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G. P. A. HEALY

American Artist

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G. P. A. HEALY

AMERICAN ARTIST

An Intimate Chronicle of the Nineteenth Century

by MARIE DE MARE

Introduction by ELEANOR ROOSEVELT

DAVID McKAY COMPANY, INC. • New York

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THE HILLA VON REBAY FOUNDATION

77 MOKMNGS1DE DRIVE

GREENS FARMS, CONNECTICUT 06436

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 53-11377

MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA VAN REES PRESS • NEW YORK

TO THE MEMORY OF

GEORGE P. A. HEALY and LOUISA HEALY

AND TO

THEIR DESCENDANTS

THIS BOOK

IS LOVINGLY DEDICATED

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

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HOM should I thank first? My grandfather himself, for being a man whose memory remains so vivid? His children, whose active interest, whose help, moral and financial, enabled me years ago to gather inestimable data, the many friends who brought me throughout the long years accounts of his work, of his personality, anecdotes where Healy's life touched theirs ? How can I name them all ? A list too long for these pages . . .

Yet among those innumerable contributors one figure stands out, the friend of a lifetime — young, to me always young, Edward Sheldon, the noted playwright, who, snatched suddenly from the activities of life and from the enjoyment of his brilliant success, spent years in darkness and physical immobility, shedding light and cheer for the privileged ones who could visit him. He proved a constant inspiration for this book, which he liked from its beginning. To him also I owe the invaluable advice and com- mendation of Mr. Van Wyck Brooks, who, after hearing his friend Ned Sheldon speak of the Healy biography, asked to see it and gave me the needed courage to continue a work which my invalidism made at times very arduous.

That the great American, Mrs. Roosevelt, should have written the Introduction is an honor for which words fail me, and it is one of my most cherished memories that even in the terser first version of my book she found bits of sufficient interest to read to our be- loved late President.

With deep gratitude I mention the loan for several summers of the E. R. Mathews' New Hampshire home where I worked at the Healy biography. It has been my good fortune that a

viii ACKNO WLEDGMENTS

lecturer's life took me to many cities on both sides of the Atlantic where Healy's work can be seen.

Illness arrested my travels and personal research, but the kind- ness of correspondents has vastly enriched my store of informa- tion while the care, generosity, and help of family and friends — particularly of vivid and lovable Lila Tyng — enabled me to con- tinue writing in spite of inevitable interruptions. I feel greatly obligated to my faithful secretaries — Miss Copeland, Miss Cos- grove, and Mrs. Queena Hazleton.

From every direction answers came with a wealth of details I could no longer gather personally. In Cambridge, Mr. Henry Longfellow Dana opened his Appleton-Longfellow files.

Boston, where I lectured in 1928-29 yielded data through the Museum of Fine Arts, the Athenaeum, the Boston Library, the Massachusetts Historical Society, where Mr. Tuttle found several Healy letters to Webster; Faneuil Hall's custodian told me that the historian Claude M. Fuess, then working on his

masterly Webster, had found the Healys' address of 18 13

Though the fire of 1872 destroyed many Boston homes, the city no doubt still holds a mass of untouched Healy data.

Here, in New York, the Frick Art Reference Library with its abundant collection of Healy reproductions is the Mecca of my research. For nearly thirty years its charming and able librarians, Miss Ethelwyn Manning and Mrs. Harry Howell, have answered every request I made. I am deeply grateful to Dr. Allan Nevins for his invaluable help and encouragement. At the New York Historical Society, Mr. Shelley gave me excellent photographs of their Healy pictures, among which is the only miniature I ever saw by my grandfather. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, the New York Genealogical and Biographical Society, the rich New York Public Library and its Cathedral Branch were also most helpful. At Mrs. Lamar's gallery, years ago, when she arranged a Healy exhibit, I met a number of Healy owners. Mr. Davidson, of Knoedler's, has most kindly kept me informed of his Healy

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS ix

"finds," among which was the "Peacemakers," brought over from Europe and now at the White House.

In Washington, D. C, the Corcoran Gallery, the Capitol, the White House, and private homes — Mrs. Field's, Mrs. Grant's, Mrs. Robert Lincoln's — showed me long ago that the country's capital held some of Healy's finest work. From Mrs. Edward Pinney I received revealing Healy letters written at the time of the Civil War to Mrs. Goddard-Dahlgren of Washington, D. C.

In 1913, the Chicago Art Institute celebrated with a large ex- hibit the artist's centenary, and in 1943 the Chicago Historical Society showed its own important collection, which, with several loans, made an imposing exhibit. The Healys' residence in Illi- nois from 1855 to 1866 accounts for a great many of these paintings.

In 1930, the J. B. Speed Memorial Museum of Louisville, Ken- tucky, had a well-attended Healy exhibit, and in 1950 an out- standing Healy exhibition was held at the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts. The interest shown by its director, Mr. Leslie Cheek, Jr., has never flagged.

The list of persons to whom I wish to extend thanks is too long, but I must name also my cousin George W. Healy, Jr., of the Times-Picayune, grandson of Thomas Healy, G. P. A.'s younger brother; Miss Herma Clark, of the Chicago Tribune; the artist Julien Binford and his lovely wife; the Most Reverend Arch- bishop of Baltimore; Mr. Menefee, of Louisville, Kentucky; Dr. J. Hall Pleasants, of Baltimore; Miss Anna Wells Rutledge, of the Maryland Historical Society; Mr. Larkin, of Smith College; Miss Alice Kendall, of the Newark, New Jersey, Museum; Miss Fitch, of Nekoosa, Wisconsin; Mr. F. W. Coburn, of Lowell, Massachusetts; Mr. McCorison, of Cambridge, Massachusetts; Mrs. Elizabeth Washburne Wright, of Washington, D. C; the Cleveland Museum, the Virginia Museum of Art, the Charleston Museum; the Sacred Heart Convents of Albany, St. Louis, and Chicago; Mount de Chantal in Wheeling, West Virginia; the

x ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Albany Historical Society; the Newberry Library in Chicago and the Illinois State Hospital in Kankakee. The Versailles Palace and the Blerancourt Art Collection had before this last war a number of Healy paintings.

Special thanks are due to Prince and Princess Alexis Droutskoy, and to Mrs. John Alden Carpenter for their help and encourage- ment; and to the innumerable friends here and abroad, who have enriched by letters and documents the growing mass of informa- tion about G. P. A. Healy.

I am also very grateful to Mr. Thomas Robson Hay, historian, who kindly verified much of the data I had accumulated through- out the years, thus satisfying the publishers that facts presented in the manuscript are actual episodes of the artist's full and varied life.

To all, named and unnamed, I here renew my thanks with the assurance that without their help this book would indeed be poorer, and with the hope that their continued interest will make truer and richer the knowledge of George P. A. Healy, American artist.

This is not "fictional biography." Every incident, date and place has been carefully verified. The conversations, if not always in the exact words are nevertheless true, based on authentic direct reports such as the artist's own letters and other contemporary diaries and letters combined with my personal recollections of him and of the many stories he told as we sat — often unwillingly — for the portraits now so precious to us. Events recalled at various times by my grandmother and her daughters, especially by my mother blessed with a memory, startlingly exact, that brought back vividly that much maligned and amazing XlXth century.

After so many years of extensive research it is impossible to compile a full list of written sources, but, as well as I could, I have indicated where I found them.

Marie de Mare

CONTENTS

Acknowledgments vii

Foreword by Mrs. Eleanor Roosevelt xv

I. "Art claims no citizenship!" 3

II. A boy and his hero 9

III. A studio on Federal Street 14

IV. Tragedy at the Atelier 24 V. Friends, new and old 30

VI. Grosvenor Square 36

VII. English Romance 41

VIII. Audubon In London, 1837 57

IX. The Coronation 66

X. King Louis-Philippe, 1839 76

XI. At Windsor Castle, 1840 84

XII. Back in Paris 88

XIII. At the White House, 1842 95

XIV. The American scene, 1 842-1 844 105 XV. A sitting at the Hermitage, 1845 118

XVI. Henry Clay at Ashland, 1845 129

XVII. John Quincy Adams in Boston, 1845 141

XVIII. An English wife in America 153

XIX. "Webster replying to Hayne" 168

xii CONTENTS

XX. Cultural pioneer 175

XXI. An artist's faith 185

XXII. The Civil War 198

XXIII. War Portraits 206

XXIV. The Captain Falls 212 XXV. Reconstruction 221

XXVI. A French Wedding 230

XXVII. "The Peacemakers" 238

XXVIII. Roman Interlude 242

XXIX. Holocaust in Chicago 255

XXX. Rumania 265

XXXI. A Paris garden, 1873-1892 269

XXXII. Giants on canvas 277

XXXIII. "We sail next month" . . . 1892 286

Index 297

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

PAGE

George P. A. Healy i

Francois Pierre Guillaume Guizot 2

Lord Edward Robert Bulwer-Lytton 3

John C. Calhoun 4

Daniel Webster 4

James G. Blaine 4

William S. Archer 5

William C. Preston 5

Lord Ashburton 5

Lord Richard Bic\erton Pemell Lyons 6

Louis-Philippe 7

Louis A, Thiers 7

Leon Gambetta 7

Charles I — King of Roumania 8

Elizabeth — Queen of Roumania 9

Henry Clay 10

Henry W. Longfellow 10

Leander James McCormic\ 11

Franz Liszt 12

Jenny Lind 73

Cardinal McClos\ey 14

Mrs. Andrew Stevenson 15

Mrs. William T. Sherman 15

Mrs. Stephen A. Douglas 15

Nicholas Jean de Dieu Soult 16

Abraham Lincoln ij

Ulysses Simpson Grant 18

xiii

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

William T. Sherman	'9
Robert E. Lee	J9
"The Peacemakers" — Sherman, Grant, Lincoln and Porter	20
Pierre Gustave Toutant Beauregard	2/
John Quincy Adams	22
Andrew Jackson	22
Martin Van Buren	2J
John Tyler	23
James Buchanan	24
James K. Pol\	25
Millard Fillmore	25
Franklin Pierce	25
Chester A. Arthur	25
George P. A. Healy	26
Mrs. G. P. A. Healy	26
Agnes de Mare and Her Son	26
Tiburce de Mare	27
Marie de Mare	27
Jeanne de Mare	27
The Healy Garden in Paris	28
"The Boating Party on the Thames"	29
Jennie Bryan	30
Emma Thursby	3*
Charles Goodyear, Sr.	32

FOREWORD

X

HIS life of George Peter Alexander Healy, written by his granddaughter, seems to me to have come to us at a very oppor- tune time. We are going through, in this country at present, a period in which men and women need what courage they can muster to meet new conditions. It is, therefore, worth while for us to read of some of the men who made our reputation when we were still a very young country.

To many of us today it would seem that the difficulties in George Healy's path were almost unsurmountable. How could a lad succeed in a country where painters were hardly considered necessary in the absorbing struggle of conquering a new world, educate himself, build up a reputation, support a family, and educate his own countrymen to the point of looking upon art as something for which one might well spend a little money? Yet he never lost heart, and he succeeded in a most extraordinary manner.

There was plenty of incident in his long life; there were trage- dies and comedies, but his joy in his work never waned, and energy such as his can only be drawn from the life of a new country.

Much of his life was spent away from this continent, but his loyalty never faltered, and the democracy that was an ideal of so many of our people in those days made it possible for him to meet people the world over, be interested in human beings primarily whether they were kings or beggars, and treat them all alike with that kindliness and geniality that characterizes his human relationships.

xvi FOREWORD

He was fortunate, indeed, in his wife and family and their understanding and appreciation of his work. They made it easy for him and gave him a sense of background without curtailing his freedom, which would probably have injured his work.

We have so few early American painters that it seems a great loss that we are not more familiar with those who made their mark in the nineteenth century, and this book is worth while, not only as a historical contribution, but also as a story of an interesting, vivid personality.

As this book develops, it tells, of course, the story of the period. It brings in a much wider picture than one would expect the life of an American painter of that period could possibly cover. In its pages one can find the record of many people in many countries so that it should have an appeal not only at home but abroad.

In these days when the United States is finding that we live in a very small world and that from every angle our country is tied to the countries and the peoples of the rest of the world, it is well to find roots beginning to intertwine so many years ago, and a name that should be well known in our own country will have meaning in many other countries.

Eleanor Roosevelt

G. P. A. HEALY

American Artist

"You say a portrait painter has only to copy ? His model is there : all he has to do is to reproduce it? But within the features that outline a physiognomy, the artist must find the soul."

—Eugene Delacroix

Chapter I ART CLAIMS NO CITIZENSHIP

o

NE hundred years after the French Revolution, in April, 1889, the Paris boulevards gay with horse chestnuts in bloom and noisy with a babel of tongues, visitors arrived in shoals for the opening of the great Universal Exposition.

On the Montmartre hill, in the vast high-ceilinged studio of G. P. A. Healy, 64 rue de la Rochefoucauld, the clear spring light vividly flooded a colorful array of pictures. Called upon to help form a committee for the American art section at the exposition, George Healy stood as a symbol of achievement in the world of American art. Interrupted in his work, he had reluctantly set down his palette to listen to an excited and irate compatriot whose words tumbled excitedly.

"Why, Mr. Healy, tell me why your committee chose my two pictures and now informs me they are rejected ?"

"Mr. Parker, you know that only about three hundred of the thousand or more paintings offered can be placed; the jury decided—"

"IVe a good mind to go and tell each member of the jury what I think of him!" And Parker stamped angrily toward the door. Healy followed him.

"Don't do that " The kindly voice caused the visitor to pause

and turn as Healy continued : "You know how much I would like

4 G. P. A. HEALY

to see your work accepted, but there is nothing I can do," and placing his hand on the other's sleeve, he counseled smilingly, "If I were you, I'd just call for my pictures and say nothing."

With a sigh Parker reluctantly agreed.

"I suppose you're right " Dejection succeeded anger as he

walked out of the studio.

Healy listened to the lagging steps going down the stairs. It always pained him to see artists suffer; he would like to let them all in, give them a chance; but the jury found him much too lenient. Those younger men stormed against what they called mediocrity, apt sometimes to label mediocre any painting that did not conform with their own impressionistic ideas.

George Healy liked the new generation of artists; their happy effects of light delighted him who so often regretted that portraits did not give a painter sufficient scope for color. He watched the young men, listened to their arguments; if sometimes he overheard their disrespectful "old G. P. A." or familiar "Pop Healy," he de- tected an affectionate tone in the terms used — he had helped so many of them!

There was young John Sargent — one of the best, whom Healy advised to make art his career. Many others, John Alexander, Blashfield, Ken yon Cox, the ardent young Childe Hassam, showed talent. Most of them already had an appreciative public. It was not in vain that Healy's generation had worked to bring about the recognition of art in America.

George Healy glanced around his studio; that tulip picture he had bought from Hitchcock made a bright splash of vivid yellow ; John L. Brown's horses were spirited, full of life; three canvases by Inness held his eye. Yes, his country had reason for elation ; the space given to the United States at the exposition marked an apex for his century of American art.

Taking up his brushes and palette again, he stepped back from the easel, head tilted, ready to resume work on his canvas, when the sound of a voice arrested him.

ART CLAIMS NO CITIZENSHIP 5

"Monsieur has not forgotten that this is Thursday ?"

"Oh ! I didn't hear you come in Is it time, Isidore ?" As he

spoke, Healy raised his eyes to the handsome Louis XIV clock that always ticked the hours too fast to suit him. It was Thursday, and visitors would soon come trooping in. He submitted to Isi- dore's ministrations and slipped on a fresh black velvet coat in place of the rumpled one he had worn since morning.

Isidore felt a sort of protective devotion toward this American master, quite sure that without his prompting Monsieur would forget all the important things such as meals or visits and the names of prominent people. How young Monsieur Healy still looked with his brown curly hair barely peppered with gray; no one would believe this active, energetic man to be nearly seventy-six !

Healy walked around his studio, changing a canvas here or there, while Isidore quickly dusted and straightened chairs and table.

Voices filled the hall; Healy's daughter, Mary Bigot, came in accompanied by two Frenchmen as dissimilar as could be. One typified the boheme so often depicted in Montmartre with beard, open collar, and arrogant step ; it was Desboutin, painter, engraver, and the inventor of a new process of lithography. Healy greeted him warmly, but soon Desboutin became absorbed in the pictures, shunning the social atmosphere. The other Frenchman was small, natty, and attractive with a humorous mouth and piercing eyes. Jules Lemaitre's literary criticisms were the sensation of the day; his caustic wit could make or blast a book. He went straight to an unfinished portrait of Jules Simon, the noted educator and states- man, and across the studio, while talking to other newcomers, from the corner of his eye Healy watched Lemaitre stop abruptly before the full-length portrait of Lincoln, exclaiming under his breath, "Magnifique! Magnifique!" Mary also saw him and smiled at her father.

Isidore was letting in more people. General Winslow, U. S.

6 G. P. A. HEALY

Commissioner for the exposition, and his wife arrived. Con- versation buzzed. Everyone discussed the new features of this exposition, particularly the fantastic tower of steel erected by Monsieur Eiffel. "A marvel of engineering," said one. "Hideous," protested another, while many praised its slender boldness.

Two sculptors came in, amused by the discussion and the penetrating American voices; Bartholdi immediately joined their group; for over two years his Statue of Liberty had stood on Bedloe Island, the symbol of a new brave world. Barbedienne, a bronze artist, contemporary and friend of George Healy, had some twenty years before cast for him in Rome the nervous magic hands of Liszt and the exquisitely feminine hands of Elisabeth of Rumania. Healy was showing them to his guests, while one of the McCormicks told Bartholdi about their exhibits and those of Bell and Edison.

During a lull, the painter mentioned La Farge' s opaline glass; the beautiful Memorial Window, he felt sure, would win French honors.

"But stained glass is not new," a visitor remarked.

"His is," replied Healy.

Desboutin, ready to leave, interrupted.

"La Farge? La Farge? He's French!"

"His father was," answered his friend, "but John La Farge was born in New York and belongs to us in spirit and citizen- ship."

Desboutin laughed, shrugged, and as he walked to the door, threw out a last challenge:

"Art claims no citizenship!"

Around Healy the visitors now wanted details about many portraits; there was lovely Carmen Sylva, Queen Elisabeth and her handsome Hohenzollern husband Carol I of Rumania, whom Healy had twice visited at Bucharest and Sinaia; Gambetta of the leonine head and magnetic eyes; Thiers, first president of

ART CLAIMS NO CITIZENSHIP 7

the Third Republic, small and round-faced with twinkling eyes and a mouth difficult to paint, said the artist, for it never kept still. On the other wall their archenemy faced them — Bismarck, very Prussian and military, who had told Healy that he was really kindhearted and should have been Pope! Lord Lyons and Lord Lytton, the former in impeccable dress and the latter very hand- some in full ambassadorial regalia, looked out from their can- vases with diplomatic impassivity. There were many American generals — Grant, Sherman, Sheridan, McClellan, and also Beau- regard, painted in New Orleans just before the outbreak of war.

A portrait of the aristocratic-looking Count de Paris recalled Healy's early paintings of and for King Louis Philippe; Cardinal Gibbons' ascetic quality and Archbishop Kenrick's superb por- trait stood out amid the feminine beauties surrounding them; Mrs. Caton, who later would hold salon at Washington as Mrs. Marshall Field; Miss Horsford, charming in pink satin; Mrs. Potter Palmer wearing the latest fashion; the noted singer Emma Thursby, draped and bustled and regal in blue silk and lace. Fingers raised in a blessing, Pope Pius IX seemed to bestow his benign approbation over the heterogeneous gathering.

As the light grew dim, Edith shepherded the remaining guests across the courtyard and garden that led to the Healy home next door at 66 rue de La Rochefoucauld. In passing a portrait of Mattie Mitchell who was soon to marry the Due de La Rouche- foucauld one of the ladies remarked: "How charming! And what a beautifully simple gown!" "Yes," answered her mother, the out- spoken Senator's wife: "That damn simplicity that costs!" Edith

was glad her mother could not hear this remark At her silver

laden tea table, in the white and gold drawing room, Mrs. Healy, short and stout like Queen Victoria, but still pretty and gracious, greeted the guests with pleasure as her eyes sought her husband and seemed to send a comforting message; "They'll soon be gone and you can rest" . . . During their fifty years of marriage she had thus responded to his every mood.

8 G. P. A. HEALY

After tea, when the last guest had departed, George Healy, as was his custom, stretched out on his favorite sofa, let his body relax, and closed his eyes. But sleep eluded him; the committee's wr anglings, the artist's anger at having his paintings rejected, and some absurd remarks about Chicago still rankled. It all seemed

so alien, so ignorant of the growing nation Healy let his

thoughts span the Atlantic. During his last visit home, in Wash- ington, in Chicago, in Boston, many had urged his return to America; the idea was taking root. His mind turned back to Boston and childhood days. His thoughts ceased churning; peace descended; his eyelids grew heavy in complete surrender. A loud snore informed his listening wife that George Healy was asleep.

Chapter II A BOY AND HIS HERO

X

HE Healys of Dublin were descended from Cormac Cas, son of Olliol Olum, King of Munster, and Sabia, daughter of Con, King of Ireland. When the uprising of 1798 broke out in violence, the three sons of the Dublin estate were sent by their father to London — the two older ones to reach the colonies, the youngest, William, only fourteen years old, to find some work in the great city. Each boy had been given forty pounds, the best their father could do in the emergency.

At the East India Company docks, William, a quick, active youth, soon found work, and he must have proved a good sailor, for we find him shortly thereafter in the port of Boston and owner of his own ship.

