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Scenes from an Artist's Life
Chapter 23
" In my treasure halls of memory
Lie many precious things,
The records choice and cherished
Of my varied wanderings."
ALLAN PARK PATON
HOW I CAME TO PAINT THE PROVOST-THE PROVOST ON PUNCTUALlTY -THE VIRTUE
OF A CLEAN FACE-MY FIRST PAISLEY PORTRAIT- MY DUNTOCHER PATRONS-BOB
HARDY THE ELOCUTIONIST-BLYTHE JAMIE M'NAB-THE EDITOR PLEADS WITH THE
KNIGHT -HENDERSON, TAIT, AND MOTHERWELL-THE HANGING COMMlTTEE-
KILMARNOCK FRIENDS-BACK AT DANKEITH HOUSE-THE KINDNESS OF ThE KELSO
FAMILY-A WEARY WALK-ON THE OBSERVATORY-THE BEARD MOVEMENT-
ASSESSING THE ATHEIST.
WHATEVER other people might think of my position in society, I felt that I was rising into
respectable patronage. I was proud of it; and on every occasion I felt it a duty to support my patron
in his choice of an artist. Burns tells us how bashful yet how proud he was when he dinner'd wi' a
lord, and he pushed his bonnet a bit up showing more face to the occasion.
My old friend Thomas Morton of Morton Place sent for me one day, and to come quickly. I was
soon in his presence. He shook me kindly by the hand and said, " Man, Hunter, I'm proud; I have a
job for you. I have got Provost Finnie's portrait for you. So, clean yoursel', and awa' down as fast as
you can and see him, and arrange for the time of sitting; everything else is settled. I met him and
David Andrew in the town to-day, and David wished him to sit to a friend of his for his likeness, it
would only cost him seven guineas. I said that I had a friend that would do it as weel for twa. ' Weel'
said the Provost' ' I had some thought o' getting my likeness taken, and I would like it to be a true
resemblance, do it wha like; and since you both have friends, you will likely have specimens.' David
said that he had his ain and his wife's. I said that I had the wife's, my mother's, and John's. So aff
we set to David Andrew's first. The Provost looked at them for a while without saying anything, and
David was telling him that the individual who did his was a Royal Academician. Without a word of
comment, he said, ' Now, Mr Morton, we'll awa' and see your friend's work next.' So they came
here, and whenever the Provost saw your work, he just said, ' Mr Morton, send your artist: as I ken
naething about art, it's a likeness I want. Mr Andrew, yours may be great works of art, but they are
not likenesses; now, every one of these are."'
I went to the Provost as directed. He spoke to the same effect as Mr Morton. Next day at ten
o'clock was the time fixed; and when the hammer of the auld Laigh Kirk clock struck the first stroke
of ten I struck the Provost's door with the knocker. We had our first sitting over before eleven. Ten
next day, and the same with the knocker. His first word this morning was, "You are a very pointed
chap: are you as exact with every sitter I " I answered, "Didn't you say ten ?" " I did, and meant it. I
like to see a man understand the clock. Had you not kept your appointment yesterday, you had not
been here to-day. That's the sort of lesson I give. Many thousand appointments I have had in my
time, and for very few of them have I been behind."
I can now say the same thing. I finished the Provost's portrait. He expressed himself satisfied, and
paid me with pleasure.
I don't think that I was ony waur than other shoemakers for appearing with a dirty face; yet it was
strange that a clean face was often noted in my hearing as a means of elevation in society. I met
John Morton (Young John as he was named), Thomas Morton's old son, one night on the Firs Brae.
He was going to the Coffee-Room, clean and dressed, after his work was done. I was remarking
that it was because his father held position in the town that he was admitted there. " Not at all,"
said he; " it is because I pay two guineas a year. Were you to pay that, they would admit
you also; but you would require to wash your face before you went. I'll tell you what it is, Hunter: to
begin to rise in the world is a simple thing, and within the reach of every man." " And how would
you advise preparation for a start ?" " Wash your face and keep a clean tongue in your head; then
you are fit for any society."
I never was more struck with any lecture. I looked in his face and said, "Thank you, Johnny; I'll awa'
hame and wash my face."
