Part 12
Among the connoisseurs of pictures who were celebrated in France towards the end of the seventeenth century, we must place in the first rank Tardif, formerly an engineer, but subsequently secretary to the Marshal de Boufflers. He was the friend of Largillière, Watteau, Audran, and, above all, of Gillot. He was renowned for the justness of his criticisms. When a picture was finished, no one dared to deliver his opinion openly on it, until it had undergone Tardif’s inspection; his opinion was, so to say, the last touch of the artist’s brush. Watteau himself, who used to laugh at criticism, once said on laying down his brush before a _fête galante_, still wet, “That picture is a perfect wonder! If Tardif were here, I would sign it.” Tardif possessed, in the Rue Gît-le-Cœur, one of the first cabinets of pictures in Paris. The Marshal de Boufflers, who knew his secretary’s passion, used every year to make him a present of the work of some celebrated painter as a new year’s gift. Tardif, too, had managed to raise sufficient from his patrimonial fortune to buy pictures from his friends, the living artists, and of his friends the dead ones. His cabinet was so celebrated that the Duke of Orleans went one day to see it with Nocé: this completely turned Tardif’s head. However, if he had only been subject to this noble kind of madness, which is a proof of a sublime aspiration towards the poetry of the beautiful, the worthy creature might have lived comfortably till his death. But he, too, was afflicted with the melancholy madness of money for money; he allowed himself to be fleeced under Law’s system: in other terms, he lost in that great revolution of French fortunes all he possessed, save his pictures.
It was necessary for him to live, however. Any one else would have got rid of his _chefs-d’œuvre_: Tardif only got rid of his servants. “Go, my friends,” said he; “the world is before you. Go where my money is gone. At present, I can only keep those who do not want to eat; my pictures will keep me company.” Tardif was already old, the passions of life had no more influence upon his heart; all that he needed was a little sunshine in his cabinet for him to live contented. He died in Paris, May, 1728.--_Philosophers and Actresses._
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_PAUL POTTER’S STUDIES OF NATURE._
When Fergusson, the author of the famous treatise on perspective, was asked what copies he had followed in forming his style, he answered, “_The examples of great nature_;” and added, “I always found nature _so powerful_, that to copy her was easy.” All who have attained greatness in the practice of art have followed the same course of study, but none more successfully than our own Edwin Landseer, who first learned to draw animals in the fields around Primrose Hill; and Paul Potter, his great prototype, who acquired his first knowledge of art in the bright green meadows of the Low Countries. Of the value set by the latter painter on this mode of study, we have a striking proof in the picture in which he represents himself making his first sketch. This great painter was born in 1625, at Enkhuysen, in the province of Holland. His works, which have become equally rare and valuable, are peculiarly distinguished by the effects of his sun rays upon his landscapes and cattle, in producing which he has distanced all competitors. His paintings are deemed very valuable. For one small picture in the collection of the late Marquis of Westminster, that nobleman gave 9000 guineas. Potter died in 1654.
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_FIDELITY IN PORTRAIT PAINTING._
It is not always well to paint the whole truth; and although sincerity is extremely praiseworthy, we can scarcely approve the somewhat brutal frankness of an old French artist, who, while taking the portrait of a lady whose face was slightly broken out, took considerable trouble to reproduce all the pimples that he saw before him. “My dear sir,” said the lady, “you are not aware what you are about; you are painting my pimples; they are merely accidental; they make no part of my face.” “_Bon, bon, madame_,” replied he, “if you hadn’t these you would have others.”
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_CLAYTON MORDAUNT CRACHERODE._
Clayton Mordaunt Cracherode was born in 1729, took his degree at Oxford in 1753, and though he entered into orders, he never would accept Church preferment, but continued to follow his peculiar taste for antiquities, which an easy competence enabled him to do. His collection of coins and prints was most various and extensive. The whole he bequeathed to the British Museum, of which institution he was a trustee. He is thus described by one intimately acquainted with him:--“Well do I remember his mild, benevolent countenance, his sleek black suit, and his snow-white wig! He was a perfect woman-hater; retraced his steps when, in coming down stairs, he met one of the housemaids, and walked out of the room when a female entered. He was a man of the most regular habits, and of a sedentary disposition. He possessed a fine estate in Hertfordshire, and had never ventured to go so far as to look at it. He often observed that the extent of his journeys had been to Clapham and Richmond. For forty years of his life, when not prevented by indisposition, he daily went to his bookseller and printseller, Elmsley and Paine, and every Saturday he repaired to Mudge’s, to regulate his watch.” He died in 1799.
