Part 10

“‘Sir,’ said I, ‘do not condemn me without examining the easel. I have finished the picture: please to look at it.’ He did so, complimented me highly, and I had ample revenge for his, ‘It will do well enough.’”

STUART’S SCHOLARSHIP.

Trumbull, speaking of Stuart as he knew him in London, says, “He was a much better scholar than I had supposed he was. He once undertook to paint my portrait, and I sat every day for a week, and then he left off without finishing it, saying, ‘he could make nothing of my d----d sallow face.’ But during the time, in his conversation, I observed that he had not only read, but remembered what he had read. In speaking of the character of man, he said, ‘Linnæus is right; Plato and Diogenes call man a biped without feathers; that’s a shallow definition. Franklin’s is better--a tool-making animal; but Linnæus’ is the best--homo, animal mendax, rapax, pugnax.’”

STUART’S RULE OF THE PAYMENT OF HALF PRICE AT THE FIRST SITTING.

Stuart thus explains how he came to adopt a custom, which, when practicable, commends itself to others. “Lord St. Vincent, the Duke of Northumberland, and Colonel Barre, came unexpectedly into my room, one morning after my setting up an independent easel, and explained the object of their visit. They understood that I was under pecuniary embarrassment, and offered me assistance, which I declined. They then said they would sit for their portraits; of course I was ready to serve them. They then advised that I should make it a rule that half the price must be paid at the first sitting. They insisted on setting the example, and I followed the practice, ever after this delicate mode of their showing their friendship.”

STUART’S POWERS OF PERCEPTION.

Stuart read men’s characters at a glance, and always engaged his sitters on some interesting topic of conversation, and while their features were thus lit up, he transferred them to his canvass, with the magic of his pencil. Hence his portraits are full of animation, truth, and nature. This trait is well illustrated by the following anecdote. Lord Mulgrave employed him to paint his brother, General Phipps, who was going out to India. When the portrait was finished, and the general had sailed, the Earl called for the picture, and on examining it, he seemed disturbed, and said, “This picture looks strange, sir; how is it? I think I see insanity in that face!” “I painted your brother as I saw him,” replied the painter. The first account Lord Mulgrave had of his brother was, that insanity, unknown and unapprehended by any of his friends, had driven him to commit suicide. Washington Allston, in his eulogium on Stuart, says, “The narratives and anecdotes with which his knowledge of men and the world had stored his memory, and which he often gave with great beauty and dramatic effect, were not unfrequently employed by Mr. Stuart in a way, and with an address peculiar to himself. From this store it was his custom to draw largely, while occupied with his sitters, apparently for their amusement; but his object was rather, by thus banishing all restraint, to call forth, if possible, some involuntary traits of natural character. It was this which enabled him to animate his canvass, not with the appearance of mere general life, but with that peculiar, distinctive life which separates the humblest individual from his kind. He seemed to dive into the thoughts of men--for they were made to rise and speak on the surface.”

STUART’S CONVERSATIONAL POWERS.

Dr. Waterhouse relates the following anecdote of Stuart. He was traveling one day in an English stage-coach, with some gentlemen who were all strangers, and at first rather taciturn, but he soon engaged them in the most animated conversation. At length they arrived at their place of destination, and stopped at an inn to dine. “His companions,” says the Doctor, “were very desirous to know _who_ and _what_ he was, for whatever Dr. Franklin may have said a half century ago about the question-asking propensity of his countrymen, I never noticed so much of that kind of traveling curiosity in New England as in Britain. To the round-about inquiries to find out his calling or profession, Stuart answered with a grave face and serious tone,

“‘I sometimes dress gentlemen’s and ladies’ hair’ (at that time, the high craped, pomatumed hair was all the fashion).

“‘You are a hair-dresser, then?’

“‘What,’ said he, ‘do I look like a barber?’

“‘I beg your pardon, sir, but I inferred it from what you said. If I mistook you, I may take the liberty to ask you what you are then?’

“‘Why, I sometimes brush a gentleman’s coat or hat, and sometimes adjust a cravat.’

“‘O, you are a valet, then, to some nobleman?’

