idleness.” The drawing is still preserved in the family.

Dr. Johnson says that Sir Joshua Reynolds had his first fondness of the art excited by the perusal of Richardson’s Treatise on Painting.

THE FORCE OF HABIT.

Portraits in the time of Hudson, the master of Reynolds, were usually painted in one attitude--one hand in the waistcoat, and the hat under the arm. A gentleman whose portrait young Reynolds painted, desired to have his hat on his head. The picture was quickly despatched and sent home, when it was discovered that it had two hats, one on the head, and another under the arm!

PAYING THE PIPER.

“What do you ask for this sketch?” said Reynolds to a dealer in old pictures and prints, as he was looking over his portfolio. The shrewd tradesman, observing from his manner that he had found a gem, quickly replied, “Twenty guineas, your honor.” “Twenty pence, I suppose you mean.” “No, sir; it is true I would have sold it for twenty pence this morning; but if you think it worth having, all the world will think it worth buying.” Sir Joshua gave him his price. It was an exquisite drawing by Rubens.

REYNOLDS’ MODESTY.

Sir Joshua Reynolds, like many other distinguished artists, was never satisfied with his works, and endeavored to practice his maxim, that “an artist should endeavor to improve over his every performance.” When an eminent French painter was one day praising the excellence of one of his pictures, he said, “_Ah! Monsieur, Je ne fais que des ebauches, des ebauches._”--Alas! sir, I can only make sketches, sketches.

REYNOLDS’ GENEROSITY.

Sir Joshua Reynolds has been charged by his enemies with avarice; but there are many instances recorded which show that he possessed a noble and generous heart.

When Gainsborough charged him but sixty guineas for his celebrated picture of the Girl and Pigs, Reynolds, conscious that it was worth much more, gave him one hundred. Hearing that a worthy artist with a large family was in distress, and threatened with arrest, he paid him a visit, and learning that the extent of his debts was but forty pounds, he shook him warmly by the hand as he took his leave, and the artist was astonished to find in his fingers a bank-note of one hundred pounds. When Dayes, an artist of merit, showed him his drawings of a Royal pageant at St. Paul’s, Reynolds complimented him, and said that he had bestowed so much labor upon them that he could not be remunerated by selling them, but told him that if he would publish them he would loan him the necessary funds, and engage to get him a handsome subscription among the nobility.

REYNOLDS’ LOVE OF HIS ART.

Reynolds was an ardent lover of his profession, and ever as ready to defend it when assailed, as to add to its honors by his pencil. When Dr. Tucker, the famous Dean of Gloucester, in his discourse before the Society for the Encouragement of Arts, Manufactures, and Commerce, asserted that “a pin-maker was a more valuable member of society than Raffaelle,” Reynolds was greatly nettled, and said, with some asperity, “This is an observation of a very narrow mind; a mind that is confined to the mere object of commerce--that sees with a microscopic eye, but a part of the great machine of the economy of life, and thinks that small part which he sees to be the whole. Commerce is the means, not the end of happiness or pleasure; the end is a rational enjoyment by means of arts and sciences. It is therefore the highest degree of folly to set the means in a higher rank of esteem than the end. It is as much as to say that the brick-maker is superior to the architect.” He might have added that the artisan is indebted to the artist for the design of every beautiful fabric, therefore the artist is a more “valuable member of society” than the manufacturer or the merchant.

REYNOLDS’ CRITICISM ON RUBENS.

When Sir Joshua Reynolds made his first tour to Flanders and Holland, he was struck with the brilliancy of coloring which appeared in the works of Rubens, and on his return he said that his own works were deficient in force, in comparison with what he had seen. “On his return from his second tour,” says Sir George Beaumont, “he observed to me that the pictures of Rubens appeared much less brilliant than they had done on the former inspection. He could not for some time account for this circumstance; but when he recollected that when he first saw them he had his note-book in his hand, for the purpose of writing down short remarks, he perceived what had occasioned their now making a less impression than they had done formerly. By the eye passing immediately from the white paper to the picture, the colors derived uncommon richness and warmth; but for want of this foil they afterwards appeared comparatively cold.”

REYNOLDS AND HAYDN’S PORTRAIT.

When Haydn, the eminent composer, was in England, one of the princes commissioned Reynolds to paint his portrait. Haydn sat twice, but he soon grew tired, and Reynolds finding he could make nothing out of his “stupid countenance,” communicated the circumstance to his royal highness, who contrived the following stratagem to rouse him. He sent to the painter’s house a beautiful German girl, in the service of the queen. Haydn took his seat, for the third time, and as soon as the conversation began to flag, a curtain rose, and the fair German addressed him in his native language with a most elegant compliment. Haydn, delighted, overwhelmed the enchantress with questions; and Reynolds, rapidly transferring to the canvass his features thus lit up, produced an admirable likeness.

