Читать книгу The Life of Sir William Quiller Orchardson - Hilda Orchardson Gray - Страница 3

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This book is not a treatise on art but a record of an artist’s life. If I have succeeded in showing how beautiful that life was, how loving and sincere, I shall have attained my object. And if I mention myself too often I can only apologize by saying that it is almost impossible to write of the hero without something of the hero-worshipper appearing.

I would not have dared to attempt it had it not been for my Mother’s wish expressed in her will, as well as many times in her lifetime, and for her bequest of all her letters and diaries. Her sincere belief that I could do it satisfactorily has given me courage, and her diaries, etc., have given me much information, much, that is, compared with my own, but meagre compared with what one could wish. It has taken me years to write this “Life”—on a backveld farm where one is housemaid, nursemaid, cook, dressmaker and governess besides mother and wife. One is often too tired to think clearly, and quite too tired to hold a pen; half an hour a day uninterrupted is a luxury. So if this book is disconnected and incoherent I shall not be surprised, though very sorry and humble and apologetic. Indeed I feel that I should not have attempted it under such circumstances and with not a breath of art or beauty near—but needs must when a great love drives.

The last photograph of my father, in the studio, shows the worn-out body with the beautiful indomitable soul still there and energetically directing the frail hand in its last work—he had promised the portrait for the R.A. that year and he kept his promise—as always. The last signature was on the “Abbey” and, with the missing “r” in the middle, testifies to the feeble hand that could no longer write though it could still paint. How impossible to believe that a soul, a spirit so great, could ever die, though it must change its habitat.

After his death my Mother received many “beautiful” letters, as she called them, praising the beauty of his life. Dr Rainsford Gill who attended him for many years wrote: “His was one of the most beautiful lives I have ever known.” Miss Henriette Corkran wrote: “A sweet spirit, a beautiful spirit”; her sister: “Great artist, great soul and most lovely spirit.”

Others wrote: “Not only genius but loftiness of character and nobility of life.” “Great Artist and sincerest friend.” “A persuasive individuality.” “All who knew him loved him.” “He not only painted beautiful pictures but he possessed an even more beautiful soul.”

“He never could grow old”—all those who saw him even just before he died found him as lively and witty as ever. He even gave an interview (an occupation he did not like) shortly before his death, and the interviewer wrote of his liveliness and of “the voice that had a blessing in it.”

Arthur Gilbey, who sat for “The Young Duke” and “Her Mother’s Voice,” wrote: “I always came away from the sittings having learnt something from Sir William’s delightful conversation.” Many of his friendships began with portrait sittings.

The Prince of Wales (King George V) said in his speech at the R.A. Banquet: “Sir William Quiller Orchardson had been a member of the R.A. for thirty-three years.... I look back with pleasure to the sittings I gave him twelve years ago for the picture of the ‘Four Generations.’ ”

These words of praise and many more helped my Mother to bear her loss, an immense one, for they were lovers still. If he was great in mind, she was his equal in greatness of soul—a sympathetic greatness perhaps—and her gentle influence over him is difficult to estimate. Years ago, in ’91, Mr Orchar had written to her: “Mind, you have the charge of a great artist, but I am sure you can be trusted to take great care of him.”

Towards the end he lived a very retired life, loving privacy and friends, and I think the Great General Public began to forget him a little. Not so artists and real art-lovers, both at home and abroad—to them he was the outstanding genius of his time, the Old Master, and they raised a monument to him in St. Paul’s Cathedral.

“The artist is the man’s double; the style is a perfectly natural evolution from a chastening self-discipline and an exquisite sense of refinement.”^[1] That is just the man, stern self-discipline and an exquisite sense of right and beauty.

I give grateful thanks to my sisters-in-law, Mrs M. P. Andrews (née Shah Gray) and Miss Leila Gray for their first sorting of my Mother’s papers, and particularly to Mrs Andrews, and Mrs. Baird for copyright collecting; to W. D. McKay, R.S.A. (now dead), and Mrs Ford (“Chattie”), for their help about my Father’s early life; and to my uncle C. F. Moxon and many old friends and acquaintances for so kindly answering my letters of enquiry, even when they were unable to answer my questions.

Mrs Andrews has kindly made most careful enquiries for me about Monsieur Gauchez’s heirs but can find none. As he himself mentions in one of his letters that he is the “last of his race,” I have ventured to include some of his many letters to my Father; they not merely give Monsieur Gauchez’s views but reflect my Father’s, and are in fact my only means of knowing and recording their long conversations. I am absolutely certain that Monsieur Gauchez, were he alive, would give me every help in his power to honour his “so great friend ‘le maître’ Orchardson.”

If I have quoted anything “out of order” and without permission I crave forgiveness; distance lends enchantment but also adds difficulties.

H. Orchardson Gray.

Wolvehoek, O.F.S.P.,

S. Africa.

[1] E. Pennington.