“‘A valet! Indeed sir, I am not. I am not a servant. To be sure, I make coats and waistcoats for gentlemen.’

“‘O, you are a tailor?’

“‘A tailor! Do I look like a tailor? I assure you, I never handled a goose, other than a roasted one.’

By this time they were all in a roar.

“‘What are you, then?’ said one.

“‘I’ll tell you,’ said Stuart. ‘Be assured, all I have told you is literally true. I dress hair, brush hats and coats, adjust a cravat, and make coats, waistcoats, and breeches, and likewise boots and shoes, at your service.’

“‘O, ho! a boot and shoemaker after all!’

“Guess again, gentlemen. I never handled boot or shoe, but for my own feet and legs; yet all I told you is true.’

“‘We may as well give up guessing.’

“‘Well then, I will tell you, upon my honor as a gentleman, my _bona fide_ profession. I get my bread by making faces.’

He then screwed his countenance, and twisted the lineaments of his visage in a manner such as Samuel Foote or Charles Matthews might have envied. His companions, after loud peals of laughter, each took credit to himself for having suspected that the gentleman belonged to the theatre, and they all knew he must be a comedian by profession, when, to their utter astonishment, he assured them he was never on the stage, and very rarely saw the inside of a playhouse, or any similar place of amusement. They all now looked at each other in utter amazement. Before parting, Stuart said to his companions,--

“‘Gentlemen, you will find that all I have said of various employments is comprised in these few words: _I am a portrait painter!_ If you will call at John Palmer’s, York Buildings, London, I shall be ready and willing to brush you a coat or hat, dress your hair _a la mode_, supply you, if in need, with a wig of any fashion or dimensions, accommodate you boots or shoes, give you ruffles or cravat, and make faces for you.’”

STUART’S SUCCESS IN EUROPE.

Stanley, in his edition of Bryan’s Dictionary of Painters and Engravers says, “He rose into eminence, and his claims were acknowledged, even in the life time of Sir Joshua Reynolds. His high reputation as a portrait painter, as well in Ireland as in England, introduced him to a large acquaintance among the higher circles of society, and he was in the road of realizing a large fortune, had he not returned to America.”

STUART IN IRELAND.

“The Duke of Rutland,” says Dunlap, who had the story from the artist himself, “invited Stuart to his house in Dublin. Stuart got money enough together somehow to pay his passage to Ireland; but when he got there, he found that the duke had died the day before. If anybody else had gone there, the duke would have been just as sure to live, for something extraordinary must happen to Stuart, of course. He soon got into the debtors’ prison again; but he was a star still. He would not let people give him money. Rich people and nobles _would_ be painted by him, and they had to go to jail to find the painter. There he held his court; flashing equipages of lords and ladies came dashing up to prison, while their exquisite proprietors waited for their first sitting. He began the pictures of a great many nobles and men of wealth and fashion, received half price at the first sitting, and left their Irish lordships imprisoned in effigy. Having thus liberated _himself_, and there being no law that would justify the jailor in holding half-finished peers in prison, the painter fulfilled his engagements, more at his ease, in his own house, and in the bosom of his own family; and it is probable the Irish gentlemen laughed heartily at the trick, and willingly paid the remainder of the price.”

STUART’S RETURN TO AMERICA.

Miss Stuart, the daughter of the painter, says, “he arrived in Dublin in 1788, and notwithstanding the loss of his friendly inviter, he met with great success, painted most of the nobility, and lived in a good deal of splendor. The love of his own country, his admiration of General Washington, and the very great desire he had to paint his portrait, was his _only_ inducement to turn his back on his good fortunes in Europe.” Accordingly, in 1793, he embarked for New York, where he took up his abode for some months, and painted the portraits of Sir John Temple, John Jay, Gen. Clarkson, John R. Murray, Colonel Giles, and other persons of distinction.

STUART AND WASHINGTON.

