Part 4

The painter gave all the hours of intermission in his profession to fiddles and rebecs. His musical taste was very great; and he himself thought he was _not intended by nature for a painter, but for a musician_. Happening to see a theorbo in a picture of Vandyke’s, he concluded it must be a fine instrument. He recollected to have heard of a German professor; and, ascending to his garret, found him dining on roasted apples, and smoking his pipe, with his theorbo beside him. “I am come to buy your lute--name your price, and here’s your money.” “I cannot sell my lute.” “No, not for a guinea or two;--but you must sell it, I tell you.” “My lute is worth much money--it is worth ten guineas.” “Aye, that it is!--see, here’s the money.” So saying, he took up the instrument, laid down the price, went half-way downstairs, and returned. “I have done but half my errand; what is your lute worth if I have not your book?” “What book, Master Gainsborough?” “Why, the book of airs you have composed for the lute.” “Ah, sir, I can never part with my book!” “Pooh! you can make another at any time--this is the book I mean--there’s ten guineas for it; so, once more, good day.” He went down a few steps, and returned again. “What use is your book to me if I don’t understand it?--and your lute--you may take it again if you won’t teach me to play on it. Come home with me, and give me the first lesson.” “I will come to-morrow.” “You must come now.” “I must dress myself.” “For what? You are the best figure I have seen to-day.” “I must shave, sir.” “I honour your beard.” “I must, however, put on my wig.” “D--n your wig! Your cap and beard become you! Do you think if Vandyke was to paint you, he’d let you be shaved?”

_THE ARTIST’S RETORT TO THE LAWYER._

Having to attend as a witness in an action brought by Desenfans against Vandergucht, both devotees to art, the painter was asked by the cross-examining counsel whether he did not think there was something necessary besides the eye to regulate an artist’s opinion respecting a picture? “I believe,” replied Gainsborough, “the veracity and integrity of a _painter’s eye_ is at least equal to a _pleader’s tongue_.”

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_GORDON (SIR JOHN WATSON), R.A._

Sir J. W. Gordon was born in Edinburgh in 1788. He was intended by his father, Captain Watson, for the Engineers, but pending arrangements for his entering that service he was allowed to attend the Trustees’ Academy, under Graham, where he showed so much promise, that it was decided he should try his skill as an artist. In 1808 he sent a picture of a subject from “The Lay of the Last Minstrel” to the first public exhibition of paintings in Edinburgh, which was opened in that year; and contributed to most of the exhibitions held since. Never having studied or been abroad, he received his education in the art from the celebrated Graham, master of Wilkie, Allan, and others. In 1826, he assumed the name of Gordon for the purpose, it is said, of distinguishing his paintings from the other Watsons, who contributed at that time to the Edinburgh Exhibition. He first exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1827, and was elected Associate in 1841. In 1850, he was unanimously chosen President of the Royal Scottish Academy, appointed Limner to Her Majesty, and received the honour of knighthood. The next year he was elected a Royal Academician. His industry at his art was continued till within a few weeks of his death, on 1st June, 1864, aged seventy-six years.

_LORD PALMERSTON AND THE ARTIST._

“It was before I had a name,” said Mr. Gordon, looking round the room in true story-teller style. “I had exhibited for several years, but without any particular success. One year, however--the year before I painted ‘The Corsicans’--Lord Palmerston took a sudden fancy to my picture, called ‘Summer in the Lowlands,’ and bought it at a high figure. His lordship at the same time made inquiries after the artist, and invited me to call upon him. I waited upon his lordship accordingly: he complimented me upon the picture; but there was one thing about it he could not understand. ‘What is that, my lord?’ I asked. ‘That there should be such long grass in a field where there are so many sheep,’ said his lordship promptly, and with a merry twinkle of the eye. It was a decided hit this; and having bought the picture and paid for it, he was entitled to his joke. ‘How do you account for it?’ he went on, smiling, and looking first at the picture and then at me. ‘Those sheep, my lord,’ I replied, ‘were only turned into that field the night before I finished the picture.’ His lordship laughed heartily, and said, ‘Bravo!’ at my reply, and gave me a commission for two more pictures; and I have cashed since then some very notable cheques of his--dear old boy!”--_Belgravia Magazine._

