“The suit obtained, they tread the mazy round;
At length fatigued, a seat’s convenient found.
Harry, assiduous, plies the glittering fan,
And proves himself a very nice young man.”
THE TRIALS OF A PORTRAIT PAINTER.
Who can conceive the troubles attendant upon the daily labour of a face painter? Hoppner once remarked to a young painter, “I’ll tell you what, sir: when you have to paint a portrait, particularly of a woman, make it handsome enough,—your sitter or her friends will find the likeness. Never you forget that.”
An Italian painter, on taking the portrait of a lady, perceived that when he was working at her mouth she was twisting her features in order to render it smaller, and put her lips into the most extreme contraction. “Do not trouble yourself so much, madam,” exclaimed the limner; “for, if you choose, I will draw you without any mouth at all.” It is needless to repeat here all the tales that have been told of the difficulties of a face painter. The following anecdotes will show to what extent of vanity and folly those people are subject who, though wishing to hand down to posterity their own portrait or that of some member of their family, are entirely ignorant of the simplest rules of Art; and, consequently, give considerable trouble and anxiety to the artist. For instance, how often in our exhibitions do we find a portrait painted of a citizen in the dress of a military man, or a naval officer in the costume of a Roman general in a toga, with bare arms! Most must be drawn in the manner of ancient Greece or Rome, instead of their proper habits; the sitter having his head so full of antiquity that everything must be according to the ancient taste.
“The grandest commission,” remarks an artist, “that ever blessed my hopes was a series of family portraits,—father, mother, a daughter just simpering into womanhood, and three as noisy, ugly, wiry-looking lads as any one would wish to hear, and be anxious not to see. All were progressing with great satisfaction to the affectionate family until, in an unlucky moment, I strengthened the shadow under the nose of Mr. Jones. In a moment all was uproar, one and all declaring that ‘Father never takes snuff, because mother thinks it a nasty, filthy habit.’ Out, therefore, came the shadow, and of course in, therefore, went the nose. The only objection made to Mrs. Jones’s ‘likeness’ was, that it did ‘not look at you;’ but how the deuce it ever should I could never find out, for the original was wholly incapable of bringing both eyes to bear upon any given object at one and the same time. The portraits of the juvenile male Joneses were, as their mother fondly expressed herself, ‘the very mottle of them;’ ‘but, sir,’ said she, ‘there is one thing I wish you to alter, I don’t like the eyes at all. I have been married to Jones these twenty years, and, as you see, have been a fruitful wife to him; I have, besides these, two babbies at home, and I do assure you, sir, and Jones knows it, I never had a child born in all our marriage days that had a speck in its eye. Please, sir, to oblige me by putting them out.’ With a groan I submitted, and painting out the lights I had, as I thought, properly introduced into the eyes, sent home the portraits of the young Joneses, every one as blind as a bat. I should not forget, that when I requested to know whether Miss Adeliza would be painted in a high or a low dress, her mother confidentially whispered to me that it was to be a low one, but I must mind and let the portrait be ‘partic’lar modest about the neck,’ as it was for a gentleman.”
Another story which he relates is of a rough, honest-hearted naval captain. “All that I did vastly pleased him, until, when nearly finishing the picture, I had begun to throw an incidental shadow across the lower part of the figure. The gallant gentleman saw in a glass that stood opposite what I was about to do, and rushing from his seat, seized my hand, crying out, ‘Avast there, young gentleman, what are you about? Who the devil ever saw an officer on the quarter-deck with his breeches in that mess? No, no, that won’t do.’ I submitted to my fate, and sent home the portrait with a pair of unpronounceables of unexceptionable whiteness.”