Art in England

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It was at Edinburgh that Allan Ramsay, junior, was born, the eldest of
seven children, in the year 1713. Late in life he was fond of
understating his age as people somehow _will_ do:

'I am old enough,' he said once, with the air of making a very frank
avowal, 'I am old enough to have been a contemporary of Pope.' Which was
not remarkable, considering that Pope did not die until 1744, when Mr.
Ramsay must have been thirty-one.

He had a natural talent for art. He began to sketch at twelve. But his
father was poor, with a large family to support,--it was not possible to
afford much of an education to the young artist. He had to develop his
abilities as he best could. In 1736, the father wrote of him thus simply
and tenderly: 'My son Allan has been pursuing his science since he was a
dozen years auld: was with Mr. Hyffidg, in London, for some time about
two years ago; has since been painting here like a Raphael; sets out for
the seat of the Beast beyond the Alps within a month hence to be away
two years. I am sweer' (_i.e._, loath) 'to part with him, but canna stem
the 'current which flows from the advice of his patrons and his own
inclinations.' This letter was addressed to one John Smybert, also a
self-taught artist. He had commenced in Edinburgh as a house-painter,
and, growing ambitious, found himself after a time in London, choosing
between starvation and the decoration of grand coach-panels in Long Acre
factories. In 1728 he settled in Boston, and shares with John Watson,
another Scotchman, who had preceded him some years, the honour of
founding painting as an art--from a European point of view--in the New
World.

Those who had hesitated in their patronage of the poet were not
disinclined to aid the painter. It is much less difficult a matter to
have one's portrait painted than to be able to appreciate a poem. Means
were forthcoming to enable the art-student to quit Edinburgh in 1736 for
Rome. He remained there during three years, receiving instruction from
Francesco Solimena, called also l'Abate Ciccio, and one Imperiali, an
artist of less fame. Of both it may be said, however, that they did
little enough to stay the downfall of Italian art.

On the return of Allan Ramsay, junior, to Scotland, we learn little more
of him than that he painted portraits of Duncan Forbes, of his own
sister, Miss Janet Ramsay, and Archibald, Duke of Argyle, in his robes
as Lord of Session. Finally he removed to London.

He was so fortunate as to find many valuable friends. The Earl of
Bridgewater was an early patron, followed by Lord Bute, whose powerful
position at court enabled him to introduce the painter to the
heir-apparent of the crown, Frederick, Prince of Wales. Two portraits of
His Royal Highness were commanded--full-length, and one remarkable for
being in profile. Still greater fame accrued to him, however, from his
portrait of Lord Bute, who was reputed to possess the handsomest leg in
England. His lordship was conscious of his advantage, and, during the
sitting to Ramsay for his whole-length portrait, engraved by Ryland, was
careful to hold up his robes considerably above his right knee, so that
his well-formed limbs should be thoroughly well exhibited; while, as
though to direct the attention of the spectator, with the forefinger of
his right hand he pointed down to his leg, and in this position remained
for an hour. The painter availed himself to the full of the opportunity,
and humoured the minister to the top of his bent. The picture was a
genuine triumph. Reynolds, never popular at court, grew jealous of his
rival's success, and alarmed lest it should lead to extraordinary
advancement. When the Marquis of Rockingham was posed before Sir Joshua
for the full-length picture, engraved by Fisher, the nobleman asked the
painter if he had not given a strut to the left leg. 'My lord,' replied
Sir Joshua with a smile, 'I wish to show a leg with Ramsay's Lord Bute.'

The painter prospered steadily, and, of course, was well abused; for
success is apt to bring with it envy and satire. Mr. William Hogarth,
who objected strongly to competitors, sought to jest down the advancing
Scotchman with a feeble pun about a Ram's eye! Hogarth was very much
less clever when he had a pen in his hand than when he was wielding a
brush or an etching needle.

The Reverend Charles Churchill, very angry with North Britons generally,
wrote sneering lines in the _Prophecy of Famine_:--

Thence came the Ramsays, men of worthy note,
Of whom one paints as well as t'other wrote.