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_HARLOWE (GEORGE HENRY)._

Harlowe, the painter, was born in the parish of St. James’s, Westminster, in 1787. He was a posthumous child, but his mother took great care of his education, and allowed him to follow the bent of his inclination for the arts, which he studied, first under Drummond, and next under Sir Thomas Lawrence. He was dismissed by Sir Thomas in consequence of claiming as his own a picture Sir Thomas employed him to dead colour. He revenged himself by painting a caricature of Lawrence’s style on a signboard at Epsom, and signed it, “T. L., Greek St., Soho.” On leaving Sir Thomas’s employ, Harlowe made arrangements and started for Italy. Previous, however, to his going abroad, he painted some historical pictures of great merit, particularly one of Henry VIII., Queen Catherine, and Cardinal Wolsey. During his residence at Rome in 1818, he made a copy of Raphael’s “Transfiguration,” and executed a composition of his own, which was exhibited by Canova, and afterwards at the academy of St. Luke’s. He died soon after his return to England, January 28, 1819.

_TAKING A LIKENESS UNDER DIFFICULTIES._

Harlowe was very eccentric, and not a little affected. He used to go to dinner parties in the dress of a field-officer, and he was always ambitious of being taken for a military man. John Kemble disliked the man and his affectations so much, that he refused, even at the request of Sir Thomas Lawrence, to sit to Harlowe, giving as his only reason--“I do not like that man.” Harlowe was engaged at this time on his celebrated picture of Queen Catherine, and finding the grave actor persisted in his refusal to sit, he went to the theatre when Kemble played Wolsey, and seating himself in front of the stage-box, made sketches of his face in every change of its expression, and from them composed the likeness in the picture, which, it is needless to say, is the best portrait of Kemble ever painted. Harlowe used afterwards to say, in speaking of this, “By G--, I painted that portrait so well out of revenge.”

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_HAYDON (BENJAMIN ROBERT)._

Benjamin Robert Haydon was born on the 25th January, 1786. In common with most true artists, young Haydon early displayed an overpowering love for art. One of his most favourite studies is said to have been drawing the guillotine, with Louis taking leave of the people. At the age of thirteen he was taken to the grammar school at Plympton--the same at which Sir Joshua Reynolds was educated. From thence he was sent to Exeter, to study book-keeping, and at the end of six months was bound to his father for seven years. Within a short time of his signing his indentures, it was evident to both his father and his friends that young Haydon would never do as a tradesman. After much dissuasion, and against all remonstrance, Haydon collected his books and colours, packed up his things, and started for London, in May, 1804. He took lodgings at 342, Strand, and for nine months he saw nothing but his books, his casts, and his drawings. He was introduced by Prince Hoare to Northcote, Opie, and Fuseli; and it was the latter who got the young artist into the Academy. While studying at the Academy he became acquainted with Sachom and Wilkie. In 1807, Haydon’s first picture of “Joseph and Mary resting on the road to Egypt,” appeared. About this time his devotion to his art was very close. He rose as soon as he woke--be it three, four, or five,--when he would draw at anatomy until eight; in chalk from nine till one, and from half-past one till five; then walked, dined, and to anatomy again from seven to ten and eleven. Wilkie had obtained for the young artist a commission from Lord Mulgrave for “Dentatus.” Having delayed the painting some months, Haydon in 1808 removed his lodgings to 41, Great Marlborough Street, when he began the noble lord’s commission in earnest. In this year he first saw the Elgin marbles, and he thus expresses his admiration of them: “I felt the future; I foretold that they would prove themselves the finest things on earth--that they would overturn the false _beau ideal_, where nature was nothing, and would establish the true _beau ideal_, of which nature alone is the basis. I felt as if a divine truth had blazed inwardly upon my mind, and I knew they would at last rouse the art of Europe from its slumber in the darkness.” His “Dentatus” brought him a prize of one hundred guineas from the British Institution. His next picture, “Macbeth,” he was not so successful with, and did not get the prize that the painter had expected: to make things worse, he relieved himself by quarrelling with the Academy and painting “Solomon.” He then began that system of getting into debt, which was the curse of his whole after-life. His usual companions were Hazlitt, the Hunts, Barnes (of the _Times_), Jackson, Charles Lamb, and John Scott. His “Solomon” was so far a success, that it was sold for six hundred guineas. Also the British Institution voted one hundred guineas to him as a mark of their admiration of this picture. In 1820 he finished his celebrated picture “Entry of Christ into Jerusalem.” By exhibiting this picture in town, Haydon made a clear profit of £1298. He then set to work to finish his picture “Christ in the Garden,” and to sketch his “Lazarus:” the latter he determined should be his grandest and largest work. Having recently married, he wrote on the last day of 1821 as follows: “I don’t know how it is, but I get less reflective as I get older. I seem to take things as they come, without much care. In early life everything, being new, excites thought. As nothing is new when a man is thirty-five, one thinks less. Or, perhaps, being married to my dearest Mary, and having no longer anything to hope in love, I get more contented with my lot, which, God knows, is rapturous beyond imagination. Here I sit sketching, with the loveliest face before me, smiling and laughing, and solitude is not. Marriage has increased my happiness beyond expression. In the intervals of study, a few minutes’ conversation with a creature one loves is the greatest of all reliefs. God bless us both! My pecuniary difficulties are still great; but my love is intense, my ambition intense, and my hope in God’s protection cheering.” But the remainder of the painter’s life--25 years--was one dark cloud, here and there relieved by momentary rays of sunshine. Always in debt; always in danger; always pestered by lawyers and arrests. It has been with truth observed, that upon one half of Haydon’s income, many a better man than he had lived. In 1835 we find him lecturing at Mechanics’ Institutions in the provinces, which for a time was a pecuniary success. But he was too deeply involved in the expensive fashions and gaieties of May Fair; and again we find him in the King’s Bench. Three more years of fearful struggle brought him to the fearful tragedy which shocked the country on the 22nd of June, 1846. Having returned from an early walk, Haydon entered his painting-room, and wrote in his diary:

