Chats on Old Miniatures

PREFACE

Acceding to the wish of my Publishers that the following pages should be included in a certain well-known series, I have termed them "Chats on Old Miniatures," but confess that I consider the title somewhat of a misnomer, inasmuch as I have been accustomed to regard "a chat" as a conversation between two or more persons interested in a given subject; whereas in this little volume it is obvious that I have done all the talking.

In the interval which has elapsed since my larger works appeared the most important event in connection with the subject of Miniatures is, in my opinion, the Exhibition of Works of Art of the Eighteenth Century at the French National Library in 1906. The concluding chapter of this book gives the impressions afforded by that extremely interesting and instructive Exhibition.

In the hope that they will be of use to the general reader, I have amplified my references to the public collections of Miniatures in this country, especially those at Hertford House and the Jones Collection, so rich in the works of Petitot.

Miss E. M. Foster has been of much service in revising the proofs and passing this work through the press.

I have only to add one word, and that relates to the illustrations. I am fortunate in being able to put before my readers so large a selection of choice examples of the art of miniature painting.

This I owe to the generosity of the owners of the originals, to whom I desire once again to express my indebtedness and thanks.

London,

Easter, 1908.

CHAPTER I

ON THE COLLECTING OF MINIATURES

You would like to make a collection of old miniatures, did I hear my reader say? and you want to know the best way to set about it? Well, I can suggest one way: it is to become a millionaire, and let it be known that you are interested in miniatures, then you will find that a collection can easily be made, and not only so, but people will actually make it for you, with an alacrity, ingenuity, and industry which may surprise you. Should you further inquire what the collection would be like when made, my reply would be: that depends upon your own taste, intelligence, knowledge of art in general, and of miniature painting in particular; upon the depth of your purse – and, I had almost said, on your luck. Let me take that last-named qualification first, and illustrate what I mean by luck in relation to a collection of miniatures. Some years ago the father of the present Duke of Buccleuch took to collecting miniatures, and the agent he employed to purchase them was the late Mr. Dominic Colnaghi, into whose shop there walked one day a man who said he had some little pictures to sell that he had bought with a "job lot" of old silver and gold from a working jeweller. These "little pictures" turned out to be no less a prize than a number of miniatures formerly in the collection of Charles I., which, as we know, was dispersed at the time of the Commonwealth. In the days of the King's prosperity these had been catalogued and described by the Royal Librarian, the conscientious Dutchman Van der Doort, and these miniatures bore on their back a crown and the royal cipher, the entwined C's. Now, after all their vicissitudes, these priceless historical miniatures rest in Montagu House, Whitehall, barely a stone's throw from the window in the banqueting-hall of the palace whence their Royal one-time owner stepped forth upon the scaffold on that bitter winter morning of January 30, 1649. By the word "luck" in connection with this acquisition, I mean that they might have been taken to any one else but Dominic Colnaghi, in which case there is but little likelihood of their having formed part of the famous Buccleuch Collection.

In truth, it may be said that there is no royal road for the collection of miniatures, and especially in these days, when so many sharp eyes are on the look-out for them. If you go to the auction-room you are confronted with that iniquitous institution known as the "knock-out," which not only debars the owner from getting the full value of his property, but often prevents the would-be private purchaser from acquiring it at all.

To be a successful collector of miniatures demands that one should be conversant with their market value, which, in its turn, presupposes some knowledge of the various painters and the characteristics of their work. Here again, I make so bold as to assert, there is no royal road. Knowledge of this sort, like most other knowledge worth possessing, has to be acquired by experience, by patience, and by degrees. The various handbooks which have appeared in such plenty of late years professing to teach "How to Identify this" and "How to Collect that" are, no doubt, valuable in their way, but, in my opinion, are apt to lead the inexperienced collector to believe that the discrimination and the judgment essential to safety are more easily acquired than is likely to be the case in so difficult a pursuit.

