Part 2

This work which is held by good judges to be one of the most characteristic portraits painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds was commissioned by Alderman Boydell in 1787. In the background there is a view of the Rock of Gibraltar much obscured by smoke, for the picture commemorates the defence of the Rock from 1779 to 1783 by Lord Heathfield, then General Eliott. The gallant soldier holds the key of the fortress in his hand. The picture was purchased by the Government for the National Gallery in 1824.]

He has made another pleasant journey into Devonshire, this time in company with Dr. Johnson, whose consumption of cider and cream has created a mild sensation. He has visited Wilton and Longford, where some of his works may be seen to-day; he has enlarged his circle of friends, while his acquaintances are as the sands upon the seashore for multitude. He belongs to the once famous Dilettanti Society, founded in 1732 to study antiquities and arts; he has painted his own portrait to celebrate his election, and presented it to the Society. It may be seen in the Grafton Gallery to-day, together with two groups of members painted at a later date.

His drawing has become strong, his modelling firm, and his colour has many of the qualities that distinguished the Venetian masters he loved so well, but, alas, he has not learned the secrets of permanent colouring, and some of his most brilliant glazes are beginning to fade before the eyes of the troubled owners of the pictures. He has surrendered to the pseudo-classicism of his age, and some of his compositions are absurdly indebted to mythology; but the fault was a virtue then, and while we complain it is only right to refer the grievance to the time rather than to the man, and a study of Boswell explains the painter's attitude, even though it cannot justify it.

He has found time to enjoy the pursuits of a country gentleman; he shoots and hunts in the best sporting circles. His home in Leicester Square is open to all sorts and conditions of men; the leading lights of the day--Gainsborough and Romney excepted--are welcome. He keeps a liberal but ill-served table, and his friends will find a welcome if they call in time for dinner at five o'clock, even if they must scramble for a fair share of the meal. He has lost the raw manners of early years, _faux pas_ are few and far between. From Johnson he has acquired a certain literary style, rather heavy and turgid, perhaps, but precise and final. It is possible, but not certain, that "The Club" has been established, and that the twelve original members are meeting for supper at the sign of the Turk's Head in Gerrard Street. He has pupils, for whom he does little or nothing, and assistants who paint draperies for him, and receive a little useful instruction now and again. Northcote, who is to publish his "Memoirs of Sir Joshua Reynolds" nearly half a century later, and become the one successful painter from the Leicester Square establishment, has met the great man in Devonshire with emotions similar to those that Reynolds felt in the far away days when, an unknown pupil of Hudson, he saw the great and distinguished author of "The Rape of the Lock" in the centre of an admiring and respectful crowd.

Who shall do justice to the crowds that thronged the studio? Certainly mere words cannot picture the scenes that the old house in Leicester Square witnessed in those stirring times. Deafness could hardly have been an unmixed evil to a man whose sitters were of the most diverse kind. Leslie and Taylor in their voluminous work, "The Life and Times of Sir Joshua Reynolds," have written at length upon this aspect of the painter's daily life, and have described the constant stream of men and women who could not have been placed side by side for five minutes save on the walls of the exhibition. Representatives of the most opposed school of politics, High Church dignitaries, courtesans, soldiers, flaneurs, society women, sailors, ambassadors, actors, children, members of the Royal Family, men from the street, like White the paviour--one and all claimed the measure of immortality that his brush confers, and if his best work could but have retained its qualities, the latter half of the eighteenth century would be preserved for us in fashion calculated to make future generations envious. Unfortunately, Sir Walter Armstrong, the painter's most trenchant latter day critic, is justified when he writes: "Speaking roughly, Sir Joshua's early pictures darken, the works of his middle period fade, those of his late maturity crack. The productions of his first youth and of his old age stand best of all." When the worst has been said, it is a glorious heritage that the painter left to his country, but who can avoid regrets when thinking what it might have been if Reynolds had mastered the secrets of permanent colour, if the carmine and lake had endured, and the more brilliant effects had not been so largely experimental--if he had given them a fair trial in studies before he used them for his best work? Perhaps his success left no time for experiments. Sitters were urgent and could not wait while the painter studied the question of the chemistry of pigments.

