STORIES OF ARTISTS' WIT

Ashburton Guardian, Volume XXL, Issue 6164, 9 January 1904, Page 7

STORIES OF ARTISTS' WIT

Perhaps the most familial , figure among Bri- , tish painters is that of Sir Joshua Reynolds, the accomplished head of his profession in an age of great painters. He is one of those '. : who, like Royal personages, can dispense 1 I with surnames. By him art was worthily , represented in that brilliant circle of which Dr Johnson was the centre, and it is almost as easy to conjure up his image, ear-trumpet and all, as tluft. of the great jJoctor himself. If 'Sir Joshua is not the hero of many • humorous stories, he knew how on occasion tojis© the deaf man's privilege of perverting remarks which were displeasing to him. Sir William Beechy used to tell how, after Reynolds kid painted his large picture of the Marlborough family, the. Duchess of AJedford, mother of her Grace of 'Marlborough, came to him and said, "Sir Joshua, j I do not think the head of my "daughter is a bit like." Reynolds gave a courtly bow and i replied, "I am glad you are pleased with it. I Everybody thinks it is the best likeness I I ever painted. "But I don't think it like," ' the Duchess repeated, not pleased to be thus grossly misunderstood. Sir Joshua bowed again, in further acknowledgment of the compliment. The great lady then begged Beechy to lend her his voice, and as he declined, she said to another gentleman, "I can't make Sir Joshua hear; I wish you i would tell him that I don't think my daughter's portrait like." This more obliging person bawled out the complaint, and then 'Sir Joshua innocently exclaimed "Not like ? Then we will make it like." I must net forget to recall the charming compliment Reynolds paid to Mrs Siddons, when, having painted her as the Tragic Muse, he humbly affixed his signature to the hem of her garment, that thus his name might be carried down to posterity. How different from the hackneyed story which yet amply deserves endless repetition —of Gainsborough's association with this lady—how, as he copied her majestic lineaments he exclaimed in- an impatient sotfco vec- 1 , "Confound your nose, madam. There's mend of it!" Upon this one witty commentator lias observed that Mrs Siddons hadn't "no end of a nose" for nothing, as many among the acquaintances of this strongminded lady no doubt knew from experience. The pupil and biographer of Sir Joshua, James Northcote, who, like his master, was a Devonshire man, is remembered- in these days less by his paintings than by his witty conversations with Hazlitt, as recorded by that writer. Northcote knew well how to put down the conceited and the forward and one© when he heard a coxcomb vaporing about Raphael, he very neatly silenced him —"if there was nothing in Raphael," he said, "but what you see in him, we should not now have been talking of him." Still wittier and more conclusive is the reply made by a clergyman who, he says, was attacked on the score of the mysteries of his faith. "How can you believe such an absurdity?" asked the objector. "I will tell you," wais the answer. "When I was young ■ I was taught to swallow Adam's apple, and since then I have found no difficulty with anything else." Many are the stories—to come down nearer to , our own times—which-are recorded of Sir Edwin Landseer, and Mr James A. Manson has gathered together quite a sheaf of them in his life of that artist in the "Makers of British Art" series. Until he was assailed by the melancholy which darkened his last years, Landseer was full of animal spirits (I intend no pun) and was one of the best mimics of his generation. •Once when he was being entertained by Sir Francis Chantrey he was invited to his host's chair in order that he might admire the brilliant reflection, from the polished mahogany table, of the company, furniture, lamps, etc! Seeing his opportunity, Landseer induced Chantrey to ring th© bell, and the company was thrown into roars of laughter by the perplexity of the butler when entering the. room he saw' his master standing before the fire, but heard his voice proceeding from the head of the table. Another favorite trick of Landseer's, as of ■Sothern's, was to mystify people and lead them on to their undoing. Once he accompanied a, number of ladies to see "The Shepherd's Chief Mourner," and in calling their attention to its salient features he touched it. He was being watched by the policeman on duty in the gallery, who now came forward and rebuked him, and warned him not to touch the picture again. ' "My good fellow," said Landseer." I have touched it over .and over again." This glorying in sin was more than the zealous officer could stand, and he insisted upon the offender going before the custodian of the gallery. There the situation was'explained to him, and : hs returned to his post a sadder and wiser man. Landseer knew also how to get fun out of his critics. When "A Distinguished Member of the Humane Society" was finished, Rogers, the poet, took a party of ladies to the