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Sixty Years' Memories of Art and Artists
WE sailed from New York on the lst of May, 1841, on one of the sailing ships of the New York and Havre line. We had a pleasant voyage, and found many nice people on board, of many nationalities-French, German, Dutch and others-and made some friends among them. Of these acquaintances, I would mention one, who was afterward a true friend and most sincere adviser. His name was Huber. He was an Alsatian by birth, a musician by profession, and a most thorough one too. He was prominent in Paris as master of the violoncello. He gave us good advice as to where to go, and what to do upon arriving in a strange foreign city, with hardly any knowledge of the language. During the pleasant weather of the voyage he essayed to improve my French of which there was so much need . Havre was a strange place to us, and our impressions were but vague as we at once took the Diligence for Paris by way of Rouen, that picturesque, grey old town on the Seine. We got to Paris after a tedious ride, and put up at the Hotel Bergère Cité Bergère, the landlord being a good friend of Huber's. I was ill for a few days and not able to go out much, but the good landlady was kindness itself, and advised us not to drink the water, as it was bad for strangers, and this I found to be true. And now to get settled and begin our housekeeping, and artistic studies. It happened that Mr. Stephen A. Schoff, well-known since as one of the most eminent engravers of the country, was studying in Paris, and, as we had known him at home, we made use of his knowledge and experience to help us, and so after many days' search we came upon a studio with rooms connected in the Rue de Lille, Faubourg St. Germain. An amateur painter, Mr. S. B. Foster, had come over with us, and he shared our housekeeping arrangements. We had a letter to Mr. G. P. A. Healey, our townsman, who was then well and prosperously established in Paris. He received us with great kindness, and with his practical mind immediately placed us in the way of beginning our studies. There was, he told us, an atelier, for drawing and painting from life, kept by an old model named Boudin, where for a few francs a month we could practice from the nude. We immediately followed his suggestion. We found in the Boudin atelier, twenty or thirty young men at work with more or less success, some making very good work indeed. We took our places among them. It was a very awkward thing for us to make our début among these fun-making, practical-joking students, for they have the reputation of doing rather uncanny things, at times, in the different ateliers. Delaroche's students had a bad name for fearful acts done in the way of hazing. But we were fortunate in having at the head of the school, if not a great artist and critic, one whose presence could preserve order, for he was a man, who, though already past his prime, was a model of muscular strength and force. We could not understand a word of their chat, and could say nothing for ourselves. This was not strange, for, as I afterwards found out, their stories and jokes which were not always of the most delicate kind, were told in the most unusual idioms and Parisian slang. But all their fun and slang while working were nothing but scum and froth, while underneath it all was a current of good nature and a desire to study art seriously. So we were not disturbed, and worked there for some months. We began our daily work at six a. m., and this obliged us to rise at five and walk a mile and a half. The only persons we met were the sweepers cleaning up the streets, hours before the swarming population came out. This early start was hard as the model posed an hour, and then, at seven o'clock, having a rest of fifteen minutes, we slipped out to a creamerie near by for rolls and a cup of coffee. I noticed that many of the young men contented themselves with a piece of bread and a bunch of grapes or a bit of chocolate. Our four hours of study closed at eleven a. m. Then we went to the Louvre gallery, either to draw from the antique among the Elgin marbles, or to begin copies of the paintings we fancied. The gallery closed at four p. m., when we were tired enough to go home for dinner. I remember making some copies from Claude Lorraine, Joseph Vernet, and of a fine breezy marine by Ruysdael. I found I could make fair copies of these pictures, so much so that they would be of value to me some day. We became acquainted with some English artists working in the gallery, and through them with amateurs. My friend Cooke, showing so marked a talent in heads and figures, was persuaded by some of them to try sundry of their portraits, and he was successful, painting soon after one of a famous correspondent of the London Times, or Chronicle -a Mr. Crowe, -as I remember-and thus he was in a fair way of getting on, and soon it became necessary for him to take a studio more convenient for him and his sitters. He found a location more central on the Boulevard des Capucins. Our companion, Foster, being of a rather changeable nature too, felt a strong desire to visit Italy and England, and so I was left alone in the big studio. In the meantime I had become acquainted with a young American student-Mr. J. F. Kensett-then an engraver of banknote plates, who with Mr. J. W. Casilear and A. B. Durand, had preceded us a few months in coming to Paris. Kensett was alone in the Rue de Savoi, and desiring companionship as I did, we soon came to an agreement to look for rooms together. We took a place in the Rue de l' Université, and settled down to work. Kensett was at heart a painter, and it was hard for him to stick to his burin when he saw me busy at painting, and before many months he had thrown down his engraving tools, and taken to brushes and paint. He showed a great deal of imagination and poetic feeling in his first essays, and finished a half dozen small canvases full of feeling for delicate color and suavity of line. I was surprised, and delighted, too. Kensett and I took a trip to the Forest of Fontainbleau, and there made our first attempt in colors