There is a curiously sane and optimistic note about all the Reynolds portraits. Even where he does not succeed--in painting portrait groups, for example--the fault is merely one of composition, he keeps to his earliest intention of expressing what is best in the sitter, and seeing him "with dilated eye"; he is merely unable to set several figures upon the same canvas. Save for ever increasing deafness and a little trouble with sister Frances, who keeps house for him and is not cast in the same placid mould, nothing occurs to disturb the even tenor of his happy life. Intellect rules emotions--either he has no feeling for intrigue or he can keep his emotions beyond the reach of prying eyes. Even his relations with Angelica Kaufmann, now in her twenty-eighth year, and an original member of the Royal Academy, baffle the censors who would fain discover that she was the painter's mistress. "His heart has grown callous by contact with women," says one of his contemporaries or biographers, and this may well be so. Angelica Kaufmann was one of the women who attract men, and there is no evidence to show that Reynolds was more than a good friend to her. Long years later, when the visits to Leicester Square could have been no more than a memory, she attracted Goethe, who used to read to her some of his unpublished work. The painter's self-control has made some of his biographers angry; they write as though fearful lest, on account of his virtue, there shall be no more cakes and ale, and ginger shall no longer be hot in the mouth. If they could but catch him tripping, he might return to the highest place in their affections, and all would be forgiven. There is something so human in this attitude that it becomes almost tolerable, though it is hard to avoid a smile when one finds that the subject of the relations between Sir Joshua and Miss Kaufmann have been discussed quite seriously by foreign writers. If Sir Joshua could have made the lady a better artist, if it can be shown that he saved her from being a worse one than she was, there is something to write about; the subject of their personal relations cannot possibly concern the world at large, and is not worth a tithe of the ink that has been spilt in attack or defence.

III

We owe an apology to the new President whom we left standing upon the threshold of the Royal Academy, which opened its doors with a first exhibition of one hundred and thirty-six pictures! The memory of this commendable modesty should not be allowed to fade in these days when canvas stretches by the acre over the long-suffering walls of Burlington House, when artists appear not singly but in battalions and the cry is "still they come." In April 1769 Reynolds received the honour of knighthood and this seems to have put the finishing touches to his social claims. Henceforward he painted fewer portraits; the records of 1771 credit him with a mere seventy, and though this figure may make modern men gasp, it compares but feebly with the one hundred and eighty-four that stood to the credit of an earlier year. The President increased the number of his clubs, enlarged his dining circle, became more and more dignified, mellow, gracious, and urbane, farther removed than before from the turmoil that was going on in art circles of the less successful men around him. Having all the cream he required, he was not concerned with quarrels about skimmed milk. Some of his biographers think that Romney was beginning to compete with the master, and that this competition accounts for the diminishing number of his sitters, but it is reasonable to suppose that a man who can make his own prices and is beyond the reach of want may regard seventy portraits as a very satisfactory output for one year, when he has other duties to fulfil and is by temperament a lover of the world's good things. Fortune could have given him nothing more, unless the hearing that passed in the old days of the pilgrimage to Rome had been restored, and if such a miracle could have been vouchsafed, the painter's splendid indifference to matters that annoy quick, nervous temperaments might have passed, and the latter days might have been clouded. If wisdom at one entrance was nearly shut out, there was plenty left, as may be gathered from a study of the Discourses. Their vitality is proved by the fact that new editions are still called for, and many members of the more modern schools of painting declare that Reynolds saw some aspects of painting with twentieth-century eyes.

In 1773 Plympton remembered its famous artist and elected him mayor, an honour that touched him nearly. One cannot help thinking that it was more to him even than the degree of Doctor of Civil Law, conferred in the same year by Oxford University _de honoris causa_, though this too helped him to paint his own portrait in flamboyant style, and the artist loved colour. One portrait of himself was sent to the town of Plympton and hung between two pictures that were "old masters" according to the leading lights of the Corporation. In truth, they were two of Sir Joshua's own early works, and from this simple story we may learn that artists come and artists go, but the mental calibre of corporations is constant and not subject to change. He sent another picture of himself to the Uffizzi Gallery in Florence, where so many Masters stand self-committed to canvas in pictures that do not err upon the side of making the sitters lack distinction.

The next eight years were uneventful, save for the fact that the President was doing some of his best work and enjoying life in the fullest and most complete fashion imaginable. Nearly all who knew him loved him, and to the great majority of men and women he was just and kind. For a man so completely free from emotion and self-revelation, Reynolds claimed a very large circle of intimates, and it was hardly an age of introspection. Men confessed themselves to their Maker but not to their friends; the formalities of life and speech presented an effective barrier to the emotions, even the stage was as artificial and pompous as it could be. One may perhaps acknowledge an uneasy feeling that David Garrick himself would make a very small impression upon a latter-day audience, if he confronted it with the mid-eighteenth-century style of speech and action.