“God forgive me! Amen. Finis of B. R. HAYDON.

‘Stretch me no longer on the rough world.’--_Lear._

End of twenty-sixth volume.”

“Before eleven,” says Tom Taylor, “the hand that wrote it was stiff and cold in self-inflicted death.”

_INTRODUCTION TO FUSELI._

“Calling at Fuseli’s house,” says Haydon, “the door was opened by the maid. I followed her into a gallery or show-room, enough to frighten anybody at twilight. Galvanized devils; malicious witches, brewing their incantations; Satan bridging Chaos, and springing upwards, like a pyramid of fire; Lady Macbeth, Carlo and Francisco, Falstaff and Mrs. Quickly--humour, pathos, terror, blood and murder, met one at every look. I expected the floor to give way: I fancied Fuseli himself to be a giant. I heard his footsteps, and saw a little bony hand slide round the edge of the door, followed by a little white-headed, lean-faced man, in an old flannel dressing-gown, tied round the waist with a piece of rope, and upon his head the bottom of Mrs. Fuseli’s work-basket. ‘Well, well,’ thought I, ‘I am a match for you at any rate, if bewitching is tried;’ but all apprehension vanished, on his saying in the mildest and kindest way, ‘Well, Mr. Haydon, I have heard a great deal of you from Mr. Hoare. Where are your drawings?’ In a fright, I gave him the wrong book, with a sketch of some men pushing a cask into a grocer’s shop. Fuseli smiled, and said, ‘Well, de fellow does his business at least with energy!’ I was gratified at his being pleased in spite of my mistake.... He (Fuseli) was about five feet five inches in height, had a compact little form, stood firmly at his easel, painted with his left hand, never held his palette upon his thumb, but kept it upon his stone, and being very near-sighted, and too vain to wear glasses, used to dab his beastly brush into the oil, and sweeping round the palette in the dark, take up a great lump of white, red, or blue, as it might be, and plaster it over a shoulder or a face. Sometimes in his blindness he would make a hideous smear of Prussian blue on his flesh, and then perhaps, discovering his mistake, take a bit of red to darken it; and then, prying close in, turn round and say, ‘Ah, dat is a fine purple! It is really like Correggio;’ and then, all of a sudden, he would burst out with a quotation from Homer, Tasso, Dante, Ovid, Virgil, or perhaps the Niebelungen Lied, and thunder round with ‘Paint dat!’... I found him,” continues Haydon, “the most grotesque mixture of literature, art, scepticism, indelicacy, profanity and kindness: he put me in mind of Archiman, in Spenser. Weak minds he destroyed. They mistook his wit for reason, his indelicacy for breeding, his swearing for manliness, and his infidelity for strength of mind; but he was accomplished in elegant literature, and had the art of inspiring young minds with high and grand views.”

_LONDON SMOKE._

Haydon observed to Fuseli: “So far from the smoke of London being offensive to me, it has always been to my imagination the sublime canopy that shrouds the city of the world. Drifted by the wind, or hanging in gloomy grandeur over the vastness of our Babylon, the sight of it always filled my mind with feelings of energy, such as no other spectacle could inspire.” “Be Gode,” added Fuseli, “it’s like the smoke of the Israelites making bricks.” “It is grander,” rejoined the other; “for it is the smoke of a people who would have made the Egyptians make bricks for them.”