One day shortly after that, Dr Borland sent up the boy, John Ferguson, with a pointed message to
wash my face clean and dress myself, and come down and be introduced to a gentleman from
Paisley. The face was clean when John came. I put on my coat and hat, and went with the apron
on. I met the Doctor and Mr William Hunter, tobacconist, from Paisley, to whom I was introduced.
He had seen the likenesses of the Doctor's father and mother and the Doctor's own. He had
mentioned that he was going to get his mother-in-law's portrait painted by an artist who was at that
time in Paisley. The Doctor proposed that Mr Hunter should patronise me, being a namesake.He
readily did so. Time was arranged; and one frosty morning I started with the canvas below my arm,
taking a twenty-one mile walk on foot, with great hope ahead. When I passed the Shaw Brig on the
auld road to Stewarton, the clear morning was obscured by a dark sky coming ower frae Arran airt.
It had all the appearanee of a total eclipse. Snow came scowring through the air, with a tremendous
rushing wind. I sat down in the ditch on the lee side of the hedge; and in ten minutes the snow lay
four inches on the ground. I sat in the midst of this upper gloom and white under-world with my face
toward Paisley, never once deigning to look back. It cleared again, and I made for the road. It was
not so easy travelling now -a shorter step and more of them. When I was near to Stewarton,
another snow shower of the same shape, still with my face to Paisley. I outsat this one also. It
broke up a beautiful day; and in safety I arrived in Paisley about midday. I called on Mr Hunter, was
kindly received by him; then taken down to Niddry Street and introduced to Mrs Ross, his mother-in-
law. She was a motherly woman; and the likeness I painted of her was a great success.
This was the first portrait in Paisley painted by me. At that time there were no fewer than nine
portrait painters in Paisley, all employed.
Mr Hunter was not long in sending for me after my return home. He had looked out patronage for
me in Duntocher. The dream of the past in those places cannot be written. Hope had a root. I
painted seventeen portraits in three houses in Duntocher, and had a home in each of them-Dr
Pender's, Mr Steven Wallace's, a native of Fenwick, who was clerk with Mr Dunn of Duntocher, and
Mr James Templeton's, a native of Auchinleck in Ayrshire. I have a melancholy pleasure in looking
toward the place when I pass down Clyde. They are all dead who then in Duntocher gave me a
home in their houses and brightened my home in Kilmarnock.
I had painted the portrait of Thos. Nisbet, currier in Kimarnock, and his wife. He handed me on to
Glasgow, there to paint the portrait of William Armstrong, leather merchant, Nelson Street, his wife
and two daughters. I was actually beginning to think that the world was growing bigger.
I was rapid at painting then, although sometimes rapidity is not altogether safe. I recollect when
under the patronage of Dr Borland in Kilmarnock I was painting the portrait of Mr James Simpson,
lecturer in mathematics in the University of Cambridge. Two gentlemen were introduced. They both
stood behind me when I was working. One of them, in finely measured language and a powerful
sonorous voice, said, " Sir, you have a free sweeping way of handling your brush; it's a great pity
but you knew as well where to lay it down." I looked over my shoulder at him, and said that he was
right. If I could lay down the brush with the same surety as he had laid down his speech, I would be
pleased. This was Bob Hardy alias Bardolph, elocutionist, from Glasgow; the other was " blythe
Jamie M'Nab," who was for the term of thirty-six years connected with the Glasgow Herald
newspaper in the days of Samuel Hunter. With both these gentlemen my acquaintance began in
the shop of Mr George Kirkhope, shoe manufacturer; and it continued on friendly, and I may add
brotherly, terms till their deaths.
Bardolph wrote an essay on art, artists and their difficulties, where I was taken as the hero of his
story; and James M'Nab published it in the columns of the Glasgow Constitutional on the 16th
January, 1841. Once in Glasgow at a public dinner blythe Jamie introduced me to a number of his
friends as an artist worthy of patronage. One of them, a titled gentleman, he named me to as
worthy of his patronage. The great man said he had seen my work and liked it well. Jamie urged
him to sit for his portrait, saying, " What a lift it would give him in society !" " O," said he, " I have
my portrait already." " Yes; but you have not your portrait by the Kilmarnock cobbler." His honour
said, " I'm going in to dine." " So am I," said blythe Jamie; " but it 'll no do to let the guts get a'."