By-and-by these two critics forgot Ramsay, however, they were so busy
with each other, bandying abuse and interchanging mud. The court painter
heeded little their comments. He was putting money in his purse. There
were always sitters in his studio: he had as much work as he could do;
while yet he found time for self-cultivation. He must have possessed an
active restless mind. He was not content with being merely a clever,
hard-working, money-making painter. Even at Rome he had studied other
things beside art. As Mr. Fuseli states magniloquently, after his
manner, 'he was smit with the love of classic lore, and desired to
trace, on dubious vestiges, the haunts of ancient genius and learning.'
He made himself a good Latin, French, and Italian scholar; indeed, he is
said to have mastered most of the modern European languages, with the
exception of Russian. His German he found of no slight service to him in
the court of the Guelphs. Later in life he studied Greek, and acquitted
himself as a commendable scholar.

Artists, less accomplished, were inclined to charge him with being above
his business, and more anxious to be accounted a person of taste and
learning than to be valued as a painter. Just as Congreve disclaimed the
character of a poet, declaring he had written plays but for pastime, and
begged he might be considered merely as a gentleman. There was no one to
say to Ramsay, however, as Voltaire--nothing, if not literary--said to
Congreve, 'If you had been merely a gentleman, I should not have come to
see you.' On the contrary, the world in general applauded Ramsay for
qualities quite apart from professional merits.

'I love Ramsay,' said Samuel Johnson to his biographer. 'You will not
find a man in whose conversation there is more instruction, more
information, and more elegance than in Ramsay's.'

Perhaps it may be noted that this remark of the Doctor's upon his friend
follows curiously close upon his satisfactory comment upon an
entertainment at the house of the painter.

'Well, sir, Ramsay gave us a splendid dinner!'

'What I admire in Ramsay,' says Mr. Boswell, 'is his continuing to be so
young!'

Johnson concedes: 'Why, yes, sir, it is to be admired. I value myself
upon this, that there is nothing of the old man in my conversation. I am
now sixty-eight, and I have no more of it than at twenty-eight.' And the
good Doctor runs on rather garrulously, it must be owned, ending
with--'I think myself a very polite man!'

It was to Mr. Ramsay's house--No. 67 Harley Street--that Mr. Boswell
sent a letter for his friend: 'My dear sir,--I am in great pain with an
inflamed foot' (why not have said plainly 'the gout,' Mr. Boswell?) 'and
obliged to keep my bed, so I am prevented from having the pleasure to
dine at Mr. Ramsay's to-day, which is very hard, and my spirits are
sadly sunk. Will you be so friendly as to come and sit an hour with me
in the evening?'

And it was from Ramsay's house the kind old man despatched his rather
stiff reply: 'Mr. Johnson laments the absence of Mr. Boswell, and will
come to him.'

After dinner the Doctor goes round to the invalid, laid up in General
Paoli's house in South Audley Street, and brings with him Sir Joshua
Reynolds, whom it is pleasant to find is a frequent guest at his great
rival's hospitable board.

Ramsay prospers--his reputation increases--he is largely employed, not
only in portraiture, but in decorating walls and ceilings. He has a
staff of workmen under him. A second time he visits Rome, making a stay
of some months; and journeys to Edinburgh, residing there long enough to
establish, in 1754, 'The Select Society.' He grows wealthy too. Poor
Allan Ramsay, senior, dies much in debt in 1757; the painter takes upon
himself his father's liabilities, and pensions his unmarried sister,
Janet Ramsay, who survived to 1804. He is possessed, it is said, of an
independent fortune to the amount of L40,000; and this before the
accession of King George the Third, and his extraordinary patronage of
the painter.

The office of painter to the crown was one of early date. In 1550
Antonio More was painter to Queen Mary. For his portrait of the Queen
sent to Philip of Spain, he was rewarded with one hundred pounds, a gold
chain, and a salary of one hundred pounds a quarter as court-painter to
their Majesties. There is some obscurity about the appointments of
painters to the king during the reign of George the Second. Jervas was
succeeded by Kent, who died in 1748. Shackleton succeeded Kent. Yet it
is probable that the king had more than one painter at the same time.
For we find Hogarth, who is said to have succeeded his brother-in-law,
John Thornhill,[13] the son of Sir James, appointed in 1757, while Mr.
Shackleton did not die until 1767, when, as Mr. Cunningham relates the
story of the London studios, he died of a broken heart on learning that
Ramsay was appointed in his stead to be painter to George III. This was
certainly about the date of Ramsay's appointment. And now there grew to
be quite a rage for portraits by Ramsay--there was a run upon him as
though he had been a sinking bank. He was compelled to call in the aid
of all sorts of people, painting the heads only of his sitters with his
own hand; and at last abandoning even much of that superior work to his
favourite pupil, Philip Reinagle. So that in many of Ramsay's pictures
there is probably but a very few strokes of Ramsay's brush. The names of
certain of his assistants have been recorded. Mrs. Black, 'a lady of
less talent than good taste.' Vandyck, a Dutchman, allied more in name
than in talent with him of the days of Charles the First. Eikart, a
German, clever at draperies. Roth, another German, who aided in the
subordinate parts of the work. Vesperis, an Italian, who was employed
occasionally to paint fruits and flowers. And Davie Martin, a Scotchman,
a favourite draughtsman and helper, and conscientious servant. Mr.
Reinagle probably furnished Mr. Cunningham with these particulars. It
will be noted that the English artist's employment of foreign
mercenaries was considerable. This must have been either from the fact
of such assistance being procurable at a cheaper rate, or that the old
notion still prevailed as to the necessity of looking abroad for
art-talent.