Corsairs were active in the Mediterranean, and the young cap- tain found himself pursued off the coast of Portugal. He managed to land his crew, blow up his ship, and somehow escape, for we find him next back in Boston, an accepted American citizen and quite a hero, whose portrait the great Gilbert Stuart painted. Boston shipowners liked him, and success seemed to come easily, but the War of 18 12 changed all this. His ship seized by the British and himself their prisoner on the island of Antigua, his prospects were slim, and when an exchange of prisoners brought him back to Boston, the first thing he did was to tell beautiful young Mary Hicks that their marriage must be postponed, since he had nothing to offer. However, the girl would not listen, and even won over her widowed mother. So Captain William Healy

io G. P. A. HEALY

and Mary Hicks were married in the Catholic church of Boston by Reverend Father Matignon on June 22, 1812. The first child, George Peter Alexander Healy, was born July 15, 1813.

While details of the first year of this romantic family life are lacking, an old family Bible indicates the birth of other children in Albany, New York.

Why Albany? Intense research of maritime records have yielded little. But the Albany Historical Society, delving into old directories, found that a William Healy was in the Intelligence Service — a likely occupation for a fighting captain in the Ameri- can Merchant Marine.

The Healy children after Boston-born George were: a brother John born in 18 16; a sister Ann Elizabeth, who for some reason was called Agnes by her brothers born in 1818; another boy, Thomas Cantwell, 1820; and William in 1822; then baby Samuel, born in 1823, lived only a year, by which time the family was back in Boston. In 1825 occurred an incident that remained ever deeply etched into George Peter Alexander Healy's memory. There had been illness. The children recuperated, save George, who limped so that the parents felt the need of doctors' consultation. Called in, the doctors advised amputation, and the mother almost fainted. After they had gone, she came to George's bed and told him to stretch his leg over the sheet. Then, all at once, with all her weight, she sat on it. George screamed and must have fainted. But having recovered consciousness, he heard his gentle little mother tell him quietly that it was as if God had told her to do this; and George got well and never limped again. "Inspired bloodless surgery," said doctors of a later age.

And in June we see George, twelve now or almost, scampering with comrades through the streets of Boston, to watch the never- to-be-forgotten pageant of Lafayette's arrival.

It was the day of the big parade. Church bells pealed, columns of marching men formed, bands blared forth their martial music. From all the houses, from every street, men, women, and children

A BOY AND HIS HERO n

emerged, mingled and finally blended into an irresistible human stream.

George pushed his way in and out among the crowd; his legs hurt, his body trembled with heat and fatigue, but he was de- termined to reach the outer edge and come as close to the pro- cession as was humanly possible. They had come out early, his mother, his sister Agnes, and two brothers, John and little Thomas; the crush of people hurt them; for a while they watched the troops, the riders and carriages, and acclaimed the music; then, tired, they begged to go home, but George stayed on.

This was Boston's great day. Here, at Bunker Hill fifty years before, men had fought and died and laid the cornerstone of independence. Fifty thousand Bostonians and three times as many visitors from all over the United States were assembled to lay the cornerstone of Bunker Hill Monument.

Wheels and legs passed before small George's eyes till he felt dizzy, but the shadowy figures of history took shape and became human beings, real persons to remember and revere. Suddenly he was hemmed in, lifted, carried along by a new surge of the crowd as a deafening clamor rose.

"There he is! Huzzah! Huzzah!"

The voices reached a monstrous crescendo.

"Lafayette! Lafayette!"

In an imposing buff and blue low-slung open barouche, drawn by six white horses, stood a large-faced, big-nosed, tall, dignified man in becoming peruke, blue coat, and white cashmere trousers. His prominent eyes lingered over the stirring scene as he bowed repeatedly to the cheering throng.

George, too, yelled at the top of his lungs, for on this seven- teenth day of June, 1825, twelve-year-old George Peter Alexander Healy experienced his first lasting hero worship, and he felt a tremendous exhilaration that wiped out all fatigue.

Catching sight of some comrades, George skipped along with them, climbed trees, leaped to porch roofs to escape the crush,

i2 G. P. A. HEALY

stopped here and there by a strong arm or a manly voice calling out: "Hey, lads! Careful!"

At the base of Bunker Hill the procession, which had started at ten, halted. Wooden benches had been erected to accommodate some fifteen thousand spectators. There was a long wait. De- vouring his hero with hungry eyes, the boy tried to picture Lafayette as a young marquis fifty years ago; his imagination could not quite evoke from this elderly gentleman the picture of a dashing officer of eighteen. Like every schoolboy George was familiar with prints representing Lafayette, tall, slim, and elegant, standing beside the still taller General Washington.

Listening to comments around him, George heard someone quote the toast of the French General in answer to the gift granted him of perpetual American citizenship.

"To the perpetual union of the United States. It has already saved us in times of storm; one day it will save the world."

A hush fell upon the crowd as Lafayette, holding a silver trowel, made the symbolic gesture of laying the cornerstone and in the stone's cavity deposited a casket containing coins and other mementos.

Reverend Joseph Thaxter, the venerable chaplain of Prescott's Regiment, stood where he had ministered to dying soldiers fifty years before, and delivered the opening prayer. Daniel Webster then came forward to speak and his thunderous voice held the crowd enthralled.

During the applause George got up and stretched, ready to scamper down the hill again. However, there were more speeches, a hymn in which all joined, a dirge in memory of Washington, then renewed yells of "Huzzah! Huzzah!" and the procession wended its way back to the city.

With the music of bands still ringing in his ears and the joy of these past hours pounding in his blood, George turned home- ward.

Agnes, John, and Thomas rushed to meet him, clamoring for

A BOY AND HIS HERO 13

an account of the ceremonies on the hill. Their brother picked his words carefully, seeing in his mind the vast canvas of color and life. For his mother and grandmother, the boy grabbed a pencil, and on paper he scratched little drawings of the things he had seen, the flags that had so impressed him. Shyly he turned to his grandmother, Mrs. Hicks, whose paintings always fasci- nated him:

"Grandmother, do you think — " He controlled the eagerness of his voice with difficulty — "do you think I could paint this?"

"Maybe, my boy "

He watched her bright old eyes and caught the quick exchange of looks between the two women. He knew then that he had won his point and that his birthday, July 15, might bring the painting material he so desired!

"Someday I'll go to France!" he exclaimed. "I want to see the General in his own home."

His mother understood her son's enthusiasm; like him she felt the romantic appeal of individuals who represented great ideals. She had wept over Byron's death at Missolonghi in Greece — another fight for liberty, a fight repeated all over the world. South America was seething with it; in Venezuela, in Colombia, and now in Peru, Bolivar caused men to cheer and women to grow emotional. Republics replaced dependent colonies, and President Monroe's declaration expressed the will of the United States when he warned the nations of other continents not to interfere with those of this hemisphere

In the Healy home, as in most Boston homes, such matters were discussed in the presence of the children and explained to them as an important part of their education, for they must become aware of things greater than play and ease. So George Healy thrilled at heroism, and his mother sympathized with his new eagerness to visit other countries where men had fought for freedom.

Chapter III A STUDIO ON FEDERAL STREET

o

N Federal Street one crisp October day of the year 1830, a young man of medium height, slender body, and quick move- ment stood admiring a new sign that bore the legend "G.P.A. Healy, Artist/' Above it, swaying gently in the breeze, hung the portrait of a student wearing a jaunty cap, Rembrandt fashion. Any passer-by might have recognized George Healy's likeness as he contemplated this symbol of a hope achieved.

The young man took out his key, his first personal key; he walked up the stoop to the front door, entered, and mounted the straight stairway, at the head of which a door carried his name on a plaque. The room, not very large, was well lighted with its tall wide window; his easel faced a model's table on which stood an inviting armchair; on a stand by the easel were the paints, brushes, turpentine, and palette.

With a trace of swagger George seized his palette and brushes, spreading in a very professional manner the red, blue, yellow, sienna, white, and black paints, experiencing the same delight he had known at sight of his first rainbow — the magic of color. Here at last he could give himself wholly to its perpetual joy; he was his own master, could direct his own life.

A timid knock at the door interrupted this mood of exultation. He stopped his work and went to the door.

"Oh, it's you?" Agnes smiled at him from the threshold as he let her in.

"I just wanted to see how it looks now and watch you work,"

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A STUDIO ON FEDERAL STREET 15

she murmured wistfully. "I thought it might be lonesome without any sitters "

"Not for long," bragged her brother. "You'll see them trooping in. . . ."

They both laughed, and Agnes wandered around the room, touching various objects, unconsciously trying to give a lived-in atmosphere to the new place. Then realizing that her brother had stopped working and that perhaps he preferred painting without an audience, she left.

Immediately George returned to his canvas, set two mirrors at the proper angle, and after a few bold strokes of his charcoal pencil took up his palette. He was soon absorbed enough in the work to forget the newness of his quarters or the need of other sitters; there was an almost religious devotion in his handling of his material, in the way he softened or thinned the paints, wiped the brush, or scraped with palette knife held in surgeonlike fingers a wrong color on the canvas; he had entered the sacred world of creative art.

It was not vanity that led George to make his portrait again and again; of necessity he became his own best model; untiring, he practiced tone effects, tried to make the flesh alive, the eyes expressive. Faithfully he gave what the mirror showed him — a rather heavy nose against ruddy cheeks, a round firm chin, strong despite the slight cleft (his mother called it stubborn Irish), blue eyes so deep-set under the dark brows that they seemed at times almost black; a somewhat sensuous mouth, optimistic with its upturned corners. His wavy brown hair parted on the side framed the face in a flattering bob that girls would adopt a century later.

In the late spring of 1830, Thomas Sully came to Boston to paint a portrait of Colonel Perkins. After the death of Gilbert Stuart, Sully, who had been his pupil, stood at the head of Ameri- can artists, and therefore Boston lionized him. His sharp but refined face, his courteous manner pleased the fastidious Bos- tonians who crowded his painting room. There one afternoon

16 G. P. A. HEALY

Miss Jane Stuart captured the artist's attention long enough to tell him of "little Healy," the son of friends, a remarkably gifted boy for whom color was a vibrant, living force. Sully expressed himself eager to see the young fellow.

"Let him bring me some copies of your father's work and sev- eral original sketches," he told Miss Stuart.

So it happened that shortly after this, George found himself at the door of Mr. Sully's painting room, facing a knocker that

suddenly appeared formidable He shifted his portfolio, and

with a burst of his fast-waning courage he grabbed the knocker so vigorously that its loudness brought the artist in person to answer his impatient caller. On the threshold Thomas Sully saw a breathless youth who stammered a fervid, "Mr. Sully . . . sir . . ."

"Come in, young man, come in," said the amused painter in a reassuring tone as he ushered the trembling lad into a room filled with pictures. "You must be Mr. Healy," he remarked, pointing to the portfolio, and at once George felt more at ease as he carefully placed his burden on the table indicated by his host.

However, instead of opening the folder at once, he went as if drawn by a magnet to a portrait placed in a good light on an easel. It seemed to him the loveliest woman's portrait he had ever seen — a sweet face delicately painted with its soft white scarf around the head; George wished he could paint his mother that way. Then remembering his manners he turned apologetically to Mr. Sully, who, far from resenting this involuntary compliment to his latest portrait of Mrs. Sully, watched with pleasure the boy's animated countenance.

"You like it?" he asked.

"Oh! Yes, sir!" There was no doubting the sincerity of his admiration.

The artist smiled and suggested that he bring out his work. George's feverish hands fumbled a little in untying the tapes of his portfolio. Used to the familiar tone of family and friends, he felt proud and slightly awed at being treated as a man. The

A STUDIO ON FEDERAL STREET 17

artist examined first George's copies of Copley and Stuart and laid them aside when George handed him an original sketch. As his eyes fell on it, Sully gave a start, then looked attentively at other sketches.

"My young friend," the artist's voice had a warmth that im- mediately quieted the boy's jangled nerves, "I advise you to make painting your profession!"

With a deep sigh of relief George listened enraptured while Sully pointed out mistakes and explained how to remedy them. For over two hours they spoke of art, line, and color and of the help derived from studying old masters.

"Someday you will go abroad," the forty-seven-year-old artist told his young admirer, "and you will learn more from copying masterpieces in those European galleries than you can imagine; but remember that the only way for an artist to achieve even a small part of his ambition is to work constantly, to paint and paint and paint."

So now on Federal Street, George painted and painted while the days ran without money returns but in definite progress. His walls were covered with sketches — some bits of sea- or land- scape showing his sense of color in sunny pastures, golden sunsets, or stormy waves and lowering skies; but a stronger feeling of life and likeness caught the eye in his numerous studies of faces, hands, figures. He could not afford a model, difficult to obtain in Boston, where any occupation out of the ordinary aroused a suspicion of sin; so his mother and sister and brothers posed for him as often as he could induce them to do so, while he waited hopefully for outside sitters. It was a long wait. Day after day, when he returned home at sundown, he would answer their questions with forced cheerfulness.

"No — not today . . . people don't seem to need portraits just now. But I saw the butcher, Mamma, and he said he would take his portrait in payment of the bill "

That was good news, yet poor comfort to the aspiring painter.

18 G. P. A. HEALY

George's stubborn optimism suffered a severe strain during those long months of waiting. Once, Captain Healy, home from some expedition, spoke harshly.

"You'll have to give up this wild plan of yours, George, and get to work — I mean a real job!"

Stung to the quick, George looked at his father angrily, his eyes burning with a growing challenge. What right had this parent to reproach him when for years his own efforts had failed to provide enough for the family? Did not Grandmother tire her old eyes painting water colors to sell in order to help them out? Hadn't he, himself, taken willingly any small chore that offered and painted various tradespeople to pay some of the most pressing bills? All this the Captain could read in the youth's telltale face, and sadly he walked away, but a new tension de- veloped between father and. son, painful to the sweet woman they both loved and wanted to protect.

Friends as well as family criticized young Healy; the romantic seaport where men grew rich and ships brought new treasures or thrilling tales of adventure gave scant recognition to native art. True, Copley and Stuart had achieved fame, but not until Europe acclaimed them; Benjamin West had lived in England; Peale remained a little apart because he had taken an active part in the battles he depicted and also because, like Dr. Franklin, he used his active mind for many inventions. No sensible person would encourage a young man to choose art as a profession; it was impractical, morally dangerous, and financially unprofitable.

The most sympathetic stranger turned out to be George's land- lord, Richard Tucker, one of Boston's great merchants, who knocked one day at his tenant's door and viewed with interest the paintings and sketches. He was amused at the ingenious arrangement of double mirrors for his self-portrait.

Pleasantly talkative, Mr. Tucker eased the young man out of his painful shyness and little by little drew from him the story of his life at home. In the lively account of ordinary circumstances,

A STUDIO ON FEDERAL STREET 19

the older man sensed a curious mixture of easygoing, devil-may- care Irish outlook and serious puritanical sense of duty. The name Healy suddenly struck a familiar chord.

"Was your mother Miss Hicks?" he asked. George looked up in surprise.

"Yes, sir. Do you know my mother?"

"No, but I have heard the Higginsons speak of Mrs. Hicks and her daughter "

Listening with one ear, Richard Tucker now prodded his memory; it must have been some eighteen years ago, during the War of 1 8 12, that he had heard of pretty little fourteen-year-old Mary Hicks marrying a sea captain twice her age — a Dublin sailor who had joined the East India Company when the Irish rebellion of 1798 ruined the Healys, and who later arrived in Boston with his own ship and became an American citizen. A brave man apparently who caught the fancy of a romantic girl; there was a story about the corsairs; attacked, William Healy managed to land his crew on the coast of Portugal and blew up his ship rather than let it fall into the hands of those pirates.

George was speaking of the time his father had lost his ship to the British and been taken prisoner in 18 12, then exchanged with other prisoners from the Island of Antigua. Captain Healy, a Catholic, had married fourteen-year-old Mary Hicks, a Protestant, that same year, in the face of much disapproval by the descend- ants of witch hunters who still perceived an odor of brimstone at mention of Rome.

Yes, thought the visitor, criticism of Mrs. Hicks was rife then, women shaking their heads over mixed marriages and repeating the old saw:

Change the name and not the letter, Change for worse and not for better

When the second term of rent came, George was caught flat of purse and greatly distressed. What could he do but confess to

20 G. P. A. HEALY

his landlord his inability to pay? Unexpectedly the generous merchant, instead of dislodging his young tenant, told him not to worry and ordered two portraits; his son Charles and his son- in-law John H. Gray. Sittings began the next day, and George Healy found himself as much at ease with the son as he had been with the father. All hesitancy, shyness, or awkwardness vanished when the youth became absorbed in his work. One thing only counted — to re-create in line and color the model before him and give it life.

Mr. Tucker talked of his travels to a very willing listener. Young Healy wanted to hear of other great cities besides Boston. His sitter was familiar with New York and Philadelphia and with Washington, the national capital, which always held a special fascination for Healy and which he would learn to know so well in the years to come.

The Tuckers' interest in the young painter grew as the work progressed. They were amazed at the amount accomplished while talking. His uncanny rapidity enabled the artist to hold the fresh- ness of a first impression so that he gave not only the likeness but the character of his model. Friends came occasionally to watch the painter at his work, and when later the two portraits were exhibited at the Athenaeum, Healy tasted the first fruits of real success. By this time the Tuckers considered G. P. A. Healy as their discovery and recommended him widely. This success marked the beginning of a long and brilliant career. Years later, long after the death of his kind and understanding landlord, George Healy was commissioned to paint the portrait of a Tucker descendant, the first American woman millionaire, the famed recluse Hetty Green. That portrait, sold after her death, is now the property of a later Tucker descendant, Mr. Loring.

New sitters occupied the model's chair. Among them Healy particularly enjoyed a young and attractive naval officer, Lieu- tenant Gershom J. Van Brunt. One day Healy confided to this friendly sitter his great desire to paint beautiful women.

A STUDIO ON FEDERAL STREET 21

"Nothing easier, I assure you," Van Brunt remarked. "All women want to see themselves in paint, especially if they are really beautiful. If you were to paint Mrs. Harrison Gray Otis, the young one, I mean, all the society women would flock to you for their portraits, too!"

"You mean the Mayor's daughter-in-law ? The one whose hus- band died so suddenly?"

"Of course. Elizabeth Boardman, Otis. She's a great society leader, and all her friends would follow her lead and want their portraits."

Healy laughed ruefully. "But I don't even know her."

"That's easily remedied," said his sitter. "Just give me a pen and paper." George handed him the quill and a sheet of paper, and hastily Van Brunt wrote a note, which he handed to Healy, saying: "Take this to her."

The bold lieutenant would have laughed had he seen the manner in which his young friend carried out his advice. George Healy was still very shy. Like all Bostonians he had heard a great deal about the noted Otis family — the able statesman, lawyer, and mayor of Boston and his gracious and distinguished wife, whose invitations were always eagerly sought. The younger Mrs. Otis, a widow with two boys, was a social leader, her receptions the nearest thing to a French salon, Van Brunt told Healy. The next day he went to Mrs. Otis' house, but turned back without even going up the steps on Beacon Street. The following day he tried again, and this time, just as he reached the top step, the door was opened by a maid. With all the dignity he could muster, young Healy said, "Please tell Mrs. Otis that a gentleman wishes to see her on business."

The lady of the house heard and saw and, amused, came forward.

"What can I do for you, young man?" she asked, leading the way into the house. Healy, flustered, blurted out:

22 G. P. A. HEALY

"Madam! I want to paint a beautiful woman. Will you sit forme?"

Throwing back her head, laughing, Mrs. Otis heard the youth exclaim: "Oh! That's the way I want to paint you!"

Amused, the charming Mrs. Otis questioned the young artist, extracting much of his story and hopes. The note of introduction from Van Brunt remained in Healy's pocket — unpresented, for- gotten.

The next day Mrs. Otis was at Healy's painting room. Curious to see if he really had talent, she looked about the room. There was a portrait of his mother, an unfinished sketch of his sister, as well as others of local people, some in the form of sketches, others in finished form.

Exclaiming at the charm of Healy's portrait of his mother, without more ado the Boston belle walked to the armchair on the model's table and seated herself. And so, in 1831, hardly a year after he had hung his sign, chance favored the artist, and he began to paint.

This first portrait of Mrs. Otis, painted in the fearless audacity of inexperience, brought a stream of commissions. No longer could Healy complain that only men visited his painting room. And as the friends of Mrs. Otis and of the Tuckers came to sit for their portraits, he learned from them much of Boston's virtues and prejudices and a great deal of American history in the mak- ing. Romanticism caught him, for these were the days of senti- mental heartaches, undying love, eternal vows, and easy tears. Nevertheless, the young artist kept his feet on good solid Yankee ground, combining realism with social manners and idealistic faith.

This year, 1831, marked the turning point in George Healy's career. All doors opened to him. His models came from all walks of Boston life. At the waterfront, Healy painted his father's friend, Father Taylor, who busied himself with seamen's souls; then Samuel Dorr, the India trade merchant; Moses Pond, also

A STUDIO ON FEDERAL STREET 23

a merchant of prominence; David Henshaw, the Massachusetts politician and future Secretary of the Navy in Tyler's cabinet, and others of greater or less importance. Samuel Appleton, the noted Boston merchant and philanthropist, commissioned Healy to paint the portraits of his two daughters — Mary, the future Mrs. Macintosh, one of the most beautiful girls in a set where beauty abounded; and Frances, the future Mrs. Henry Wads- worth Longfellow. The father, himself, later sat for his portrait. It can still be seen in the Athenaeum.