In 1780 the Academy Exhibition was transferred from Pall Mall to Somerset House, where it was destined to remain until 1838, the year of its removal to the National Gallery, where it stayed thirty-one years on the way to Burlington House. Among the portraits painted by the President in that year was one of General Oglethorpe, who, according to the "Table Talk" of Samuel Rogers (quoted by Sir Walter Armstrong), could tell of the days when he had shot snipe in Conduit Street. In the following year Reynolds painted the wonderful picture of the Ladies Horatia, Laura, and Maria Waldegrave, one of the few groups whose arrangement is beyond cavil. Few will look in vain to that picture for any of the finest qualities of Sir Joshua's art. He had very little to learn, though in the summer and autumn of 1781 he visited the Low Countries, staying in Bruges, Brussels, The Hague, Amsterdam, and other cities, and showing himself strangely indifferent to the pictures of Franz Hals, though these might have been presumed to appeal to any portrait painter. His records and impressions of the journey were set down most carefully, and are preserved; they show that success had not impaired discernment, and that the painter was responsive to most of the thoughts that stir educated visitors to the Dutch galleries to-day.

In 1782, the year in which Romney painted his first picture of Mistress Hart, afterwards Lady Emma Hamilton, Reynolds sat to his great rival Gainsborough, now at the height of his fame and in the last years of his life; the two men disliked each other, and the picture was never completed. Some say that Reynolds made a hasty remark about his fixed determination not to paint Gainsborough's portrait in return, and some mischief-maker carried the words to Gainsborough. Others think that the touch of palsy or slight attack of paralysis that came to Sir Joshua about the time of the sitting, brought it to a close. There must be more than this underlying the true story of the affair, for though a visit to Brighton and to Bath restored the President's health, the sittings were not resumed, even when Reynolds wrote to say he was ready to sit again. In 1783 Sir Joshua sent ten portraits to the Academy, while Gainsborough, exhibiting there for the last time, sent twenty-five pictures, including the famous panels of George III., and his children, now in Windsor. But Reynolds added to his fame in this year, for he painted the portrait of Mrs. Siddons as the Tragic Muse. Then he paid another visit to the Low Countries, to find with regret that Rubens' appeal was failing.

In the following year, 1784, Sir Joshua sent sixteen pictures to the Academy, including the famous Mrs. Siddons, Charles James Fox, and Mrs. Abingdon as Roxalana. Gainsborough had quarrelled with the R.A. and exhibited no more, though he lived until 1788. With December, Dr. Johnson's strenuous and useful life came to an end; he passed away exhorting his old friend never to paint on Sunday, and to read the Bible. Reynolds has left a very interesting study of the Doctor's character. In the following year, the President went for the third time to the Low Countries, and bought a number of pictures; he also received the honour of a commission from Catherine, Empress of Russia, and painted the beautiful picture of the Duchess of Devonshire and her baby that hangs at Chatsworth to-day. Walpole said, "it is little like, and not good," but posterity has declined to accept the verdict. Sir Walter Armstrong considers that it ranks with the "Lady Crosbie" and "Nelly O'Brien" as the "most entirely successful creations" of the artist. In '87 the President sent thirteen pictures to the Academy, including the "Angel's Heads" now in the National Gallery. They are studies of Frances Isabella Gordon, daughter of Lord William Gordon, and the picture was given to the Gallery in 1841. A year later, London saw the picture that the Empress Catherine had commissioned, the subject is "The Infant Hercules" and the canvas hangs in the Hermitage Gallery at St. Petersburg. It is one of the artist's failures, and he received fifteen hundred guineas for it. This is the date of the famous Marlborough family group that is to be seen at Blenheim.

A year later, when the President sent some dozen pictures to the R.A., his activity came to a sudden end. Some forty years and more had passed since he painted the first of his works that concerns us, and he had not known an idle season. His record would have brought honour to any three men; he had lived as a philosopher should, grateful for the gifts of the gods, and not abusing any. Suddenly, in mid-July of 1789, about the time of the fall of the Bastille, one eye failed him as he worked at his easel; he laid his brush aside. "All things have an end--I have come to mine," he remarked, with the quiet courage that never deserted him, and he spent what remained to him of life making gradual preparation for the last day, sustained by memories of the past through hours that were not always free from pain and distress. Save for a quarrel with the Academy, arising out of the contest for membership between Bonomi and Fuseli, there was nothing to disturb the closing years of the old painter's public life, and even in this quarrel, he was the victor. The General Assembly apologised, and Reynolds withdrew his resignation, though Chambers, now Sir William, was obliged to act for him at Somerset House. In December of 1790 Reynolds delivered his final address to the students, the name of Michelangelo being last upon his lips. Little more than a year before he died, the President sat to the Swedish artist von Breda, for a picture now in the Stockholm Academy. West did his presidential work for him in the last months of his life.