[13] Concerning the merits and career of John Thornhill, biography has
been curiously silent.

Ramsay succeeded at Court. He was made of more yielding materials than
Reynolds; assumed more the airs of a courtier--humoured the king.
Perhaps like Sir Pertinax he had a theory upon the successful results of
'booing and booing.' He never contradicted; always smiled acquiescence;
listened complacently to the most absurd opinions upon art of his royal
master. Reynolds was bent upon asserting the dignity of his profession.
He did not stoop to conceal his appreciation of the fact that as a
painter at any rate he was the sovereign's superior--he _would_ be, to
use a popular phrase, 'cock on his own dunghill.' When the painter's
friends spoke on the subject to Johnson, he said stoutly 'That the
neglect could never prejudice him: but it would reflect _eternal
disgrace_ on the king not to have employed Sir Joshua.' But Reynolds
received only one royal commission: to paint the king and queen,
whole-lengths, for the council-room of the Royal Academy, 'two of the
finest portraits in the world,' as Northcote declared. The king, who was
an early riser, sat at ten in the morning. The entry in Reynolds'
pocket-book is 'Friday, May 21 (1779), at 10--the king.' The queen's
name does not occur until December. The king, who was near-sighted, and
looked close at a picture, always complained that Reynolds' paintings
were rough and unfinished. But Reynolds heeded not. Be sure Ramsay and
West were careful to paint smoothly enough after that. Northcote said
that the balance of greatness preponderated on the side of the subject,
and the king was annoyed at perceiving it; and disliked extremely the
ease and independence of manner of Reynolds--always courteous, yet
always unembarrassed--proceeding with his likenesses as though he were
copying marble statues. 'Do not suppose,' adds his pupil, 'that he was
ignorant of the value of royal favour. No. Reynolds had a thorough
knowledge of the world; he would have gladly possessed it, but the price
would have cost him too much.'

The court-painter had soon enough to do, for the king had a habit of
presenting portraits of himself and his queen to all his ambassadors and
colonial governors. He sat, too, for his coronation portrait, as it was
called, in Buckingham Palace. The bland, obsequious, well-informed
Ramsay became a great favourite. He always gave way to the king--would
have sacrificed his art to his advancement any day. And he was almost
the only person about the Court, except the servants, who could speak
German, and the queen was especially fond of chatting with him in her
native language. Their Majesties soon gave over being dignified. Indeed,
few persons were more prone to forget their grandeur, although they did
not like anybody else to do so. With his own hands the king would help
West to place his pictures in position on the easel. The queen--plain,
snuff-taking, her face painted like a mask, and her eyes rolling like an
automaton, as eyewitnesses have described her later in life--called on
Mrs. Garrick one day at Hampton Court, and found the widow of the
Roscius very busy peeling onions for pickling. 'The queen, however,
would not suffer her to stir, but commanded a knife to be brought,
observing that she would peel an onion with her, and actually sat down
in the most condescending manner and peeled onions.' The king,
interrupting his sittings to dine off his favourite boiled mutton and
turnips, would make Ramsay bring easel and canvas into the dining-room,
so that they might continue their conversation during the royal meal.
When the king had finished, he would rise and say, 'Now, Ramsay, sit
down in my place and take your dinner.' When he was engaged on his first
portrait of the queen, it is recorded that all the crown jewels and the
regalia were sent to him. The painter observed that jewels and gold of
so great a value deserved a guard, and accordingly sentinels were posted
day and night in front and rear of his house. His studio was composed of
a set of rooms and haylofts in the mews at the back of Harley Street,
all thrown into one long gallery.