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_BARRY’S CONTEMPT FOR PORTRAIT PAINTING._
“Folks,” complained Barry, “come with a _sessarara_ at the knocker of my street door and disturb my repose to ask my price as a _limner_. ‘I’m not a limb of that fraternity of flatterers,’ I answer; ‘go, get ye gone to the man in Leicester Fields’ [meaning Sir Joshua Reynolds]. Pshaw! the vain coxcombs! what could I see in their vacant countenances worthy of my art? The spalpeens! Such blockhead visages to be transmitted to future generations! O keep me, ye gods, clear from that offence! To be sure, and you’ll not seduce James Barry to prostitute his pencil, palette, and pigments, to such vile purposes!”
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_BARRY’S ECCENTRICITY._
The eccentricity of Barry is thus spoken of in Daye’s “Essays on Painting:”--“He carries his ideas of independence to such an extravagant length as always to pay for his dinner at whatever table he sits down. A year or two ago he dined with Paul Sandby, and laid down eighteenpence for his dinner, but, on recollection, paid another sixpence, for his additional quantity of grog. This instance is by no means singular. His character may be further illustrated. One evening, at Somerset Place, Peters said, on coming in, ‘How do you do, Mr. Barry? I hope you are well.’ On which he grumbled out, ‘Oh! I don’t believe a word of it.’ With all his oddities, he is, unquestionably, a man of uncommon intellect; every one must be benefited by his conversation, for, as Dr. Wolcot has justly observed, ‘Go where he will, he always leaves a pearl behind him.’”--Barry was born in 1741, and died in 1806.
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_THE ROYAL PRISONER._
Joseph Goupy, an ingenious artist, was born at Nevers, in France, and painted landscapes much in the style of Salvator Rosa. He was in great favour with Frederic, Prince of Wales, and frequently attended at Leicester House to draw such designs as his Royal Highness chose to dictate. One morning, on his arrival, the prince said, “Come, Goupy, sit down and paint me a picture on such a subject.” But Goupy, perceiving Prince George, afterwards George III., standing as a prisoner behind a chair, took the liberty humbly to represent to his royal patron how impossible it was for him to sit down to execute his commands with spirit, while the Prince was standing, and under his royal displeasure. “Come out then, George,” said the good-natured prince; “Goupy has released you.” When Goupy was eighty-four, and very poor, he had a mad woman to nurse and maintain, who had been the object of his delight when young; he therefore put himself in the King’s way at Kensington, where he lived. One morning the King saw him, and stopped the coach, saying, “How do you do, Goupy?” asking him also if he had sufficient to live upon. “Little enough, indeed,” answered Goupy; “and as I once took your Majesty out of prison, I hope you will not let me go into one.” His Majesty was graciously pleased to order him a guinea a week for the remainder of his life, which, however, was very brief. He died in 1763.
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_ATHENIAN STUART._
Goupy, the subject of the above anecdote, was in his time considered the most eminent of fan painters. So fashionable was fan painting at that time, that the family of Athenian Stuart placed him as a pupil with that artist, conceiving that by doing so they had made his fortune. Stuart’s genius, however, in a short time soared to the pinnacle of fame by flying to Athens for those inestimable treasures which will immortalize his name, notwithstanding Hogarth’s satire upon the publication of his first volume; for, indeed, we have not now a student who speaks of Stuart without the honourable prefix of “Athenian” to his name.