RUBENS’ LAST SUPPER.

Sir Joshua Reynolds relates the following anecdote, in his “Journey to Flanders and Holland.” He stopped at Mechlin to see the celebrated altar-piece by Rubens in the cathedral, representing the Last Supper. After describing the picture, he proceeds:--

“There is a circumstance belonging to the altar-piece, which may be worth relating, as it shows Rubens’ manner of proceeding in large works. The person who bespoke this picture, a citizen of Mechlin, desired, to avoid the danger of carriage, that it might be painted at Mechlin; to this the painter easily consented, as it was very near his country-seat at Steen. Rubens, having finished his sketch in colors, gave it as usual to one of his scholars, (Van Egmont) and sent him to Mechlin to dead-color from it the great picture. The gentleman, seeing this proceeding, complained that he bespoke a picture of the hand of the master, not of the scholar, and stopped the pupil in his progress. However, Rubens satisfied him that this was always his method of proceeding, and that this piece would be as completely his work as if he had done the whole from the beginning. The citizen was satisfied, and Rubens proceeded with the picture, which appears to me to have no indications of neglect in any part; on the contrary, I think it _has been_ one of his best pictures, though those who know this circumstance pretend to see Van Egmont’s inferior genius transpire through Rubens’ touches.”

REYNOLDS’ SKILL IN COMPLIMENTS.

When he painted the portrait of Mrs. Siddons as the Tragic Muse, he wrought his name on the border of her robe. The great actress, conceiving it to be a piece of classic embroidery, went near to examine it, and seeing the words, smiled. The artist bowed, and said, “I could not lose this opportunity of sending my name to posterity on the hem of your garment.”

EXCELLENT ADVICE.

Sir Joshua Reynolds, in his letter to Barry, observes, “Whoever has great views, I would recommend to him, whilst at Rome, rather to live on bread and water, than lose advantages which he can never hope to enjoy a second time, and which he will find only in the Vatican.”

SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS AND HIS PORTRAITS.

When Sir Joshua was elected mayor of Plympton, his native town, he painted an admirable portrait of himself and presented it to the mayor and corporation, and it now hangs in the town-hall. When he sent the picture, he wrote to his friend Sir Wm. Elford, requesting him to put it in a good light, which he did, and to set it off he placed by its side, what he considered to be a bad picture. When Sir William communicated to Reynolds what he had done in order that the excellence of his picture might have a more striking effect, the latter wrote his worthy friend that he was greatly obliged to him for his pains, but that the portrait he so much despised was painted by himself in early life.

REYNOLDS’ FLAG.

In the year 1770, a boy named Buckingham, presuming upon his father’s acquaintance with Sir Joshua Reynolds, called on the president, and asked him if he would have the kindness to paint him a flag to carry in the procession of the next breaking up of the school. Reynolds, whose every hour was worth guineas, smiled, and told the lad to call again at a certain time, and he would see what could be done for him. The boy accordingly called at the set time, and was presented with an elegant flag a yard square, decorated with the King’s coat of arms. The flag was triumphantly carried in procession, an honor as well as a delight to the boys, and a still greater honor to him who painted it, and gave his valuable time to promote their holiday amusements.

BURKE’S EULOGY.

Burke, in his eulogy on Reynolds, says, “In full affluence of foreign and domestic fame, admired by the expert in art and by the learned in science, courted by the great, caressed by sovereign powers, and celebrated by distinguished poets, his native humility, modesty, and candor never forsook him, even on surprise or provocation: nor was the least degree of arrogance or assumption visible to the most scrutinizing eye in any part of his conduct or discourse.”

REYNOLDS’ ESTIMATE AND USE OF OLD PAINTINGS.