In 1794, Stuart proceeded to Philadelphia, for the purpose of painting a portrait of Washington, who received him courteously. He used to say that when he entered the room where Washington was, he felt embarrassed, and that it was the first time in his life he had ever felt awed in the presence of a fellowman. Washington was then standing on the highest eminence of earthly glory, and the gaze of the world was steadily fixed upon the man, whom Botta terms “the Father of Freedom.” To leave to posterity a faithful portrait of the Father of his country, had become the most earnest wish of Stuart’s life. This he accomplished, but not at the first time; he was not satisfied with the expression, and destroyed the picture. The President sat again, and he produced that head which embodies not only the features but the soul of Washington, from which he painted all his other portraits of that great man. This picture is now in the Boston Atheneum.

STUART’S LAST PICTURE.

After the removal of Congress to Washington, Stuart followed, and resided there till 1806, when he went to Boston, and passed there the rest of his days. He painted a great many portraits, which are scattered all over the country. The last work he ever painted was a head of the elder John Quincy Adams. He began it a full-length: but he was an old man, and only lived to complete the head, which is considered one of his best likenesses, and shows that the powers of his mind and the magic of his pencil continued brilliant to the last. The picture was finished by that eminent and highly gifted artist, Thomas Sully, who would not touch the head, as he said, “he would have thought it little less than sacrilege.” He died in 1828, in the seventy-fifth year of his age.

STUART’S REPUTATION.

As a painter of heads, Stuart stands almost unrivalled in any age or country; beyond this he made no pretensions, and indeed bestowed very little care or labor. He used to express his contempt for fine finishing of the extremities, or rich and elegant accessories, which he used to say was “work for girls.” Whether these were his real sentiments, or affectation, it is difficult to determine. He was, however, totally deficient in that academic education which is necessary to success in the highest branch of the art--historical painting. He had genius enough to have distinguished himself in any branch, but he could not, or would not, brook the necessary toil.

STUART’S DRAWING.

Stuart never had patience to undergo the drudgery necessary to become a skillful draughtsman. His kind instructor, Mr. West, urged upon him its importance and necessity, and advised him to frequent the Royal Academy for this purpose, which he neglected to do. Trumbull relates that Fuseli, on being shown some of his drawings, observed in his usual sarcastic manner, “young man, if this is the best you can do, you had better go and make shoes.”

STUART A PUNSTER.

Stuart was an inveterate punster. Mr. Allston, calling on him a short time before his death, asked him how he was. “Ah!” said he, drawing up his pantaloons, and showing his emaciated leg, which in his youth had been his pride, “you can judge how much I am _out of drawing_.”

STUART BORN IN A SNUFF-MILL.

Stuart was an inordinate snuff-taker. He used to jocosely apologize for the habit, by saying that “he was born in a snuff-mill,” which was literally true, for his father was a manufacturer of snuff. He said, “a pinch of snuff had a wonderful effect upon a man’s spirits.” An old sea captain once observed to him, “you see, sir, I have always a nostril in reserve. When the right becomes callous after a few weeks’ usage, I apply for comfort to the left, which having had time to regain its sense of feeling, enjoys the _blackguard_ till the right comes to its senses.” “Thank you,” said Stuart, “it’s a great discovery. Strange that I should not have made it myself, when I have been voyaging all my life in these channels.”

STUART’S NOSE.

Stuart always maintained that a likeness depended more on the _nose_, than any other feature, and in proof of his theory, he would put his thumb under his own large and flexible proboscis, and turning it up, exclaim, “who would know my portrait with such a nose as this?” Therefore, he is said to have generally painted a likeness, before _putting in_ the eyes. On one occasion, a pert young coxcomb, who was sitting for his portrait, stole a glance at the canvass and exclaimed, “why, it has no eyes!” Stuart coolly observed, “It is not nine days old yet,” referring of course to the time when a _puppy_ first opens its eyes.

STUART’S SITTERS.

A portrait was once returned to Stuart with the grievous complaint, that the muslin of the cravat was too coarsely executed. Stuart indignantly observed to a friend, “I am determined to glue a piece of muslin of the finest texture on the part that offends their _exquisite_ judgment, and send it back again.” A lady once sat to him dressed in the extreme of fashion, loaded with jewelry and gewgaws, besides an abundance of hair powder and rouge. Stuart, being _hard up_ for cash, consented to “raise a monument to her folly.” After the picture was completed, he observed to a friend, “There is what I have all my life been endeavoring to avoid,--vanity and bad taste.”

