Part 14

“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!”