And it is difficult, because, as no doubt the reader will often have observed for himself, it is so very frequently the case that miniatures do not bear the names of either the person whom they are intended to represent, or of the artist who drew the likeness. So that the collector who would judge of some little head, it may be, is thrown back upon the necessity of having an intimate knowledge of the technical characteristics and qualities of the work before him, which is often the sole test that he can apply and the trifling clue he has to follow. In the case of old silver there are, at any rate, the stamps to guide the connoisseur, to say nothing of other differences which I need not stop to point out. Most old china, too, is marked.

Again, as with china, and also with silver, there is the forger to beware of, and he constitutes a very real danger, even to collectors of experience, because the forgery of miniatures is brought in these days almost to the level of a fine art, and the ingenuity employed to deceive is indeed remarkable. Take by way of illustration the practice of painting miniatures upon old playing-cards – or what appear to be old playing-cards, for I am told that such things as the latter are expressly fabricated. In the days of the Stuarts miniatures were painted upon pieces of playing-cards, and when framed they were often backed up by one or two other pieces fitted in behind them. These latter pieces afford valuable opportunity for the forger's exertions. Old papier-mâché frames, from which some silhouette or comparatively worthless portrait has been taken, are employed to mislead the unwary. A copy, painted only the week before, is put into some old frame of the eighteenth century, and although costing but a few shillings (and dear at that), is offered at as many guineas to the confiding collector, who, if he falls into the trap, thinks he has got a bargain, as no doubt he would have if —if only the prize were an original, and what it professed to be.

Then the manufacture of copies of well-known examples in public collections is carried on unblushingly and upon a wholesale scale. I have had large leather cases of such things, containing tray after tray of them, offered me repeatedly, and "upon highly advantageous terms." These are the work of continental copyists, German and French. In Paris they may be found by the gross in the shops of the Rue de Rivoli and in the purlieus of the Palais Royal. And let not the collector make light of this persistent fabrication, because, remember, they are bought by somebody. The distribution of them is going on, as Americans say, "all the time." They become dispersed and crop up again under all sorts of circumstances, from all kinds of sources; they have endless fictitious origins given to them. Generally you are told that they have been in the possessor's family for untold generations, and that the grandfather of the would-be vendor refused a fabulous sum for them.

Perhaps the best advice that I, as one of some experience in such matters, can give, is to be summed up in the word "caution." I say, then, use caution, and always caution, and once more caution.

There remains the alternative of acquiring miniatures by private treaty, often a somewhat delicate matter.

It would not be difficult to write an essay on the Ethics of Collecting, but it might be hard to discriminate with nicety between the use the collector is justified in making of his superior knowledge, to the detriment of the possessor, because we must not forget that when a bargain is "picked up," the owner does not benefit much. It is of the essence of "a bargain" that the coveted object – whether it be old china, old furniture, jewels, or what not – shall be acquired below its customary, real, and interchangeable value. Well, that clearly is a transaction in which both parties cannot reap the advantage, and the gain of the one is measured exactly by the loss of the other. The tactics of the buyer are well understood in the East, where they are universally practised to-day, as they have been for untold centuries. Do we not read in Proverbs, "The buyer saith it is naught, it is naught, and when he goeth his way he rejoiceth"?

But enough on a matter which, after all, must be left to the individual conscience, always supposing a "collector" has one.

Uncertainty and confusion often arise in the mind of purchasers owing to miniature painters of widely different abilities bearing similar names, and sometimes owning the same initials. It is important, therefore, to be able to discriminate in such cases. Thus we shall find three "Arlauds" and an "Artaud," though I suspect the last named is a misprint. It occurs on a miniature shown at Kensington in 1865.

Amongst the early men there represented were two Betts, or Bettes, Thomas and John, probably brothers, though their relationship is really uncertain.

One frequently hears a work described as an enamel by H. Bone. There were two – Henry, the father, a Royal Academician, and Henry Pierce Bone, his son. There were also two grandsons of Henry Bone, viz., W. and C. R., who practised between 1826 and 1851. The latter of these contributed no less than sixty-seven miniatures to the Royal Academy. In 1801 there was also an enamel shown at the Academy by P. J. Bone.