Mrs. Otis urged the young artist to go to Paris, London, Rome, and to other cities in Europe rich with the art of centuries. Healy's mother was very proud, not only of his talent and success, but of his deep sense of responsibility as the eldest child of a family of five. She encouraged him to save his money; she prodded his ambition to go abroad to study and paint.

In April, 1834, after he received payment for his successfully completed portraits of the Appleton sisters, Healy prepared to leave for France.

Chapter IV TRAGEDY AT THE ATELIER

A,

.PRIL, 1834. In New York, Healy called at the Washington Square studio of Samuel Finley Breese Morse. With something of the excitement he had felt on meeting Thomas Sully, young Healy looked forward to meeting this man, who, in the flush of youth, had boldly proclaimed his ambition to emulate the genius of a Raphael, a Michelangelo, or a Velasquez and to shine with a light brighter than theirs! Morse, starved for art, had organized a "Drawing Association" in which all would-be artists shared the expense of light, heat, and the models. After his suc- cessful portrait of Lafayette in 1826, Morse had helped found the National Academy of Design. But now he was forsaking art for some strange mechanical invention that seemed to fasci- nate him.

Unlike Thomas Sully, Morse did not encourage his young visitor. Instead, he told him that art was a "cruel jilt," that paint- ing never nourished its man, that people were not interested in beauty. He sounded bitter and skeptical. Healy did not attempt to show the sketches he had brought; he merely talked of his hopes, his great desire to learn. Morse, shaking his head, remarked : "Young man, you'll not earn salt for your porridge!" "The very words my grandmother used, sir," sadly acknowl- edged Healy, but he added: "Yet, for three years my work has supported us, and, if I have to, I shall eat my porridge without salt!"

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TRAGEDY AT THE ATELIER 25

Morse laughed. Then, more amiably, asked: "What ship are you sailing on ?"

"The Sully, sir."

"Oh. I shall give you a note to Captain Pell."

Encouraged by this kindness, Healy asked Morse if he would favor him with a note of introduction to Lafayette, the great French hero. The older artist unbent and graciously complied.

Healy left New York with a sense of bewilderment, not un- mixed with apprehension. But he blamed New York for Morse's pessimistic attitude— a strange nervous city whose atmosphere seemed charged with struggles, with sparks, like Morse's tele- graph, vibrant and noisy from constant building, feverish in its perpetual search for new ideas, new beliefs.

On the Sully's deck, the wind in his face, his eyes following the blue, white-capped waves, the artist shed his oppression. The rhythm of the ship's motion, the sound of the wind in the sails, the sea, restless as his soul, filled him with a sense of progress. It would ever be so. Healy's innumerable crossings offered the only content he ever felt away from his work.

The Sully made a fast journey over. Within a week it was far enough into European waters to enable the passengers to make out the Normandy shore line when using strong glasses. Then the wind died and the vessel was becalmed for ten interminable days. At last Le Havre came in sight, and young Healy was caught in the confusion of landing. He did not speak French, and the quick, staccato exchange of words around him made him dizzy.

With other passengers, Healy boarded the rickety diligence bound for Paris. It was a lumbering old four horse-drawn coach, high, noisy, and slow. As the vehicle rolled along the twisting bends of the Seine, Healy noticed the yellow and brown thatch roofs that picturesquely topped old white farm buildings set on hillocks or in the midst of green fields. A hot spell had opened red poppies swaying beside the white daisies and blue bachelor buttons. "My flag!" thought the American, forgetting the French

26 G. P. A. HEALY

tricolor. Girls in white coiffes feeding the chickens attracted his attention. He wished he could sketch their graceful gestures.

Then, all at once, they were in Paris.

As Healy stepped down from the high-slung coach, he felt stiff and cramped, but no sooner had he deposited his belongings in the room of a modest hotel recommended by a fellow traveler than he rushed out to stretch his legs and to fill his eyes with the new scenes of the Paris he had tried so long to imagine.

May is the loveliest of months in Paris. Cobbled, crooked, nar- row streets were no novelty to a Bostonian, but the beauty of the wide boulevards and the flowering chestnut trees with sun- splashed pink and white blossoms, the ancient arched bridges across the Seine, the magnificent buildings grayed with age gripped the artist's soul with intense delight. The spell of Paris was on him.

The next morning, however, brought a double disappointment. Mrs. Otis had already left for Switzerland with her two boys, and, with sorrow, he learned that Lafayette lay dying in his Paris home. So the American's dream of telling his hero his unbounded admiration was unrealized.

On May 22, 1834, from the Paris sidewalks crowded with the mourning populace, Healy watched the funeral procession of his hero. Under guise of military honors, the hearse was sur- rounded by a formidable array of troops, arms glistening in the sun, and only from afar could the spectators see the tricolor placed at the four corners of the catafalque. Lafayette was buried at Picpus, the cemetery founded by his royalist wife.

Had the young artist but known it, at about the same time his father, Captain William Healy, was being laid to rest in a Boston cemetery — but he would not hear of this for weeks. Mails were slow in 1834.

The first thrilling month in Paris was not wasted. Always quick in his decisions and active in carrying them out, Healy, using all available information gathered in Boston and New York,

TRAGEDY AT THE ATELIER 27

made the rounds of the studios and, in due course, was accepted as a student, by Baron Gros himself, the noted French painter.

Gros and Ingres were the leaders, not only in painting, but in all forms of art in France. Disciples of the great David, who, said the wits, had "guillotined" eighteenth-century French art, even as the Revolutionists had guillotined royalty, they inculcated stern principles in their pupils. Ingres had just been named director of the French Academy of Art in Rome, which left Gros the undisputed master in Paris.

On a hot June day in 1834, one of those lazy days when sun- light makes surrounding colors shimmer, Gros's pupils cast longing glances through the windows. A model slumped mo- mentarily with fatigue, and Healy tried to catch the movement. At his easel, a short, stocky young man, brown-eyed and wild- haired, watched the newcomer's efforts with commiseration. Without so much as a by-your-leave, Couture, a name later to become famous in French art, strode over to Healy's easel, shoved him aside, saying, "Give me your seat!" At first stiff with indig- nation, then keenly interested, the new student watched him. This foreshortening, he thought, is easy, a trick, but as he started to express his thoughts in his halting French, Couture, who had already put down the charcoal pencil, returned to his place with- out a word, merely acknowledging with a nod Healy's hesitant "Aferci!"

From his teacher and his comrades Healy learned a great deal. His pencil became bolder, surer, his color brighter and more transparent. He practiced the mechanics of composition, that art which came to him instinctively, yet required a knowledge of balance and proportion that the old master, Gros, could explain.

With others Healy soon established friendly relations. The strictly reared Boston youth found French studio life exciting. Little cafes, incredibly cheap; the gay midinettes and models so friendly, so co-operative; the jokes perpetrated on solemn bourgeois — all this opened a magic world, a world where laugh-

28 G. P. A. HEALY

ter and dreams, ideas and ideals, counted for more than drab reality.

The shyness Mrs. Otis had tried to cure in Boston left young Healy completely; his Rve feet eight inches no longer occasioned the term "little Healy" used by lanky six-footers at home. His nationality gave him a friendly importance; his comrades initi- ated him in the salty, colorful argot of the ateliers.

Breathing the Paris air, Healy found it quite natural that audiences should fight with fists and canes to decide on the merits of a play. He thrilled at the love affairs of George Sand and de Musset, of Franz Liszt and the Countess d'Agoult. He broadened his outlook on life and art; he steeped himself in this new atmosphere, forgetting the stiff New England middle-class prejudices so firmly rooted in his own fiber. He belonged to the Romantic vanguard.

There is a self-portrait of Healy painted at this period— a young face with a small mustache and lively eyes. He wore a dark, high cravat in vivid contrast to his clear complexion. His brown hair, parted at the side, is abundant; the heavy brow gives power to his face. Delacroix's famous self-portrait, painted two years later, presents an interesting similarity with this self-portrait of Healy at the age of twenty-one.

In addition to his course at the atelier, Healy also spent as much time as he could at the Louvre, copying old masters. The guardians there soon came to know him and brought him his easel and paints when he appeared. One day, absorbed in his copy of Correggio's "Mystic Marriage of Saint Catherine," he heard English voices and noted a man and his wife sauntering leisurely in evident enjoyment of the masterpieces that adorned the walls. Even spoken in that accent peculiar to those from across the Channel, the sound of English made Healy's heart beat faster. The couple stopped at his side, and as Healy looked up, the man remarked, "Good! That's an excellent copy!" Healy thanked him, and in the conversation that followed, the Ameri-

TRAGEDY AT THE ATELIER 29

can found himself explaining that he hoped very much to visit and work in England before returning to the United States. It was a pleasant meeting, but no names had been mentioned and when the visitors were gone Healy regretted it, but it was too late. A full year had passed since Healy's arrival in Paris. He wanted to study longer in this treasure house of art, but he also felt the pull of family life and perhaps of family needs, for he was still spending, though occasionally he could sell a picture. At home he would really again be the bread earner !

Then tragedy occurred at the atelier. Gros had been the butt of severe attacks by the Romantics, as they called themselves, and one particularly harsh critic had closed his tirade with the remark: "Gros est un homme mort [Gros is a dead man]"! His pupils laughed at the absurdity of such a thought. They loved Gros and appreciated him, both as an artist and as a man. They were dumfounded when the painter greeted a visitor with the bitter remark: "So you have come to see the dead man in his grave?" It was so unlike the forceful, active man who showed himself such a fine master.

But the next day, when the master, always punctual, did not appear, the students became concerned, and one of them went to his home to inquire. Yes, Monsieur le Baron had left that morning as usual. As the hours passed, anxiety mounted. The search was continued. It was only the next morning, June 26, 1835, that they found him at Bas Meudon, drowned in three feet of water. The artist, who knew and loved every bend of the river Seine, had come there to end a life he could no longer endure.

Chapter V FRIENDS, NEW AND OLD

X

HE tragic death of Gros ended Healy's year as a student, his only extended period of training under a teacher. The atelier closed its doors, and the pupils scattered, some to seek a new master, others to search for an easier and safer way of life than that of an artist, and a few, believing in their talent and a kind fate, to strike out for themselves.

Healy was at loose ends. At a reunion of fellow artists in the studio of one of the more prosperous they spoke heatedly of this master and that; discussions threatened to degenerate into bitter quarrels, and Healy, still unfamiliar with most of the theories expounded or of the personalities under scrutiny, felt his isolation. Suddenly his eyes met those of a quiet, smiling man, older than himself, who was studying him from across the room. Instinc- tively they went toward each other. The Frenchman addressed him:

"A stranger here?"

"American," Healy responded and explained that, like their host, he was adrift since the death of Gros.

"But you are not returning to America now, are you?" asked the other, after introducing himself as Edme Savinien Dubourjal, miniaturist.

"I would like to remain," Healy started to say when all at once dizziness overcame him; he would have fallen had not Dubourjal seized his arm and led him to a nearby seat. The spell did not last; young Healy felt humiliated as his companion brought a

30

FRIENDS, NEW AND OLD 31

glass of wine and pressed it on him. But Healy, because he had not eaten, refused the proffered glass.

The two men slipped off to Dubourjal's nearby painting room. The fresh air restored Healy. He relaxed in an atmosphere of comfortable companionship. The Frenchman brought out food, and they ate as they talked. By evening there was little of his life that Healy had not confided to this new-found friend. Dubourjal urged him to remain in Paris and try his luck.

"Among the many Americans who come over at this season," he said, "you ought to find sitters or buyers for those landscapes you say you painted all summer."

"The difficulty is finding a dealer to handle them," objected Healy.

"Oh, no! Not through a dealer," countered the older man, "not at first, anyhow. You must have your own studio and show your work yourself." He stopped a moment. "I know of one near here," he suggested, "that has just been vacated. Would you like to see it?"

Rested and seized with a new surge of enthusiasm, Healy agreed. Together, the two artists walked to a little court nearby at the back of which stood an old building with high windows. The American liked its picturesque approach, and when the concierge showed them a well-lighted room, Healy decided to take it.

Before night he had brought over his few belongings, had bought the couch, easel, and two chairs left by the former tenant, and, with Dubourjal's help, soon transformed the room into a presentable studio. The next day his new-found friend brought a handsome piece of brocade to throw over the couch. He then led the way to a secondhand shop where Healy acquired a bright red screen, a table, mirrors, and a rug. Portraits and sketches hung about the room furnished all the decoration needed. The room looked cheerful and inviting.

In the winter months that followed, young Healy settled down

32 G. P. A. HEALY

to serious work. Gradually his reputation filtered through the neighborhood. In the course of the winter, he acquired his first serious pupil, an American, Oliver Fraser, a few years his senior, who had studied under Jouett and Sully before coming to France. Old patrons from America sent him sitters. Healy was not experi- encing the quick success he had tasted in Boston, but he kept busy and he earned a living. Dubourjal, whose miniatures sold less easily, became more and more convinced that everything American turned to gold.

Healy, who liked long, easy strokes, disciplined himself to do miniatures when a sudden vogue created a demand. There is one of Frances Sargent Osgood done in 1835; but usually Healy directed miniature seekers to the studio of his friend Dubourjal.

It was toward the end of 1835 that Healy undertook the long- anticipated trip to Italy. By stage, he crossed to Mont Cenis and reached Alexandria on the frontier, expecting to go on through Italy on foot. His luck followed him. As he alighted before the busy little inn, the first persons he noticed were the pleasant English couple who had spoken to him at the Louvre. The husband was coming toward him, hand extended.

"This is Mr. Healy, isn't it?" he inquired.

"Why, yes!" replied the astounded and flustered youth. "But how did you know my name?"

The mystery was soon explained. In Switzerland, the couple, Sir Arthur B. Faulkner and his wife, had met their friend Mrs. Otis and had told her of the young American artist copying in the Louvre.

"Why, that must be George!" she exclaimed and proceeded to tell them of the way she had posed for him in Boston and of the great hopes she and her friends held for his success.

The Faulkners invited young Healy to dine with them. He felt himself transported again into that delightful atmosphere he had first breathed at Mrs. Otis' friendly gatherings. His hosts were enchanted with Healy's bubbling enthusiasm, and before

FRIENDS, NEW AND OLD 33

the meal was over, had invited him to join them in their roomy carriage for the trip through Italy. They planned to visit several of the important cities and to tour art museums. Healy could hardly believe his good luck. Words failed him, but his expres- sive face gave the answer, and thus began for Healy one of the important friendships of his career.

Color, color everywhere — a sky bluer than Healy had ever seen, white and pink marbles, tinted bricks, flowers that bloomed in all seasons, dotting the landscape with brilliant red and yellow, orange and purple — every turn of the carriage revealed some new wonder.

Stops were made in Turin and Milan; Venice with its black gondolas on blue waters, its singing boatmen, fascinated the young New Englander. In the tours through the museums Healy studied the marvelous Titians, and in Florence the power of Michelangelo burst upon the young painter, who wished he could stop long enough to make at least one copy. They saw the leaning Tower of Pisa, visited innumerable churches, all in lei- surely comfort. Truly, a fairy had waved her wand, and George Healy wondered when the midnight hour would strike.

The Faulkners did not regret their kindness; for them Healy's enthusiasm renewed ancient things and familiar places. Their journey turned into an adventure.

In Rome they stopped long enough to steep themselves in its magnificence while Healy made sketches in the Colosseum and at the Arch of Titus. He made copies of a few Raphaels that appealed to him. The backgrounds in primitive paintings fasci- nated him.

But for the young artist, it was essential that he earn something. And so at Turin, Healy parted with his friendly hosts, they to return to England and he to go to the frontier, where he stopped before returning to Paris. Before parting with the Faulkners, Healy accepted their cordial invitation to visit them in London.

In Boston, Mrs. Healy's reaction to her son's success was

34 G. P. A. HEALY

twofold. With him, she rejoiced that he had made important English friends and might soon be visiting them in London. Most of the important American painters owed much of their fame to England — Copley, Stuart, Peale, Allston, Morse, Sully. In her letters to her son she detailed the doings of the family and their delight over all his news. "We hope you will have many commissions in England, but not so many that you cannot return to us by next summer," she wrote.

But the winter of 1835-36, so momentous for her son in Paris, brought Mrs. Healy great physical distress. However, she con- tinued her cheering letters. For his sister Agnes' birthday in January, 1836, Healy sent one of his Italian sketches. His next letter brought news that Mr. James John Cox, of Philadelphia, in Paris with his family, had ordered a painting of a family group — his sister, Mrs. Sitgreave, himself, and his son, with his two daughters, Julia and Florence, seated at the piano.

This ambitious attempt stirred the artist and delighted his family. But in the midst of this happy labor, Healy received the crushing news of his mother's death. The slim little woman had not long survived her seafaring husband, who, from her four- teenth year to this her thirty-sixth year, had filled her heart. Healy was crushed. She, the tower of strength to which they all had clung, gone before he could bring her the fruit of this new success.

Only Dubourjal, the faithful, understood all the young man went through and somehow managed to make him realize that his advance in life, his promises of the future, must have meant even more to her than the sadness of his absence. When the young American heaped abuse upon himself for having put his career ahead of everything, Dubourjal could point out to him that not only had he done what his mother wanted him to do, but that his success had enabled the family to live in reasonable comfort — a meager consolation to young Healy in the face of the devastat- ing sorrow of death.

FRIENDS, NEW AND OLD 35

"And now," Healy questioned, "what must I do ?"

"Keep on working," was Dubourjal's practical advice.

They argued as they sketched. And then one evening, in the

spring of 1836, as he returned to his studio, Healy found a letter

from Sir Arthur Faulkner inviting him to come to London as

his guest and to paint both his own and Lady Faulkner's portraits.

Chapter VI GROSVENOR SQUARE

T

JLHE lumbering diligence to Calais seemed luxurious to young Healy compared to the one that had brought him from Le Havre to Paris two years before. He looked quite elegant in his tight-fitting redingote, long clinging breeches, high collar, and dark cravat. The expressive mouth with its little mustache, the deep blue eyes, and a youthful air of expectancy made his fellow travelers instinctively eager for conversation. As usual, George responded sociably, yet soon fell into a brown study, questioning himself. Should he not go back to Boston instead of accepting this tempting invitation to London?

Peering through the dusty coach windows, Healy scanned the country's serene aspect under a warming sun and his spirits rose. The anticipation of a London season set his nerves atingle. At Calais he walked up the gangway with a jaunty step, glad to set foot on the boat that would soon bring him to the English side of the Channel.

The landing at Dover in the midst of a dense fog did not dampen his ardor, but in the scramble of debarkation Healy failed to get a porter and found himself standing alone with his unwieldy bags ; he could see nothing, hear nothing, did not know which way to turn. The stories he had read and disbelieved about English fogs rose in his mind as a passer-by bumped into him. Laughing at his own confusion, young Healy found his voice to ask, "How do I get to London?"

"I say!" answered a friendly, very English voice. "You've just

36

GROSVENOR SQUARE 37

missed the coach!" But the good-natured Englishman took him by the arm, adding, as he pointed to a faint light that seemed far away, "Come over to the inn; it's just across the street."

Bewildered but grateful for this aid and for the light and warmth he found at the inn, Healy watched the group of travelers from whose damp clothes a mist rose with strange, shadowy effects. "What a picture," thought the artist. It reminded him of some black and white sketches by a young Frenchman, Honore Daumier, whose caricatures and lively drawings were attracting the attention of Paris critics. This was no time to get out his sketchbook — he had to get on to London. The American looked around the room, and seeing a jovial, bald-headed, red-faced, typical John Bull walking from group to group, surmised that he was the innkeeper. To him Healy promptly put his request for some means of transportation to London.

"Impossible now, sir." The answer sounded very final, but young Healy's insistence finally goaded the landlord to gather several other London-bound guests and to suggest that together they hire a hackney coach.

They had barely finished their early dinner when the coach, drawn by its four horses, clattered noisily to the door. The travelers climbed into the coach, the driver cracked his whip, and off they went.

Had he been able to pierce the mist, Healy would have enjoyed every mile of the Dover road, of which he had heard and read so much, but even his keen eyes failed to penetrate the yellowish, cottony sheet that enveloped the whole landscape. The coach passed Canterbury without his knowing it; at dawn in Chatham, while the horses were changed, Healy swallowed a hot, tasteless breakfast. The coach finally reached London. Each passenger was deposited at his given address. At Grosvenor Square, the fog lifted. A friendly house stood revealed; an immaculate foot- man answered the bell pull; another took Healy's bags. His host's hearty greeting brushed away the fog, the cold, the fatigue.

38 G. P. A. HEALY

George was happy to feel Sir Arthur Faulkner's warm handclasp. He looked with sincere admiration at the erect, slender figure of this man of fifty-seven who spoke and moved with the vivacity of youth and the dignity of a vigorous middle age.

Knighted in 1815 for his services to his king and country, Sir Arthur Brooke Faulkner was an alert physician, progressive, curious, ever ready to experiment boldly, which he did with amazing success. He had won fame at Malta when the plague, brought from Alexandria by infected ships, invaded the sunny, cheerful island. King George III appointed him physician to the Duke of Sussex, a constant sufferer from gout. Whether at Chel- tenham, a fashionable summer resort, or at Grosvenor Square, the Faulkners' home presented English life at its best. Formality reigned supreme, with constant respect for court etiquette.

The inexperienced, unworldly American found it a harrowing experience as he stood in the guest room of this stately Jacobean house, a valet unpacking his bags, another bringing hot water for shaving and bath, their voices discreet, their steps subdued. Healy felt as if he were in a cathedral, ignorant of the rites and moving under amused eyes. When at last the servants silently closed the door, leaving the young American to his own devices, Healy heaved a sigh of relief.

