A portrait painter in large practice might write a pretty book on the vanity and singularity of his sitters. A certain man came to Copley, and had himself, and wife, and seven children all included in a family piece. “It wants but one thing,” said he, “and that is the portrait of my first wife—for this one is my second.” “But,” said the artist, “she is dead you know, sir: what can I do? she is only to be admitted as an angel.” “Oh, no! not at all,” answered the other; “she must come in as a woman—no angels for me.” The portrait was added, but some time elapsed before the person came back; when he returned, he had a stranger lady on his arm. “I must have another cast of your hand, Copley,” he said: “an accident befel my second wife; this lady is my third; and she is come to have her likeness included in the family picture.” The painter complied—the likeness was introduced—and the husband looked with a glance of satisfaction on his three spouses. Not so the lady; she remonstrated; never was such a thing heard of! out her predecessors must go. The artist painted them out accordingly, and had to bring an action at law to obtain payment for the portraits he had obliterated.—Life of Copley: Family Library.
DAVID (JACQUES LOUIS).
JACQUES LOUIS DAVID, the celebrated French painter, was born in Paris in the year 1748, and studied under Vienne. It is said of him, that while endeavouring to give an air of antique character to his works, he was too often cold and inexpressive, resembling coloured statuary more than nature. By many admirers he is looked up to as the head and restorer of the French school. The following may be reckoned as his most celebrated pictures:—“The Rape of the Sabines,” “The Coronation of Napoleon,” “The Oath taken in the Tennis Court,” “Brutus,” “Belisarius,” “The Funeral of Patroclus,” and “The Death of Socrates.” He died in December, 1825.
DAVID’S MARRIAGE.
Jacques Louis David was very successful with his pupils. At each distribution of prizes at the Academy of Rome, one of his pupils generally bore away the palm. The King of France, who acknowledged the royalty of the arts, ordered apartments to be prepared for David in the Louvre.
Till then, David had never dreamed of marrying; he only thought of the productions of his genius. Before taking possession of his apartments in the Louvre, it was necessary for him to come to some arrangement with Pécoul, the King’s architect. David had known his son at Rome. They had often talked together of their country and absent families. Pécoul’s son had said to David, “I have some handsome sisters; you must choose one, and we shall then be brothers.” On the painter’s departure for Paris, he had given him a letter to his father, principally as an introduction to his sisters. More than two years had passed by, and the letter still remained in a portfolio of drawings. One day, as David turned it over, he said—“Who knows but destiny may have traced this?” And so it remained for another six months.
At last he called on Pécoul.
“Ah!” said the architect, “you are David, and you want apartments in the Louvre?”
“Yes, sir, the King has had the kindness to allow me to reside there.”