from nature. We stayed a few days there. having made an arrangement with our landlady for the cost of our board. We made our calculations so closely that after having secured our place in the Diligence for Paris, we had but a few sous in our pockets, and our surprise and disgust may be imagined when the coach, instead of stopping at our hotel, passed on without a sign. Here was a predicament! The rooms we had occupied were taken, and here we were stranded until the next day, with no money and no credit. We strolled off to the moonlit forest to think over the situation. The beauty and grandeur of the night were in sharp contrast to the gloominess of our case. We could think of nothing to do except to go to the landlady and tell her the facts frankly. We did so, and she, with motherly kindness, had some cots put up in the dining-room, and forgave us the debt. Early in the morning of the following day, we invested our few sous in rolls at the baker's, and thus breakfasted. The Diligence took us only a portion of the way to Paris, connecting with the Orleans railway. We were installed in cattle cars, curious little boxes, but we arrived in good time at the terminus. Here was a further predicament. We had a good many sketching traps, and were still three miles from home. A cab was necessary. We boldly took one, and on arriving home, I coolly desired the concierge to pay the cabman, which -was done. It was late, and we had not eaten since our meal of rolls in the morning. I searched my trunk, and found a solitary five franc piece. With this we dined sumptuously. Our common purse was far from full, as is the case, no doubt, with many a young artist at some period of his study abroad. just before this time, I had become acquainted with John Vanderlyn, an
artist of reputation in America, an old-school gentleman, a contemporary and friend of
Allston. He had lived for many years in Paris during the reign of the First Napoleon, when
the Louvre was filled with the splendid works of the Italian Masters, brought there
without scruple by the strong hand of the conqueror. This was a feast to eyes like his,
trained to see the surpassing beauty of such work. Vanderlyn painted a picture of
"Marius, on the Ruins of Carthage" at that time, and this gained him
distinction, and a gold medal, in the Salon. I never saw the picture only an
engraving from it-but it was a classic composition, and from what I saw of his feeling for
color, I have no doubt it was much superior to the work produced by David and his
pupils, Girodet, Gerard and other.,, notwithstanding their statuesque and classic beauty
of outline. Vanderlyn, for many years previous to my meeting him, had endeavored to induce Congress, through his many influential friends, to vote a sum of money to furnish the Capitol at Washington with paintings representing our history, but with a niggardliness which has often marked the course of our National legislators, nothing was done. Years passed, and Vanderlyn became soured by this treatment by his country, for he justly thought it due to his talent as an artist that he should receive some recognition from the government. At that time there were but two or three men capable of producing works that would be desirable. Stuart had painted Washington, and was undoubtedly a fine portrait painter, but had never essayed history. Allston could not have turned his mind in that direction. Trumbull was the only other, and he had accomplished "the shin piece," as his picture of the Declaration of Independence had often been called. After many years of waiting and combatting, Vanderlyn finally received a commission from Congress to paint "The Landing of Columbus." Now he was an old man, broken in spirits and health, but had come to Paris with his materials for the work. He mourned over his lost youth, saying that the vigor and strength he could have once given to his work was gone. The picture was pretty well along when I first visited his studio in the Rue de l'Onest, near the garden of the Luxembourg. He wished me to help him and proposed to give me five francs a day for my services. I needed the money, but also I knew that I should receive many valuable hints from him. And thus I became almost a pupil, and, mounted high upon the steps of a platform to reach the top of his twelve-foot canvas, together we mixed the tints for the immense azure spaces of the sky, the delicate mountain ranges and expanse of sea. We went over the distances and sky many times to get it all in harmony with the figures of the composition. When not thus occupied I was desired to finish a large picture of Niagara Falls from studies made forty years before. They were really very good sketches, and I had no great difficulty in following his ideas. Vanderlyn was of a kindly nature, generous and appreciative. It was only when talking of his wrongs that his combative nature was roused, and I dared say but little in praise of my country, it so stirred his ire. It had been currently reported at home that he was wasting his time in excesses and debauchery, but nothing was farther from the truth. He lived a most sober and abstemious life, only taking a little claret at dinner as all Frenchmen do. This I knew, and I felt a pity for the much abused artist with no ties of family to soften his lot. He was alone in the world, discouraged and disheartened. We used often to dine in company with Kensett and Casilear at a modest little restaurant in the Rue St. Marguerite, where we listened with pleasure and profit to his memories of other times, his experiences in pursuit of art, and his early history. He lived to complete his picture, and it is now placed under the Dome at the Capitol at Washington, and in my judgment it is the finest work both in color and composition yet placed there. A few years after this he wandered to his native place, Kingston, N. Y., and died, almost unhonored and unknown. His picture of Ariadne, a beautiful nude figure in classic style, was bought by Mr. A. B. Durand, who made a fine line engraving of it. Impressions of this plate are very rare, but some years ago I secured a copy, which I prize highly. |