Stepping before a painting by Sir Joshua Reynolds, Healy ex- amined the rosewood writing desk that stood beneath it. On the desk were a quill and drying sand, some pencils and papers, and a drawing tablet. In these satisfying surroundings Healy relaxed, suddenly conscious of fatigue, and stretched out for a short nap, from which he rose quite refreshed and in high spirits.

Luncheon with Sir Arthur and his wife — a plentiful meal that made the traveler realize he was starved — renewed for them all the happy mood of their Italian journey. Lady Faulkner prom- ised to begin her sittings in the morning. "I have chosen a well- lighted room in which to do your painting," she remarked, and noticing Healy's smile, continued, "You'll find plenty of sunshine

GROSVENOR SQUARE 39

in London in May. Such fog as we had yesterday is exceptional at this season."

In a letter to his sister Agnes, Healy pictured his arrival at Dover, the Faulkners' warm reception, and their order for por- traits. He also asked his sister to write full details about everyone and everything at home. He understood that his friend, Francis Alexander, was painting her portrait. Would he send him a sketch of it? In her last letter Agnes had repeated her plea that her brother make no change in his plans. With his financial help they could manage at home, and she wanted Healy's English visit to be a real success.

The next morning Lady Faulkner sat for her portrait. As the young painter worked, he shyly asked this gracious new friend to help him avoid blunders in a country he knew but vaguely through American history and prejudices. "I know nothing of titles, rank, and position over here, and I would hate to disgrace you. But, truly, I understand very little about the Georges in England."

Lady Faulkner briefly sketched the various relationships. She also mentioned the young girl, Victoria, and her old uncle, King William IV, who seemed determined to live until she attained her majority so that her mother, whom he detested, could not become queen regent. Young Healy listened to all of this as if it were some spicy story, entirely out of his ken, while trying to remember connections and names.

But of her husband's patient and patron, the Duke of Sussex, another of Victoria's uncles, Lady Faulkner spoke affectionately. Later, when Healy saw the big, towering Duke and his diminu- tive wife, Lady Inverness, in the intimacy of their home, he mar- veled at the simplicity of their life and of their romantic love.

When Sir Arthur came in, he told his wife it was time for their guest to see something of London, and after studying the painting, he complimented Healy with, "You've caught the characteristic tilting of the head. Very good!"

4o G. P. A. HEALY

As the two men walked out, Sir Arthur reminded his wife that he would take Healy to lunch at his club.

As they passed Buckingham Palace, the changing of the guard offered a colorful display. The doctor pointed out homes of noted Britishers and little narrow streets with famous names.

That evening the Faulkners entertained informally. By the clothes laid out for him, Healy realized that, however informal, entertaining in England required full evening dress. Save for his usual trouble in remembering names, the artist steered an easy course through the outspoken and rude personal remarks that startled him, particularly as applied to the royal family. However, no one was shocked. Next morning, during the sitting, Healy expressed surprise at some of the things he had overheard, par- ticularly about the Duke of Cumberland. "I know," answered Lady Faulkner, "he's either hated or adored."

Several days later, as young Healy and his host walked along the street, they met Aaron Vail, who had been in charge of the American legation in London until a successor could arrive. Sir Arthur remarked, "This is most fortunate. Here is Mr. Vail, just the man you ought to know." As the three men walked on together, Vail told his companions of the appointment of Andrew Stevenson, of Virginia, lately Speaker of the House of Repre- sentatives, as the new United States Minister to England. "He is due to arrive in June." It was thus that Healy first heard of the man who was to play an important part in his future.

Chapter VII ENGLISH ROMANCE

D

URING this short and intensely worldly London season, George Healy fell under the spell of English life at its brightest; he became quickly attuned to the old-world atmosphere and found people more hospitable than he dared hope.

New patrons, owners of mansions that held the portraits of generations, demanded of his talent that he continue the tradi- tion; he painted portraits, thrusting aside his ambitious dream of more inventive pictures; his work grew absorbing, his life too full and exciting for regrets. He took for granted the privileges accorded him, naively attributing them to English liking of their transatlantic cousins. He modeled his clothes and manners on those around him, wore without a murmur the high, choking collar and cravat that used to elicit his commiseration. With a new social ease he moved and spoke as swiftly as ever, and his wit remained spontaneous, his accent American.

A letter from Agnes startled him; she wanted to become a nun! What a life for his sprightly, charming sister! His answer was a vehement protest, but sometime later another letter reassured him on the subject — though not in a very satisfactory manner. "The Grey Nuns of Quebec do not want me," she wrote sadly; "they claim I am not strong enough for the hard life and I feel deso- late " Not strong enough . . . poor little Agnes ! George wor- ried. "Too much responsibility on her shoulders," he murmured. Well, he would have to go back. So George decided to work harder than ever.

41

42 G. P. A. HEALY

The Faulkners brought him an interesting and important sitter — the philanthropist Francis Place.

Power showed in every feature of this self-made man, typical of true English democracy. London born, a baker's son brought up in a poor neighborhood, Place had acquired an education while working as a tailor's apprentice. It meant dogged perse- verance and the burning of midnight oil — or more probably can- dles— but he accomplished it; breeches may have been his trade; books remained his avocation. From books he moved to action, organizing the breeches makers' strike when he was twenty-two, and two years later, in 1794, at the time Thomas Hardy was arrested for labor activities, young Place obtained the latter's post as secretary of the London Corresponding Society. He always strove for reform without violence; yet in the strong lines of his face, in the brilliant eyes there still shone, even at sixty-five, a fearless determination to fight if necessary.

His conversation with the Faulkners, who often joined them during those sittings, showed George what influence this "tailor" had with noted statesmen. Many plans for reform had been dis- cussed, his sitter claimed, while he measured breeches for leading members of Parliament.

Long ago, back of his tailor shop, Francis Place had installed a library, and there around 18 12 James Mill brought his six-year-old boy, Stuart, who looked wide-eyed at his father's friends. Joseph Hume, Burdett, Brougham, and others came, eager to push through a Reform Bill, which finally was passed in 1832, after twenty years' effort. In that modest sanctum James Mill wrote many an article for the Encyclopedia Britannic a, and Hume collected data for his tremendous political activities. Place recalled the time Burdett had been imprisoned in the Tower for subversive writings; Faulkner interrupted:

"Burdett's no longer a fire-eater; it's too bad! But then," added the Doctor, "as sure as a lobster turns red in boiling, a Whig goes Tory when long in power!"

ENGLISH ROMANCE 43

"Don't let him hear you say that!" laughed Place. 'Tm afraid it's true, though. He's giving up politics to live in his garden "

"Yes, he wants to be more with his family, especially his daughter," said Faulkner.

"Lady Augusta worships her father," went on Place.

Years later Healy met that immensely wealthy philanthropic lady, of whom King Edward VII said, "After my mother she is the most remarkable woman in the kingdom!" Lady Burdett- Coutts proved that her father's teachings had not fallen on barren ground.

In the midst of all this talk the American painter inwardly thanked his early Boston sitter, David Henshaw, who had famil- iarized him with certain aspects of British politics. When Francis Place quoted some of Bentham's most noted theories, "The end of all government must be utility, the good of the gov- erned," or, "the greatest happiness of the greatest number," Healy promptly claimed, "That's American!" — a remark that brought a quick smile to the sitter and for the artist a chance to capture his expression. The Faulkners were delighted. This por- trait, shown to many friends, brought compliments and urgent advice to young Healy to enroll as student at the Royal Academy.

The Faulkners, as the London season drew to a close, planned a journey, while George debated whether to return to Paris or go home to Boston. The last weeks were filled with constant entertainment.

One evening at a party, the young American heard a hearty laugh and loud Eh! Eh!'s that warmed his heart, for his own noisy laughter often embarrassed him; at first he could not see the owner of that laugh, hemmed in by a bevy of chatting women, but Faulkner took his arm, saying as they went forward:

"Come, I want to present you to the Prime Minister, Lord Melbourne."

Extremely good-looking, affable, and charming, Lord Mel- bourne immediately captivated the artist. His appearance fitted

44 G. P. A. HEALY

the aura of romance that surrounded his life. His brilliant youth as William Lamb had been more social than imposing, and the many scandals associated with his vivid eccentric wife, Lady Caroline, one of Lord Byron's adorers, might have wrecked Lamb's political career had she not died — insane, it was rumored — before he was entrusted with the reins of government.

Lord Melbourne's picturesque language startled the American, not used to talk sprinkled with so many damns. Noting his amazement, Dr. Faulkner quoted Lord Ossington when he asked Melbourne for information about the Poor Law: "Go see my brother," the Minister had said. "I've seen him," Ossington replied, "but he damned me and damned the bill and damned the paupers!" "Well, damn it!" burst out Melbourne. "What more could he do?"

An outraged husband, George Chappell Norton, was then suing Melbourne, but because of insufficient proof the case was dismissed and a new scandal averted.

At the Royal Academy the American discovered a spirit more akin to his own. Leslie, the artist, never forgetful of his American origin, received him charmingly and presented him to Sir David Wilke. When George asked to meet Mr. Turner, whose work seemed to him most inspiring, Leslie warned him: the artist was peculiar; he did not like foreigners; nevertheless, Healy's sincere enthusiasm apparently pleased the older man, who showed him his latest paintings of the French coast and of Venice. This, the young man thought, was worth many a lesson in any atelier.

Joseph Mallord William Turner, then sixty-one, had no friends. Small, unattractive, born poor, the son of a barber, he had not risen from his surroundings with the bold courage of a Francis Place. His talent for drawing was encouraged from the start by Mr. Turner pere, the boy's first works being exhibited on the walls of the Maiden Lane barbershop. No doubt some of the patrons bought sketches, but none took this very seriously. Some maga- zines ordered illustrations, and young Turner finally enrolled

ENGLISH ROMANCE 45

as a student at the Royal Academy. There his genius was recog- nized, but it took the general public much longer to accept his brilliant color and the feverish movement of his land- and sea- scapes.

Devoted to his son, the father came to live with him when Turner bought a house on Queen Anne Street where he could paint in peace. The old man seemed to be his only companion, and when Mr. Turner died the artist retired entirely into his shell; he admitted no one but the housekeeper to his cheerless home, became more eccentric than ever, and cultivated frugality to the point of miserliness.

At the Academy, Turner's influence among the younger gen- eration of artists produced a new school of landscape painters. He grew famous and in his will carried on the distrust he always seemed to feel toward strangers, leaving his big fortune to "poor artists born in England, of English parents and legitimate birth." He always treated George Healy cordially, and the American never failed to visit him each time he returned to England, though the house on Queen Anne Street remained grimly closed, and once when Healy went there, having failed to find the artist at the Academy, he had the door practically shut in his face.

Turner, he heard, would disappear for months, leaving his housekeeper and his solicitor in a fever of anxiety. The painter would reappear without explanation and with a wealth of new pictures. His mind clouded; at the end he hid in a Chelsea board- inghouse, seeing only the children of the neighborhood who knew him as "Admiral Booth." The day after his housekeeper finally discovered his hide-out, Turner died.

In 1836 George, with two other artists, started on a tramping tour through Switzerland and France. It was an invigorating leap from that English social whirl to fields and mountains and the simple life. They walked, talked, painted, slept in barns or under the stars, ate anywhere, anything, and, steeped in the joy of nature, the trio of artists achieved sketches filled with vigorous realism.

46 G. P. A. HEALY

Once, as they were painting, an oldish individual stopped to look at their work; he spoke of art with delight and unexpected knowledge. The young men, curious, entered into an animated discussion, and as time passed, the man invited them to dinner at his place. They picked up their paintboxes and accompanied him, startled beyond words when their host led them to a superb old chateau. His rough country garb had not prepared them for such good luck, and the meal, with choice food and wines of old vintage, further loosened their busy tongues. As they parted, they all declared this was the most perfect evening of their trip.

During that summer of 1836, while Healy tramped the French countryside, London seethed with gossip. Letters from friends brought the artist echoes of the great uproar at Windsor Castle — a terrific scene between the King and his sister-in-law, the Duch- ess of Kent, at the banquet given in honor of William IV's birthday. In the presence of all his guests, the King had given Victoria's mother a cruel tongue-lashing, accusing her of inso- lence, defiance, and unbecoming conduct toward the Crown, of listening to foreign advisers (a dig against her brother, King Leopold of Belgium) ; and poor little Victoria, turning red, then white as a sheet, forced back her tears while her infuriated mother haughtily ordered her carriage. An absolute break seemed in- evitable after years of more or less controlled hostilities. The King wanted Victoria near him; he alone, he felt, could prepare her for the role of English queen; the girl would not be of age until May of next year, and the mere thought that the Duchess of Kent might become regent gave him fits of fury and made him hold on tenaciously to a tenuous thread of life. Queen Ade- laide, good soul, once more patched up the quarrel, and Victoria's mother remained. The marriage of Lady Augusta on August 26 revived all the old Jordan scandal. It was an outrage, said the simple folk, that His Majesty should endow all these children with large fortunes and high-sounding titles — think of calling them Fitzclarence! And had not the old skinflint let the woman

ENGLISH ROMANCE 47

who gave him those children and supported him for years die in abject poverty? It was high time His Majesty rejoined his ancestors and left the throne to a simple, pure, honest girl.

Healy imagined the lovely English voices airing these views and recounting spicy episodes, but he kept his answers guarded. He had found out that the British who vituperated with such amazing frankness against their government and the royal family never tolerated criticism from an outsider; besides, American jokes about "high-ups" struck no responsive chord in England; Yankee wit differed radically from dry English humor and took time to penetrate.

But the young artist wanted to return to England; the Royal Academy's stamp of approval seemed to him indispensable for his success at home, and he hoped that some of the portraits vaguely spoken of during his stay with the Faulkners would materialize. In the absence of his good friends he dared not risk a move to London without some tangible assurance of work. Joseph Hume, he heard, had liked his portrait of Francis Place very much. After much hesitancy he wrote to Mr. Place telling him what it would mean to him to have another year in England, and asking if Mr. Hume could be induced to order his portrait at once.

In a little town on the Loire, the Englishman's reply reached George Healy. Place had sent a note to the Radical Member, who, busy as he was with new elections coming up, promised to have his portrait done by Mr. Healy if the latter could arrange to be in London between the twenty-first and thirty-first of January next

Back in Paris, the American hurried the work in hand, and, helped by Dubourjal, made ready for his second English experi- ence.

Promptly on January 22, 1837, ne arrived in London and imme- diately paid his respects to the philanthropist.

"My boy," exclaimed Francis Place, "this is fine! Mr. Hume

48 G. P. A. HEALY

will appreciate your diligence. I know you must, you shall succeed!"

The choice of a suitable painting room was George's first step. He remembered a charming spot to which Dr. Faulkner had called his attention during one of their morning rides — a regular Mecca for artists, Fitzroy Square. Now bleak with the grayness of a cold January day, it had then been gay with green trees and masses of colorful flowers, but its present bareness brought out even better the harmonious lines of those Adam houses that bor- dered the square on three sides. George looked in vain for "to let" signs and was turning away disconsolate when, at 28 Grafton Street, almost on the corner, he noticed the wished-for card in the window. He ran up the steps, and a pleasant-faced woman who answered the bell told him as he made his request:

"You're lucky. I have a good room, vacant only since yester- day!"

The room was well lighted and contained enough necessary furniture so that with his easel, his sketches tacked on the wall, and his few belongings it would be ready to receive Mr. Hume the next day. Arrangements completed with his kind landlady, the artist walked away happy, to call upon his sitter-to-be.

As he passed Charlotte Street, he noticed signs of life in the John Constable house and wondered if the ailing artist had re- turned from Hempstead, where he spent most of his time since the death of a much-loved wife. George admired Constable and Turner above all other English landscape artists; he felt tempted to stop and ask if Mr. Constable would receive him, then decided to wait until someone could present him. That time never came, as two months later Constable died.

On his way back to the city, Healy stopped a moment at the old Whitefield Chapel and saw the tomb of Toplady, the author of "Rock of Ages"; it reminded him of past excursions through London with Sir Arthur and again he felt the chill disappoint- ment of the Faulkners' absence. Well, he consoled himself, when

ENGLISH ROMANCE 49

they return they'll find me pretty securely established, and they'll like that!

Joseph Hume approved the young artist's exactitude.

"This was the only time I could give you, Mr. Healy," he said. "Election year, I must be back and forth constantly "

The vivid Scotsman might not be easy to paint, thought Healy as he studied his features; he was never still! His pungent words would light up the whole face — a difficult characteristic to render on canvas, but the challenge put the painter on his mettle.

They arranged to have the first sitting on the morrow, and early in the morning George was at his easel, preparing the canvas, testing the light as he moved his model's chair in various positions.

Joseph Hume then stood at the peak of his parliamentary ca- reer. Known as a Radical, he had begun by voting Tory, but the needed reforms stirred his human sympathies as well as his common sense, and he soon found himself among the fighting Whigs, counted now as one of their important leaders.

Like Faulkner, Hume had studied at the Edinburgh College of Surgeons and been attached to the colonial army in 1797; he was then twenty. His extraordinary gift for languages got him the post of Persian Interpreter to the Army, which soon included an incredible number of Indian dialects. He remained in India in that capacity from 1802 until 1807 and his canny Scotch finan- cial acumen enabled him to build up a large fortune for himself while he also improved the resources of his branch in the service.

Back in England in 1808, Hume gave up military life for poli- tics. He took up his new duties with great zest when Weymouth returned him to Parliament. After his marriage to wealthy Maria Burnley in 1818, he was returned to Parliament by the Aberdeen burghs, where Maria's father, a high East India Company official, wielded great power; in 1830 it was the County of Middlesex that sent him as its representative. Now Kilkenny called him,

5o G. P. A. HEALY

and he was due in Ireland shortly. In Parliament as in India, his sense of finance brought him to the fore; he delighted the Opposi- tion by challenging every expenditure of the Government.

"You'd better be careful when you speak of money before Mr. Hume," Francis Place had warned the artist. "The waste of a penny is to him a heinous crime."

George promised to avoid the thorny subject and asked what other faux pas he must eschew.

"Don't speak of the Duke of Cumberland as a criminal plotter," added his mentor. "Mr. Hume is counted as one of his partisans."

"Oh!" The American appeared truly shocked. "But the Duke is a terrible person!"

"Not to his friends," countered Place. "Mr. Hume would probably show you a very different Cumberland from the one we imagine."

But in that first sitting, to Healy's amazement, Joseph Hume began by flaying the Royal Academy. The artist bristled. That distinguished institution, associated in his mind with Benjamin West, aroused in him a sort of national pride.

"It's costing the Government a lot of money," Hume grumbled. "If taxes pay for it, the people should get the benefit."

"But they do!" exclaimed Healy. "And I was told that the Academy received a special grant — "

With an impatient gesture of the hand Hume explained that he wanted the summer exhibit open free to the public at least once a week; the president, Sir Martin Archer Shee, claimed this would reduce receipts and cut down student classes. "I've taken the debate to Parliament," concluded the testy politician.

George changed the subject. It would never do to paint an irritated gentleman! Speaking of the grand doings at Saint James's Palace in honor of Victoria's coming of age and disre- garding Place's cautious advice, he brought up the name of the Duke of Cumberland. Hume's face lighted.

"A fine man, a strong man!" he exclaimed. "No indecision

ENGLISH ROMANCE 51

about him; our government would function differently under his rule "

Then suddenly he closed his lips in a tight line; it was unwise to flaunt his views at this time, but Healy pursued with a perti- nent question:

"Could the Duke prevent strikes and labor disputes?"

"Mr. Healy, the people always profit under intelligent rule. The first Hanoverian allowed intelligence to control his policy, and even my native Jacobite burgh of Montrose followed the Georges, though the old Pretender had sailed from our Scottish port."

This awakened a new curiosity in the American, who, care- fully skipping any allusion to the Orange plot, in which some said Hume was concerned, asked how he, a Scot, could represent an English county.

"A burgh, county, or city," explained Hume, "elects its mem- ber among those who have its interest at heart."

"Yes, but in my country a representative stands for his own state."

"Great Britain is not a conglomeration of states," replied the politician. "This year I shall represent Kilkenny."

"Ireland!" The artist showed his amazement, then with a smile added, "Kilkenny is not far from my father's home," and seeing the gleam of interest in Hume's eyes, young Healy gave a sketchy account of the Healys from Dublin.

"Well, you must have a lot of cousins among my constituents," remarked Hume, but Healy explained that the three Healy boys — his father and two brothers — had left Dublin in 1798 and never returned to their native land.

On subsequent sittings, as the artist watched for revealing traits while his model spoke, he became more impressed with the warm, human side of this apparently dour Scot; Hume's keen financial genius had not dulled his generosity or his rich fund of humor; in tiny lines around the eyes and a slight quirk of the

52 G. P. A. HEALY

mouth Healy tried to suggest this quality. Francis Place noticed it immediately when he came in one day.

"My boy," he told him, "you certainly go deeper than the skin! I congratulate you and I think we are both fortunate, Hume and I, in our portraits."

Joseph Hume declared himself so well satisfied that he prom- ised to have his wife's portrait painted later.

It was always "later," George thought sadly when spring came and he found himself without a cent. The money he faithfully forwarded to Boston, besides his rent and living expenses, ate up all he earned. What should he do ? George again turned to Francis Place, and the philanthropist quickly proved how he had ac- quired his reputation. Scarcely had the young man presented his predicament when Place stopped him:

"Don't worry, my boy, don't worry. You are doing very well and success will come, but it takes time," and as George seemed ready to interrupt, "Yes, I understand; you haven't a farthing. Well, here's twenty pounds. And count me as your banker for two hundred more if you need it, but keep on as you are doing now; it may take two or three years before people recognize your talent — but they will, they will "

Somewhat embarrassed by young Healy's deep gratitude, the older man took him out to dinner, talking the while of possible sitters.

