Читать книгу The Life of Sir William Quiller Orchardson - Hilda Orchardson Gray - Страница 26

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My Father told me that in his early youth he fully intended to be an explorer and that he read every book on exploration that he could get hold of. He read every newspaper, too, and any new discovery caused him a “pang,” he said, for it meant so much less for him to discover.

“And what made you give up exploration?”

“Oh! well! I had to paint, you know. I had no choice in the matter; it was really rather curious, I chose to explore, yet I had to paint. You see, there are some things one must do.”

Apparently he tried writing, too, and, it would seem, started a story with Rudolf as hero, who lived in a “house which from its general appearance might be judged to embody the quaint, the picturesque and the uncomfortable; if this was the intention, it succeeded to a miracle.” “The one window of Rudolf’s apartment” was in one of the turrets, and he was pensive, but what about does not appear.

To an unknown:

“You have escaped, I believe, from that unpronounceable wilderness you so pathetically describe in your last. How do you like solitude? Not at all, I suppose; the vegetable existence of a recluse is ill-adapted to one of your constitution.

“I can fancy you seated on the rocky shore not exactly like patience on a monument but more like unto the last woman mourning over the final extinction of the race and weeping a very flood of briny tears into the advancing tide in the desperate hope of another deluge. How you must have rejoiced in a return to the haunts of man, the [?] of small talk and that sweet delightful but judicious system of flirtation, the account of which made such an impression on my inexperience.

“You will have heard all about our picnics; that to the [?] was a great success, the company harmonious, the dinner excellent, the beer abundant and the fiddler sober. We dined alfresco under the greenwood tree and danced like fairies on the lawn, that is to say fairies in so far none of us got mortal. We had a monstrous kettle suspended gipsy fashion on three sticks, a triumph of skill and a fountain of consolation. The dishes were washed most picturesquely, being thrown into the river, while the men with coats off and sleeves turned up fished for them from the bank, and hanging spanging (?) out desperately as they floated past.”

Another scrap of letter:

“I fear I have forfeited all hope of enjoying that place in your good graces I would most desire. How I contrived in so short a space of time to commit so many offences is even now a mystery. You will, of course, consider me as the worst of men, and in that persuasion I consider myself the most unfortunate, and shall be, in the absence of your forgiveness, the most miserable.

“I owe both Mr [?] and yourself, especially, an apology. On arriving at the station, fiery red with haste, conceive and pity the sinking of heart I experienced on finding myself just in time to be too late. The Fates in serving me so scurvy a trick may have wished to spare the tears I should undoubtedly have shed.”

The following seems to be notes for a speech at the opening of some Scottish Art Exhibition:

“Of its success none of us I presume entertain the slightest doubt, and its nationality is indeed part of ourselves, and can only cease with that of our country. Not only are the best pictures themselves intensely Scotch, but what is perhaps better, the worst ones are even more so.

“Of course, the existence of a Scottish school of art, in the bleak region of the north here, is scarcely understood over the border. In fact we are too far north here, and have not yet come within the range of the Cockney telescope, their notion of art here being somewhat on a par with the very concrete conception of an abstract Scotchman—one who lives savagely in red hair and horrid tartan....

“Many things tend towards this want of stability as a school, we are not true to ourselves and are never concentred; our forces are dispersed, adventurers in other ranks....

“That old alderman of cities that sits by the Thames is in the daily habit of swallowing large doses of Scotchmen, a bitter draught but an excellent tonic, and the salvation of the patient. The old gentleman has a wonderful digestion and assimilates all sorts of food....

“Why should such men confine their ambition to [?] why export their glory to illumine the purlieus of Trafalgar Square for the consolation of the Cockney’s best? There are lots more where they came from, and we can always afford them a supply sufficient to keep the name of [?] respectable....

“And Scottish artists from W. Club inclusive will be claimed for the English school as coolly as if their cradles had swung to the chimes of Bow Bells.”

Tom Graham and John MacWhirter were amongst his great friends; and Charles Gold, now Sir Charles, cousin and partner of the Gilbey’s (wine merchants), not an artist friend, so I take it that they were what might be called “highjinks friends,” for I gather they had lively times together. Sir Charles Gold wrote in April 1910: “Orchardson and I knew the same people and used to meet each other three or four nights a week. We used also to ride, fence and take long walks together when we were both young and active. I can scarcely believe that those days are fifty years ago!”

But John Pettie was his greatest friend and remained so till his death.

About 1859 or 1860 Orchardson went to Holland and Germany; he sailed from Leith in rough weather which he much enjoyed, although a bad sailor in after life. He landed at Rotterdam, if I remember his telling rightly, and from there went to the Hague and Amsterdam. He was much struck by the cleanliness of the streets, and often laughed at the recollection of the quarrels between the housemaids and the police over the washing of the outsides of the houses; he remembered very well being more or less drenched in the early morning by the energetic housemaids.