He was fond of seeking into the secrets of the old painters; and _dissected_ some of their performances, to ascertain their mode of laying on color and finishing with effect. Titian he conceived to be the great master spirit in portraiture; and no enthusiastic ever sought more incessantly for the secret of the philosopher’s stone than did Reynolds to possess himself of the whole theory and practice of the Venetian. “To possess,” said he, “a real fine picture by that great master--I would sell all my gallery--I would willingly ruin myself.” The capital old paintings of the Venetian school destroyed by Sir Joshua’s _dissections_ were not few; and his experiments of this kind can only properly be likened to that of the boy who cut open the bellows to get at the wind! He was ignorant of chemistry, so much so that he sometimes employed mineral colors that reacted in a short time; and also vegetable colors; and he mixed with these various vehicles, as megilips and different kinds of varnishes or glazes, so that he had the misfortune of seeing some of his finest works change and lose all their harmony, or become cracked with unsightly seams. He kept his system of coloring a profound secret. He lived to regret these experiments, and would never permit his pupils to practice them. His method has been largely imitated, not only in England, but in the United States, greatly to the injury of many fine works and the reputation of the artist. The only true method for excellence and permanence in coloring, is that employed by the great Italian masters, viz: to use well prepared and seasoned canvass; then to lay on a good heavy body-color; to employ only the best mineral colors, which will not chemically react, giving the colors time to harden after laying on each successive coat; and above all, to use no varnishes in the process, nor after the completion of the work, till it is sufficiently hardened by age.

THE INFLUENCE OF THE INQUISITION UPON SPANISH PAINTING.

A strong and enthusiastic feeling of a religious character has often inspired the Fine Arts: we owe to such sentiments the finest and purest productions of modern painting. Progress in art, however, implies the study of nature; the study of nature and the exhibition of its results have continually shocked the rigid asceticism of a severe morality--a morality which makes indecency depend on the simple fact of exposure, not on the feeling in which the work is conceived. Scrupulous persons often appear unconscious that in this, as in other things, it is easy to observe the letter, and to violate the spirit. A picture or statue may be perfectly decent, so far as regards drapery, and yet suggest thoughts and ideas far more objectionable than those resulting from the contemplation of figures wholly unclothed. Still, it must be admitted that such a jealousy of the fine arts might reasonably exist in Italy at the end of the 15th, and the beginning of the 16th centuries, in the days of Alexander VI., Julius II., and Leo X.; when all the abominations of heathenism prevailed at Rome in practice, and when Christianity can hardly be said to have existed more than in theory. It would have been strange, amidst such universal depravity, that Art should escape unsullied by the general pollution. Still, it was against the _abuses_ of art that the efforts of the Catholic church under Paul IV. were directed; and while those efforts gave a somewhat different character to the subjects and to their treatment in later schools, they cannot be said to have acted on either Painting or Sculpture with any _repressive_ force.

But in Spain the case was wholly different. There was no transient insurrection of a purer morality against the vicious extravagancies of a particular period, but a constant and uniform pressure exerted without intermission on all the means of developing and cultivating the human mind, or of imparting its sentiments to others. Painting and Sculpture came in for their share of restriction, and the nature of the discipline to which they were subjected may be gathered from the work of Pacheco, (_Arte de la Pintura_) who was appointed in 1618, by a particular commission from the Inquisition, “to denounce the errors committed in pictures of sacred subjects through the ignorance or wickedness of artists.” He was commissioned to “take particular care to visit and inspect the paintings of sacred subjects which may stand in the public places of Seville, and if anything objectionable appeared in them, to take them before the Inquisition.” His rules, therefore, may properly be received as a fair exponent of the strictures placed upon Art by the Inquisition. In his work upon the Art of Painting, Pacheco censures the nudity of the figures in Michael Angelo’s Last Judgment, as well as other things. Thus he says: “As to placing the damned in the air, fighting as they are one with another, and pulling against the devils, when it is matter of faith that they must want the free gifts of glory, and cannot, therefore, possess the requisite lightness or agility--the impropriety of this mode of exhibiting them is self-evident. With regard, again, to the angels without wings and the saints without clothes, although the former do not possess the one and the latter will not have the other, yet, as angels without wings are unknown to us, and our eyes do not allow us to see the saints without clothes, as we shall hereafter--there can be no doubt, that this again is improper. It is moreover, highly indecent and improper, having regard to their nature, to paint angels with beards.”

On the general question of how an artist is to acquire sufficient skill in the figure, without exposing himself to risks which the Inspector of the Inquisition is bound to deprecate, Pacheco is somewhat embarrassed. “I seem,” he says, “to hear some one asking me, ‘Senor Painter, scrupulous as you are, whilst you place before us the ancient artists as examples, who contemplated the figures of naked women in order to imitate them perfectly, and whilst you charge us to paint as well, what resource do you afford us?’ I would answer, ‘Senor Licentiate, this is what I would do; I would paint the faces and hands from nature, with the requisite beauty and variety, after women of good character; in which, in my opinion, there is no danger. With regard to the other parts, I would avail myself of good pictures, engravings, drawings, models, ancient and modern statues, and the excellent designs of Albert Durer, so that I might choose what was most graceful and best composed without running into danger.’” So it appears that they might profit by the works of other sinners, without incurring the same danger.