This marked the turning point of Healy's fortunes. Whether through Place's good offices or Hume's flattering remarks, George received an order for a small full-length portrait of the Master of Grant. This was bound to draw attention to his work.

Sir Lewis Grant, tall, extremely handsome, and much younger- looking than his seventy-one years, was a figure of romance. He had become chief of the clan in 1811; the virtues of a Scottish master won for him the loyalty and devotion of every branch of his clan, and women considered him irresistible, even at this advanced stage of his career.

ENGLISH ROMANCE 53

The picturesque costume with stripes of green and red, its solid red panel and central block of dark green traversed by black and green lines, gave the artist full scope, and the rich colors brought out startlingly his model's fair hair over tanned features ; the blue eyes still held their fire. Healy made a replica of the small picture to hang in his studio. A few months later the Master of Grant suddenly died. Almost immediately the artist received an emissary from two ladies of very high rank who ordered a copy of the portrait, exacting a pledge of secrecy; the painting was to be sent under lock and key. Healy wondered what thrilling romance of the past hid under this curious request — whether these great ladies cherished merely tender memories of the gay Scot or if some deeper drama of illicit love underlay the secrecy; he never revealed the ladies' names — or solved the mystery.

Miss Flora McLeod of McLeod, Lady Faulkner's sister, who had come to London for the season, also ordered her portrait. George seemed to move among the Scots, and he grew very fond of them. From all she had heard about the American, Miss McLeod felt favorably inclined toward him, and in a short time they became good friends; but though he squired her occasion- ally, George Healy at this time fought shy of society, which absorbed too much time and caused inevitable expense.

At about this time, the celebrated singer, John A. Braham, whose daughter married Lord Waldegrave, had his portrait painted by G. P. A. Healy; this was the first portrait the singer had ever ordered — a strange circumstance for one so much in the public eye. He declared it "a successful likeness," and his praise brought other sitters from the stage world.

George wrote in elated mood to his friend Dubourjal, sug- gesting that he join him quickly in London — there was plenty of work for both of them.

"I miss you greatly," he wrote, "and I know you will like the nice friends who have helped me through some very difficult

54 G. P. A. HEALY

days. Now there is sunshine ahead, and I want you to share it with me."

Dubourjal came. His painting room was on the same floor as George's, and the two men worked, talked, read, went out to- gether in happy comradeship. George had not exaggerated; with the vogue for miniatures at its height Dubourjal's delicate work soon was in great demand.

Before winter set in, a momentous change occurred in George's life — he fell in love. He and Dubourjal had become socially popu- lar; the Frenchman's ready laughter, his pleasant round face with its refined features and liquid brown eyes so expressive and affectionate, assured him a welcome everywhere. As for George, many already called him the "Lawrence of America." The ad- joining studios filled after working hours with friends who dropped in for a cup of tea and a look at the new paintings and to discuss books, the theatre, etc.

Among the Americans introduced by Mr. Stevenson came a Mr. James Hanley, an inventor, whose English wife seemed par- ticularly happy to find herself back in her native city. One after- noon Edme Dubourjal, usually so quiet, rushed into George's room talking rapidly and excitedly:

"George! Mon ami, listen! You remember Mrs. Hanley? I've just been with her and her sister. She's lovely, exquise!"

George raised his eyebrows. "Mrs. Hanley?" he asked, with a clear recollection of a woman in her late thirties but far from fascinating.

"Non, non!" exclaimed Dubourjal. "The little one — her sister. Her name is Louisa Phipps, and she's promised to sit for me!"

"Humm . . . she seems to have made quite an impression."

"Wait till you see her!" Dubourjal added, "I've asked them both to come to your studio "

A few days later George was running down the stairs, in a hurry as usual. He had just locked his studio door. Two ladies were walking up. Taking off his hat, the artist effaced himself

ENGLISH ROMANCE 55

to let the ladies pass, but the older one stopped, saying in a dis- appointed voice:

"Oh! Mr. Healy, are you leaving?"

George looked startled, then fortunately recognized her.

"Mrs. Hanley' I am so sorry . . . I have an appointment."

His eyes wandered toward her companion.

"My sister, Miss Phipps, Mr. Healy; Monsieur Dubourjal had promised us a visit to your studio."

The artist immediately proffered the key, which was still in his hand.

"I wish I could return with you but I am late Dubourjal

will show you the pictures, but," and he looked at the young girl as he spoke, "please come back soon when I may have the pleas- ure of receiving you "

Bowing, George Healy proceeded on his way while Mrs. Hanley and her sister continued upstairs. From the lower step, he watched them turn on the landing to his friend's door, and as he looked, Louisa Phipps leaned over the banister. His eyes met hers; their blueness sparkled at him from under her demure poke bonnet, then she lowered her eyelids and rejoined her sister — but the mischief was done.

Alas for poor Dubourjal! He lingered over the little water-color portrait; he painted with tender hands the girlish oval of her face framed by light brown ringlets and the parted hair topped by the fashionable high comb. In the wide-spaced blue eyes lurked a disturbing mixture of innocence and amused archness; the small mouth and chin could assert themselves in suddenly stub- born or severe lines; her slender neck and white sloping shoulders emerged from a low-cut dress with puff sleeves. To the sitter, Dubourjal's face became an open book; she liked its telltale admi- ration, which, however, left her untouched, whereas the quick steps of his friend, that American artist with his foreign look and his mustache, made her heart turn somersaults.

The Frenchman, torn between a very deep friendship and this

56 G. P. A. HEALY

sudden unexpected feeling of love, suffered. It was he neverthe- less who suggested that they adjourn to George's studio for tea; it soon became a daily practice. Forgetting how he had teased Dubourjal, Healy promptly fell under the same spell. Since that glimpse on the stairway Louisa had darted frequent glances in his direction; unconsciously drawn together, the two young people let Mrs. Hanley and Dubourjal entertain each other.

"Do you sing?" Dubourjal asked her one day.

She admitted that she did, and Dubourjal begged her to sing for them; but they had no spinet. Mrs. Hanley invited both men to her parents' home, and there they found Mrs. Phipps, a capable, rather dry, sharply busy woman, who watched with eagle eye every step her invalid husband took. He was tall, gaunt, wasted by illness, but in him George discovered the gay spirit that so attracted him in his daughter.

In a clear, sweet, true voice Louisa sang for her visitors the songs then in vogue; after her first shyness, warming up at their evident delight, she took up Irish ditties; they thought her brogue irresistible; then she sang in excellent Scottish such as her mother had taught her "Auld Robin Gray" and "A Highland Lad," and prettily asked them to join in the favorite "Auld Lang Syne."

They were lustily singing the last notes when a visitor arrived — a tall, blond Englishman, punctiliously dressed, a friend of her brothers, whom Louisa greeted with seeming gladness. It set George's teeth on edge; signaling to his astonished comrade, the American seized his hat and made his adieus. He did not like the dancing gleam in Louisa's eyes as she bade him good-by with an amused, "Oh, so soon? Must you go?" The scowl did not leave his face as they walked silently home. Dubourjal sighed; George would not take love lightly

Chapter VIII AUDUBON IN LONDON, 1837

JLrfATE in 1837, George Healy was called one day to the house of the Countess of Essex, a most charming old lady, an invalid who requested the artist to paint her portrait in her home. It was not an easy task, but he managed to imbue the likeness with her feminine appeal by softening the lines of age and illness.

After the death of her first husband, Edward Stephenson, she had married George, Fifth Earl of Essex, known as Lord Con- ingsby when he inherited his grandmother's title and estate. He was now approaching his eightieth birthday — a lively old gentleman. Age had not deprived the Countess of her many friends, and it was Healy' s good fortune that she took a fancy to him. On New Year's Day, 1838, he was surprised to find at the door of 28 Grafton Street Her Ladyship's carriage and to receive from the plush-breeched flunky a note asking him to take the little portrait and a letter from her to the Duke of Sutherland. So it happened that 1838, which proved such an eventful year for him, opened with a call at Stafford House.

His Grace's patronage meant almost as much to an artist as that of the Queen herself; it was well known that the Duchess of Sutherland, Lady Georgiana Howard, was Victoria's closest friend. On arriving, the young American discovered that the Duke's private secretary was a man whose acquaintance he had made in Paris the year before; they were very congenial, and his presence lent a certain informality to this first visit. The Duke complimented Healy on the portrait, which he found excellent,

57

58 G. P. A. HEALY

and recommended him for membership in the Royal Academy the goal of so many Americans.

The study of a head he submitted to the Academy faculty admitted him at once; it was judged "painted with a firm free pencil, good tone and color." When would he be able to add the desired R.A. to his signature ?

Before his admission to the Royal Academy his amiable model, the Countess of Essex, died. In her will she left her last portrait to the Duke of Sutherland.

Meantime, George was conducting his courtship with all the impetuosity of youth as he urged Louisa to embark fearlessly on matrimonial seas, unknown and adventurous. She was afraid. Her practical mother inclined toward the English suitor whose safe and calm life appealed to her more than that of an unpre- dictable American artist. Her eldest daughter's marriage to an inventor overseas, though happy enough, was not particularly brilliant.

That winter was filled with excitement; travelers came from every part of the world. Apartments rented at exorbitant prices for the coronation period. Mr. Andrew Stevenson, the United States Minister, informed George that Thomas Sully was coming and had been commissioned by the Saint George Society to paint the Queen's portrait. Her Majesty had graciously consented to pose, but not until the spring

Stevenson's father, the well-known rector of St. Mark's Parish in Culpeper County, Virginia, James Little Page Stevenson, now minister of St. George's Church in Fredericksburg, also came on a visit, and George painted his portrait. This and several others, including those of Hume, Miss McLeod, the Countess of Essex, Audubon, and the children of Tyrone Power, were shown at the 1838 exhibit of the Royal Academy.

On a day in November, 1837, Healy burst into Dubourjal's studio with the excited announcement:

"Audubon is here! I've just seen him!"

AUDUBON IN LONDON, 1837 59

"Audubon?" questioned his friend, pronouncing the name correctly. "A Frenchman?"

"No. Don't you know? The great American bird artist."

"Oh! the one whose book is appearing now? Yes, it's beautiful work And you say that with that name he is an American?"

"French born, I believe," answered Healy, vaguely, pursuing his own thoughts. "I'm going to call on him and ask him to let me make his portrait."

For a shy man, thought the miniaturist, his American friend had a good deal of nerve, but when he turned to tell him so, Healy had already disappeared into his own painting room, changing his high collar and cravat. In a short time Healy pre- sented himself at No. 4 Wimpole Street, the address Mr. Stev- enson had given him, a house chosen by Audubon in a pleasant street a few doors away from the Barretts' home.

The older artist looked somewhat startled on seeing again the young man he had met only a few hours earlier, but with his un- failing courtesy he ushered Healy into his library, where the bird plates lay spread on a large table. They were truly beautiful, and the young American expressed his admiration but lost no time in coming to the point. Half boldly, half diffidently he addressed his host:

"Mr. Audubon, sir, please let me paint your portrait!" Voice and eyes pleaded naively.

Audubon had sat to other artists and to his sons and had also painted his own portrait more than once; he was totally absorbed at this time in the publication of his 435 bird plates; so with gentle politeness he refused. Healy's crestfallen attitude, however, urged him to add:

"The only time I am free is at night, and that would hardly do, would it, Mr. Healy?"

But the young man jumped at the chance.

"The very thing, my dear sir! I shall paint by gaslight and it will make an original picture!"

60 G. P. A. HEALY

Caught, the great man capitulated gracefully.

The face Healy was so eager to paint seemed chiseled in light golden bronze, for the woodsman hunted his birds in all weath- ers, through the marshes of Florida and Louisiana or through dense western forests; his wild appearance contradicted the aristo- cratic beauty of features and courtly manner; the high forehead, prominent nose, the thin, sensitive mouth, and willful chin were illumined by deep-set blue eyes, so intense and piercing that the painter immediately compared them to eagle eyes. Long, dark curls touched with gray fell to his shoulders. When, on his first visit to Scotland, Audubon had been advised to conform a little more to fashion and cut his very long curls, he had written his wife a sad letter bordered in black in sign of mourning for his shorn locks, saying it reminded him of the French Revolution, "when the same operation was performed upon all victims of the

guillotine " Audubon chose to pose in his hunting clothes :

a loose white shirt open at the neck and crossed by an embroi- dered leather shoulder strap, a gun under his left arm, the barrel held in his shapely nervous hand, the feel of his gun seeming to awaken that untamed look so characteristic of the man; and Healy imagined him peering through the trees or scanning the horizon, moving quickly and silently, Indian-like, stalking birds, picking out the most beautiful, killing them, and bringing them back triumphantly with their blood-stained plumage, which his deft fingers would reproduce on paper in exquisite detail and beauty of color.

Mrs. Audubon occasionally joined their conversation. As she came in, "Ah! Mr. Healy," exclaimed Audubon with Gallic ex- uberance, "there is the most wonderful woman in the world. Can you believe it? She left a fine, comfortable Louisiana plantation to follow me — and we have known hard days "

Lucy Bakewell, devoted English wife, had turned teacher in order to enable her husband to continue his hunting and painting and to finance his journey across the ocean. It shocked Healy as

AUDUBON IN LONDON, 1837 6l

it had shocked other American men, but the women understood — indeed many of them envied Mrs. Audubon.

A son came in to watch Healy's progress, and his young wife, expecting a baby, sometimes brought her sewing by the lamp.

Strange that George Healy should consult so self-absorbed and impractical a man as Audubon on his own problem, but somehow he confided to him his love for Louisa and his qualms because of present responsibilities and still inadequate earnings. Audubon gave him his enchanting smile.

"An English girl?" he said encouragingly. "Why, man, they

make the best of wives. You ought to marry Money ? Money

is not essential. Don't waste these precious years. No happiness is greater than a good marriage!"

Mrs. Audubon looked somewhat quizzically at this devoted husband who left her, years on end, to carry most of the burden and watch over their two boys while he pursued his own work

wherever it called him But she shared his views on love and

nodded confirmation when the young artist turned questioningly to her.

George promptly repeated their advice to Louisa; however, Audubon's Latin enthusiasm only intensified her fears. He sounded like a very impractical man, and Louisa had been brought up among the genteel poor, for the Phippses' inde- pendent spirit kept them away from aristocratic relatives who might have helped them. Louisa wanted security. This impetu- ous, gay, hard-working American who never kept still, in mind or body, at times terrified her.

A mystery surrounded Audubon's origin — many believed him to be the lost little Dauphin. Adopted by Captain Jean Audubon, he was taken by him from Saint-Domingue to Brittany, then at eighteen sailed to America. Sometimes, George said, he would exchange covert glances with his wife or else shut himself in a dramatic silence. Once he hinted at a vow of secrecy. The legend has expanded with time. Was he Louis XVII, smuggled from the

62 G. P. A. HEALY

Temple Prison in Paris to the colony of Saint-Domingue and brought back later to his native France with the connivance of the French mariner Audubon? Partisans of this view like to point out that his passionate interest in birds sprang from the memory of his only companions in captivity, the caged birds so cruelly put to death by the guard Simon.

But at fifty-three years of age, Audubon considered himself absolutely American. With his strong French accent he would expatiate on the greatness of his wonderful America ! And George Healy joined him in extolling the glory of his native land. The two artists egged each other on, and the portrait gained in spar- kling naturalness. This quality struck Thomas Sully when he saw it.

The moment Healy heard of Sully's arrival, he called upon him at Hatchett's Hotel, where the artist and his daughter Blanche stopped before they found a suitable studio at 40 Great Marlborough. There, in March, 1838, the Queen gave Sully her first sitting, but long before that the Philadelphian made his promised call at Fitzroy Square.

As he entered Healy's studio, his eyes arrested by the new por- trait, Sully exclaimed:

"Ah! My old friend Audubon! That's excellent." And as he approached nearer to examine the detail, they spoke of the tal- ented and eccentric woodsman to whom Sully had given lessons years ago. "Did you know, Mr. Healy, that Audubon sat for the figure of Vanderlyn's General Jackson ?" asked the artist.

"So Mr. Audubon told me, sir; he said that hunger in those New Orleans days made him thin enough to become the ideal model."

The visitor gazed long and earnestly at Healy's paintings, showing the same interest he had manifested for the boy's efforts in Boston seven years before, and as he was leaving, with great sincerity and his most gracious smile, he said to the young man:

AUDUBON IN LONDON, i837 63

"Mr. Healy, you will never regret having followed my advice in your choice of a career."

To the twenty-four-year-old artist, these words seemed like the consecration of his work. When he repeated Sully's words to Louisa, she was thrilled that an artist chosen to paint the Queen should be so praising of George.

Throughout the winter, preparations for the coronation formed the main topic of conversation. A Queen's legend was shaping, born of the people's desire to see virtue at court. Women had worn the English crown with glory; many hoped there might rise a Victorian era no less potent than the Elizabethan age. Never had a new sovereign been more sincerely acclaimed, and among the young girls who watched adoringly her every move, none was more enthusiastic than Louisa Phipps. It amused the American artist to hear her proudly compare her height — five feet — her age — nineteen — her slender figure, her looks even (though she was really much prettier) with those of Her Majesty.

Accustomed to open criticism of royalty from radical Whigs, George brought to Louisa amusing tales of the Queen's entourage heard from his sitters; there were quips about her rigid adherence to every form of etiquette. But where he expected Louisa's sense of humor to respond, instead of the laugh he loved to hear, he saw her eyes grow icy, her mouth set, and one night she exploded with a furious :

"How dare you speak of Her Majesty so disrespectfully!"

Aghast, George vowed he had meant no offense and suddenly realized how peremptorily the new Victorians viewed their alle- giance. To make his peace, he willingly agreed that the young

Queen was perfect Later he would find in Louisa also that

"vein of iron" Lady Lyttleton spoke of in regard to Victoria.

Healy's newest patron who was to become a lifelong friend was the eldest son of Lord and Lady Holland, General Charles

64 G. P. A. HEALY

Richard Fox. By normal rights he should be the heir to lands and titles, but his beautiful, gifted mother was still in name Lady Webster, traveling in Italy, when Lord Holland fell in love with her. She had not yet been divorced when their son was born in 1796. Lady Webster married Henry Richard Vassall Fox, third Lord Holland, in London, on July 6, 1797.

Illegitimacy, Boston had taught him, invariably brought shame and disaster, and George could not adjust himself to the cheerful way in which English aristocracy regarded its complications.

When he sat for his portrait, Charles Richard Fox, sanguine, vivid, with his ruddy complexion, his pleasant face, and animated countenance, was a most attractive man of forty. He was aide-de- camp and son-in-law to King William IV.

General Fox's great hobby was his remarkable collection of coins. The painter cared little for coins. What affected him was the almost fanatical intensity of the collector, which he wanted to reproduce; that meant drama to a painter. When he caught a reflection of the soul, painted a strong emotion, or awakened in features, by line and color, the true character of his model — then portrait painting became as thrilling as an inventive com- position. The concentration he brought to his study of the face before him and the power he injected in the hand that directed the brush made him feel like a runner gathering every ounce of vitality to win the last lap of a race. It left him exhausted.

Noticing the young man's fatigue, Fox rose.

"Let's rest a bit, Mr. Healy," he suggested. "Your friend Edme Dubourjal will soon be here and dinner must be about ready. Come, my dear Velasquez!"

General Fox enjoyed dubbing his friends with great names of the past, and Healy became in turn Murillo, or Rubens, or Raphael, while in later letters Fox unconsciously revealed his love of life by signing himself Volpone or some other vigorous, full-blooded character who had tasted life to the full.

At dinner, Lady Mary presiding, they talked familiarly of art

AUDUBON IN LONDON, 1837 65

and travels, of Paris where the General and his wife spent part of every year, and in this warm atmosphere the artist found the same comfort and uplift he had known with the Faulkners.

That year George painted a group picture of Tyrone Power's children, and Louisa helped to keep them amused with stories or reading. The painting had been ordered as a surprise from Mrs. Power to celebrate her noted husband's return from an American tour and was exhibited at the Royal Academy in May, 1838. The great Irish actor had just made his first appearance across the ocean. Mrs. Power brought to George's studio the two younger boys Frederick and Harold and three blue-eyed girls gifted with Irish charm. The eldest son, William, was to be knighted and live in Australia; his brother Maurice would be- come an actor, like his father. Healy thought them a fascinating family. A few years later a shocking tragedy brought gloom to this happy group. On his return from another American visit on the President, Tyrone Power and his shipmates were caught in a terrific gale at dawn, March 14, 1841. Neither ship nor passen- gers were ever heard from again.

Chapter IX THE CORONATION

H,

.EALY'S days became a kaleidoscopic succession of por- traits, visits, functions of all sorts, late hours, and early rising. Dubourjal could not follow that pace; he contented himself with a few interesting contacts and sufficient work.

Through Sully they came to know the poet Leigh Hunt. Still wearing the Byronesque collar, Italian cape, and wild mop of hair, Hunt exuded an aura of romanticism; he had known, be- friended, and encouraged such geniuses as Byron and Shelley and always surrounded himself with young writers or artists who benefited by his judgment.