Many friends testify to the tranquillity of these last days, though failing sight and the deprivation of the liberal diet to which he was accustomed had lowered the spirits that were once bright as well as serene. Perhaps modern medical science would have availed to lengthen his life, and make the last few years more worth living; but in the eighteenth century one needed a very sturdy constitution to endure the combined attack of a disease and a doctor. Sir Joshua was in his sixty-ninth year--he had lived in the fullest sense all the time--and when one evening in February 1792 Death came to the House in Leicester Square, his visit was quite expected, and was met with a tranquil mind. The body lay in state awhile in the Royal Academy, and was then taken to St. Paul's Cathedral, and laid by the side of Sir Christopher Wren. To-day we look at the artist's work with a critical eye--he can no longer thrive by comparison with contemporaries, but must compete with all dead masters of portraiture; and it will be admitted on every side that he holds his own, that before every throne of judgment his best works will plead for him and vindicate the admiration of his countrymen.

It is not the least of his claims to high consideration that his art moved steadily forward, that the last work was the best.

IV

Naturally it is impossible within the limits of a small and unpretentious monograph to give an adequate idea of the range and variety of the labours that occupied Sir Joshua Reynolds for half a century or more, and no attempt will be made in this place to do more than indicate the forces that seem to have directed his brush, the masters whose labour inspired it. It has been pointed out in these pages that Reynolds was a great assimilator. He took from everybody, but he was always judicious, because, quite apart from his executive faculties, he had a critical gift of the first order. One has but to turn to his diaries to realise that his instinct was singularly sound. He could stand before an admitted masterpiece and enjoy all its beauties, without losing sight of any defect however small, and because his mind was beautifully balanced, the small points of objection did not spoil his appreciation of the whole work. They simply taught him what he should avoid. In the very early days of his career, before he had left Devonshire, he made the acquaintance of one Gandy, an artist of some small repute, whose father, also a painter, had studied Van Dyck, and had taught his son to appreciate the fine qualities of Rembrandt. The younger Gandy afforded Reynolds his first glimpse of the world lying beyond the reach of the rank and file of British students, gave him his earliest appreciation of Rembrandt, and taught him to look for that master's work when he visited Rome. As soon as Reynolds reached Italy, he examined the great masters with a critical eye, and set himself to copy Titian, Rubens, Rembrandt, Guido, Raphael, and many others. He soon saw that each of these masters had achieved supreme success in some department of their life's work, and he had the idea of uniting all the excellences that he saw around him, and leaving the defects alone. He sought for the colour of Rubens and Titian the drawing of Raphael, the splendour of design of Michelangelo, and the chiaroscuro of Rembrandt. Naturally this must sound ambitious enough; but we should remember that Reynolds was far from standing alone in his ambitions. Mengs, who did so much to proclaim the merits of Velazquez and achieved a great but temporary success as a painter in Madrid before Goya's wonderful gifts threw him into well-merited obscurity, had the same ideals, but whereas the best of his accomplishments were but dull and short-lived, Reynolds was able to force some way through all the gifts with which he sought to surround himself and to reach a style of his own. The journey lasted very many years, and the road is strewn with failures, chiefly due to an inability to grasp the secret of a durable glaze and, like many men who came before and after him, the painter had to part company with some at least of his ambitions. Had his own capacity for self-criticism been less, had he allowed his feeling for fine colour to prevail over the sound judgment that bade him look for other and more enduring excellencies, he would not occupy the place he holds to-day, while on the other hand, if a Titian or a Rubens had been able to give him the secret of manipulating pigments, he would have stood side by side with the greatest masters of all time.

Artists tell us that painting should be no more than a harmony of colour and line, that it should not attempt to cross the borderline that separates painting from literature. They are justified in their attitude, but at the same time we cannot discuss painters in terms of paint, or tell of our admiration of their work by expressing that admiration on canvas. Those of us who are not painters, can only approach art through literature, and seek to find in a man the explanation of his works, and in the works, the revelation of the man.