A gentleman of note employed Stuart to paint his own portrait and that of his wife, who, when he married her, was a very rich widow, but a very ordinary looking person. The husband was handsome, and of a noble figure, and the painter _hit him off_, to admiration. Not so with the lady; he flattered her as much as he could without destroying the likeness, but the husband was not satisfied, expressed his dissatisfaction in polite terms, and requested him to try again. He did so, without any better success. The husband now began to fret, when the painter losing his patience, jumped up, laid down his palette, took a huge pinch of snuff, and stalking rapidly up and down the room, exclaimed, “What a d--d business is this of a portrait painter--zounds, you bring a _potato_, and expect him to paint you a peach.”

STUART’S MARK.

Stuart, it is said, never signed but one picture in his life, and that was his own portrait, before mentioned, on which he wrote _Gilbert Charles Stuart_. Dr. Waterhouse says, “his parents named him after his father, and Charles the Pretender, but Stuart soon dropt the Charles, as he was a staunch republican. When asked why he did not sign his pictures, he replied, “I mark them all over.”

STUART AND HIS DOG.

In the early part of Stuart’s career as a portrait painter in London, he had for his attendant a wild boy, the son of a poor widow, who spent half his time in frolicking with a fine Newfoundland dog belonging to his master. The boy and dog were inseparable companions, and when Tom went on an errand, Towzer must accompany him. Tom was a terrible truant, and played so many tricks upon Stuart, that he again and again threatened to discharge him. One day, out of all patience at his long absence, he posted off to his mother, in a rage, to dismiss him. The old woman, perceiving a tempest, _began first_, and told a pitiful story, how his dog had upset her mutton pie, broke the dish, greased the floor, and devoured the meat. “I am glad of it; you encourage the rascal to come here, and here I will send him.” An idea struck Stuart, and he consented to keep Tom, on condition that she kept his visit a profound secret. When the boy returned, he found his master at his easel, and being roundly lectured, he told a story that had no relation to his mother, Towzer, or the pie. “Very well,” said the painter, “bring in dinner, I shall know all about it by-and-by.” Stuart sat down to his dinner, and Towzer took his accustomed place by his side, while Tom stood in attendance. “Well, Towzer, your mouth don’t water for your share; where have you been?” and he put his ear to the dog’s mouth, “I thought so, with Tom’s mother, ha!” “Bow-wow.” “And have you had your dinner?” “Bow.” “I thought so; what have you been eating? Put your mouth nearer, sir. Mutton-pie; very pretty. So you and Tom have eaten Mrs. Jenkins’ mutton-pie, have you?” “Bow-wow.” “He lies, sir,” exclaimed Tom, in amazement, “I didn’t touch it; he broke mother’s dish, and eat all the mutton!” From that time, Tom concluded that the devil must be in the dog or the painter, and that he had no chance for successful lying.

THE TEMPLE OF DIANA AT EPHESUS.

This famous temple, according to Vitruvius, was designed and commenced by Ctesiphon, a Cretan architect of great eminence. It was two hundred years in building, and was accounted one of the seven wonders of the world. The gods having designated the spot, according to tradition, every nation of Asia Minor contributed to its completion, with the most fervent zeal. It was ornamented with one hundred and twenty-seven columns of Parian marble, of the Ionic order, sixty feet high, thirty-seven of which were the gifts of as many kings, and were exquisitely wrought. This great temple was finished by Demetrius and Paonius of Ephesus. It was afterwards burned by Erostratus, in order to immortalize his name. It was subsequently rebuilt, but was finally destroyed totally by the barbarians, in the third or fourth century.

THE DYING GLADIATOR.

The most famous work of Ctesilas was the Dying Gladiator, which has received the highest commendations from both ancient and modern writers. It was long preserved at Rome, in the Chigi palace, but was taken to Paris with the Laocoön and other antiques, in 1796. These works were restored by the allies, in 1815. Ctesilas flourished about B. C. 432, was a cotemporary of Phidias, and with him and others competed for the prize offered for six statues of the temple of Diana at Ephesus; the first was awarded to Polycletus, the second to Phidias, and the third to Ctesilas. He also distinguished himself by a number of other works, among which were a statue of Pericles, and a Wounded Amazon.