At Hunt's home in Chelsea, No. 10 Upper Cheyne Row, a few doors from the great Carlyle, Healy and Dubourjal met Elizabeth Barrett of Wimpole Street who wrote fine verse and collaborated with Hunt; she was charming, ethereal looking, a passionate girl with bladelike spirit. There also they saw Robert Browning, whose "Paracelsus" had just appeared. The poet's fluent French (he had been brought up by French tutors) relieved Dubourjal from the necessity of twisting his tongue into English sounds.

Years later, in Florence, Healy saw again these early London acquaintances; Elizabeth Barrett and Robert Browning had then become a very celebrated couple, the axis of an intellectual and artistic English center.

As spring approached, Louisa began to complain of George's "neglect." He was working every hour of light and spent most of his evenings among new friends, with or without Louisa. Her

66

THE CORONATION 6j

pique delighted him, and he was not sorry to tease her occasion- ally— especially after some encounter with the faithful English- man at her house. Noticing a jealous glint in her eye when he mentioned Lady Buller, he expatiated on her charm, her fasci- nating hint of a lisp Louisa tried to appear indifferent. George

told her how the day before a total stranger had stopped Lady Buller in Piccadilly to ask if the new number of Master Hum- phrey's Clock were out yet! Dubourjal interrupted:

"How could anyone have courage enough to speak unasked to so dignified an old lady?"

"Old!" exclaimed Louisa. The cat was out of the bag, and George was forced to make amends for his teasing.

A month before the coronation, the launching of a new steam- ship, the British Queen, was scheduled to coincide with the Queen's birthday. Everyone made much of it — a new queen, a new ship, a promise of new times. The ceremony brought out crowds as May 24 shone bright with what the people already called "the Queen's weather." At the dockyards of Messrs. Curling, Young and Company, visitors milled around, while above the usual British tones one could hear shrill American voices exclaim, "The greatest ship afloat!" "Longer than a battle- ship!" "It carries two hundred passengers!" And already many fought for passage on the first crossing; the fare rose exorbitantly and was paid, nevertheless by the eager passengers.

Healy and Dubourjal arrived early to witness the christening of the ship, their arms numb from lifting their hats continuously as on the way they seemed to have met everyone they knew in London. The sound of American voices, the sight of this brave new ship aroused in Healy a fierce desire to cross the ocean and return home. As he glanced toward the new liner his eye caught the familiar figure of Andrew Stevenson. With him stood a tall man, powerfully built — heavy neck, large features, very tanned. Healy approached them, and as soon as he saw him, the Ameri- can Minister exclaimed:

68 G. P. A. HEALY

"I was just speaking about you, Mr. Healy. Let me present you to General Lewis Cass, our Minister to the Court of France."

While Healy and Dubourjal paid their respects to the Ameri- can, Stevenson added:

"I want you to paint Marechal Soult for me. He represents King Louis Philippe at the coronation, and the Duke will be his host. Think of it! Wellington and Soult — rather exciting, isn't it, after all their encounters on the battlefield!"

Healy was enthusiastic ; they spoke for a while of the two great generals, and Cass added to the artist's pleasure by saying that he had heard so much of his talent he would like him to paint his portrait as soon as he returned to Paris.

At a reception in the American legation for Mrs. and Miss Cass, Mr. Stevenson gave his young compatriot two tickets for Westminster — an unhoped-for privilege in view of the great demand for admission. That night George rushed over to the Phippses' home, and Louisa danced with excitement as he showed her the tickets. She would actually see her Queen being crowned !

But on June 27, there came to Healy's studio a flattering and peremptory invitation from Lady Agnes Buller to join the Northumberland party on the morrow for the coronation at Westminster. This was almost a royal command — the artist

could not refuse To Dubourjal, George handed his two tickets,

saying:

"I'm glad at least that you can go, only please, please make Louisa understand."

But Louisa, hurt and highly offended, refused to see George and for days flaunted her English admirer, who assiduously accompanied her everywhere. London was in an uproar. Never had it known such noisy crowds, such confusion.

Visiting celebrities flocked to London. President Martin Van Buren's son John, Secretary at the American legation, whose daily hobnobbing with high titles caused the opposition news- papers at home to call him Prince Long Shanks and hint that

THE CORONATION 69

perhaps the President hoped to make him Prince Consort, and other Americans gathered around Stevenson — Sully, always gra- cious; Morse, who praised and congratulated Healy on not having followed his advice; and Colonel Thorn of New York with his dazzling daughters. General Cass and his family were often seen with King Louis Philippe's representative, Marechal Soult. There was no thought of sittings from the Napoleonic hero at this crowded time. The Marechal's presence created a stir wher- ever he appeared ; it was curious to see persons of every rank and the common people in the streets cheering him ; during the Court Procession, shouts and applause greeted Soult and Wellington as those two military giants who had fought each other so furi- ously in Spain and at Waterloo appeared together.

In her gold coronation coach the Queen smiled at the throngs and behaved with magnificent composure although she constantly whispered, asking what she was supposed to do. When the orb was placed in her hand, she looked at it askance.

"What am I to do with it?" she asked.

"Your Majesty is to carry it if you please in your hand."

"Am I ? It is very heavy."

But she suffered in silence, even when the Archbishop insisted on putting on her fourth finger the ruby ring adjusted to her little finger. It hurt. She was obliged to bathe her finger in ice water to remove the ring.

From his vantage point with Lady Agnes Buller, Healy studied the various figures as they took their place in Westminster Abbey. The Duke of Sussex in his black velvet cap struck a strange homely note amid the gorgeous conventional dress of the Queen's party. Prince Esterhazy stood out conspicuously in his white Magyar uniform, while the Turk, Sarim Effendi, was heard to murmur, "All this for a woman!" Ambassadors, said Greville, suffered from the honor of joining the Royal Procession. It meant costly equipages and other expenses that most governments could not or would not meet. In the audience Sir Arthur in full

7o G. P. A. HEALY

regalia and Lady Faulkner exchanged friendly signals of greeting with Healy.

The festivities continued on through the summer. When not at work, Healy joined many a party, and Louisa, forgetting her resentment in all this excitement and forsaking her English cavalier, went out again with George.

The autumn lull permitted both artists to remember orders awaiting them in France. For once Louisa lost her composure; was she letting happiness slip by? To Healy nothing seemed so important as his love.

"George," Dubourjal remonstrated, "don't marry too soon. Marriage will interfere with your work — you take your duties so hard!"

"I would marry this minute if she'd only have me," sighed the sentimental wooer. "We'd manage, I know. . . ."

"Keep your freedom a little longer, mon ami. Have you for- gotten your project of work in Belgium and Holland?" asked his friend, whose admiration for the English girl did not blind him to the hampering exigencies of married life.

When they left, Louisa exacted from George the promise of frequent letters. He wrote from Paris, Brussels, the Hague, and Amsterdam, where he was steeped in the glory of Rembrandt's power and Rubens' luminous color; he confided to her his artistic dreams, and in her prim little answers he could read a sympa- thetic understanding of his aspirations.

On his way back to Paris, at Antwerp, where he copied Rubens' "Descent from the Cross," he received a letter from General Cass forwarded by Dubourjal. Marechal Soult, too busy as Minister to the King, could not yet give the requested sittings; but he and Mrs. Cass were ready for their portraits as soon as Mr. Healy returned to the city. The very next day, George reached Paris where his friend had already found the necessary studio, and soon the artist was at work on a full-length portrait of the General.

The bronzed outdoor face with big features and eyes that

THE CORONATION 71

looked straight at you from under dark brows inspired the painter — a virile model despite the rather long, wavy hair parted on the side since fashion condemned men to the curling iron unless nature favored them with a natural curl.

"Mr. Healy," asked the sitter, "where would you prefer to live, in France or England ?"

"In America," promptly replied George Healy, and Lewis Cass laughed.

"Good for you, young man!" His eyes appraised him. "I see they haven't quite turned your head in London "

The rugged pioneer was an intelligent educated man, lawyer, soldier, statesman; an ardent patriot, he had fought in the War of 18 12, breaking his sword in anger and shame when General Hull surrendered to the British. His captivity no doubt accounted for Cass's lasting distrust of England, whereas the Indians whom he had defeated in 1814 found him a most sympathetic governor when the Territory of Michigan was placed under his command.

As he painted, Healy and his subject talked much of Cass's past and of his frequent hopes and interests.

"Someday," said Cass to the artist after one of their seances, "I hope to have you paint for me a portrait of the King."

George flushed with pleasure — this meant that the American liked his work. Cass admired Louis Philippe; he believed in the sincerity of his democratic views; he approved the simple family life at the Tuileries. Cass's own life in Paris was anything but simple; his fortune enabled him to maintain sumptuous apart- ments, which, like Franklin, he considered necessary to American prestige abroad. His drawing rooms were constantly crowded and his dinners famous.

The daily reminder of America swept George into a new wave of nostalgia, and he wondered why he did not take the next boat home. Then the image of Louisa rose before him, and he knew he must win her before returning. One thing, however, he could do now that orders came more easily: he could send

72 G. P. A. HEALY

for Thomas, let the boy enjoy those early advantages he had missed. So, at eighteen, Thomas Healy arrived in Paris.

"Oh, oh!" thought Dubourjal when he saw him. "What a fas- cinating young fellow! And how good looking! I wonder if George realizes what he has on his hands now "

Exuberantly happy in their reunion, the brothers talked as if they were running a race against time; they were much alike, Thomas' eyes were more sparklingly audacious, George's showing a depth of thought and feeling the younger one might never reach. Both had "the gift of the gab" and Irish wit and tenderness, but Thomas' insouciance, which had troubled their mother, was a matter of temperament, not of age. George saw only the gaiety, the charm he remembered, and felt convinced that proper train- ing would make of him the great artist that he had always believed was Thomas' destiny.

They spoke of the family; William, said Thomas, was in a fever of impatience to leave Boston; he wanted to live in Balti- more with their sister. John liked his quarters in Lowell, but looked thin with that transparent complexion their mother had.

"His lungs are weak and he works too hard," complained Thomas.

Dubourjal helped them choose a room in the Latin Quarter, while they talked at random of galleries, the Beaux Arts and its teachers, of art students, their life, and the dangers of ateliers.

During their first dinner at a little French restaurant George told his brother about Louisa; Thomas became very excited at the prospect of a sister-in-law.

George Healy returned to London for the portraits he had promised to paint that summer; as he left Paris, he exacted Thomas' promise to work hard, not only at his painting, but also at sculpture, which would strengthen his line in drawing.

At Fitzroy Square once more Louisa came to pour tea for George's guests and read aloud to some of his sitters. They were so happy together that the artist thought he could at last break

THE CORONATION 73

down her fears, but another obstacle presented itself. She would not have a Catholic marriage; he pleaded that since their God and their faith were the same, she might give him the comfort of accepting his church.

"No," said Louisa. "I shall be married at Saint Pancras or not at all." That age of innocence could show stubborn firmness, and the deadlock continued.

Then in July came a letter from General Cass announcing that the King was willing to sit for his portrait! George in his jubilant enthusiasm finally drew from Louisa the fateful yes.

On the morning of July 23, 1839, George Healy and Louisa Phipps were married at Saint Pancras Parish on Euston Road; James and Mary Ann Hanley signed as witnesses; a few friends accompanied them. The bride wore her traveling dress, as they were to start immediately for Paris. George had celebrated his twenty-sixth birthday the week before; Louisa was twenty.

That evening when the English admirer, back from a short journey, presented himself at her door, Mrs. Phipps was faced with the unpleasant duty of telling him that her daughter had been married that day and was on her way to France. To her dismay, the blond giant fell in a faint at her feet.

Gaily the couple started off for Dover, Louisa clinging to her handsome husband, hiding her blushes under the poke bonnet, wrapped in her beautiful traveling shawl though the sun made a wrap unnecessary. George kept looking with proud and hungry eyes at his dainty bride. All seemed perfect until they stepped on the boat — and that brought Louisa's defeat. Never was there a poorer sailor! Too sick even to feel the blow to her pride, she let her distressed husband carry her from the gangplank to the rickety diligence that drove them through the night to Paris. What a climax to all her romantic expectations of a honeymoon ! At the hotel she tumbled gratefully into bed, and fortunately the sleep of exhaustion soon dried her tears.

A magnificent traveler, George could not understand; he felt

74 G. P. A. HEALY

unhappy and guilty. Such trials, however, are quickly forgotten. The next day Louisa, rosy-cheeked again, smiling, eyes filled with adoration, was ready to find Paris and the whole world enchant- ing. As soon as she declared herself willing to see them, George sent word to Thomas and Dubourjal of their arrival. The young brother-in-law was immediately captivated by this new member of the family; as for Dubourjal, he had definitely let friendship win the battle over love.

In the rue de l'Ouest near the Luxembourg — a street better known later as the rue d'Assas, which sheltered so many artists — the Healys found an apartment that became their home for nearly a year. No kitchen, few of those improvements Americans craved, but it had light, a good studio, a cozy atmosphere. Louisa enjoyed the beautiful park close at hand, and she learned French by reading aloud to George while he worked. She labored over Alexandre Dumas's new play Mademoiselle de Belle-Isle, which George translated for her, and which they afterward were able to enjoy together at the theater.

Louisa's new existence thrilled her; she tried to feel shocked at this haphazard way of living, compared with her orderly youth in London, but she loved it! They ate at restaurants; they sat at little tables on the sidewalk to drink pretty colored and innocu- ous syrups as they watched the crowds go by. She could not understand a word of the first play George took her to see, but she liked the acting and the responsive audience. When they came out, the night was warm, the boulevards bright; they stopped at a cafe. Louisa looked particularly attractive, and a daring dandy, smoking his big cigar, leaned over their table, trying to catch a glimpse of the face under the bonnet. His cigar smoke cast a haze over her, and George, the indignant new husband, seized a glass of water, which he threw in the face of the dandy, spilling the water all over him and over Louisa's bonnet. Then in the most gracious manner he rose, excusing himself by saying:

"I thought my wife's hat was on fire."

THE CORONATION 75

Delighted laughter rang from the neighboring tables as the discomfited dandy quickly departed.

Another instance of young Healy's occasional fits of jealousy occurred some time later at a ball while Louisa danced more than once with a French officer who seemed to be whispering in her ear. With an unwonted gleam in his eye, George came over to her.

"Dearest, I think it is time for us to go."

Louisa looked up, surprised, but seeing his expression she answered him with a merry twinkle:

"After this dance, dear. I have promised one more to my partner."

George contained himself with difficulty. Must he create a scandal? Stiffening, he waited, had her wrap ready when she returned to him, but in the carriage on their way home the couple remained silent. Finally, as Louisa looked at him sideways, he asked her in sarcastic tones:

"What did that Frenchman have to whisper so tenderly ?"

"Oh! Do you really want me to tell you?"

George faced her in anger — she was mocking him. But im- mediately contrition filled her voice as she realized his hurt.

"Nothing to worry over, my darling," she told him. "He wanted to learn the new step; I showed him, and he was counting very carefully, 'Un, deux, trots — un, deux, trots "J

Chapter X KING LOUIS PHILIPPE, 1839

A

LOUD pull at the studio bell startled George Healy; palette in hand, he went to the door. A messenger handed him a letter, mumbling, "Very urgent." George saw the U. S. Legation seal and in sudden excitement opened the note.

General Cass informed him that King Louis Philippe expected them both at the Tuileries Palace at two o'clock; George must bring several sketches, his paints, and canvas. Quickly the artist dashed his answer, closed the door on the messenger, and rushed to Louisa's room. She was at the window and turned suddenly, surprised at this unaccustomed break in his work. George was all excitement as he put his arms around her.

"Darling," he exclaimed, "I'm to meet Mr. Cass at two at the Tuileries and see the King!"

As happy as he, she helped him choose the sketches he would show, and on the dot Healy met the Minister at the Palace. Louis Philippe received them most cordially and examined Healy's work with evident approval, saying that he liked his portrait of General Cass very much, and, said His Majesty, they might as well start at once. To Healy's great relief, General Cass remained; an officer, a minister, and a chamberlain were also present.

Absorbed in his model, Healy studied intently Louis Philippe's fine features and the straight carriage of this elderly man. His was a kingly figure, though it recalled but faintly the handsome, ro- mantic youth of revolutionary days.

76

KING LOUIS PHILIPPE, 1839 77

Measuring compass in hand, the painter moved toward his model. Immediately three men sprang forward — they had seen the flash of steel between his fingers — but the King merely laughed as he stopped their progress.

"Gentlemen! Mr. Healy is a republican, yes, but an American — not a killer of kings!"

Recovering from his amazement, Healy explained that he always measured the head before blocking in the figure. They smiled their relief, and the sitting continued.

The King spoke fluent and excellent English, for he had lived in England and in America during his long periods of exile. With Cass and the artist he talked about Philadelphia, where he and his two brothers made their home for many months, and of the little room above Hovey's store in Boston, where he lodged while teaching French to ladies of the Boston aristocracy; he told them how cordially General and Mrs. Washington re- ceived them at Mount Vernon and helped map out the brothers' projected expedition down the Ohio and Mississippi to New Orleans.

"Do you know, gentlemen," he said with a twinkle, "that I almost became a medicine man for a village of Cherokee Indians?"

Chuckling over the incredulous look of the two Americans, he explained that during that hard trip, having fallen from his horse, he doctored himself, and the Indians, intrigued by his skill- ful bloodletting, begged him to visit their old chief, who was very ill. The Duke of Orleans treated this old man, who got better and offered him the post of doctor for his tribe! Louis Philippe man- aged to avoid the honor by stressing the necessity of his return to his own tribe, but he could not refuse the chief's greatest proof of gratitude, which was to sleep in his tent between the two most noble and venerable women of the tribe — the chief's grandmother and great aunt!

"How my brothers teased me!" laughed His Majesty, but his

78 G. P. A. HEALY

laughter ended in a sigh, for both brothers, Beaujolais and Mont- pensier, whom he loved dearly, were now dead.

"We had many varied experiences," he continued. "In Phila- delphia, Mr. Healy, we had the privilege of watching Gilbert Stuart at work on a portrait of Washington."

"Mr. Stuart is our greatest painter, Sire."

"A great painter anywhere," answered the monarch, launch- ing into a discussion of art and artists.

The sittings continued, and to Healy one day Louis Philippe spoke of Versailles; now that the Palace, turned into a museum, was constantly visited by the masses, he meant to create a gallery of historical pictures that would popularize great deeds not only of France but of other countries, such as England and America; he wanted their great men represented — the builders and defend- ers of a democratic civilization. No project could have appealed more to the artist, who wished he might be given a share in this work.

Every sitting brought new interest, and the portrait advanced rapidly. Now it was over. Everyone in the royal family seemed pleased with it, and General Cass promptly hung it in his great drawing room; neither Ingres, nor SchefTer, nor Delaroche, he claimed, had rendered so realistic and living a presentation of the King.

"It is wonderful, George!" Dubourjal exclaimed. "Just think — at twenty-six, you have arrived!"

When his smiling young wife, important and happy, nodded her agreement, George, embarrassed by all this praise, turned to her.

"Now, dearest, we can really hope to go to America before long!"

To him this meant real success; to her, the unknown that she dreaded; but she said nothing — they certainly could not afford that long journey yet

While orders came faster, the money melted rapidly; George

KING LOUIS PHILIPPE, i839 79

still supported his family in Boston; he was paying for Thomas in the Latin Quarter, and at home he felt that nothing was ever quite good enough for his dainty wife, who constantly had to check his extravagance.

Exulting over his brother's achievement, Thomas basked in the reflected glory and boasted a good deal about George to the com- rades who now invited him on parties and outings.

"All this does not help his work," Louisa complained to her husband.

"He's so gifted, dearest," George protested, "and Paris is ex- citing Give him time. When he settles down, I believe he'll

paint better than I do!"

"Nonsense!"

Louisa resented her husband's constant praise of others; his effervescent enthusiasm over the work of other artists sounded to her like self-depreciation, and belligerently she stood ready to assert his superiority. George's quick sense of appreciation was in reality quite independent of comparisons; he counted a fine painting a treasure in itself, the highest form of beauty, and he seldom resisted the impulse to buy his comrades' best sketches.

Among the men George admired particularly was his ex-com- rade from Gros's atelier, Thomas Couture, and Louisa wondered how two such different temperaments had ever been attracted to each other. She knew their common love of art and respect for artistic integrity, but this seemed to her pretty abstract as a basis of friendship.

After that day at the atelier, in 1834, when Couture had unwit- tingly given the newcomer a practical lesson in drawing, the two students never spoke to each other. Then a couple of years later, walking in Paris with an English friend, Healy, as they passed Desforges's art shop, stopped suddenly, attracted by an oil painting in the window.

"Look, Topplis," he exclaimed. "That's real painting!"

"That Venetian figure, you mean?"

8o G. P. A. HEALY

"Yes." Healy's excitement grew. "Notice the powerful line- how ruggedly true — it's masterly!"

"By Jove, you're right, Healy." And after studying the picture a while longer, the English artist added, "Let's go in. I must get my brother to buy this."

The sale was arranged, and Desforges gave them the artist's address; the name Thomas Couture recalled nothing, but as soon as the artist answered Healy's knock at the studio, the American had a retrospective vision of that summer day at Gros's and of the Frenchman pushing him from his easel to draw the tired model.

"Oh! I'm so glad it's you," he blurted to the nonplused stocky man, who looked just as rumpled and shaggy as he had in their student days. After enjoying for a few moments the artist's mystification, Healy reminded Couture of the incident and asked what he had done since then.

After Gros's death, Couture had entered Delaroche's studio, he said, but irked by the limitations of schools, he had broken away and decided to walk alone. He still found the trudging a little hard. The bond of shared memories and the frank admira- tion George showered on his comrade developed into an active friendship, and Couture was one of the first artists George pre- sented to his wife.

