Fresh from painting a bull
at a farmhouse, I set forth to copy a Holy Family, by Correggio,
at a convent of nuns. People who go to the Royal Academy
Exhibition, and see pictures by famous artists, painted year
after year in the same marked style which first made them
celebrated, would be amazed indeed if they knew what a
Jack-of-all-trades a poor painter must become before he can gain
his daily bread.
The picture by Correggio which I was now commissioned to copy had
been lent to the nuns by a Catholic gentleman of fortune, who
prized it as the gem of his collection, and who had never before
trusted it out of his own hands. My copy, when completed, was to
be placed over the high altar of the convent chapel; and my work
throughout its progress was to be pursued entirely in the parlor
of the nunnery, and always in the watchful presence of one or
other of the inmates of the house. It was only on such conditions
that the owner of the Correggio was willing to trust his treasure
out of his own hands, and to suffer it to be copied by a
stranger. The restrictions he imposed, which I thought
sufficiently absurd, and perhaps offensively suspicious as well,
were communicated to me politely enough before I was allowed to
undertake the commission. Unless I was inclined to submit to
precautionary regulations which would affect any other artist
exactly as they affected me, I was told not to think of offering
to make the copy; and the nuns would then address themselves to
some other person in my profession.
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