FABIUS MAXIMUS.

It was not until the second Punic war that the Romans acquired a taste for the arts and elegancies of life: for though in the first war with Carthage, they had conquered Sicily (which in the old Roman geography made a part of Greece), and were masters of several cities in the eastern part of Italy, (which were inhabited by Grecian colonies, and adorned with pictures and statues in which the Greeks excelled all the world,) they had hitherto looked on them with so careless an eye, that they were not touched with their beauty. This insensibility long remained, either from the grossness of their minds, or from superstition, or (what is more likely) from a political dread that their martial spirit and natural roughness might be destroyed by Grecian art and elegance. When Fabius Maximus, in the second Punic war, captured Tarentum, he found it full of riches, and adorned with pictures and statues, particularly with some fine colossal figures of the gods fighting against the rebel giants: Fabius ordered that the money and plate should be sent to Rome, but that the statues and pictures should be left behind. The Secretary, struck with the size and noble air of the statues, asked whether they too were to be left with the rest? “Yes,” replied he, “leave their angry gods to the Tarentines; we will have nothing to do with them.”

LOVE OF THE ARTS AMONG THE ROMANS.

We may judge to what extent the love of the arts prevailed in Rome, by a speech of Cato the Censor, in the Senate, about seventeen years after the taking of Syracuse. In vain did Cato exclaim against the pernicious taste, and its demoralizing effects; the Roman generals, in their several conquests, seem to have striven who should bring away the most statues and pictures to adorn their triumphs and the city of Rome. Flaminius from Greece, and more particularly Æmilius from Macedonia, brought a very great number of vases and statues. Not many years after, Scipio Africanus destroyed Carthage, and transferred to Rome the chief ornaments of that city. The same year, Mummius sacked Corinth, one of the principal repositories of the finest works of art. Having but little taste himself, he took the surest method not to be mistaken, for he carried off all that came in his way, and in such quantities, that he alone is said to have filled Rome with pictures and statues. Sylla, besides many others, made vast additions to them afterwards, by the taking of Athens, and by his conquests in Asia.

COMPARATIVE MERITS OF THE VENUS DE MEDICI, AND THE VENUS VICTRIX.

The Venus de Medici is placed in the tribune of the Florentine gallery, between two other Venuses, the Celestial and the Victorious. “If you observe them well,” says Spence, “you will find as much difference between her air, and that of the celestial Venus, as there is between Titian’s wife as a Venus, and as a Madonna, in the same room.”

THE EFFECT OF PAINTING ON THE MIND.

The effects of the pencil are sometimes wonderful. It is said that Alexander trembled and grew pale on seeing a picture of Palamedes betrayed to death by his friends. It doubtless brought to his mind a stinging remembrance of his treatment of Aristonicus.

Portia could bear with an unshaken constancy her last separation from Brutus; but when she saw, a few hours after, a picture of the Parting of Hector and Andromache, she burst into a flood of tears. Full as seemed her cup of sorrow, the painter suggested new ideas of grief, or impressed more strongly her own.

An Athenian courtezan, in the midst of a riotous banquet with her lovers, accidentally cast her eye on the portrait of a philosopher that hung opposite to her seat; the happy character of temperance and virtue struck her with so lively an image of her own unworthiness, that she instantly quitted the room, and retiring home, became ever after an example of temperance, as she had before been of debauchery.

PAUSIAS.

Pausias, an eminent Greek painter, was a native of Sicyon, and flourished about B. C. 450. His most famous picture was one representing the Sacrifice of an Ox, which, according to Pliny, decorated the Hall of Pompey in his time. Pausanias mentions two of his paintings at Epidaurus--the one a Cupid with a lyre in his hand; and the other a figure of Methe, or Drunkenness, drinking out of a glass vessel, through which his face is seen. These pictures were held in the highest estimation by the Sicyonians, but they were compelled to give them up to M. Scaurus, who took them to Rome.

THE GARLAND TWINER.