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_PRUDHON AND CANOVA._
While residing at Rome, Prudhon found a friend in Canova, his friendship with whom was the most beautiful, the most noble, the most holy event in his life; in it was included everything, even to self-sacrifice. It consoled Prudhon for his misfortunes in love. “There are three men here,” said Canova to him one day, “of whom I am jealous.” “I know and love you alone,” replied Prudhon. “But me alone?” answered Canova; “do you not also love Raffaelle, and Leonardo da Vinci, and Correggio? You pass all your time with them, you listen to them, you confide to them your dreams, you go from one to the other, and you are never tired of admiring what they produce.” And this was true, for Prudhon was indefatigable in his study of these three masters, whom he sometimes called the Graces. But Correggio was the master whom he loved most. If Prudhon had listened to Canova, he would have spent his life at Rome; but in spite of all his friend’s entreaties, he left, though with a promise soon to return. They never beheld each other again, but they were faithful in their friendship: faithful to such a point that they both died at the same time, as if to meet above. Peter Paul Prudhon (named after Rubens) was born in 1758, and died in 1823.
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_REVOLUTION AN ENEMY TO ART._
On Prudhon’s return to France his mother was dead, and his wife, as usual, was not very conjugal. France had ceased to be a kingdom, and had not yet become a country. It was the year 1789, and the first rumours of the Revolution swept over the land like some wind foretelling the coming storm. It was the hour of exit for the Arts. Prudhon, who was always resigned, showed his resignation in this instance as well. After embracing his wife and children he set out for Paris, believing that at every epoch, even during a revolution, Paris was the best place for a man to succeed. He reached that city with scanty means, and took up his quarters in an hotel which we will dignify by calling it furnished. He intended to lodge there until he could take a studio; but he got nothing to do, and consequently nothing to eat. He could not continue this mode of life very long, and therefore, although proud and very misanthropical, he determined on applying to the celebrated painters of that period. These may almost be summed up as consisting of Greuze, David, and Girodet. He waited upon Greuze, who was from the same province as himself. “Do you possess talent?” said Greuze to him. “Yes,” replied Prudhon naïvely. “All the worse,” continued Greuze. “A family and talent! that is more than you need to die in want. What the deuce have you to do with talent at a period when we no longer have a heaven, nor a devil, nor a king, nor a court, nor poor, nor rich? I, who address you, am, as you know, as good a painter as most men; and yet just look at my ruffles!” On saying this, Greuze, who was a perfect dandy, and excessively fantastic in his dress, showed Prudhon a pair of ragged ruffles. “If you did not possess talent,” he continued, “the evil would not be so great,--you might daub in portraits for the first comer.” “Did I not say that I had a family?” interrupted Prudhon. “I will paint sign-boards if it is necessary. I will turn mechanic as long as it pleases Heaven I shall be one.” True to his word, Prudhon set up a shop. He painted miniatures; he designed headings for letters, for concert tickets, and for bills. He ornamented visiting cards and sweatmeat boxes. “I undertake,” said he with a melancholy smile, “all that appertains to my business.”
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_SERRES AND VERNET._
Sir William Beechey related the following anecdote of Serres, the ship-painter. Serres took a picture or pictures of shipping from England to the King of France, painted to commemorate some naval exploit of the French, and invited connoisseurs and artists to see his performance. Among the rest was the famous Vernet. Serres waited some time after Vernet had looked at the picture, till he became impatient to hear his opinion, hoping for praise, and fearing lest it should not be bestowed. “How do you like my picture, M. Vernet?” said he. “Upon my word, sir,” replied Vernet, “you paint ropes exceedingly well.” Nothing could be more satirical, or better mark the genius of the two men, than this reply. Vernet, like a man of genius, painted nature at large, and suggested her minutiæ, but never gave them in detail. Serres was incapable of any thing but detail, in which he was uncommonly accurate. Serres thought he revenged himself on Vernet by damning him for a fool that had never known how to paint a ship; which, in his sense, was true enough. He could not paint every shroud, rope, and tackle, etc., all which Serres had laboriously studied.