"You must notice him in the paper, Mr M'Nab." "I ha'e done that already, and said that muckle
about him that I dinna ken what to say next; but weans canna eat newspaper paragraphs. Come
the morn, Hunter, and begin to my portrait."
The argument in my behalf and in behalf of the weans, and the tone in which the order was given,
made blythe Jamie look liker Sir James than the other did. Yet it was a knight with whom he
wrestled for patronage; and when beat, he gave his order like a man; and as such he holds his
place in my memory.
Poor Bardolph ! I made him a pair of doubled-soled boots to keep his feet from damp when in his
last illness. I went each night and brought him hanging on my arm from his own house to the
Baronial Hall in Gorbals, when he delivered to our class a course of lectures on English literature.
He was far through in health; and after the lectures I took him home.
I, along with other three directors of the Gorbals Popular Institution and the Shakespeare Club,
conveyed Bardolph to his last resting place in the Southern Necropolis.
I mind one day coming down Albion Street in Glasgow along with James M'Nab. He gave me a
toueh with his elbow, saying, " Look at yon three gentlemen; tak' a guid look at them, for you'll no see
them long. That long ane is Andrew Henderson, portrait painter; that little black-a-viced ane is John
Tait of the Liberator newspaper; and that fair-haired ane is Willie Motherwell the poet."
Jamie was right: it wasna long till they were a' in the Necropolis. Andrew Henderson was the first
person who entered it.
In 1836, I took a strong desire to have a portrait in the Glasgow Exhibition. I requested Mr
Jamieson, the teacher in Kilmarnock Academy, to sit for his portrait for that purpose. He was a
jolly, fine looking old gentleman, altogether a model for an exhibition specimen. He had a jolly face,
a white head, and wore a red undervest, such as Sir Henry Raeburn often introduced in portraits of
old gentlemen. I finished and carried in the portrait to the rooms in Buchanan Street. I have their
scurvy line of rejection beside me yet: " The committee find it inexpedient to accept the work of art
offered." The committee had, in my estimation, a shabby appearance from that time till now, a
period of thirty-one years.
I began to think that perhaps I should have offered them some to pick and wale on. So next year I
carried up three, and had the mortification of carrying them back again. I question if the best of the
rejectors were as earnest to be worthy as I was, and I have always found the best lessons given by
contrast. Hard, meagre and barren of all charity is that gourmand for personal fame who would
thatch the walls of a gallery with his own art and cut the hopes of an honest aspirant by rejecting
his every effort. I have never seen a work of art so ridiculous but it was worthy of a place, however
humble: first, to allow the artist a chance of weighing his weakness, and, secondly, to let the public
see what a length of road there is to travel from the ridiculous to the sublime.
In my struggles uphill I have always had sunshine to accompany me on my journey. The inward joy
arising out of respectable patronage gave strength both to do and dare more. After I became
professional there were no fewer than fourteen rent days came round, each at the end of six months.
I could not see where the rent was to come from when the day came; and what to myself seemed
miraculous was that on each occasion I had a pair of portraits to do the week after. My faith grew
strong in the good time coming, yet I never allowed it to come without making every exertion to bring
it. Little would some of my patrons think at that time that thirty-five years after I would be sitting in
Glasgow with a grey head and grey beard writing the remembrance of their kindness.
The names of Anderson, M'Gregor and Merry of the Townhead Printwork alway appear in my mind
as if a halo of light surrounded them. I painted the portrait of Peter M'Gregor and his wife, John
Anderson, his wife and daughter, John Merry's father and mother; and for each of them I painted a
view of the works by the banks of the Kilmarnock water at the Townhead and for each a view of the
Dean castle. I really felt as if a firmness was given to my step when I walked on the street; and
often were their names mentioned to strangers as patrons of taste and standing in society.
