HOPPNER (JOHN), R.A.
JOHN HOPPNER was born in London, in the year 1759. In the earlier part of his life, it was his good fortune to associate with some of the most brilliant characters of the age. He applied himself closely to the study of the works of Sir Joshua Reynolds, and was, in many points, successful in imitating that celebrated portrait-painter’s beauties. On his first using the brush, he is described as possessing much confidence, with little ability.
Edward Dayes, in his “Modern Artists,” in estimating the works of Hoppner, says:—
“This artist is the best of all the imitators of Sir Joshua, and would deserve great praise, were his pictures his own; but so far is that from being the case, that they are composed from the prints of Reynolds; and the attitudes of the sitters made to answer as well as circumstances will permit. It is truly astonishing that any one can lose sight of the charms of that great mistress of the art, Nature, and tread servilely in the footsteps of any man, however exalted his rank. The loss of ambition is a sure sign of the decline of the arts; as, where every one is content to follow, no one will get before. When a great man appears, weak minds are apt to seek for the rules of art in his works, instead of applying to Nature: this is precisely the case of this artist; he has not a wish, or an inquiry to make, that does not end in Reynolds,—forgetting the old proverb, that when two men ride on a horse, one must be behind. His colouring is clear and bright, his handling free; his small pictures are by far the best.”
Hoppner died in Charles Street, St. James’s Square, on the 23rd January, 1810.
AN ECCENTRIC CUSTOMER.
The following humorous anecdote is given in the Literary Gazette, 1826, as related by Hoppner, to his friend Coombe: A loyal banker dropped in upon the painter, to negociate for a family picture. It happened in the memorable epoch of “life and property men,” when London was to be thatched with silver, and paved with gold. “Well, sir, your most obedient, Mister Painter,” said the squire banker, looking around, “Sir, yours,” returned the painter, bowing low. The banker was a fine, portly, pompous-looking citizen, a good subject to his Majesty, and no bad subject as a sitter, though it happened that he sat not. “Well, Mister Painter, sir, you have some fine pieces here, sir. Pray sir, a—what may be the value of that?” pointing to a whole length of an admiral. “My price for that is two hundred guineas.” “So!” ejaculated the banker; “a fine, noble-looking fellow, ’pon my word—very heroical indeed! Ah! Mister Painter, they are our great wooden walls, our prime bull-works. This is the land for such seamen—old England, hey, sir! and those who don’t like it, why let ’em leave it: that’s my toast, sir. But to the point, sir: my business is to negociate, look you, for a large family piece,—myself, my wife, and my boys and girls; a fine family, as you shall see, sir,—the same number as his Majesty’s, God bless him! Now, what is your charge for such a collection?—group, I think you painters call it.” “I cannot exactly answer that, within five hundred pounds or so,” replied the painter. “Wheugh-h-h!” whistled the banker. “What, sir, five hundred pounds?” “Such a subject requires study, sir, great studying—as how——” “Pooh! pooh! study, Mister Painter? true, sir, but you have not studied Cocker, sir, hey? ha, ha, ha!” “Why, sir, such a work requires consideration. I should like first to be allowed to see your family, sir—and then—how to dispose of so many persons—how to employ them, and—and—” “Oh, my good sir, I’ll save you that trouble; that is already settled, my good sir:—we are to be painted on our lawn, with a harpsichord, and all singing God save the King.”
THE ALDERMAN’S LADY.
From a volume of the Literary Gazette, 1826, we extract the following: “There are faces,” Hoppner observed, “without features, and features without faces.” An alderman’s lady says, “La! Mr. Hoppner, Sir John looks too grave.” “Why, madam, ’tis the only way to make a sitter escape looking like a fool.” “But why not make Sir John smile?” “A smile in painting is a grin, and a grin is a growl, and a growl is a bite—and I’ll not alter it,” said the half-mad, irritable painter; “and if ever I paint another subject, short of a Lord Mayor, I’ll be d—d!”
A COOL SITTER.