Peter Pindar, in his 'Lyric Odes to the Royal Academicians for 1782,'
writes:--

'I've heard that Ramsay when he died,
Left just nine rooms well stuffed with Queens and Kings,
From whence all nations might have been supplied
That longed for valuable things.
Viceroys, ambassadors, and plenipos,
Bought them to join their raree-shows
In foreign parts;
And show the progress of the British arts.
Whether they purchased by the pound or yard,
I cannot tell because I never heard:
But this I know--his shop was like a fair,
And dealt most largely in this ROYAL WARE.
See what it is to gain a monarch's smile,
And hast thou missed it, REYNOLDS, all this while?
How stupid! Pray thee seek the courtiers' school,
And learn to manufacture _oil of fool_.'

According to Dr. Walcot, King George the Third sat to Mr. Dance in
preference to Reynolds as a matter of economy. Dance charged fifty
pounds for a picture. Sir Joshua's price was over a hundred. The king
decided upon patronizing the painter whose charge was the lower. Pindar
says:--

'Thank God! that monarchs cannot taste control,
And make each subject's poor submissive soul
Admire the works that judgment oft cries fie on!
Had things been so, poor REYNOLDS we had seen
Painting a barber's pole, an ale-house queen,
The Cat and Gridiron or the Old Red Lion;
At Plympton, perhaps, for some grave Doctor Slop
Painting the pots and bottles of the shop;
Or in the drama to get meat to munch,
His brush divine had pictured scenes for Punch;
While WEST was whelping 'midst his paints
Moses and Aaron, and all sorts of saints,
Adams, and Eves, and snakes, and apples;
And devils, for beautifying certain chapels;
But REYNOLDS is no favourite, that's the matter,
He has not learnt the noble art to flatter.'

The doctor was never weary of launching his satirical shafts at the
king. It has been suggested, however, that political considerations
influenced the direction of the royal patronage. Reynolds was on terms
of intimacy with Fox, Burke, and other prominent members of the
Opposition. This, in the eyes of the king, was a grave offence, hardly
to be pardoned, notwithstanding all the great merits of the offender in
other respects.

Ramsay kept an open house and a liberal table, but more it would seem
for his friends' pleasure than his own; for though fond of delicate
eating, and as great a consumer of tea as Doctor Johnson, he had little
taste for stronger potations, and we are told that 'even the smell of a
bottle of claret was too much for him.' The Doctor entertained different
opinions: he spoke with contempt of claret,--'A man would be drowned by
it before it made him drunk,' adding, 'Poor stuff! No, sir, claret is
the liquor for boys: port for men: but he who aspires to be a hero must
drink brandy!' Most toper sentiments! But Ramsay did not stint his
guests. And these were constantly of a noble order. Lord Bute, the Duke
of Newcastle, Lord Bath, Lord Chesterfield, and the Duke of Richmond
were often at the painter's table, discussing all sorts of political
questions with him. Every man was a politician in those days;
especially after dinner. But Ramsay was not content to be simply a
talker upon the topics of the day--he became also a writer. Many clever
papers by him upon history, politics, and criticism were published at
various times, under the signature 'Investigator,' and were subsequently
reprinted and collected into a volume. Upon the question which had
agitated London for some months, as to the truth of the charge brought
against the gipsy woman Mary Squire, of aiding in the abduction of the
servant girl Elizabeth Canning, Ramsay wrote an ingenious pamphlet. The
same subject had also employed the pen of no less a person than Henry
Fielding. Ramsay corresponded with Voltaire and Rousseau, both of whom
he visited. His letters, we are told, were elegant and witty. The
painter to the king was a man of society.

A third time he visits Rome, accompanied on this occasion by his son,
afterwards to rise to distinction in the army. He employed himself,
however, more as a savant than an artist--in examining and copying the
Greek and Latin inscriptions in the Vatican. The President of the Roman
Academy introduced the painter to the School of Art, and was rather
pompous about the works of his students. Ramsay's national pride was
piqued. 'I will show you,' he said, 'how we draw in England.' He wrote
to his Scotch assistant, Davie Martin, to pack up some drawings and
journey at once to Rome. On his arrival, Ramsay arranged his drawings,
and then invited the President and his scholars to the exhibition. The
king's painter was always fond of declaring that it was the proudest
moment of his life, 'for,' he said, 'the Italians were confounded and
overcome, and British skill triumphant!' Perhaps the Italian account of
the transaction, could we obtain it, might not exactly tally with that
of the king's painter.