He told me he considered that the Dutch people had a right to their country such as no other people could claim to any country, in as much as they had won and kept it from the sea by their own industry, and he thought the little dyke boy a type of the stamina of the people. Of their art he could hardly think too highly, he said; Van Dyck very beautiful and fine, Rubens magnificent but coarse, and Rembrandt almost beyond praise, second only to Titian.

From Holland he went to Germany, travelling up the Rhine I think from the way he spoke of the curious view of the country down below one. Of his travels in Germany I can find no records at all; but he must have been to Heidelberg, as in 1860 he exhibited a picture at the Royal Academy called “Under the Vine—Heidelberg” with the note “in collaboration with J. MacWhirter.” I wonder if Mr MacWhirter joined him there?

And the following letter attests that he was in Dresden; beyond this I can find nothing, although it must have been an important time of learning.

67 Great King Street,

Edinburgh.

[About 1861-62.]

Dear Sir,

In Dresden, when enjoying the pleasure and advantage of your society, I casually volunteered to fill a vacant page in Miss Belcher’s Album.

Miss Belcher probably may not recollect a circumstance so trifling, but those who promise have not the same right to forget. May I therefore hope that, kindly permitting me to redeem my word, you will present the enclosed sketches with my best compliments.

If not presuming too far on our slight acquaintance I would beg you to make my most respectful compliments to Mrs Belcher, and

Believe me, dear sir,

Your most obedient servant,

W. Q. Orchardson.

In response to a letter of the Lord Provost of Edinburgh calling for the formation of volunteer companies, a meeting was held on August 4th, 1859. My Father joined and attended regularly. “With Hugh Cameron he had much to do with the designing of the Artists’ company’s uniform, which was rather different from the others.” He never became an officer, not even a non-com.; “indeed, few of those who took a leading part in the formation of the company became officers.” Orchardson was in the second detachment for gun drill, which was carried on at the Corn Exchange, Grass Market.^[1]

Photo T. & R. Annan

MISS MOXON (LADY ORCHARDSON), 1872

By kind permission of the Edinburgh National Gallery.

A tale is attached to this gun drill. My Father was very proud of the skill of his old corps, who knocked out the Regulars’ target in five rounds, and was perhaps a little disdainful of the Regulars, but on considering the point, decided that after all the Volunteers had the better chance, being men of education and training; and as most of them were artists, their eyes, of course, were the most highly trained possible. Here is the little tale contained in the remains of a letter I have found from W. Q. O. to I do not know whom; it has neither beginning nor end; crossed letters, by the way, were his pet aversion, he could not read them, and considered it very rude to give your correspondent so much trouble:

“I have just received your letter, and did I ever say anything against the famous invention of crossing? If so it must have been a case of ‘sour grapes,’ for I am so delighted with this specimen I could even find it in my heart to wish it crossed once more; you perceive how greedy I am, but so it is. I could never understand about having ‘too much of a good thing’; some people must be more fortunate than I, however, or the idea could scarcely have originated.

“I am glad John^[2] has escaped out of the Duke’s county; I hope he is doing a [illegible] for the neighbouring McCallum More. I shall start for Arran on Tuesday, and if you are as good as your word, which couldn’t be better, we shall greet^[3] upon the landing-place (I don’t mean in the Scotch sense) unless you close this. He—John—made friends with the [illegible] and thinks he is clever as nice, yet he is a man with a famous name another made. I have heard of him from McTaggart who is going about here at large again taking up more of the pavement than ever; met him yesterday going to call on Sergeant Tallance.

“Ask John if he has had any military intelligence—let him cock up his back—‘my’ corps has been at ball practice, and Number One has covered itself with glory; five rounds were fired, then the order was given to cease firing for the day—the target had been smashed to ‘smithereens.’ The authorities were rather disconcerted as they had calculated, from what they knew of their own men and officers, the target would have lasted the whole season!

“You call me a ‘bad creature,’ but I am going to be very good, moreover I will call on your Mother and the [illegible] there will be forthcoming, and the coffee will not be forgotten. Nor will I consider either other than a pleasure.

“Your hints about the Highland sermon make me feel rather nervous, and unless you undertake to put me through the catechism beforehand I shall succumb before the first assault. You will be well up yourself by this time and must have derived great benefit therefrom, judging from the expected effect in my case.

“I long to be at Corrie, and am desperately in want of oxygen. I shall enjoy a ramble by the rocks and shore and all those scenes where you have been before.