From a photograph by Sarony
heavy or light at his will. He asked Lucy to lift it, which she did with ease. He then placed his hand over it and Lucy only just managed to lift it from the table. Saturday afternoon to see Dundreary again, better than ever. That night Mr. Sothern kindly sent me his box for “David Garrick.” Our party was Doctor and Mrs. Townsend, Lucy, Porter, Munzig, Arthur Clark, and Frank Abbott. David Garrick was the most wonderful piece of acting I ever saw. Mr. Sothern and his son came into the box; he gave me the rose he wore and I gave him my boutonnière, which he wore in the next act. He came again after the play and took us behind the scenes. There was an enthusiastic house; he was called out four times and made a speech, bowing low to our box as he left the stage. Sunday Lucy had a farewell dinner for him. In evening dress he looked handsomer than ever. We were all sorry enough to say good-by to him for eighteen months, when he returns to Boston.
In these years we were again living at Green Peace. South Boston was now more accessible than when my mother first went to live there. My sister, Laura Richards, lived in the next house, where three of her seven children were born. There was much coming and going of Halls, Howes, Parkses, Wards, McAllisters, and Francises, with the newly added clans of my brother-in-law’s people, Richardses, and Gardiners. The journal gives glimpses of a gay household with the “young marrieds” next door and flocks of young people coming out for high tea on Sunday. One day’s record shows the varied character of the guests at Green Peace.
“Gorham Bacon came to dinner, Mr. Burgwyn, Richard Mansfield, Porter, Munzig, and Mr. Dwight for supper. Mr. D. took me to the opera last night. The Italian tenor, Tamberlik, is wonderful. He has been singing since 1841, yet his voice is perfectly strong and clear. Dressed the flowers in both houses, made cake. Mama came home from church bringing Marion Gray. As we were crooning over the fire at twilight, the dining-room door opened and Uncle Sam walked in with a young Lord Rosebery. Later came Charlie How with Gus Gurnee.”
It must have been in the early seventies that I first met Benjamin Curtis Porter, destined to have a successful career as a portrait painter. At this time he had quarters in the Studio Building on Tremont Street, opposite the Old Granary Burying Ground. It was the pleasant custom of that simpler era for artists to receive on Saturday mornings. Friends, patrons, strangers even, were free to knock at any studio door and were pretty sure to be admitted. Mr. Rowse, whose crayon portraits were “all the rage”, lived in the same building, as did also our friend George Snell, the architect, who gave pleasant luncheon parties at his rooms. I do not know that Porter actually studied with Rowse, but his early work shows the influence of this artist.
Porter made a crayon drawing of my mother for the New England Woman’s Club, and I fancy that it was while he was having the sittings for this that he became a familiar visitor at our house. There is an early sketch of me at about this time in my sister Laura’s possession, for which I have no recollection of sitting. He made a charming little oil painting called the “Blessed Damosel” for Laura’s wedding present, and though taking some liberties with her coloring—he made her nutbrown hair the color of corn silk—it is the best existing likeness of my pretty sister at this time. I think it must have been in the winter of 1875-1876 that Porter painted the portrait of me that made his reputation. It was shown at the Philadelphia Centennial Exhibition under the title, “Portrait of a Lady.” It is a charming composition: the lady stands by a chair on which is seated a pug dog. The contrast between the girl’s fresh face and the little dog’s pugnacious mug is very piquant. The “Portrait of a Lady” soon became one of the most popular pictures in the exhibition. While almost everybody else liked it, Porter was not satisfied and wished to paint another. This time he used a larger canvas and made a full-length seated portrait. He was better pleased with this and sent it to the Paris Exposition of 1879, where it was much noticed. The portrait with the dog is now in the Corcoran Gallery in Washington, while the larger portrait is in the Boston Museum of Fine Arts. I am very familiar with the latter, for during my mother’s life it hung in her Boston house. It has lost nothing and gained much in richness of tone since it was painted. Porter made in all four portraits of me. The one my mother liked best is a crayon profile, of which she used to say:
“It is as if my Maud had passed and left her shadow on the wall!”
Porter was a witty man, with a keen sense of humor. He talked well and was much in demand in society, which now took him up vigorously. He was overwhelmed with orders and drew or painted many of the belles of the day. A painting of Mrs. Moses Williams with her young son at her side was, I think, his favorite portrait of this early period. He had now moved to a larger studio in Boylston Street, which he fitted up in picturesque style. Here he gave receptions and musicales to the ever-increasing circle of his friends.
I have forgotten, if I ever knew, why he gave up Boston and moved to New York, where he lived all the rest of his life, painting a great number of portraits of well-known society men and women. He was at his best with children or young girls. He often introduced dogs in his larger compositions with excellent effect. Loup, his white Russian deerhound, appears in several of his pictures. When he walked abroad Loup always followed closely at his heel. They made a good-looking pair, and when they left Boston, we missed the picturesque figures of the artist and his white deerhound from our streets.