She shuddered at the loud fellow; he seemed uncouth, so unlike her adored husband or their gentle friend Dubourjal!

Dubourjal's admiration was more restrained than Healy's.

"Yes, he's a real painter," he admitted, "but with all his early training and sureness he has not the utter naturalness of your self-taught painting," and laughing, he added, "American candor, I might call it." George thought this sheer partiality.

Over the problem of his brother Thomas, George and Dubour- jal put their heads together; they did not want Louisa to know of the boy's escapades. There had been an extraordinary scene at the atelier, where the hot-blooded young American was reported

KING LOUIS PHILIPPE, 1839 81

to have pulled a gun and set the place in an uproar. Then he was such an easy prey for scheming young women! It was de- cided finally that Thomas had better return to America, open his own studio either in Boston or in Lowell, where his brother John seemed to be doing nicely. Louisa was not sorry ; she would have George more to herself! George felt they had acted wisely when Thomas's letters came, full of hope concerning the growing city of Lowell and his first American sitters.

In Paris the young couple's life continued full of contrasts. When General and Mrs. Cass invited them to a grand dinner at their beautiful home in the rue Matignon in the filysee quarter, George ordered for his wife a dress of white satin and chiffon that swallowed up the price of more than one portrait — but she looked so lovely in it! Miss Isabel was charmed with the bride's looks and her charming timidity.

"You had not told us, Mr. Healy, that you married a little girl," she teased.

Indignant, Louisa swiftly turned, but as her eyes met the warmth of Miss Cass's smile, she joined in the laughter. At first, the presence of formidable liveried footmen behind their chairs intimidated her; her natural English poise, however, saved her from showing any embarrassment. The evening proved most suc- cessful.

Now Louisa busied herself with baby clothes. As the time approached, George decided that it would be easier and safer for Louisa to be at her mother's. Advised by the Faulkners who had promised to stand as godparents to the newcomer, they reached London in February, 1840, and in mid-March little Arthur Faulkner Healy made his appearance.

George left his wife and child in the care of Mrs. Phipps and returned to his work in Paris.

At long last the eagerly awaited opportunity to paint Marechal Soult presented itself. In March, 1840, his ministry had fallen, and now that he was out of office, the ex-Minister remembered his

82 G. P. A. HEALY

promise to Cass. He invited the General and the American artist to visit his picture gallery.

"A rare privilege, Mr. Healy," the United States Minister in- formed his young countryman. "The Duke of Dalmatia guards his treasures jealously and seldom lets anyone see them."

As they admired the priceless collection, they understood the reason; many of these old masters came from Spain. "War loot," whispered General Cass at a moment when Soult, busy with a messenger, could not overhear.

Before a particularly fine "Immaculate Conception" of Murillo — the one now so familiar to visitors of the Louvre — the Marechal remarked :

"That picture saved a man's life," but vouchsafed no further explanation.

Healy that evening mentioned it to his English neighbor at dinner, and the latter told a strange story. This painting, he said, had been demanded of the monastery to which it belonged. The prior denied any knowledge of its whereabouts. If by sundown he had not found it, he was informed, he would be hanged "on yonder tree." By sundown Soult had the picture, and the prior did not hang.

There were innumerable stories about Soult, whose political career, to say the least, lacked unity. A Bonapartist in his youth, Soult became a royalist after the Vienna Congress. Under King Louis Philippe he became an Orleanist. In 1832, Louis Philippe called on Soult to head a new cabinet, and the Marechal thought himself safely in power for many years to come. But in his cabi- net two noted men of more liberal trend, though opposed to each other in politics, united to defeat him and succeeded. They were Thiers and Guizot, both historians and statesmen.

Years later, Thiers, who had replaced Soult in the early spring of 1840, told Healy of an incident of that year. He and his new ministers were waiting at the Tuileries while in an adjoining room of the Palace the King informed his Marechal of the sad

KING LOUIS PHILIPPE, i839 83

necessity to part. They waited a long time; the ministers grew fidgety, and then they saw the door opening very slowly and quietly as Louis Philippe's head appeared an instant to whisper:

"A little patience, gentlemen; we are weeping together."

Superb in his gold-embroidered uniform, white-plumed hat in hand, Marechal Soult presented a fine figure for Healy's brush. It was fitting that the artist should paint him standing in military regalia with all his medals. The portrait, ready for delivery to Mr. Stevenson in London, was to be exhibited at the Royal Academy. At this same time Healy's portrait of Mrs. Cass ob- tained a medal at the French Salon, and the artist was called to the Tuileries.

Louis Philippe surprised the painter with a most unexpected and welcome request.

"Would you make some copies of English paintings for my Versailles gallery, Mr. Healy?" he asked, and noting the artist's pleasure, added with a smile, "Yes, I know. Mrs. Healy is there, and I congratulate you both on the birth of your son. I thought it would be a good time for you to work in England "

George wanted wings to fly to London and tell Louisa the good news — but he waited a few days for Queen Victoria's answer to the French King's letter. It arrived shortly with the assurance that Her Majesty would be pleased to let the young American painter and his wife stay at Windsor while copying the pictures. Baroness Lehzen would receive them and attend to their needs.

Chapter XI AT WINDSOR CASTLE, 1840

S

O IT happened that in 1840 George and Louisa Healy with little Arthur enjoyed two idyllic months at Windsor Castle under the maternal care of Baroness Lehzen. This good lady, left to superintend repairs during the Queen's absence, was delighted with the rare treat of young companionship. While Arthur slept contentedly in his pram, Louisa spent restful hours on the sunny terrace, listening to accounts of the Queen's virtues and to minute descriptions of Victoria's marriage. Good Lehzen praised highly the handsome German husband, little suspecting that within two years Albert, irked by her influence over his wife, would engi- neer her return to Germany.

Louisa gloated over the fact that the Queen's marriage had coincided with her birthday — February 10; everything in her life, she said, seemed to connect in some way with the Queen. Healy's Americanism bristled somewhat at what seemed to him a childish veneration for royalty: Baroness Lehzen on the other hand fully approved of it.

Occasionally, with or without the baby. Louisa accompanied George into the gardens or the surrounding woods where the artist sketched various views of WTindsor. Fascinated by its history. they listened avidly to tales of the historic castle. In the midst of an ancient forest, solid and steadfast as Britain itself, Windsor Castle with its many towers seemed to keep watch over the Thames flowing leisurely at its feet. The past revived as the visi- tors looked at Arthur's Round Table, heard of the great feast of

84

AT WINDSOR CASTLE, 1840 85

St. George held there, were told that Froissart and Chaucer had sung its glory, and that two great royal poets had been interned here — James of Scotland, who wrote the "King's Quhair," dreamed of his mountains under these trees, and Charles of Or- leans, taken prisoner at Agincourt, tried here to re-create in jewel- like verse the spring season and gay flowers of France. Because the ladies liked the Frenchman too well and might help his escape, he was removed to more inaccessible fortresses while im- poverished France labored twenty-five years to gather his huge ransom. At Windsor also, King Charles I had spent his last Christmas and after his execution was brought back for burial at St. George's chapel

Parts of the great domain had then fallen in ruin, but as game abounded Windsor became a hunting lodge, scene of much revelry. With German love of home, the Georges made the apart- ments livable, ordered new gardens with a long shaded walk leading to the forest. Queen Victoria and her consort continued these improvements. In the upper court, divided from the lower court by the famous round tower, architects remodeled state and private apartments that contained innumerable treasures, which Victoria, good housekeeper, ordered properly catalogued. The Chapel and Deanery, the Knights of Windsor's apartments, the Queen's Mews, stables, dairy, and aviary completed the domain. To the couple who had lived in one room and studio, it all seemed rather fantastic.

Rosy-cheeked, rested, and healthy, Louisa with little Arthur left for London before the Queen's return. One morning while George Healy was at work in the Waterloo Gallery, the royal couple appeared. Quickly, the American rose, waiting to be addressed. But he had not been personally presented and Victoria believed in strict etiquette. Turning to her husband, she said:

"Ask Mr. Healy if King Louis Philippe contemplates further changes at Versailles?"

Prince Albert shot his wife a curious look, then in all seriousness

86 G. P. A. HEALY

repeated questions and answers until, glancing at the copy of Lord Bathurst by Lawrence, the Queen, with a slight bend of the head no doubt meant to be gracious, expressed her apprecia- tion with a short remark, "It is very like," and walked away, followed by the Prince.

How different from the Tuileries! thought the outraged American as he made valiant efforts to control a mounting storm of angry laughter while the royal footsteps died in the distance.

It distressed Louisa when her husband mimicked the scene. She wished it had not occurred — but the Queen could do no wrong. Following this experience, the homely familiarity of Vic- toria's uncle soothed the artist's ruffled temper. The tall, stately Duke of Sussex at last gave George Healy the long-promised sittings, and his sprightly wife, the Duchess of Inverness, received him charmingly.

At Kensington Palace, between sittings, Healy saw the work of many contemporaries, for the Duke of Sussex was an art patron and president of the Royal Society. Among American artists he had favored Webster's friend, Chester Harding, and now sprinkled his conversation with stories of painters and sculptors always fascinating to the young artist.

As a husband this immensely tall, gouty, portly gentleman became jovial, tender, delightful. He would take up his guitar and sing sentimental ditties to his diminutive wife, who thor- oughly enjoyed these romantic moods. Healy would have liked to paint this picture instead of the more conventional portraits agreed on. However, his painting obtained favorable comment and some Londoners repeated a remark made before: "G. P. A. Healy, ah, yes, the Lawrence of America."

His pictures for Versailles crated and on their way, Healy still remained in London to finish the portraits of Lord and Lady Waldegrave. He had never seen Strawberry Hill, Horace Wal- pole's historic domain inherited by Lord Waldegrave. His sitter suggested an excursion there for the artist, his wife, and several

AT WINDSOR CASTLE, 1840 87

of their American friends. It was a day they never forgot, a lesson in history so living that it would ever remain with them. Wal- pole's letters were being published, and this gave Strawberry Hill actuality. They saw the printing press of which Walpole was so proud and some first editions published under his supervision. Healy spent most of his time studying the priceless collection of pictures, while the others ambled through the magnificent grounds, those famous gardens where Walpole wrote some of his wittiest letters to the wittiest woman in France, the Marquise du Defraud. A festive lunch was served, and mountains of succulent chops vanished so fast that even impassive British servants could not hide an incredulous smile.

Summer had come and gone; the Healys, back in Paris, settled on the rive droite in a studio apartment 50 rue Saint Lazare, a quarter more suitable to a rising artist and more comfortable for a baby's needs. In a life more complex also, Louisa showed her- self a competent manager as well as devoted wife and mother. Dubourjal resumed his role of faithful, helpful friend, eking out their insufficient silverware with his own when guests came to dinner, or — a gourmet always — added some special delicacy to the menu. One night he brought two bottles of old Burgundy as the high point of the feast. From a carefully wrapped bottle the maid solemnly poured its red liquid into glasses that the guests held to the light, admiring the ruby color, sniffing the bouquet, and pronouncing the wine delicious. Two days later George Healy, to his chortling delight, found in the kitchen Dubourjal's precious bottles untouched — their unappreciative maid had served ordinary wine.

Chapter XII BACK IN PARIS

A:

.S 1841 opened, the Healys could look back with pride on two full and successful years; his medal at the Salon for the por- trait of Mrs. Cass; his paintings shown at the Royal Academy favorably received; Louis Philippe's portrait and his orders for Versailles; the Duke of Sussex' kindly patronage — all this sur- rounding the happy event of baby Arthur's birth; truly Provi- dence smiled upon them, and the new year was to fulfill many happy promises.

It began with a portrait of Francois Guizot painted in 1841 in Paris, which offered a marked contrast with that of Soult painted the previous year — the latter martial, authoritative, high-born, flamboyant; the other, distinguished and severe, the product of Calvinism, cold, but gifted with its logical penetrating eloquence. Both statesmen impressed Louis Philippe with their strength, but whereas Soult quickly aroused opposition and had to be dismissed, Guizot retained power throughout the King's reign.

Guizot possessed the Protestant's lasting virtues in complete antithesis to his other political rival, Thiers, who, a native of the sunny ancient city of Nimes, was endowed with all its southern effervescence. After the fall of Soult, Thiers had sent Guizot to England as ambassador, but on his rival's return Thiers himself was dismissed and Guizot placed at the helm.

Healy studied his model curiously — an austere face with chis- eled features, a spare figure indicative of abstemious habits; the man's evident intellectuality and known integrity seemed utterly

BACK IN PARIS 89

at variance with the touching story of his first marriage and es- pecially with his rumored present attachment to the noted Princess Lieven. After Metternich and after various shooting stars of the political world, Guizot now reigned supreme in that intensely French salon of a Russian princess, even as the aged Chateaubriand still reigned over the salon of Madame Recamier. It would have seemed more natural for the romantic Chateau- briand to associate with the lover-laden princess, while ascetic Guizot might have breathed a purer atmosphere in the chaste Juliette's company, but love is contrary and both lions — the poet and the historian — presided over their curiously chosen circles until death broke the strong ill-assorted ties.

It was murmured that when Madame de Chateaubriand died a friend asked Madame Recamier if she would marry her idol. The wide-eyed Juliette, a tender smile hovering on her lips, an- swered, "But where would Monsieur de Chateaubriand go then every afternoon?"

When an indiscreet caller asked Princess Lieven why she did not marry Guizot, she laughed, saying: "Can you imagine my being called Madame Guizot?"

Like the King, the Minister spoke English with the painter.

"Lady Holland is delightful as you know, Mr. Healy," he remarked, "but what a temper!" One evening Guizot was giving a dinner in honor of Lord and Lady Palmerston, newly married ; his guests were late, and Lady Holland, starved, for she had missed her lunch, insisted on not waiting for them. "I could not do that," the Minister went on, "but she stormed and ended the scene with a fainting fit. It was awkward."

"She corrected my English," continued George's sitter. "It seems one must not speak of hell in English — only Milton and the Bible may mention it. Que diable! That seems funny to a Frenchman."

The mixture of stoicism and worldliness in Guizot intrigued the painter; he spoke of it with Dubourjal, who had told him

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about the Minister's early romance. As a young writer on Suard's paper Le Publiciste, Guizot had noticed a series of articles signed Pauline de Meulan; they stopped suddenly, and the writer heard that Pauline de Meulan was ill and in dire need. With Suard's assent and promise of secrecy he wrote the articles under her signature. Finally Pauline learned who her savior was; she was forty, he twenty-five, but their marriage turned out most happily until her death fifteen years later in 1827. Their son, for whose sake Guizot married again, had died some four years back, and now Guizot, once more a widower, counted on his mother to bring up his daughters and the eight-year-old boy of his second marriage. In later years, one daughter, Madame de Witt, was to write charmingly of her father's life. Sympathy easily swayed this man called hard by his political adversaries, for it was Princess Lieven's sorrow over the loss of her two youngest sons that first aroused his feelings. No one knew what Guizot's virtuous and dignified mother thought of this new attachment; proud of her son's achievements, she remained close to him to the end, sharing his exile in England, where she died.

Looking around the studio during one of their sittings, Guizot noticed Couture's "Prodigal Son."

"Who painted that, Mr. Healy?" he asked.

Delighted to have his friend's work singled out, Healy spoke eloquently of Couture's talent. The Minister became interested.

"A Prix de Rome ? The Government should follow the careers of its promising laureates. I shall speak of him to the King."

"If only you could spare the time for a visit to his studio, sir, it would do much to restore his faith in the future," urged Healy.

The promise was given — and kept. On the bare wall of Couture's monastic studio, when they entered, they saw the artist brushing in vigorous strokes the outline of his "Roman Deca- dence." Guizot liked it, not unaware that this Prix de Rome had no canvas big enough for his composition and probably could not afford one. He asked if there was an order for this picture.

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"]' attends," replied Couture with characteristic and somewhat bombastic independence. Learning that the painter had worked in Delaroche's atelier, Guizot said:

"I shall have great pleasure in speaking of you to him." Un- fortunately there was no love lost between the old and the young artist, and the King listened to Delaroche's criticism of his ex- pupil. This was not the only time that Couture lost an oppor- tunity for official patronage. Some years later, under the Second Empire, he was chosen to paint the christening of the little Im- perial Prince, but Napoleon III made so many suggestions that finally the exasperated artist exclaimed:

"Who is painting this picture, Your Majesty? You or I?" and that was the end of an important commission.

Nevertheless, Couture's famous picture "Roman Decadence" caught the judges' attention at the Salon of 1847 and the follow- ing year was placed at the Luxembourg Palace.

Meanwhile, at Versailles in the previous year, 1846, Healy had surveyed the placing of his English pictures. His visit to this historic palace reminded him of stories Guizot told about Frank- lin's fruitful years in France; in the gorgeous throne room he tried to picture Franklin at the Court of Louis XVI; the idea took shape, and he mentioned it to the King.

"Splendid, Mr. Healy," agreed Louis Philippe; "the very kind of picture I want. Make me a sketch, and we'll see "

Guizot encouraged the artist.

"You'd better see M. de Remusat," he counseled; "his mother was the niece of Franklin's friend, Vergennes, who worked so hard for the Franco-American treaty of alliance."

Not only did the Comte de Remusat furnish George Healy with details and personal touches that gave him the atmosphere of those bygone days, but he procured authentic costumes in which the painter's models seemed to revive the ghosts of that last brilliant French court.

The original picture executed in the throne room measured

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36 by 24 inches, and to make sure that he had the right propor- tions and perspective Healy asked one of his friends, an architect, to accompany him and verify his first blocking in of the com- position. Vivid in color and action, the picture, now over a hun- dred years old, still retains its freshness. Louis Philippe approved it and gave the order for a large canvas with life-size figures for the walls of Versailles.

Day after day, Healy went to Versailles; wrapped in his work, he returned to Paris at sundown exhausted but supremely happy. Louisa felt the pangs of jealousy. She knew that while she missed him throughout the long day he remained too completely absorbed to give her or the baby much thought. Could it be that his work surpassed his love ? At first oblivious of any tension, the artist finally became aware of his wife's distress and loneliness. He then brought home much of his paraphernalia and worked on innumerable drawings in his studio while little Arthur played or slept and Louisa read aloud all they could find concerning Franklin's long years in France. The artist based his figure of Franklin on several contemporary portraits and also on those little porcelain or wood figurines, so expressive and characteristic, that flooded Paris in Franklin's day. As he painted the high fore- head, the wide-open probing intelligent eyes, the quizzical mouth with its upturned corners, a spirit of early Americanism seemed to permeate the studio. That solid figure with its plain longish white hair and simple clothes — knee breeches and long coat — gave an impression of dignity and power that overshadowed the crowd of fashionable courtiers.

Dominating the picture, Franklin holds in his right hand a paper setting forth his plea for the cause of America. In the brilliant setting of the great paneled room with its rich red throne and dais, Healy has him centered on the second blue step leading to the throne, above the General Assembly, thus bringing his head on the level with that of the enthroned King. Louis XVI in his satin coat and Marie Antoinette in her white dress look charm-

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ingly young but lack vitality; their royalty failed to inspire the artist; it belonged to a dead past. More natural is the grouping of courtiers as they stand, sit, turn, talk, or whisper; to the right, in the foreground, a quartet of men in conversation remind one of Daumier's dynamic animation.

The large picture made from this earlier one suffered a check- ered career; the revolution of 1848 changed its destination; com- pleted in 1855, it obtained at the Universal Exposition in Paris the highest honor yet bestowed on an American artist; brought to America, it was exhibited throughout the States, where so many schoolbooks reproduced it that it became very familiar to a whole generation of young Americans, but in the end it van- ished in flames during the Chicago fire of 1871. The first painting, however, remained always with the artist in his various studios on both sides of the ocean, a cherished reminder of happy days; it escaped the fate of so many other Healy paintings destroyed by fire and attests to the qualities that won him fame while still in his twenties.

With the end of that busy winter Louisa, who expected her second baby, pleaded to return to England; in January, 1842, reluctantly George tore himself from his work and once more he and his wife saw their London friends while little Arthur claimed all the attention of his doting grandmother. Healy met his old comrades, visited galleries, went to the Royal Academy, where Charles Leslie spoke feelingly of Sir David Wilke, whose death at sea the preceding summer had saddened the artist col- ony. Turner, said Leslie, was working on a picture of that burial at sea. Taking a studio for a few weeks, Healy set to work; among the portraits he painted then was one of Charlotte Everett, the future Mrs. Augustus Wise, a daughter of Edward Everett, who had succeeded Andrew Stevenson as minister to the Court of St. James's.

On February 16, baby Agnes, named after George's sister, made her bow to England with indignant cries against the damp cold

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she would hate all her life. Leaving his family in Mrs. Phipps's competent hands, George hastened back to France and his work at Versailles. Once in a while, to rest his mind and change his outlook, he would leave the great hall and sketch out of doors various bits of that magnificent park.

One day in the spring of 1842 a summons from the Tuileries drew him back to Paris. As soon as he appeared, the King asked :

"Mr. Healy, where did you copy your Washington? I was seen last night, it seems, in very good company at General Cass's — between Washington and Guizot, both painted by you."

The painting, Healy explained, was made from a print, but familiar as he was with Stuart's tones he had been able to re- produce the color from memory. Louis Philippe had set his heart on a copy from the portrait Gilbert Stuart was painting for Mrs. Bingham when he visited the studio in Philadelphia over forty years before.

