“The Banqueting, or Dining Room of the Chauntry, contains a strong, but delicately handled, lengthened portrait of the late Joseph Sikes, Esq., by the celebrated Mr. Wright, of St. Helen’s, in Derby, the ancient residence of Mr. Sikes’s family, at an early period of whose minority that venerable edifice was, to his deep regret, taken down, and which contained, among other characteristics of “Olden Times,” a compact Chapel, part of which had a curiously wrought cedar wainscot. A remarkable proof of the success of the artist in giving to ‘canvas face and figure,’ was afforded by a favourite little terrier dog of the late Mr. Sikes’s unconsciously accompanying him into the apartment at St. Helen’s, upon the floor of which, in a very unfinished state, were arranged, with many others, this Portrait and that of his first Lady, the delightful sagacity of that interesting class of animals quickly displaying itself by an attentive survey of the picture, and by the most lively emotions of gratification, to the extent even of actually licking the canvas. The alarm and astonishment, however, so naturally felt by Mr. Sikes from this honest though uncourteous intruder, was strongly reproved by Mr. Wright, as the most unprecedented and unflattering respect he could have received; adding, that if the finish of the painting was as perfect as the compliment of the dog, his highest ambition must be exceeded, and if anyone took the trouble to write his life, that anecdote would necessarily form a prominent place. It has been aptly observed, that it more than rivals the celebrated and well-known story of Alexander and Apelles.”
This dog was not singular in paying such an unintentional compliment to the artist, as the following authenticated anecdote shows:—“In October, 1782, Mr. Wright was engaged painting the portrait of a young gentleman named Carleill, and to try the effect in a strong light, the picture was placed on the floor, with its back resting against the legs of a chair, when a favourite greyhound, belonging to the family, coming into the room, bounded up to the picture and began to lick the face. Hereupon Mrs. Carleill, who was present, apologised to the artist for the animal’s misbehaviour, but Wright, shaking hands with her, exclaimed, ‘Oh! Mrs. Carleill, I freely forgive the dog the injury he has done to the painting for the compliment he has paid me.’” Nor were human beings exempt from similar deceptions. It is related that Mrs. Morewood, of Alfreton Hall, went with her friend, Mr. Holland, of Ford House, to see some paintings at Wright’s rooms; when looking at the portraits of the three children of Mr. Walter Synnott, grouped in the act of letting a dove fly from a wickerwork birdcage which was introduced in the foreground, she desired Mr. Holland would remove the birdcage, as it obstructed her view of the lower part of the picture; it is almost needless to add that the cage was painted and not of wickerwork, and that Wright thanked the lady for the compliment she had thus unconsciously paid him. At another time, a man who had occasion to enter the painting-room when the picture of the Old Man and his Ass (from Sterne) stood upon the floor, tried to kick away the saddle, so as to obtain a better view of the picture. And on another occasion, it is said, a gentleman on entering the room, bowed to the full-length portrait of the late Mr. Charles Hurt, of Wirksworth, which was placed near the fire to dry, thinking it was Mr. Hurt himself who was in the room.
With reference to his art-enemies alluded to in the early part of this chapter, it is a pleasant task to record the following pleasing anecdote of Wilson, to show that artists may be “great yet amicable rivals”:—
“Wilson was liberal to his brother artists, and reverenced the powers of Wright, of Derby, highly, with whom he was intimate. The latter artist esteemed highly the abilities of Wilson, and when he was in London, rarely failed to visit his great but amicable rival. In conversing familiarly one day upon the subject of their art, Wright proposed to exchange one of his pictures for one of Wilson’s; the latter assented with the easy consciousness of his particular excellence, as distinguished from the particular excellence of his friend: ‘With all my heart, Wright; I’ll give you air, and you’ll give me fire.’ It is known that in aerial effect Wilson considered himself above every rival; and the proposal of Wright may be supposed to imply, on his part, an ingenuous acknowledgment of Wilson’s superiority in this particular. I have never heard that Wilson imitated Wright, but we know that Wright avowedly imitated Wilson, and, in such instances, reached his glow and aerial effect to admiration.”[26]
Mr. Holland, an intimate friend of Wright, and afterwards one of his executors, wrote the following intelligible but somewhat incoherent note on the margin of a catalogue of Wright’s paintings exhibited in London:—
“Richard Wilson is certainly the first in Landscape (1767). Joseph Wright should not be called second, because in a procession I would have them pair, and go hand-in-hand; and were there two right hand sides, they should both, from their excellence, have them. But this only in Landscape Procession. Wilson’s forte was only Landscape: look forward to the variety of the latter, in all of which he excelled; and in an academy he should have not only one of the foremost, but a distinguished bench to himself.”
Another brother artist who became a patron of Wright’s was Bacon the Sculptor, who purchased a small Vesuvius, which was exhibited at the Great Piazza, London, and afterwards engraved by Byrne.
The following anecdotes and notes, though not relevant to Wright’s remarkable imitative power, may as well find a place at the end of this chapter.
The Curator of the Derby Art Gallery tells a good tale of a north Derbyshire farmer’s visit to the Gallery when the Wright Collection was being exhibited in 1883. The farmer and his wife were standing before the picture of a boy blowing a bladder; he was saying to his spouse in the Derbyshire dialect, “Ah tell yer t’blither iz put behind t’picter, that’ns a raal blither.” The wife replied that it was only a painted bladder. He then turned round and appealed to the Curator, who had just entered the gallery, who assured him that the bladder was painted upon the canvas, whereupon the farmer became most indignant, and replied, “Doan’t yer think I knows a blither when ah seez un?”
