I had got very busy in the studio I had taken in Chicago, where I was spending the winter of 1887, when a very pleasantly-worded letter reached me, inviting me to transfer my studio to Omaha, two days' journey farther west. I could not accept the invitation, and so it was arranged that at least one of my intending models should be brought to me, to be dealt with according to the severe laws of the portrait-painter's art. Robert Morse was four years of age, and had a distinct objection to be thus dealt with, and out of that circumstance arose a series of difficulties. But, oh, how beautiful he was! I see him now as he was handed out of the carriage on his arrival at the Hôtel Richelieu, his golden curls escaping from beneath his Phrygian cap of liberty, and cascading over his shoulders. We were in the depth of winter, and his sturdy little figure was warmly clad in the ample folds of the toboggan costume—a sort of ulster made of a deep-toned red flannel; collar and cuffs of the same material, but dark blue, and the cap to match. His mother led him upstairs—or I should more correctly say, speaking of this typical American child, was led upstairs by him. After forty-eight hours' travelling, that lady stepped out of the train much as if it were one of those boxes marked "Worth—Paris." She was a lovely woman, as I soon learnt; lovely not only in outward appearance, but in that moral and intellectual sense which the American language connects with the word.
My stay in Chicago was limited, and I had written to say that I could only undertake to paint one picture—that to be a head of the boy. When we met, however, I at once felt I must paint him full-length, life-size, toboggan costume, cap, snowscape, and all; and as for the mother, to be sure, as she wished it, we must find time for a head-portrait of her too. There was that in her that seemed to call for a picture from the artist's brush, and so I soon enthusiastically set to work, painting on the two canvases alternately.
But it was not long ere troubles came thick and fast, growing out of Robert's determination not to sit for his portrait if he could in any way help it, and further, on no account to leave the studio when I was painting his mother. I tried various subtle devices to make work possible. With a piece of white chalk I designed a most scientific frontier, separating his territory from mine, and that was capital fun as long as I joined in the game and we repulsed one another's attacks, but it fell flat as soon as I returned to the easel. I fed him from an unlimited supply of "candy," and succeeded after a while in bringing about indisposition of a marked character; but he speedily recovered, his animal spirits rising with returning vitality. I sometimes flatter myself that I possess a faculty of inducing docility in my sitters. More especially in the treatment of children I pride myself on a series of minor accomplishments, mainly connected with a free transcription of Nature's noises, pleasant and unpleasant, such as the animal kingdom furnishes to the observant ear. But such talents were of little avail. That infinite source of assistance which I usually speak of as "a lady attached to the establishment," also failed on this occasion. She who accompanies me through life for better and for worse, and whose blandishments European children have ever acknowledged to be irresistible, could gain but momentary influence over this American child. But—well, I could not help it—I loved that boy; I admired his spirit. How should he, at his tender age, know that an artist is a superior, privileged being, to be treated accordingly? At all hours of the day Robert was delightfully bright, but his 'cuteness seemed sharpened as bedtime approached. Not that he objected, as most children do, to going to bed, but, however sleepy he was, his spirit of resistance seemed somehow to revive when the moment came to recite his simple prayer. On one occasion all went smoothly as long as he prayed for his father and mother, his brothers and sisters, but when it came to his uncles and aunts and to their numerous offspring, he made a decided stand, putting it plainly to his mother, "I say, māmma, why can't they pray for their own crowd?" Another time, there had been in the course of the day a distinct difference of opinion between Robert and his mother on the advisability of his going out sleighing. He gave in with unwonted docility, but when the evening came and the fond mother folded her hands and knelt by his bedside, he shook his head, and said, "No, māmma; no sleigh—no prayers!"
It was with some impatience that I expected the arrival of Mr. Morse, for whenever Robert was particularly untractable during what, by courtesy, was called the sitting, his mother would say, "Wait till his father comes; he knows how to manage him." After a fortnight that father came, and he and I at once struck up a friendship which promised to last, and which ever since has kept its promise. He was a fine and prepossessing specimen of the free-born American citizen. Six feet something in height, strong and straight as they are reared under the guiding brightness and the protecting shadow of the Stars and Stripes. Under his eye I was to put the final touches to Robert's portrait. I hopefully started work, but, alas! where was the paternal authority I had relied upon to get a view of that hand that was dragging the toboggan across the snow, and that foot on which rested the main action of the figure? Robert would perch on his father's shoulder, and thence look down upon me and the world in general. Difficulties finally reached a climax. I protested in the name of correct drawing and the eternal laws of perspective, and, fairly roused by my pleading, the father sternly motioned the son to follow him into the next room.... At last, I thought, the "right of the strongest" will be vindicated, and that child will be thrashed.
But if I expected howling and gnashing of teeth, I was to be disappointed. Nothing broke the silence, until, after some time, the door opened, and father and son reappeared. Robert took his place, clutched the cord attached to the toboggan, and listened with rapt attention to his father's words; these were spoken slowly and impressively, giving me time to apply whatever faculty for correct drawing I might possess. As he sought to spin out his words, so will I, for obvious reasons, seek to curtail them, only adding that, to do them justice, they should be read with the characteristic American accentuation which seems to give importance to some words that we should slide over.
"Sir," he began solemnly, "Robert wishes me to communicate to you what has passed between us during our absence from this room. It did not take me long to elicit from him the fact that he has no desire to see his portrait finished. He has even assured me that, as far as he was concerned, it need never have been painted at all. He further stated that he at no time had formed a desire to visit Chicago, and that he much preferred Omaha to that city. Also, he said—and, I think, with some show of reason—that, having no playmates here, he would like to return to those he has left behind, more especially to his brothers and sisters. Now, sir, you are aware that I, on the other hand, wished him to make it possible for you to finish that portrait, and I could see no cause why I should recede from that position; so I politely but firmly requested him to do as I desire. There are, no doubt, some boys who, when thus thwarted and opposed, would not have hesitated to strike their fathers, but Robert is not a boy of that description, he would at all times respect his father's independence. Still, you see, we were at what you might call loggerheads. We had gotten fixed like in a dark place with no door behind us, the windows left out, and a stone wall in front. Under these circumstances I cast about in my mind, and it occurred to me we should do well to make straight for arbitration. Now Robert said he did not know the precise meaning of the word arbitration, so I explained to him that when two parties could not agree it was usual to call in a third to decide which way things were to be settled. I wanted to nominate you, sir, but Robert put in his opinion that you might not be the right person for our purpose; he said that I myself should do better, so, after giving the matter careful consideration, I decided that Robert should come in and take friendly to that toboggan and that cord, and that he should make himself generally portraitable; I further decided that, as long as it lasted, I should sit here patiently and wait; but that, as soon as you had finished, I might go and procure a horse to have a ride on the road to Omaha, and that I should also hire a pony, so that Robert might accompany me on that ride."
Robert listened intently. I painted ditto.
They say in Omaha, where the portrait hangs, that it is good. So, "All's well that ends well."
Of that I am glad, and, as I recall the incident, I am once more lost in admiration of the American child that, from its earliest days, is ever ready to elicit the noblest qualities of patience and forbearance in the parent it is training. And what a training, too, for the boy! Will not Robert, who is now growing into manhood, be a staunch supporter of International Arbitration, and help us, if need be, to rescue the Anglo-American treaty from destruction, or, should that be achieved, to uphold and to strengthen it?
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