Lawrence Crosse must be distinguished from Richard Crosse, whom he preceded by many years.

As we all know, many good miniatures were painted by Maria, wife of Richard Cosway.

There were two Collins, both admirable miniaturists, but no relation to each other, viz., Samuel, master of Ozias Humphrey, R.A., and Richard Collins, pupil of Jeremiah Meyer, R.A.

Samuel Cooper had an elder and less accomplished brother, Alexander.

Alexander Day must not be confounded with Thomas Day, nor with Edward Dayes, whose wife was also a miniature painter.

William Derby had a son Alfred T. Derby, a miniature painter like his father.

Then we must distinguish between John Dixon, the pupil of Lely, who was made "Keeper of the King's picture closet" by William III.; John Dixon, the mezzotint engraver, and N. Dixon.

The last named was an excellent miniature painter who is well represented in the Buccleuch Collection, although unmentioned in Redgrave's "Dictionary." There were eleven works by him shown at the Winter Exhibition of the Royal Academy in 1879 portraits of the period of the Restoration and somewhat later. In the catalogue of this exhibition Dixon is called Nathaniel; Mr. Goulding, the Duke of Portland's librarian, informs me there is evidence at Welbeck that this artist's Christian name was Nicholas.

There were two Englehearts, viz., George and his less talented nephew, J. C. D.

William Essex had a son William B. Essex, also an enameller.

I find two Ferriers, F. and L., probably father and son, and three Goupeys, Louis, also the brothers Joseph and Bernard.

Mrs. Mary Green was no relation to her contemporary, Robert Green, also a miniaturist.

Richard Gibson, the dwarf, had a daughter, Susan Penelope, and a nephew William, who both followed his profession.

Charles Hayter was eclipsed as a miniature painter by his son, Sir George.

There was a Moses Haughton, or Houghton, an enameller, who had a nephew, also named Moses, a miniaturist.

D. Heins and John Heins, his son, both painted miniatures at Norwich.

Nicholas and Lawrence Hilliard, father and son, are probably often confused.

There are said to be two Hoskins, both John, also father and son.

Two out of the three Hones were miniaturists, viz., Nathaniel, R.A., and his grandson, Horace Hone, A.R.A.

Thomas Hopkins was an enameller, and William Hopkins a miniature painter.

There were several artists of the name of Lens, viz., Bernard Lens, enameller, who had a son Bernard, an engraver, and a grandson (also Bernard), enamel painter to George II.; whilst Andrew Benjamin Lens and Peter Paul Lens, each miniature painters, are assumed to have been sons of the last-named Bernard.

G. M. Moser, R.A., had a nephew an enameller, named Joseph Moser. His daughter Mary was celebrated as a flower painter, but I do not find that she painted miniatures.

The short-lived Richard Newton should be distinguished from Sir William John Newton.

Daniel and John O'Keefe were brothers, and both miniaturists.

Isaac and Peter Oliver were father and son.

Of the two Plimers, Andrew and Nathaniel, brothers, the latter was the inferior artist.

Alexander Pope, the poet, was an industrious amateur artist; but there was another Alexander Pope, an Irish miniature painter, who exhibited at the Royal Academy from 1787 to 1821, and who was also an actor; he played at Covent Garden in 1783.

Andrew Robertson, the well-known Scottish miniature painter, had two brothers, of inferior artistic ability to himself; they both had the same initial, namely A, one being Archibald, the other Alexander. There was a Mrs. A. Robertson who also painted miniatures; she was a Miss Saunders, niece of George Saunders the miniature painter. She worked in this country in the early part of the nineteenth century; going to St. Petersburg in 1847, she was elected a member of the Russian Imperial Academy. Two other Robertsons, the brothers Walter and Charles, practised in Dublin at the end of the eighteenth century, the latter excelling in female portraits.

The Petitots, father and son, were both named John.

