George P. A. Healy: In the Atelier of Baron Gros

"Plague at Jaffa" by Antoine-Jean Gros

"Everything in France amused and delighted me - the peasant women in their white caps, the noisy marketplaces, the little urchins who in the streets called out to each other in French, that mysterious tongue! I was soon in Paris, looking about me.

I at once entered the atelier of Baron Antoine-Jean Gros, and went to work with a will, doing my best to understand my master and my comrades, and quickly catching up enough French to make my way. Gros was then a very fine-looking man of sixty-three. His career had been a most brilliant one, and yet he was far from happy. Highly sensitive, almost morbidly so, he suffered pangs from things that a stronger man would have despised.

He had painted in the early years of the century his magnificent picture of the 'Plague at Jaffa,' now in the Louvre. He was recognized as one of the first among the French artists of his day. When the Bourbons once more returned to power, the painter of Napoleon's campaigns, instead of being out of favor, received important commissions and the title of baron. When I entered his atelier, he was still highly respected, but he was a saddened and almost despairing man. 

The influence of his master David was so strong upon him that, instead of following his own inspiration and painting spirited pictures of contemporary life, he endeavored to return to the old classical compositions, freezingly correct, such as he had admired in his youth. In this attempt he failed, and his later pictures are very inferior to those of his prime. Then he was a retiring man, or rather, perhaps, he cared but little for the society which others courted, was rarely seen outside of his studio, and was not even sociable, it is said, in his own family. Once when Gros received one of his intimate friends, he said to him bitterly, 'Ah! you have come to see the dead man in his tomb.'

On the 25th of June, 1835, Gros went to Bas Meudon, a little outside of Paris, and stretched himself on the sandy bed of the Seine, where there was but a depth of about three feet of water. Such was the miserable end of a man who had had, one might say, more than his share of success and glory. He had outlived his popularity and his heart was broken."

To be continue

(Excerpts from "Reminiscences of a Painter" by G.P.A. Healy.)

George P. A. Healy: To France!

"William C. Preston" by George Healy

"I was quite aware that, in spite of great natural facility, I had still everything to learn. I had had no master. What I knew I had acquired by dint of hard work, with the occasional advice of some older artist, but with no serious training. My one object was to become a student in a regular art school. But this could only be accomplished after I had scraped together not only money enough to take me to Europe and to help toward my support there, but to leave a sufficient sum with my mother to support her for a year or two, until I should be able to earn something on the other side of the big ocean. At last I was able to do this.

In the month of April, 1834, I secured my passage in a sailing vessel called the 'Sully.' In those days one had to await a favorable wind before venturing out to sea. While I was thus waiting in New York, I called on Professor Morse, to whom I had a letter of introduction. This was just about the time when he was beginning to work out his discovery, the electric telegraph. Mr. Morse had been a painter. Doubtless he did not remember that career with pleasure, for he said to me somewhat bitterly, 'So you want to be an artist? You won't make your salt, you won't make your salt!' 'Then, sir,' answered I, 'I must take my food without salt.' This was the same prediction as my grandmother's. But I preferred to think of the encouragement I had received from Mr. Sully and others, and on the whole they were in the right. 

A violent storm drove our vessel very rapidly toward France, and we were within two hundred miles of Havre in eight days after our sailing, but it required twelve more to accomplish the rest of the voyage. I knew no one in France. I was utterly ignorant of the language. I did not know what I should do when once there. I was not yet one-and-twenty, and I had a great stock of courage, of inexperience - which is sometimes a great help - and a strong desire to do my very best."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Reminiscences of a Portrait Painter" by G. P. A. Healy.)

George P.A. Healy: A Breakthrough

"Mrs. Richard T. Crane" by George Healy

"I had so far painted only men. My ambition now was to paint a woman's portrait, a beautiful woman's portrait! I could think, dream of nothing else. I was then painting Lieutenant Van Brunt, and to him I opened my heart. He said: 'Go and call on Mrs. Harrison Gray Otis. Tell her you want to paint her portrait and that I sent you.' 

Mrs. Otis was then the queen of fashion in Boston society. Her house was very popular, her entertainments celebrated, her sayings quoted, her beauty and elegance acknowledged by some, discussed by others. To be received by Mrs. Harrison Gray Otis was a sign that one belong to 'society,' to the 'right set,' and in Boston, then as now, it was necessary to belong to the 'right set.' I knew all this somewhat vaguely, as a mere boy, who by no means belonged to the famous 'right set.' I was distressingly timid. This shyness was terribly real, and at times caused me almost physical suffering.

I can still see myself going up the steps of Mrs. Otis' house. I held the knocker in my hand, then let it go, and ran for my life! But another time I screwed up my courage and saw the door open before me. I managed to ask the servant for Mrs. Otis. I bade him say that 'a gentleman wished to see her on business.' Then, in mortal terror, I awaited her entrance. I dared not look at her, but with a sort of boldness which is sometimes the result of excessive timidity. I told her that I was an artist. That my ambition was to paint a beautiful woman, and that I begged her to sit to me. 

Perhaps no woman is offended at a youth's blunt homage. Mrs. Otis was not. She laughed out loud showing her very pretty teeth. Then she asked to whom she was to have the honor of sitting. I had quite forgotten to introduce myself, and to mention Lieutenant Van Brunt.  She called on me the very next day, and examined the portraits which I had already finished. She seemed well enough pleased. 

And so my first portrait of a woman was a very audacious one. I painted Mrs. Otis laughing - a thing which, had I had more experience, I should perhaps not have dared to do. But her laugh was charming, and she was fond of showing her perfect teeth and her dimples. From that time 'Little Healy,' as people called me, became known. Mrs. Otis proved a warm-hearted friend and a very powerful one, and I was able not only to pay my rent to my patient landlord and my other expenses, but to help toward the support of my family."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Reminiscences of a Portrait Painter" by G. P. A. Healy.)