align="left">The Age of Innocence

34     In the National Gallery, London V. Lord Heathfield 40     In the National Gallery, London VI. Portrait of Two Gentlemen 50     In the National Gallery, London VII. Portrait of Lady and Child 60     In the National Gallery, London VIII. Duchess of Devonshire and Child 70     At Chatsworth House, Derbyshire

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There are certain men born to every generation who approach life with the complete assurance of distinction in any work that they may have chosen for the exercise of their gifts. They are strangers to doubt and uncertainty; they disarm Fortune by claiming freely as a right what she is accustomed to grant grudgingly as a favour—"they ride Life’s lists as a knight might ride.” One feels that these fortunate few are destined for success just as the majority are doomed to failure, that nothing save a long series of mishaps can keep them from the goal of their ambition. They have the temperament that makes achievement easy, and a steadfast determination that the demons of mischance cannot resist for long.

When one turns to consider English art in the eighteenth century, the name of Joshua Reynolds stands out in a brighter light than any other. One would not say that he was the greatest painter of his time—Gainsborough’s gifts exceeded his in many directions, and Romney enters into competition too—but Reynolds was born under a fortunate star, and Nature gave him as a birthday present a rare mixture of talent, industry, and common-sense, together with a sober judgment that could not be turned aside by passion or emotion. Such gifts, if they do not always create a genius, may enable their possessor to achieve work that has certain affinities with the masterpieces of the immortals. Nobody in these days would deny for a moment that Reynolds possessed qualifications of the highest order; but ours is an age of hero-worship, and we are rather inclined to go beyond our brief in dealing with a representative man whose work has survived the criticism (though, alas, it has not always survived the atmosphere) of nearly two centuries. Reynolds is not the less a great painter because he did not happen to be the great man so many of his biographers have seen, nor was he a heaven-sent genius of the kind that flutters the musical dovecots from time to time. Infant prodigies are hardly known in the world of art, and Reynolds started life as a clever young man determined to make a name. He became soon a painter strong enough to realise his own limitations and those of his age, and to take the best possible steps to secure for his own art, and incidentally for that of his country, the highest position in the esteem of the world at large. Had there been no Reynolds there might have been no Royal Academy—the Institution in its earliest days was indebted very deeply to him. Himself far above the squabbles of the hour, he raised the Royal Academy into the serene and almost untroubled atmosphere in which he lived his life.

“I will be a painter, if you will give me the chance of being a good one,” he is said to have remarked when quite a lad, and this is but one of the simple sentences that hold and in a sense reveal the keynote of his character. Reynolds was determined to succeed. When he started his work there were few people in England who could guide him in the right way, and consequently we must not look for any great achievement in the early portraits. The painter may be said to have owed his first success to Commodore Keppel, who took him on a cruise in the Mediterranean and helped him to come into touch with the great masterpieces that will probably stimulate artists for all time. In return, the painter gave the sailor a measure of fame that his naval achievements would hardly have secured.

Italy turned the dross of Reynolds’ art to fine gold, and he never shrank from acknowledging the debt. Had he stayed in England he might have been a greater man than all his contemporaries, save Gainsborough and Romney, but he could not have given the world any one of the pictures that are reproduced here. Art will not yield to inspiration alone. The musician, or the literary man, with very simple education may be able to achieve wonders, but the artist who looks to brushes and colours for his medium must sacrifice diligently for many years at the shrine of technique before his hand can express what is in his brain. The years between 1749 and 1752, devoted by Reynolds to studying and copying the Vatican frescoes and the pictures of Padua, Milan, Turin, and Paris, were invaluable. Indeed he was one of the greatest copyists of his time, and Sir Walter Armstrong thinks that one of his copies of a Rembrandt is classed among the originals in the National Gallery to-day!

Down to the year of the Italian journey the young painter’s life had been quite uneventful. Born in 1723 at Plympton in Devonshire, where his father was a school-master, he was apprenticed in London to Thomas Hudson, a portrait painter of the day and a Devon man too. Hudson gave his pupil Guercino’s drawings to copy. Before the time of apprenticeship had expired Reynolds had quarrelled with his master and gone back to Devonshire, where he painted work that was of no great importance, under the patronage of the first Lord Edgcumbe. At his house Reynolds met the Commodore Keppel, whose kindness enabled him to see Italy, and it was the sojourn in that real home of art that brought Reynolds back to England a portrait