One of the most familiar names amongst British miniature painters is that of Ross, and Sir William Charles Ross may be said to have been the last of the old school. His father (H. Ross) and mother both painted miniatures. Then there was also an H. Ross, jun., who exhibited at the Academy from 1815 to 1845; a Miss Magdalene Ross, who became Mrs. Edwin Dalton, and exhibited for over twenty years, and finally a Miss Maria Ross.

There were two Sadlers, Thomas of the seventeenth century, and William Sadler, who flourished in the eighteenth century.

I shall mention only two Smiths, both sons of Smith of Derby, viz., Thomas Correggio, the elder and John Raphael Smith.

Two William Sherlocks exhibited miniatures at the Royal Academy in 1803.

Joseph and William Singleton were contemporary exhibitors during the last century.

Of the three Saunders, George L. is the most distinguished; the other two, Joseph and R., were father and son.

Finally, there were three Smarts known as miniaturists, viz., Samuel Paul and the two John Smarts, father and son, besides Anthony Smart and his two daughters.

I shall have something more to say later in this volume about several of the artists whom I have just mentioned, but here I may refer to a miniature painter who may well be placed in a class by herself, for she painted without hands or feet. This lady was a Mrs. Wright, née Sarah Biffin; nothing daunted by her apparently overwhelming physical disabilities, she learnt drawing, and in 1821 was awarded a medal by the Society of Arts.

I am not aware of other miniature painters handicapped as Miss Biffin must have been. But I know of several other artists who have worked without hands, e. g., C. F. Felu, a Belgian painter, who was a familiar figure in the Antwerp Gallery, where he painted for many years, and copied hundreds of the masterpieces therein. He held his palette with his left great toe placed through the orifice in which it is usual to put the thumb, and used the brush with his other foot with astonishing freedom and precision. I remember to have seen him fasten the small metal hooks of his colour box with the utmost ease and celerity. Then there was W. Carter, who, having neither hands nor feet, drew exquisitely with his mouth; and of late years Mr. Bartram Hiles, deprived of his arms by a tramcar accident, has shown what a noble enthusiasm to practise as an artist can enable a man to do.

"First catch your hare," said Mrs. Glass in her immortal cookery-book. And now, the reader having collected miniatures, or being their fortunate possessor by inheritance or otherwise, it is not unimportant to know how to take proper care of them. These delicate works of art are always subject to the attacks of two enemies, and they are insidious enemies, although of widely different natures. The one is sunlight, and the other is damp, which brings mildew and disfigurement in its train.

It is really melancholy to see, as one so often does, the terrible destruction which has been wrought by these two agencies, a destruction the nature and extent of which are, perhaps, only fully realised when one is fortunate enough to come across a work by a fine miniature painter in anything like its pristine condition. I am talking of old miniatures, of course, and have in my mind as I write a portrait, by one of the Olivers, I think, of Henry, Prince of Wales, that I saw in one of those interesting historical exhibitions at the New Gallery; the Stuart it must have been. This miniature was surrounded by many others, ostensibly by the same artists, and by examples of contemporary painters. It doubtless had been kept covered up during the many years it had been painted, and thus had a freshness and vigour which was absolutely startling in comparison with the faded, ghostlike specimens to be seen around. Indeed, it is only when we see a good miniature in anything like its original condition that we can grasp and fully appreciate the strength and beauty of the earlier masters, and admit, without any doubt or qualification, their claim to our admiration.

Take another painter, Nicholas Hilliard. A most prolific artist he would seem to be, judging from the number of examples by him that I have met with; speaking generally, one may say that all his work is marked by flatness in the flesh-painting. This artist was appointed painter of miniatures to Queen Elizabeth, and we are told that he was instructed to paint her royal features without any shadows. My point is that nearly all his work is marked more or less by the same peculiarity. Now this may be the result of a fashion set by the Virgin Queen, and, as imitation is the sincerest form of flattery (and she was very fond of flattery), that may in part account for the frequently ghostlike effect of the faces in Hilliard's work; but my own opinion is that in nearly all of them the carnations have flown, as artists say.