_HAYDON’S DESCRIPTION OF THE BRITISH SCHOOL OF PAINTERS._

“Never were four men so essentially different as West, Fuseli, Flaxman, and Stothard. Fuseli’s was undoubtedly the mind of the largest range; West was an eminent _macchinista_ of the second rank; Flaxman and Stothard were purer designers than either. Barry and Reynolds were before my time; but Johnson said, in Barry’s ‘Adelphi’ ‘there was a grasp of mind you found nowhere else,’ which was true. Though Fuseli had more imagination and conception than Reynolds, though West put things together quicker than either, though Flaxman and Stothard did what Reynolds could not do, and Hogarth invented a style never thought of before in the world, yet, as a great and practical artist, in which all the others were greatly defective, producing occasional fancy pictures of great beauty, and occasional desperate struggles in high art, with great faults, Reynolds is unquestionably the greatest artist of the British School, and the greatest artist in Europe since Rembrandt and Velasquez.”

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_HAYMAN (FRANCIS), R.A._

Francis Hayman was born in Exeter in the year 1708. He studied under Mr. Robert Brown, portrait painter. He has been described as meriting the honour of being placed at the head of the English School of Historical Painters. By his agreeable manners he became intimate with the _bon vivants_ of the age in which he lived. Being introduced to Fleetwood, the then manager of Drury Lane, he painted his scenes, and after the manager’s death married his widow. In Pasquin’s “Royal Academicians,” we have the following remarks upon this painter, “In the great point of professional taste, Hayman could not be arranged as exemplary. Yet I have many doubts if taste is in any instance wholly intuitive; and am inclined to think that we acquire taste by the progressive movements of early perception, which, by frequent subtle inroads upon the mind, make, in the issue, an establishment, and give a system and a hue to thought. We may discover original genius in a savage, but never any symptom of that correct association of idea and action which constitute that practical excellence which we denominate taste.” Hayman died February 2nd, 1776.

_GLUTTONY._

Hayman was noted for his eating. When an apprentice, he and his fellow apprentices (some of whose appetites were but little inferior) used to dine at a public-house in the neighbourhood of the Mansion House. Instead of declining to treat with them, the shrewd landlord used to observe, “I should be absolutely ruined by those young painters, but for one circumstance, which is, that their extraordinary appetites have become objects of great celebrity and curiosity in this quarter of the City, where we are such judges of those things: the consequence of which is that every day we have a gormandizing exhibition, and my house is full of spectators to see the Great Eaters: the company then retire to my other rooms to talk the matter over; conversation produces thirst; and therefore I make up by the sale of my liquor for my loss by the devastation of my edibles. Long life to the painters, I say! May their appetites increase with the diminution of what they feed on!”

_MARQUIS OF GRANBY AND THE NOBLE ART._

Being of a lively temper and attached to boxing, the painter frequently recommended the “noble art” to his sitters, in order to give a vivacity to the features. While painting the picture of the celebrated Marquis of Granby, also an admirer of the stimulating exercise with the gloves, the invitation was given and accepted for a few rounds, and at it they went. The contest soon grew warm, and the uproar soon attracted all the inmates of the house, who, much alarmed, rushed into the room, and beheld the pugilistic peer and painter rolling about and mauling each other like enraged bears. Pictures, palettes, the easel, and the other furniture of an artist’s room, were scattered in dire confusion. A few minutes sufficed to smooth their ruffled feathers, and replace the furniture; after which the marquis took his place in high spirits, and Hayman gave the finishing touch to the picture.

_THE PAINTER’S FRIENDSHIP FOR QUIN._

In 1755, Hayman etched a small quarto plate of Quin, the actor, in the character of _Falstaff_, seated on a drum in a swaggering attitude, with his right elbow resting upon the hilt of his sword, by the side of the body of _Hotspur_. Quin and Hayman were inseparable friends, and so convivial that they seldom parted till daylight. One night, after “beating the rounds,” and making themselves gloriously drunk, they attempted, arm in arm, to cross a kennel, into which they both fell. When they had remained there a minute or two, Hayman, sprawling out his shambling legs, kicked Quin. “Holloa! what are you at now?” stuttered Quin. “At? why, endeavouring to get up, to be sure,” replied the painter; “for this don’t suit my palate.” “Pooh!” replied Quin, “remain where you are; the watchman will come by shortly, and he will take us both up.”

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_HOGARTH (WILLIAM)._