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_THE HEROIC PAINTER._
Vernet was so attached to his profession that he used to make voyages in bad weather on purpose to see the sky and ocean in picturesque perturbation. One day the storm was so violent that the ship’s crew were in great consternation. Vernet desired a sailor to bind him to the mast. When every one was crying and praying, Vernet, with his eyes now upon the lightning, and now upon the mountainous waves, continued to exclaim, “How fine this is!”
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_VERNET AND VOLTAIRE._
When Vernet, the celebrated painter, visited Voltaire for the first time, the author thus addressed him: “Welcome, M. Vernet! you are rising to immortality, for never were colours more brilliant or more durable than yours!” The painter replied, “My colours can never vie with your ink!” and caught the hand of Voltaire, which he was going to kiss with reverential awe. But the poet snatched it away, modestly saying, “What are you going to do? Surely if you kiss my hand, I must kiss your feet.”
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_PISTRUCCI’S READY INGENUITY._
The coronation medal of George IV. afforded an example worth relating of ingenuity and skill in expedients in the art of coining. When the gold proof-piece was shown to His Majesty, he approved of the obverse, which is immensely flattering, though not so much as he wished, as nothing satisfied him except Lawrence’s juvenile-looking portrait; but he immediately remarked that on the reverse proof he was not properly placed, being on a level with the allegorical figures of England, Scotland, and Ireland. This the master of the mint in despair reported to Pistrucci. What was to be done? There was not time to engrave a new die. After a moment’s consideration, he said, “I shall elevate His Majesty.” He then cut the die perpendicularly in two, just at His Majesty’s foot, slid one piece a little above the other, so as to raise that part of the platform under the throne above the other part, and continued the under line of the platform to make it even, as seen in the reverse of the published coronation medal.--_Dr. Billing’s “Science of Gems.”_
_CHARLES TOWNLEY._
Charles Townley, born in Lancashire in 1737, resided for many years at Rome, where he devoted his attention to the collecting the remains of ancient Art. His collection being very various, he purchased two houses in Park Street, Westminster, and there formed a museum for the reception of his antiquities. His gallery of sculpture was very valuable, he being a most enthusiastic collector. Such was his ardour in the pursuit of objects of classic veneration, that it is related of him that on arriving at Syracuse, harassed and exhausted by a long journey, he would neither take rest nor food until he had visited the Fountain of Arethusa. Although a wealthy man, his mode of living was quiet and frugal in the extreme. His statues and busts he called his dead family, and in collecting their remains, and relieving his tenantry, he expended his whole fortune, and did not even keep a carriage. He died in 1805 at his museum.
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_THE TOWNLEY MARBLES._
The Elgin marbles, which became public property by means of public purchase, on the 1st of July, 1816, was the first unadulterated collection of ancient works of Art possessed by the nation, and the precursor of other collections of no less interest to the artist and man of letters. The Nimroud and Xanthian marbles especially. In these antiques we behold the real Art of the sculptors of remote periods; but in the Townley collection, a superficial observer cannot discover where Greek or Roman Art ceases, and the ingenuity of Joseph Nollekens commences. Tobacco juice, cement, and a few discoloured lumps of marble, furnished tips to the noses of Messalinas, Octavias, and other Roman patrician ladies. Arms, legs, fingers, toes, nails, and sometimes whole heads, were dexterously supplied by this king of vampers, who filled his coffers at a time when the rage for purchasing modern antiques was at its height; therefore, fortunate indeed was the virtuoso whose antiques were even a fractional part genuine. Mr. Townley’s marbles were on this account far superior to many other collections. That beautiful bust of a female issuing from the petals of a flower, Mr. Townley justly considered as the gem of his gallery. During the riots caused by the insane Lord George Gordon, the mob marked out Mr. Townley’s residence in Park Street for destruction, the owner being a Roman Catholic. He secured his cabinet of gems, and casting a long and lingering look on his cherished marbles, was about to leave them to their fate, when, moved by some irresistible impulse, he took this beautiful bust in his arms, and bore it to his carriage. Fortunately for the nation the contemplated attack did not take place; Mr. Townley returned with his “wife,” as he pleasantly called the lady represented, and restored her to her companions.