That constant source of mischief – exposure to light – is always to be guarded against. Owners are, it must be said, very careless in such matters. I have seen in the morning-rooms of great houses most valuable miniatures hung on the shutters, or stuck about on a screen, placed perhaps in the embrasure of a window. No doubt the owners like to be surrounded by such things, but they should at least have some consideration for posterity. In such a room as I have spoken of you may perhaps see a case of miniatures hung over the mantelpiece, with a hot chimney behind them. Within my own experience I have known most disastrous results, from that cause alone, in the case of historical miniatures of great value, belonging to a noble owner who shall be nameless.

Turning now to the other great disfigurement which so often besets miniatures – the ravages made by mildew. This, in some instances, can be traced to the fact of cases containing miniatures being hung against a damp wall. Probably the simple expedient of a piece of cork, fastened at each corner on the back of the case, would have proved a safeguard. This would prevent contact with the wall, and allow of a current of air passing up behind. Although the fungus which results from damp is terribly disfiguring, it dies off in time, leaving a yellow stain. This can be removed by a skilful hand and careful treatment, and, in so far, is a less-to-be-dreaded enemy than light, or I should say sunlight. This latter, of course, can be easily guarded against by another simple expedient, which is, either to keep your miniatures locked up in drawers, or, if you must have them on your walls, have a small rod fastened to the top of your case, with a dark curtain on it which you can draw back at pleasure.

But I have heard some collectors say, "My miniatures have never been put against damp walls; they have been kept in cases always, yet they have mildew on them." Well, it must be admitted that this unsightly, objectionable fungus does appear unexpectedly and in the best regulated households. No doubt the germs were there, shut into the case; in due course they have been developed, bringing perplexity and dismay with them.

Miniatures of a comparatively recent type, that is to say upon ivory (as well-informed collectors know, it was not until the early Georgian period that this substance was used to paint on) – miniatures on ivory, I repeat, are subject to curl, warp, and crack; changes of temperature easily affect the thin slices which the artist uses; when one of these splits, as it often does, the only thing to be done is carefully to lay the pieces down on cardboard, joining the edges as skilfully as may be, a task only to be performed satisfactorily by an expert.

The large miniatures by Sir William Ross, Sir W. J. Newton, and R. Thorburn are particularly liable to this mischief, the reason for which is to be found in the practice of these artists in employing several pieces of ivory for one picture.

A large slab, the largest procurable, taken from the circumference of a tusk, rolled flat under great pressure, was laid down by gutta-percha upon a well-seasoned mahogany panel; round this on all sides were laid other strips of ivory, the whole forming a large surface upon which it was possible to paint an elaborate composition, proportionately expensive, (for that, I take it, was the principal incentive to the artist). Such pictures as these represented great labour – for you cannot "wash in colour" on ivory – and being highly finished all over, warranted the artists in asking high prices, and they obtained them.

Other dangers there are, arising from the cupidity excited by the value of these little works, so easily removed, and often in valuable settings. But risks from those who break through and steal are common to all valuables, and owners of property are alive to them. Yet these few words of reminder and caution against pilferers will, I trust, not be deemed out of place.

CHAPTER II

THE ORIGIN OF THE ART

When we come to get a little familiar with old miniatures, to have learned their language, as it were, we shall find that, if they are authentic portraits, they possess, in addition to their high personal interest, other and distinct values as illustrations of art, of history, and of costume. They are, in fact, when genuine and contemporary, precious documents, some of which go back several centuries, and are of great service in reading the history of the past. They have, like other works of art, their definite origins; and so, too, they have their own separate and distinct characteristics, and it is upon these and such-like aspects of the study that I propose now to say a few words.

As in the case of so many arts and religions, it is to the Orient, that cradle of them all, as far as our present knowledge allows us to know, that we must turn our eyes, if we wish to find the earliest source of the practice. There is no doubt whatever that the Egyptian papyri were rubricated, and we may safely conclude that the use of gold, silver, and colour in the ornamentation of MSS. found its way from the valley of the Nile into Greece. Thence Greek artists took it to Rome, and from Rome the use spread throughout Europe.