"That is the one I want," he insisted. "As soon as we discover where it is, I would like you to do it for me."

A few days later, rueful at his lack of success but proud of his colloquial achievement, the King greeted him:

"We are dished, Mr. Healy! The portrait I want is in Russia, and at present I can ask no favor of the Russian government. What other portrait of Washington would you suggest?"

At the mention of the one in Faneuil Hall, the King shook his head; no military uniform. Washington should be represented in civilian clothes as the greatest citizen of a great country.

"See what you can find over there," concluded the Monarch; "and while you are in Washington, you might paint Mr. Webster, President Tyler, Mr. Calhoun perhaps "

Healy left the Tuileries in a daze of happiness; he was to go back to America — and under what glorious auspices!

Chapter XIII AT THE WHITE HOUSE, 1842

I

T WAS April again — April, 1842 — and George Healy once more stood leaning against the rail of a ship, plunged into memories of the past while his eyes turned oceanward toward the future. Louisa had not accompanied him to Liverpool — eager though she had been to see him settled in his cabin on the Cale- donia— because the new baby required her continued presence in London. So George had left her with little two-year-old Arthur and two-month-old Agnes in the care of her mother.

Healy's thoughts turned to those earlier Aprils, momentous milestones in his exciting twenty-eight years of life. In 1830, twelve years before — was it April, that month of nature's promise that so often presaged new unfoldings in his career? — Mr. Sully was in Boston to paint Colonel Perkins, and Healy, only sixteen then, had opened his heart to the older artist, whose encourage- ment had hastened the day of George's great decision.

Then in April, 1834, after his success with the Tuckers and lovely Mrs. Otis, he had found himself on his way to France: his first view of New York, his first ocean crossing, Paris, a new life,

new comradeships, and art as he had dreamed it Two years

later, in April, 1836, he was in England with the Faulkner s. And now, in 1842, after an absence of eight years Healy was on his way back to America — on a mission for the King of France.

Eight years! Much had occurred in that time: his father's death soon after he left; then two years later his mother's; and lately the loss of his brother John, who had not let them know how ill

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he was in Lowell, and who had slipped out of life at the age of twenty-four. Thomas, back from France, had arrived just in time to soften his last moments.

The old home in Boston would probably be occupied by total strangers since Agnes had moved to Baltimore; William, also studiously inclined, had followed her south. George must stop in Baltimore, of course, yet he could not tarry long before presenting the King's letter to President John Tyler. In Washington Healy hoped to find the Stevensons, who had left London the previous October.

So his thoughts ran, leaping from the past to the future, anticipating the joy of a family reunion, and figuring already on the portraits he would paint for Versailles. It might mean several months in America. How he wished Louisa were with him! Up to now their partings had been short, and for distances that a few hours could bridge, but this time George was proud of the manner in which this timid young woman had taken their separation. "English wives don't fuss when their husbands leave for the col- onies, do they?" she had replied when he praised her courage. As the ship pulled away, she waved farewell without tears.

The salt air that filled Healy's lungs brought vivid memories of his early Boston days; a rising eagerness to reach the other shore surged from his soul. Never had he felt so American! His Paris life, his English marriage, his European ways became gifts he was bringing home, and his mission a recognition by the oldest European court of America's growing importance. It seemed incredible that less than a century ago Voltaire had dismissed Canada as an unimportant expanse of snow, and that only a little while back Napoleon dared sell the vast territory of Louisiana for a few millions !

Healy held many a conversation with Captain Lott, who, though he had never met him, knew a good deal about Captain Healy. They talked of the old trade vessels, of the first experi- ments with steam, and the Savannah's ocean crossing, of the

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successful though dangerous journey in '39 attempted by the Chile sent by Brown's of London to South America; the ship had run aground, short of fuel and dangerously stranded, when the Cap- tain's cabin boy, who had been reading Charles Darwin's Voyage of the Beagle, discovered on the island the "mountain of coal" mentioned by the author. That coal saved them and made history in steam shipping.

The Captain mentioned the storms in January when Mr. and Mrs. Dickens came over on the Britannia. The writer, it appeared, never wearied of recounting the horror of seafaring, and the Captain laughed heartily.

"But the danger is real," he added more soberly. "Do you re- member last year ? The packet President was never seen again "

"I know. Mr. Tyrone Power, the great actor, was on her," mur- mured the artist, as he recalled the pleasant days when Power's children sat for their group portrait.

The passengers were friendly; a Miss Duncan spoke of having her portrait painted; a Dr. Fisher mentioned acquaintances George had met in England and in Paris; Commodore Josiah Tatnall was interested to hear that Lieutenant Van Brunt had sat to Healy some ten years before; he was now at the Bite of Craney Island, experimenting on a naval gun carriage that seemed promising, and the following January George Healy heard that a commission appointed by the Secretary of the Navy had brought back a favorable report.

To Louisa, George wrote daily accounts of deck friendships and conversations, little intimate details such as he would have told her at home after a sitting or a visit.

The Caledonia stopped at Halifax, and with other passengers Healy stepped off long enough to catch a glimpse of the city, a busy bustling port. But he was glad when they lifted anchor; a fever of impatience goaded him; he longed for Boston — Boston with all its memories, its familiar faces, and the Yankee atmos- phere he so often missed. At last, on May 5, under a brilliant sun

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Healy caught the distant shore and the docks' outline; the ship's slow approach stirred in him an agony of suspense.

There was Thomas, cheery, bright, waving wildly; in no time the two brothers were together, hurrying toward the Tremont House.

"Yes, you must go to the best hotel, George," laughed Thomas in answer to his brother's protest; "an artist sent by the King cannot do less ! Besides, Louisa would like you to stop at the hotel Mr. Dickens chose!" The brothers talked in an unending stream of exchanged family news; Thomas was doing well in Lowell, the growing town that owed its sudden expansion to the Appleton industries. That very day, they called on Mr. Stephen Appleton and were charmingly received.

"I understand, young man," said their host addressing Thomas, "that you are having success; Lowell considers you a very enter- prising and social-minded gentleman. Keep it up, my boy, keep it up!"

As they walked down the steps the young man gleefully ex- plained to his brother that he was painting the six beautiful daughters of Mr. Hildreth on one canvas, each in an oval.

"What a strange idea!" laughed George. "Why not group them?"

"That's the way they want it, and anyhow I haven't your gift of composition." Thomas's enthusiasm over the charming models showed that he had not changed much; apparently the artist had fallen in love with each one in turn; to him, life was still a great festival.

"Careful, Thomas, careful," warned George. "Remember Paris."

"Oh! This is America — and these are ladies "

They said no more on the subject. With all their exuberant Irish temperament, New England reticence still held them.

Together the brothers visited their parents' graves; George experienced a surge of religious feeling mingled with a sense of

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guilt. He, a Catholic, was letting Louisa bring up his children as Protestants; his mother-in-law, whose little sharp eyes saw much, but saw things as she wanted them to be — or made them so — was responsible; Arthur and Agnes would learn the same Lord's Prayer he had lisped at his mother's knee, but they would not hear the penetrating chant of his church, the mysterious Latin words, or watch the symbolic rites he found so beautiful. Thomas glanced at his brother's troubled face. "Poor old George," he reflected, "he's so beastly conscientious! After all — they're good Christians just the same "

Thomas wanted George to meet his Bohemian friends in Lowell, but Washington called.

"On my return, I will," the traveler promised. "Now I must see Mrs. Otis." The artist found his great friend at home. She would not hear of his remaining at the hotel and immediately, as her guest, "little Healy" resumed the Boston mantle he had shed abroad. Old friends came in shoals, and many expressed a desire to have their portraits painted. It was tantalizing to post- pone all this and risk a change of heart on the part of would-be sitters — yet he must first accomplish his mission.

A visit to the Tuckers filled him with sorrow. Mr. Richard Tucker, his earliest patron, had died suddenly in January; Charles Tucker, John Gray, and the aunt, Miss Sarah Chandler Tucker, received George with open arms, made him tell of his marriage, his success, his years across the ocean, avoiding Boston recollec- tions that rendered more poignant their present loss, but despite the foreign talk it was Boston that filled his heart.

As he "took the cars," that jolty new train that could go several miles an hour, Healy was already planning to make Boston his real home. The journey to Washington with stops in New York, Philadelphia, and Baltimore thrilled him.

In the Quaker city, George called on the Sullys, delightfully hospitable in their brick mansion on Sixth Street just above Chestnut, a house built for the artist in his more prosperous days

ioo G. P. A. HEALY

by Stephen Girard in answer to Sully's need for painting and exhibition rooms.

"It is good to have you back in your own country, Mr. Healy," said the older artist. "I hope you will remain with us some time."

Healy explained the King's commission and his difficulty about the Washington portrait.

"I cannot believe it's in Russia," Sully told him; "as far as I know, it was never sold, and if it went to Lord Lansdowne as Mrs. Bingham intended, it must be in England."

George made a mental note to inquire in London on his re- turn, but meanwhile he would copy the one at the White House.

"Not one of the best, I fear," Sully warned him. "However, you are familiar with the master's coloring and I am sure you'll give a fine reproduction."

The two men launched into a discussion of Stuart's human quality and agreed that at his best he could not be surpassed.

"My father liked him personally," said George, "and we all admired his talent tremendously. I remember once in Boston catching a glimpse of his back when a boy cried out: There goes old Stuart!' I wanted to run after him so as to see his face, but felt too shy."

Sully laughed.

"His face would not have pleased you as much as his work; it had coarsened with age, and if you'd blocked his path, he would have cursed you roundly!" At Healy's surprised look he added, smiling: "His language often shocked people, but you can discount many of the stories told against him ... a great man should have no foibles," sighed the artist.

George protested, "Miss Stuart spoke of her father with venera- tion."

"Yes, after his death," remarked Sully dryly. "His family found him hard to live with; he could, if he wished, show himself the most courteous of men, but he was too outspoken for his own good ; the only person who always unconsciously silenced him was

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Washington. Even the irrepressible Stuart felt awed by the President's dignity."

George looked with delight at Sully's unfinished sketch of Queen Victoria and warmly congratulated him on his recent election as President of the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts. He then told of his own work on "Franklin at the Court of Louis XVI."

"Why, that's splendid, Mr. Healy!" Sully exclaimed, his eyes shining. "That is the sort of thing you must enjoy."

And as the young man waxed enthusiastic over the historical research he had to do, saying that he learned the history of his own country in trying to depict it for the French, Sully replied that he himself had always wanted to paint large murals of American history.

As he left, Sully advised the young man to see Mrs. Madison in Washington and ask permission to copy her husband's portrait, which the Philadelphian considered one of Stuart's best.

In Baltimore, George visited Agnes; the meeting after eight long years affected them deeply. They had so much to say that these talkative Healys in their emotion remained tongue-tied.

Washington startled Healy. After London and Paris, the new- ness of the city struck him; he could not help noticing the muddy, unpaved roads, the vacant pieces of land like big gaping holes between fine houses. His artist eye saw it as a huge unfinished canvas, very crude, yet showing tremendous possibilities. The plan was there with its central point and radiating sections, its carefully balanced symmetry, its promise of classic beauty and infinite extension — a promise that would take a century to realize. Louis Philippe had spoken to him of Major l'Enfant, a French- man, who designed the capital. "Another link between our na- tions, Mr. Healy," he had said with his smile that conveyed so much.

The returned American imagined Washington as a magnet for other nations, becoming spiritually as well as materially the

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symbol of world understanding, strong as the structure of its re- publican principles. He began to wonder if Washington would not be a fitter place to live in even than Boston.

Newspapers heralded Healy's coming. The Daily National Intelligencer made much of the artist's arival in Washington and of his mission, calling it "a pleasing instance of honor to genius and the fine arts ... a compliment to our pride of country," for

Louis Philippe chose "a young native of our own country "

Other cities also felt pride in the French King's choice of an American, and the Philadelphia Public Ledger on Wednesday, May 1 8, announced that Mr. Healy of Boston had been sent by the King of France to copy Stuart's portrait of General Washing- ton and that the artist was then at the President's House. Ten days later the Niles Register told Baltimoreans as they took their breakfast and at the same time digested the weekly news that Mr. Healy was in Washington painting the first President's por- trait for the King of France.

When by appointment he reached the President's House, its harmonious lines, its stately entrance made him instinctively straighten his shoulders and attune his manner to the dignity of the mansion. President Tyler's graciousness did much to increase that first feeling of well-being. After an exchange of polite greet- ings and some conversation about the King's commission, a room was placed at the artist's disposal. There he painted his repro- duction of Washington's portrait.

On May 30, 1842, the artist received from the National Insti- tute a commission to paint the portraits of President Tyler and of Senator Preston, who was shortly to leave Washington and political life. In June the Niles Register gave an account of the placing of Guizot's portrait at the Institute, quoting the text of President Tyler's letter to Mr. Poinsett on the subject.* And the

•Sir:

A full length portrait of Monsieur Guizot, Prime Minister of France and biographer of Washington, executed by Mr. Healy, an American artist, upon subscription of certain

AT THE WHITE HOUSE, 1842 103

National Intelligencer informed its readers that Mr. Healy had been engaged "since his arrival upon other work for public in- stitutions and private individuals."

President Tyler's refined features, in spite of the big nose he deprecated and often mentioned, offered an excellent subject with his light hair, piercing blue eyes, and tanned outdoor complexion. In his portrait Healy showed the thoughtful yet determined character of the man who happened to become President when General Harrison died within a month of his inauguration.

Strong-willed, the unexpected President had soon come to grips with the Whig party, whose leader, Clay, meant to run the administration. The Harrison cabinet resigned in a body — except Daniel Webster, who considered the conspiracy unworthy and unjust, and remained to carry out the foreign policy planned between himself and Harrison — a policy Tyler wished continued and which was at that moment bringing to a satisfactory con- clusion the Webster-Ashburton Treaty. In spite of Webster the President was "read out" of the party, and since he had incurred the Democrats' displeasure by his association with the Whigs, John Tyler became that strange individual in American politics, a "man without a party."

Healy found the Virginian an extremely pleasant sitter; both men liked to tell stories and a humorous twinkle in the President's eye would frequently soften his rather austere appearance. The artist's faculty of making friends quickly proved itself once more;

citizens resident in Paris has been consigned to my care with a request that I should give it a place in some one of the public buildings of this Capital. After full considera- tion of the best disposition to be made of it, as well in honor to the distinguished statesman and man of letters whose person and features it is said most accurately to delineate, as well to meet the wishes of the citizens who have made me its repository, I have concluded to tender it through you to the National Institute.

May I ask, Sir, that you take measures to give the portrait such place in the Institute as may exhibit it to the best advantage and thereby gratify the wishes of many of our fellow citizens whose desire is to see it. A work of art, apart from the high consideration in which the original is justly held, it may favorably be compared with any similar work to be found in the United States. . . .

John Tyler

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several of the Tyler children came in; he painted a portrait of Miss Alice and was allowed the privilege of presenting his re- spects to charming Mrs. Tyler, an invalid whose strength drained away day by day. She delegated most of her social duties to her daughter, Mrs. Semple, and her daughter-in-law, Mrs. Robert Tyler, the "fascinating Fairlie" of Washington Irving. Only once that winter Mrs. Tyler graced with her presence a reception, on the occasion of her daughter Elizabeth's marriage to William Waller.

Healy had but a short glimpse of her, yet it left a lasting im- pression, and when that September Mrs. Tyler died, he grieved with the nation over the first tragic loss that threw a pall on the President's House.

Chapter XIV THE AMERICAN SCENE, 1842-44

D

EAREST," wrote George, "do you know that over here they call a portrait 'a counterfeit representation' ? How do you like to think of your husband as a counterfeiter ?" And in London as she read this Louisa chuckled delightedly. She devoured these weekly journals, trying to follow George from afar in his hectic journeys. During the warmer season of calm seas the mails arrived quite regularly; but the ocean, Louisa knew, could be very erratic and terrifying. In spite of his resolution not to frighten her, George had been unable to resist the temptation of quoting Dickens's description of his stormy crossing when, said the Eng- lishman, "the horizon seemed drunk and was flying about in all directions."

"Your beloved Boz is being lionized beyond comfort," con- tinued George. "In New York, it seems, he tried to escape invi- tations that poured from every house and almost every street

corner I happen to reach the cities he has visited a few weeks

too late to meet him! People have little to say about Mrs. Dickens."

In subsequent letters he told Louisa of Dickens's sudden friend- ship with Cornelius G. Felton, the learned Greek professor who possessed a keen sense of humor. In comical contrast the two men could be seen swinging along Broadway — the ponderous, hugely carved, soberly dressed, but whimsical American and the little, active, dynamic Englishman in his startling red waistcoat. They walked, talked, laughed so loud that passers-by turned to look at them, and according to Sam Ward's letters to his friend

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Longfellow, they often stopped to eat oysters and drink cham- pagne. "Nothing but the interference of Mrs. D.," added Ward in a missive that later made the rounds of the select Boston Saturday Club, "prevented their being attached to each other like Siamese twins, a volume of Pickwick serving as the con- necting membrane."

Louisa remembered this some years later when, living in Cam- bridge, she found herself seated next to Felton at a dinner of famous men. Awed by so much learning, she took refuge in the familiar subject of Boz, and from that moment her host had ears but for her as they spent the evening in a spirited exchange of Pickwickian sayings.

The newspaper clippings George occasionally sent his wife spoke eloquently of his success and popularity; the artist was swamped with orders, and his working days lengthened out- rageously. How, wondered Louisa, could he write so much and so gaily before five in the morning when he had spent his evening at a reception, or a party, or theater, or else making innumerable calls from the moment twilight forced him to lay down his brushes? She worried. Next time, she would accompany him; the sea voyage lost its terror in her fear of his overwork.

Meanwhile the Yankee artist was meeting many Southerners and finding them utterly charming. Among them, Senator W. C. Preston, whose portrait he was now painting, vaunted constantly the beauties of South Carolina. An ardent Southerner though born in Philadelphia, William C. Preston had represented South Carolina in Washington since 1833, always clamoring for free trade, inviolable States' rights, and even nullification. Listening to him, Healy suddenly realized the bitterness of political factions and sensed a growing danger to the Union. His personal convic- tions made him wonder how such a fine man could defend gag laws, slavery, and class distinction, and still proclaim the United

States Constitution But Preston, great nephew of the eloquent

Patrick Henry and himself past master of dialectics, presented his

THE AMERICAN SCENE, 1842-44 107

arguments so plausibly that the painter felt bewildered if uncon- vinced.

In Paris in 1841 American subscribers had ordered from Healy a full-length portrait of Guizot that they had presented to the United States. President Tyler recommended that it be placed "to the best advantage" in the National Institute, of which Joel R. Poinsett, diplomat, ex-Secretary of War under Van Buren, a much-traveled and highly educated South Carolinian, was presi- dent.

In accordance with the presidential request, Poinsett had the painting placed in close proximity to the full-length portrait of George Washington, whose biography Guizot had recently completed. It aroused the public's curiosity and incidentally pro- moted the sale of Guizot's book. The papers in publishing the list of donors made a point of the fact that Captain James Funck of the Oneida refused any pay for the trouble and expense of bringing over the picture.

Charles King wrote an enthusiastic notice about the Guizot portrait in the Daily National Intelligencer, calling it a master- piece and signing himself, "a fellow artist" ;* flattered and pleased, Healy sought out this amiable confrere, and the two artists saw much of each other.

Born in Newburyport in 1785, the veteran painter had studied in London with Alliston and Leslie; comparing notes about the

* I have seldom had the pleasure of seeing so beautifully perfect a masterpiece as the splendid, full-length likeness of M. Guizot by the distinguished young artist, Mr. Healy. So noble, calm, simple and characteristic is the posture of the Minister, so chaste and correct the drawing, so natural and harmonious the coloring, so rounded and full of bold relief is the whole figure without either harshness or rigidity, and so tasteful the dispo- sition of all its parts, that it is impossible to view with an artist's eye this noble production of the pencil without feelings of exquisite delight and unqualified admiration. Certainly, nothing equal to this have I yet seen from any native artist; and one knows not whether most to applaud the skill of the painter or the magnanimous liberality of his Royal Patron. Louis-Philippe's generous attentions to Mr. Healy have set an example, patronizing merit, regardless of the accident of birthplace.

A FELLOW ARTIST

Washington Daily National Intelligencer. June 15, 1842.

108 G. P. A. HEALY

Royal Academy, King and Healy marveled at the influence still exercised over the institution by Benjamin West, long dead.

"Personally," volunteered Healy, "I consider Stuart a greater painter than West."

"So do I, my dear fellow," agreed King.

Both felt that Stuart's influence through his many pupils as well as in his own work was more definitely American. As they walked, King showed Healy a less-known part of Washington, picturesque with its swarm of Negroes, men, women, and chil- dren, who lazed around, singing in their rich warm voices, happy- looking in their squalor, a gleaming white-toothed grin slashing their shiny faces.

It seemed difficult in this atmosphere of insouciance, with many undeniable signs of devotion between the Negroes and their white masters, to conjure up the horrors of slave ships and slave markets and the fundamental inhumanity of slavery. But Northerners were loud on the subject, and Healy 's inner conviction as well as his New England upbringing agreed wholly with their views. The inhumanity, for him, was not effaced by individual kindness.

Saturday afternoons there was music outdoors, on the grounds of the White House — an innovation sponsored by the Tylers and universally approved by Washingtonians.

At this time Daniel Webster also sat to Healy and listened with pleasure to the artist's early memories of his oration at Bunker Hill in 1825. The American statesman felt flattered that King Louis Philippe should order his portrait and recounted with gusto the various conversations he had had <