artist's house to see it. Landseer happened just then to be in an adjoining room, and could not help overhearing what was ■said. The ladies were very enthusiastic, but their cicerone grunted out, "The same old story! But the ring's good ; yes, the ring's good', alluding, of course, to the mooring ring shown in the picture. Next morning Landseer was at Roge'ns' at breakfast, and the conversation turning on iiis picture he was amazed to hear his host pass upon it a favorable verdict. "You didn't gay so yesterday, Rogers," he maliciously remarked-; "Why don't you stick to the rusty ring?" Towards the King of Portugal, when he committed his betise, the great animal painter was more considerate. When he was presented, to the King the latter eaid, "Ah, Mr Landseer, I am delighted to make your acquaintance—a am so fond l of beasts.'' Landseer only bowed and smiled appreciation of a compliment which might certainly liave been expressed less equivocally. When Landseer died he left several unfinished pictures, and it was his wish that they should be finished by his friend fMilkis. How successfully the younger artist imitated the style of the older will bejudged from an incident recorded in the "Life and j Letters" of Millais by his son. One of the uncompleted pictures was "Nell Gwynne," and when Millais had finished it a celebrated art critic called and was loud in his admiration. "Ah, to be sure," he said, going up to it, scrutinising a deerhound in the foreground, "how easily one can recognise Landseer's dogs ! Wonderful, isn't it?" "Yes, it is wonderful," remarked Millais, as he lighted another pipe ; "I finished painting that dog yesterday morning, and have done the whole of it. . Another of Landseer's intimates, Mr W. P. Frith, R.A., is liappily still surviving. In "My Autobiography and Reminiscences" he has written a most entertaining book. One of the best of his stories has to do with those difficulties with sitters who are not models, of which many artists have had painful experiences. ■For one of the central figures in his famous picture, "The Derby Day," he was recommended! to apply to Miss H., a beautiful actress. The lady consented to sit, and sat admirably, but the artist failed miserably and unaccountably to transfer her charm to his canvas, and at last he had, with a sinking heart, to erase the figure and substitute that of one of his own daughters. "When Miss H came to see the picture he felt, as he says, "like a guilty culprit about to be sentenced." The storm at once burst over his devoted head. "Great Heavens!" exclaimed the naturally incensed actress, "you have rubbed mc out! This is the most'insnl ■ What does it mean?" "The truth is, Miss H "he humbly began, "I found " "And if I had given place to something better, but to be displaced, to be rubbed out, by such a babyfaced chit as that! . . . , And all the people at the theatre knew of my sitting for the thing, and I shall be laughed at!_ Oh. it's enough to make one's blood boil!" Tlie penitent artist could only bend before the storm, but at last its fury spent itself, and the lady afterwards forgave him and accepted a proof of the engraving. When Mr Frith explained the matter to Miss Gilbert, who Bad eat for another of the figures, her comment must have made him feel that Miss H had let him off very lightly. "Take your own figure, there," he said, wishing to justify himself. _ "If I had failed in it to the extent I did with Miss H 's I would have rubbed it oufe -without hesitation." "Would you?" replied Miss Gilbert. "Then I would without, hesitation, have put imy parasol through your picture, and if Mies H had served yon rigEt she would iiave done the same ["

Pei-haps the most curious, experience an artist ever had with a model is one which the late Mr Phil May confided to Mr Arthur Fish when that gentleman interviewed him for Oassell's Saturday Journal. Themodel in question was one of those street arabs whom this astonishingly clever artist has depicted co inimitably. "I was in the middle of my sketch, sai.d Mr Phil May, "when I was called away to dinner. Giving the boy something to eat, I told him to sit still until I came back. When I returned to resume work I looked at my drawing and couldn't understand it. I couldn't believe 1 had left it like that. The model looked up at ine and said lie had finished it for mc. And so he had! He had shaded it all in, and I had to do it all over again!" One of Mr Phil May's colleagues on Punch, Mr J. A. Shepherd, the animal caricaturist, has confessed to an ardent admiration for hene, and at the time he was interviewed by Mr Fish he had a hen which, he declared, only needed a cap to be transformed into a most respectable-looking old lady. He considerably surprised a farmer of whom he bought several specimens of vario&s breeds, by returning one because "he didn't like its expression." "Expression!" was the man's rather indignant comment. "I don't know anything about that, but ■she's ths best of the lot, and lays a beauiful brown egg!"