After I was at Eglinton I was invited at Dankeith to paint the portraits of John and Archibald Kelso,
sons of Mr Kelso of Sauchrie. What pride to be employed as an artist in the house where I used to
herd and run messages ! I did my best to be worthy of further patronage through their friends. And
when the two portraits were taken to the drawing room, and out of my hearing decided on, I was
called on to appear before a select group, and Colonel Kelso, my old friend, though very frail,
requested me to come and sit down by him on the sofa. He clapped me on the back kindly, and
with the tear in his eye, said, " Jock, I'm proud of you." Miss Helen Kelso put the first question. "
Jock, are you prepared to go to London ? " " No, mem." " But I mean are you willing to go, so being
that any person or party were willing to send you?" I had often thought over Sir John Shaw's
kindness, yet never could see how it were possible to leave the family and have peace of mind by
taking such a step. However, a home feeling gleamed on my mind when the proposal came from
this source. I answered,
" Upon conditions." " What conditions would you name ?" " The care of my family to whoever might
send me there, with sufficient to take me there, keep me there for six months, and bring me back."
Old Miss Kelso of Frankville stepped forward, and in a dignified manner said, "All that is already
considered. What we now propose has been done before for young men, who returned to their
friends only to disappoint them, losing time, being deficient in talent, and were lost for good by
being put in a false position. Now, there can be no such risk with you. You have already a, trade by
which you can live, and you, without teaching, have done what has given each of us great
satisfaction; we have resolved, should you accept of it, to do all that you have named. It will be a
trifle to each of us, and it gives you a chance of going higher in art than ever you can do by personal
plodding."
This group of ladies and gentlemen before whom I was convened consisted of old Colonel Kelso of
Dankeith, Mrs Kelso, young Colonel Kelso, Mr Fleming of Barrochan, Mr Alexander Hunter, W.S.,
of Edinburgh, one of the Hunters of Doonholm, and the two lady speakers.
I was making mental arrangements as to how I would proceed in this affair, when a break in the
chain took place. Old Colonel Kelso died that day week. His old lady was long ill afterwards. Old
Miss Kelso, who made the speeeh, turned ill and died; and Miss Kelso, who spoke the preface,
was long ill. Mr Fleming is dead. The young Colonel is dead; but before he died I had the pleasure
of painting his, portrait. Mr Alexander Hunter is dead. They are all dead who thus joined in purpose
to give me a lift. The remembrance of the kind intention remains with me, and is thus recorded to
you, showing that earnestness of character is sympathised with, although we may not always be
able to seize on every offer: and withal it may better as it is. To accept of every good, so far as we
can see, and be satisfied when we have done our best in every work entrusted to us, is the only
sure way to be happy as we pass along the road of life. We only go once; and to take as much
good out of the journey as we can use is what will stand worthy at the end.
The shoemaking still was felt to be the foundation-stone of independenee. When a run of portraits
failed, the seat was brought out from below the bed and welcomed with a verse of song-
" Is there, for honest poverty
Wha hangs his head, an' a' that ?"
While working at the shoes, great schemes for rising were ever in view; and when really engaged in
the great work, the charm was never equal to the ideal.
Once I had been at Glasgow, and beat off in securing a job at painting. I had walked to weariness
before I started for Kilmarnock ; and at six o'clock at night I left the Broomielaw Bridge and made for
the moor. It was a long road; but a home at the end of any journey is a sacred feeling, and gives
new strength even to exhaustion. I reached Mearns at the gloamin', and meeting with John Hall, one
of the partners of the Wellmeadow Printfield, I had a rest, a crack, and a convoy on to the moor.
We parted for the last time. He said that his prospects were blacker to go back to than mine were
to go forward to. I had looked apon John as a model man. This told a tale of trouble, being where I
least expected to find it. I forgot my own care thinking of John, and wearily plodded home through
the darkness of night, foot-sore, heart-weary, and resolving never to be found more than five miles
from Kilmarnock again. I sent down to Messrs Clarks' shop for work, and began.
