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Sixty Years' Memories of Art and Artists IX . BUT Kensett and myself were very short of means, and it came at last to the point that we had not the wherewithal to buy a cheap -breakfast. We consulted together as to what was to be done. Kensett had already borrowed of his friend Rossiter, and felt delicate about asking for more. Hicks had a studio in the same house with me, and he was a new arrival in Rome-with a pocket full of money. Kensett said he would go to Hicks and tell him of my predicament, and say he thought it would be a great boon if he would even offer to lend me ten dollars. Hicks was a generous, loyal fellow, and came to me at once with the money. Then Kensett and I divided it. This was a reprieve, and we at once visited the well-known Cafe Grecquo to breakfast on a cup of weak coffee and two little rolls. The old cafe had entertained many generations of artists in its time, and many distinguished ones too, such a man for instance as Thorwaldsen. Vanderlyn had told me that he had met Thorwaldsen there, as well as many other notabilities of the French and German schools, The dingy, smoky old place had its traditions of the notables it had entertained in past times. With such a meager breakfast, as I have mentioned, and a roll in my pocket, I would start off for the day, scouring about distant parts of the city and Campagna for sketches, returning at night for the companionship of my friends, and the modest dinner at the American table, and notwithstanding all the drawbacks enjoying it much. Almost every one of these pleasant friends are gone now, but I linger with pleasure over the memory of those days. My friend, Dr. Ainsworth, left Rome for Paris, making a promise that he would negotiate with the banker in Paris to send me funds enough to pay my bills and get me back also. By and by the money came, and I was enabled to get away. I cannot leave this part of my life without regret, for every day was full of work and enjoyment among most congenial surroundings. After the day spent in rambling and sketching, and the dinner was over, we went to the evening costume class, where the models posed for two hours. We had hard work to finish our drawings in outline and water colors in that time. This was good practice, and gave us quickness of perception and trained our eyes and hands. But I was forced to leave all this and return to Paris. The steamer
carried me from Civita Vecchia to Marseilles, where I took the diligence for Paris, a
tedious ride of five days and six nights, Think of being cooped up in one seat during all
that time, with cross old ladies and unaccommodating men! With no place to lean one's
weary head when dozing except upon a cross woman's shoulder, who scornfully repulsed you
for the familiarity. But this was endured, and I began to think I could get along without
sleep before we got to Paris. Before arriving there we met a severe snow storm and the
passengers had to get out and help the horses pull through the drifts. This was two days
before Christmas. I had promised to make a visit in Paris on Christmas, and we arrived
just in time for me to keep my word. I had, however, to leave my traps in pawn, for I
lacked ten francs to pay my full fare. I hurried to my studio in the Rue Rumford, and was
received with rapture by my eccentric friend Lavergne, who with great profusion of
generosity loaned me funds to release my belongings at the Diligence Office of the
Messageries Royale. He, Lavergne, bid done nothing during my absence, but was determined now to make up for the lost time by painting a large picture for the coming Salon. It was a Madonna among the clouds and surrounded by cherubs, a la Murillo. It went on bravely for a time, but his natural propensity for procrastination allowed the time to slip by until a few days before the time set for receiving pictures, and in his haste he could not do what he might otherwise have done. The canvas was sent, but was refused. He laughed over the affair, and thought it a good joke. I sold a couple of pictures that winter from sketches made about Rome, and went to work as seriously as I could to paint something to take home with me, as I was to leave Paris sometime during the coming summer. I worked a long time upon one I called The Golden Age. I succeeded in getting a golden tone in the picture, and that was about all. Lavergne took more interest in this work than his own, gave me good advice and would sit down and help me with my figures with the greatest patience, but would do nothing for himself. This was a peculiarity of his character, always ready to give a helping hand to me and others, but always putting off his own work. opposite my large studio window, and a few yards away was another window, and near at the side another studio. I used often to see at this window a young person arranging a box of flowers. I could not judge for a long time whether the youth was of the masculine or feminine gender. He, or she, had a clear cut face with strongly marked features showing character and decision. The color of the face was pale and unbroken by ruddy tints, the hair brown and cut short. There was a white collar, and the figure was dressed in a gray blouse. Nothing to indicate sex, only the hands were small and delicate. The mystery was unsolved for a long time, but, at last, I learned that the studio was occupied by Raymond Bonheur, a landscape painter of no great eminence, but that his two sons and two daughters were working with him, and soon it came out that my unknown was the daughter-Rosa Bonheur. She was young and struggling then, working hard painting studies from a sheep she kept in the studio, and whose voice I heard constantly. A hundred rumors floated about concerning her, her ways and methods of study, some true, but many false ones. Not long after she exhibited, at the Salon, a small work in which she had painted a white horse with figures. I remember it well. It gained her much notice, and was the beginning of her great reputation. We all know how great she became. She was of a family of artists, and gained great fame before her brothers had developed their talents, so that her great light put out their lesser ones, but I can say truly that had not Auguste Bonheur had a famous sister, his fine pictures of cattle would have received a much wider recognition, for many of them were masterly. The other brother, Isidore, had talent as a sculptor, but died young. The sister, Madame Peyrolles, has done many clever things. My time was up, and I left Paris regretfully for London en route for Boston. I had many letters from friends in Paris to people in London, and my stay there for a few weeks was exceedingly pleasant, made so by the hospitality of my old and new friends, seeing the sights of the famous city. I sailed for Liverpool in September on the good ship Joshua Bates, and, after thirty-five days tossing about, arrived in Boston I was glad to meet my mother and brothers and sisters after so long an absence, but everything seemed so dull and prosaic in Boston, that a discouragement came over me. No one seemed to care much for pictures, and those that were hanging in the houses of the rich were mostly so-called "Old Masters." If only they had dinginess and plenty of varnish they were satisfactory. But I took a studio in Tremont Temple where artists then mostly congregated, and went to work with what courage I had. The first commission I had was to paint a horse, a famous horse belonging to Mr. Train of the Boston and Liverpool packet line. I succeeded in pleasing him, but the picture must have been pretty bad as I remember it. The artists were all very friendly, and the winter passed away pleasantly, a few small commissions coming my way. During that winter (1846) Banvard brought his Panorama of the Mississippi to Boston. It had made a very successful tour (financially) through the country. The phenomenal success of what was a commonplace work gave me the idea that something might be done with another river, viz:-the Rhine. I talked this with my brothers and friends. The means were found, and I once more set sail, this time on the Anglo Saxon, bound for Liverpool, and thence via London to Paris. Two young friends went with me, W. Allan Gay and Hamilton G. Wilde, both going for the purpose of studying art in the French schools. They proved to be delightful companions. |