Soon Ramsay was again in England resuming his prosperous practice. Then
occurred the accident which hindered all further pursuit of his art.
Reading an account of a calamitous fire, he was so impressed with the
idea of showing his household and pupils the proper mode of effecting
their escape, in the event of such an accident befalling his own house,
that he ascended with them to the top storey, and pushing a ladder
through the loft door, mounted quickly, saying: 'Now I am safe--I can
get to the roofs of the adjoining houses.' As he turned to descend he
missed his step and fell, dislocating his right arm severely. At this
time he was engaged upon the portrait of the king for the Excise-office.
With extraordinary courage he managed to finish the picture, working
most painfully, and supporting as he best could his right arm with his
left. He declared it to be the finest portrait he had ever painted; and
his friends echoed his opinion. But it was the last he was ever to put
his hand to.

His constitution yielded; his spirits left him; his shoulder gave him
great pain; his nights were sleepless. The painter to King George III.
was evidently sinking. Yet he lingered for some years--a shattered
invalid. Again he visited Rome, leaving his pupil Reinagle to complete
his long list of royal commissions. Reinagle's style was so admirably
imitative of his master's, that it was difficult to distinguish one from
the other. The pupil was instructed to complete fifty pairs of kings and
queens at ten guineas each! The task seemed endless, and was six years
in hand. Midway, wearied to death with the undertaking, Reinagle wrote
to complain that the price was not sufficient. Ramsay trebled it; but
the pupil was wont to confess afterwards that he looked back with a sort
of horror at his labours in connexion with the royal portraits.

The court-painter never recovered his lost health. He wrote from Italy
to many of his friends--the first men of the day, both in France and
England. Then came the home-sickness, which so often precedes
dissolution. In the summer of 1784 he set out on his journey to England,
hoping to reach it by short and easy stages. He reached Paris with
difficulty: the fatigue brought on a low fever he had not the strength
to support. He died on the 10th of August, at Dover, in the 71st year of
his age.

'Poor Ramsay!' Johnson wrote touchingly to Reynolds. 'On which side
soever I turn, mortality presents its formidable frown. I left three old
friends at Lichfield when I was last there, and now I found them all
dead. I no sooner lost sight of dear Allan than I am told that I shall
see him no more! That we must all die, we all know. I wish I had sooner
remembered it. Do not think me intrusive or importunate if I now call,
dear sir, on you, to remember it!'

A handsome, acute, accomplished gentleman, outstripping all the painters
of his age in the extent of his learning and the variety of his
knowledge--an artist of delicacy and taste, rather than of energy and
vigour--pale in colour and placid in expression, yet always graceful and
refined--there was a charm about Ramsay's works that his contemporaries
thoroughly understood, though they could not always themselves achieve
it. Northcote gave a close and clever criticism on the king's painter in
this wise:--'Sir Joshua used to say that he was the most sensible among
all the painters of his time; but he has left little to show it. His
manner was dry and timid. He stopped short in the middle of his work
because he knew exactly how much it wanted. Now and then we find hints
and sketches, which show what he might have done if his hand had been
equal to his conceptions. I have seen a picture of his of the queen soon
after she was married--a profile, and slightly done: but it was a
paragon of elegance. She had a fan in her hand. Lord, how she held that
fan! It was weak in execution and ordinary in features--all I can say of
it is, that it was the farthest possible removed from everything like
vulgarity. A professor might despise it, but in the mental part I have
never seen anything of Vandyke's equal to it. I could have looked at it
for ever. I don't know where it is now: but I saw enough in it to
convince me that Sir Joshua was right in what he said of Ramsay's great
superiority. I should find it difficult to produce anything of Sir
Joshua's that conveys an idea of more grace and delicacy. Reynolds would
have finished it better; the other was afraid of spoiling what he had
done, and so left it a mere outline. He was frightened before he was
hurt.' This was high praise of the king's painter, coming as it did from
his rival's pupil.

GEORGE ROMNEY.

'A curious book might be written on the reputation of painters,' says
Mr. Croker in a note to his edition of Boswell; 'Horace Walpole talked
at one time of Ramsay as of equal fame with Reynolds; and Hayley
dedicated his lyre (such as it was) to Romney. What is a picture of
Ramsay or Romney now worth?'[14]

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