The pleasures of hope were growing outside, though for six weeks I had not been on the street. It
was now the middle of April; the weather was beautiful. I thought that if I had a view of the country
from the top of Morton's, Observatory the mind would be refreshed and invigorated. When I reached
the top my head grew light. I rested and looked every airt. The larks were singing: there seemed a
gladness in the outer world. I saw the harrows at work on the farm of Bonnyton. It came into my
mind that seed had been sown, and this was part of the process before the crop could be reaped. I
also had harrowed when young wi' hackit legs and feet, and thought were I freed from that anything
else would be pleasure. The beauty of the harrows to-day is,that I am not driving them. I here again reasoned that I had been sowing a crop in art, and had like a coward retired from the harrowing. We must take the sour with the sweet. I came down from the lofty position, with the old resolve shaken to bits, and a new scheme in art worthy of an old master.
Whenever I had retired from the world for a time, I thought that some step equal to the halt was necessary. I now allowed my beard to grow, that in that guise I might have a portrait of myself to astonish the world. There was no breadth of beard movement among the natives at that time. Tammy Raeburn, three miles aboon the town, and John Mill, at Old Rome, three miles below the town, and myself in the middle, laid the foundation of the beard movement. It was in few hands, or rather on few faces; and our friends measured our intellects by the length of the beard. I was silly daft ! John Mill hurly daft ! ! Tammy Raeburn hopelessly daft ! ! !
By way of illustration in my own case: I was standing at the head of the Strand one day talking with William Connel. When I left him a window was flung up, and a woman inquired at William who yon was that was talking with him ? He said that it was Hunter. " What's wrang wi' his face, William?" "O, poor man, he's gane crazy, and he is allowing his beard to grow." "Ah, weel, William, I was gaun to live but-and-ben wi' him; but I'll send Johnny out to gi'e up the house, for I'll no live beside a daft man if I can help it." "You would be a fool if you did," said William.
Next day Williarn was going to assist a servant girl to tie her chest, and for that purpose he was running with the rope in his hand. William had never been seen to run before, and his hurry caught the eye of the same woman who had made inquiry about me the night before. Up went the window again, and she shouted, "William! William! what's wrang that ye are running wi' a rape?" William replied, "O woman, it's yon man that's turned quite outrageous, and we are gaun to tie him;" and William set on full speed to tie the chest. As the window went down, the decent woman said, " I'll no wait a minute langer, but I'll awa' to William Steen this moment;" and she started for Loanfoot. She reached the door, looked ben to the kitchen,-William Steen was sitting at the fireside,-and she shouts ben, " William, you can set your house to wha you like, for I'm no gaun to live but-and-ben wi' a daft man. " " Wha's daft noo ? " quo William " Yon man Hunter, the shoemaker. He's running up and down the town wi' a lang beard." "His beard will be unco lang, " quo William, " if it come ben to your house to disturb you." "That's a' very true, William; but I'm no gaun to ha'e my weans frighted wi' a daft man. " " When turned he daft ? " inquired William. " I dinna ken, but I saw Will Connel running wi' a rape to tie him wi' when I cam' awa'." "I saw him yesterday," quo William, "and he wasna sae daft like then as what thou's the day." " That may be true, William, but you can set your house to wha you like for me." "Will there be any of the rape left?" inquired William. "Idinna ken; but what about that?" " Awa' hame, and see if there be as muckle left as tie thee to the chimley lug. "
This was rather a good finish for a joke at the expense of my beard.
When it was sixteen weeks old, I set up the mirror one Monday morning, and when Saturday night came I had the portrait finished and twelve pair of shoes made. It hangs for nearly the last thirty years in the Water Wynd, Paisley. How it came to be there, will appear afterwards.
About this time the papers were served on the town for poor rates. In the land where I lived the rest of the tenants were assessed at ls 9d, while I was assessed at 5s 9d. This was a grand affair among the neighbours. The wives were looking at the affair in various lights. The landlady happened to make her appearance, and some of the wives made the case known to her, and thought that it was a great shame to seek sae muckle frae a man wi' sae mony weans. The landlady looked at the address, and putting on her spectacles, she says loudly and boldly, " I see how it is, it's because that ye're an ATHEIST; see, there it's written on the back o' the letter as plain as pen and ink can make it, A-r-t-i-s-t. That's the reason, and it's quite right that you should pay mair than the rest if that's the case."that I am not driving them. I here again reasoned that I had been sowing a crop in art, and had like a coward retired from the harrowing. We must take the sour with the sweet. I came down from the lofty position, with the old resolve shaken to bits, and a new scheme in art worthy of an old master.