Mr. Townley’s gallery, purchased for the Museum at two different periods for the sum of £28,200, paved the way for the far-famed Elgin collection.--_Fine Arts Almanac._
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_BLUCHER TAKEN BY LIMNERS._
When the renowned Blucher visited England, he was made the lion of the day; the general desire for portraits of this famous soldier was very great, and he is described as “seated conveniently for graphic reconnaissance in his apartment at St. James’s, his meerschaum in full play, with a miniature painter taking him straight in front; a die-sinker by a right profile, a modeller the left; two crayon painters at dexter and sinister three-quarter fronts; and two other limners by a side-long glance, or a sort of enfilading, at as much of his visage as was visible from an angle _au derrière_.”
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_COST OF A PICTURE._
It is said that Marshal Soult, on being asked one day how much his best picture had cost, replied, “One monk.” The meaning of this was that the picture was given in exchange for an unfortunate monk, who had been taken prisoner during Soult’s campaign in Spain, and condemned to death.
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_RESUSCITATED CELEBRITIES._
The following is said by the _Polytechnic Journal_ to have taken place at a provincial exhibition in the year 1840:--
“The exhibition rooms were crowded; many visitors paid for admission, and many claimed exemption by virtue of brush and palette. Among the latter, two fantastically dressed persons, like hunters from a neighbouring university, presented themselves.
“‘What is the number of your work?’ was the question addressed by the doorkeeper to each exhibitor. ‘Mine is two hundred and four,’ said one of the applicants.
“‘Then,’ said the unconscious functionary, referring to his catalogue, ‘you are Mr. Lorraine,--Claude Lorraine?’
“‘_Mais précisement,--est ce que vous m’avez déjà connu?_’
“‘I don’t exactly understand you,’ replied the other, ‘but will you enter your name in this book?’
“The name was inscribed, as requested, in a hand as singular as was the writer himself in appearance.
“The other applicant was no less a personage than Gerhard Douw, who having registered his name with all the care and finish which distinguishes him, thanked the doorkeeper in his best Leyden Dutch, and proceeded to look through the rooms.
“These were not the only distinguished persons who visited the rooms; others followed, a few of the names of whom we learn from a long critique in the local newspapers, a passage of which we quote: ‘From what we have already stated, we may consider the success of the experiment as successful beyond parallel; and such is the interest that the opening of the exhibition has created, that upon the list of signatures we find the names of many gentlemen not unknown to the world. We now may instance those of Lorraine, Douw, Holbein, Teniers, and Poussin; but propose next week to discharge more fully this part of our duty, which from the press of other matter we are now most reluctantly compelled to postpone.’”
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_TWO GORMANDIZERS._
Mr. Charles Townley who had noticed Nollekens at Rome, kindly continued for years to entertain him at his house, No. 7, Park Street, Westminster; and when any person spake of good eating, Mr. Nollekens always gave his friend Mr. Townley the highest credit for keeping a most excellent table. “I am sure,” said he, “to make a good dinner at his house on Sunday; but there is a little man, a great deal less than myself, who dines there, of the name of Devay, a French Abbé, who beats me out and out. He is one of the greatest gormandizers I ever met with; though, to look at him, you would declare him to be in the most deplorable state of starvation.” The Abbé Devay was an excellent man; he conversed and wrote in many languages; and his reading and memory were so extensive and useful, that Mr. Townley, who referred to him in his literary concerns, always called him his “walking library.” The Sunday dinners of Mr. Townley were principally for professors of the Arts; and Sir Joshua Reynolds and Zoffany generally enlivened the circle.--_Smith’s “Nollekens and his Times.”_
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_THE ARTIST ILLUSTRATED._
The following is from Mr. Robert Kerr’s interesting Discourses on Fine Art Architecture.
“What is an artist? Oh, everybody knows what an artist is till you press the question, and then you find that everybody does not so clearly know. I have already defined my meaning in the term, but perhaps you have net yet felt the fulness of the definition; and illustration may be useful.