Notwithstanding this advice, as the Inquisition always persecuted nudity, Spain was deficient in models from the antique; wherefore Velasquez, the head of the Spanish school, never designed an exquisite figure; and the collection of models and casts which he made in Italy, late in life, was allowed to go to destruction after his death!

In discussing the proper mode of painting the Nativity of Christ, Pacheco says he is always much affected at seeing the infant Jesus represented naked in the arms of his mother! The impropriety of this, he urges, is shown by the consideration that “St. Joseph had an office, and it was not possible that poverty could have obliged him to forego those comforts for his child, which scarcely the meanest beggars are without.” Another fertile subject of dispute among the Spanish artists and theologians, was the number of nails used in the Crucifixion, some arguing for three, and some for four, and drawing their proofs on either side from the vision of some saint!

The precepts as to the proper modes of painting the Virgin, are innumerable. The greatest caution against any approach to nudity is of course requisite. Nay, Pacheco says, “What can be more foreign from the respect which we owe to the purity of Our Lady the Virgin, than to paint her sitting down, with one of her knees placed over the other, and often with her sacred feet uncovered and naked?” We scarcely ever, therefore, see the feet of the Virgin in Spanish pictures. Carducho speaks more particularly on the impropriety of painting the Virgin unshod, since it is manifest that she was in the habit of wearing shoes, as is proved by “the much venerated relic of one of them, from her divine feet, in the Cathedral of Burgos!”

A painter had a penance inflicted on him at Cordova, for painting the Virgin at the foot of the Cross in a hooped petticoat, pointed boddice, and a saffron-colored head-dress; St. John had pantaloons, and a doublet with points. This chastisement Pacheco considers richly deserved. Don Luis Pasqual also erred greatly, in his Marriage of the Virgin, representing her without any mantle, in a Venetian petticoat, fitting very close in the waist, covered with knots of colored ribbon, and with wide round sleeves,--“a dress,” adds Pacheco, “in my opinion highly unbecoming the gravity and dignity of our Sovereign Lady.” Nor were there wanting awful examples of warning to painters, as in the story related by Martin de Roa, in his _State of Souls in Purgatory_. “A painter,” so runs the legend, “had executed in youth, at the request of a gentleman, an improper picture. After the painter’s death, this picture was laid to his charge, and it was only by the intercession of those Saints whom he had at various times painted, that he got off with severe torments in Purgatory. Whilst there, however, he contrived to appear to his confessor, and prevailed upon him to go to the gentleman for whom this picture was painted, and entreat him to burn it. The request was complied with, and the painter then got out of Purgatory!”

The author cannot close this too lengthy article without citing the Life of the Virgin written by Maria de Agreda, whose absurd and blasphemous vagaries were “swallowed whole” by the Spanish nation--an unanswerable proof and a fitting result of the blight inflicted by Jesuitism and the Inquisition. Bayle says, “the only wonder is, that the Sorbonne confined itself to saying that her proposition was false, rash, and contrary to the doctrines of the Gospel, when she taught that God gave the Virgin all he could, and that he could give her all his own attributes, except the essence of the Godhead.” The condemnation of Maria de Agreda’s Life of the Virgin was not carried in the Sorbonne without the greatest opposition and tumult. The book was censured at Rome, notwithstanding all the efforts of the Spanish ambassador. The Spanish feeling, with reference to the Virgin, and more particularly to the doctrine of the Immaculate Conception, went far beyond the rest of Papal Europe; it was impossible for the Pope and the French Church to sanction at once the absurdities that Spain was quite ready to adopt. (See Sir Edmund Head’s Hand-Book of the History of the Spanish and French Schools of Painting.)

A MELANCHOLY PICTURE OF THE STATE OF THE FINE ARTS IN SPAIN.

A most interesting article on the present state of the fine arts in Spain, may be found in the Appendix to Sir Edmund Head’s Hand-Book of the History of the Spanish and French schools of Painting. On the 13th of June, 1844, a Royal ordinance was issued, establishing a Central Commission “de Monumentos Historicos y Artisticos del Reino,” with local or provincial commissions, to act in concert with the former body. The chief object of the Commission was, to report upon the condition of works of art, antiquities, libraries, etc., contained in the numerous convents and monasteries, which had been suppressed, and what measures had been adopted for their preservation. The members of the Commission were divided into three sections, one for libraries and archives, another for painting and sculpture, and a third for architecture and archæology.

The first annual report of the Central Commission to the Secretary of State for the Home Department is printed in pamphlet form, and embraces the proceedings of the Commission from July 1st, 1844, to July 1st, 1845.