Whenever I had retired from the world for a time, I thought that some step equal to the halt was necessary. I now allowed my beard to grow, that in that guise I might have a portrait of myself to astonish the world. There was no breadth of beard movement among the natives at that time. Tammy Raeburn, three miles aboon the town, and John Mill, at Old Rome, three miles below the town, and myself in the middle, laid the foundation of the beard movement. It was in few hands, or rather on few faces; and our friends measured our intellects by the length of the beard. I was silly daft ! John Mill hurly daft ! ! Tammy Raeburn hopelessly daft ! ! !
By way of illustration in my own case: I was standing at the head of the Strand one day talking with William Connel. When I left him a window was flung up, and a woman inquired at William who yon was that was talking with him ? He said that it was Hunter. " What's wrang wi' his face, William?" "O, poor man, he's gane crazy, and he is allowing his beard to grow." "Ah, weel, William, I was gaun to live but-and-ben wi' him; but I'll send Johnny out to gi'e up the house, for I'll no live beside a daft man if I can help it." "You would be a fool if you did," said William.
Next day Williarn was going to assist a servant girl to tie her chest, and for that purpose he was running with the rope in his hand. William had never been seen to run before, and his hurry caught the eye of the same woman who had made inquiry about me the night before. Up went the window again, and she shouted, "William! William! what's wrang that ye are running wi' a rape?" William replied, "O woman, it's yon man that's turned quite outrageous, and we are gaun to tie him;" and William set on full speed to tie the chest. As the window went down, the decent woman said, " I'll no wait a minute langer, but I'll awa' to William Steen this moment;" and she started for Loanfoot. She reached the door, looked ben to the kitchen,-William Steen was sitting at the fireside,-and she shouts ben, " William, you can set your house to wha you like, for I'm no gaun to live but-and-ben wi' a daft man. " " Wha's daft noo ? " quo William " Yon man Hunter, the shoemaker. He's running up and down the town wi' a lang beard." "His beard will be unco lang, " quo William, " if it come ben to your house to disturb you." "That's a' very true, William; but I'm no gaun to ha'e my weans frighted wi' a daft man. " " When turned he daft ? " inquired William. " I dinna ken, but I saw Will Connel running wi' a rape to tie him wi' when I cam' awa'." "I saw him yesterday," quo William, "and he wasna sae daft like then as what thou's the day." " That may be true, William, but you can set your house to wha you like for me." "Will there be any of the rape left?" inquired William. "Idinna ken; but what about that?" " Awa' hame, and see if there be as muckle left as tie thee to the chimley lug. "
This was rather a good finish for a joke at the expense of my beard.
When it was sixteen weeks old, I set up the mirror one Monday morning, and when Saturday night came I had the portrait finished and twelve pair of shoes made. It hangs for nearly the last thirty years in the Water Wynd, Paisley. How it came to be there, will appear afterwards.
About this time the papers were served on the town for poor rates. In the land where I lived the rest of the tenants were assessed at ls 9d, while I was assessed at 5s 9d. This was a grand affair among the neighbours. The wives were looking at the affair in various lights. The landlady happened to make her appearance, and some of the wives made the case known to her, and thought that it was a great shame to seek sae muckle frae a man wi' sae mony weans. The landlady looked at the address, and putting on her spectacles, she says loudly and boldly, " I see how it is, it's because that ye're an ATHEIST; see, there it's written on the back o' the letter as plain as pen and ink can make it, A-r-t-i-s-t. That's the reason, and it's quite right that you should pay mair than the rest if that's the case." I appealed by writing; I did not attend the court. However, Tam Brown told them that he wished me to come along with him, but I said that I had to work to get a dinner to the weans. Bailie Geddes said that it was a shame to tax a man with such a family. They might be thankful that I did not appeal for help. So I was exempted.