I was passin’ down Fulton Street the other day, and lookin’ up I saw “No. 180.” These figures have no particular significance to-day, but to the last generation they meant one of the pleasantest places in the whole city of New York–old Clover’s picture store–the first “art gallery” or picture store ever started in New York, and which became, in course of time, a regular place to meet all the rich men–the old fogies with plenty of money–and all the artists, the young geniuses with plenty of ideas.
Old Dr. Hosack, who had a fine house in Vesey street, old Dr. Francis, the genial Phillip Hone, who resided right opposite the City Hall Park; Major Noah, old Leggat, and all that set, used to “drop in” and chat with Stuart, Jarvis, Ingham, Inman, Waldo, Trumbull, Morse, Ward and other artists of old New York, who were, most of ‘em, jolly good fellows and capital storytellers, Stuart, Jarvis and Inman especially. These three were regular actors and kept the old fogies in a roar all the time. Ingham told one pretty good story, but he told only one, and he only told that one once a year, at the regular meetin’ of some art society, the members of which society got so used to the story that they got in the habit of laughin’ at it in advance before Ingham could get a chance to tell it, which made Ingham mad, but he told the story “allee samee.” As for Waldo, he couldn’t or wouldn’t tell any story at all, and would never listen to one if he could help it. But it was whispered around that what Waldo would gravely state as “facts” had more fancy to the square inch than any of the other fellows’ stories.
Stevens, of Hoboken, the inventor and steamboat millionaire, used to visit old Clover’s at every convenient opportunity. Stevens was the builder of two splendid Hudson River steamboats, the Albany and the Rip Van Winkle, and he employed several artists to paint the cabins of his vessels. The artists then were not above steamboat painting’. Henry Inman painted the scene of Rip Van Winkle awakenin’ from his long sleep and lookin’ around him. This was the finest “steamboat piece” ever executed, and really was a work of art. Inman was himself very proud of it, and having finished it, he “dropped in” at Clover’s and told him that he had just completed a paintin’, lyin’ on the dock, which he wanted a frame for. Down goes Clover to the dock to take the new paintin’s dimensions, when he ascertained that it was bigger than his whole store, bein’ painted on the paddle box or wheelhouse of the Rip Van Winkle.
Clover’s place was very quiet and unpretentious, bein’ a three-storied wooden structure, not very large, but very cozy. Clover himself was like his place–quiet, unpretentious, but solid–very upright and a great favorite. It was his honesty that rendered him popular, for at that time the picture dealers of old New York were mostly a set of jolly humbugs. The rich men, the “old merchants” of New York, had a hobby then for the works of the “old masters.” So, rather than disappoint the old merchants, the old picture dealers got up any number of the “old masters.” One jolly old humbug of a dealer, “old Pfaff,” used to say among his cronies that he had sold more than twice as many Raphaels, Correggios and Da Vinci’s than there were in existence. He employed one clever fellow, called Leonard, who would “do” an old master in an afternoon any time, with plenty of time for beer.
At that time a Mr. Leeman Reed was a very rich man, and had one of the very finest, some said the very finest, residence in New York. The Leeman Reed house was at the lower end of Greenwich street, east side. It was ornamented with Italian marble, the mantelpieces were of exquisite design and finish, and the splendid Corinthian pillars separated the front and back parlors. The rooms were resplendent with French mirrors, and would have made a show to-day. But the house is a drinkin’ saloon and a sailors’ boarding house to-day, and the Italian marble has been hacked to pieces long ago. This Leeman Reed was a great patron of the painter Cole, and gave him some of his most liberal orders.
The New York Academy of Fine Arts was then in the Park, in what was at another time the old Almshouse buildin’. In this old Academy there were some pictures exhibited finer than any seen in New York since, for Joseph Bonaparte displayed his collection of paintin’s here awhile, and among these were some genuine “old masters” that haven’t been found here in latter days. The Academy was afterwards removed to Barclay street, and from Barclay street passed on “uptown,” as it were, till now it has reached Twenty-third street.
W. S. Mount was one of the artists of the old Academy. He made his start by another man’s mistake. He painted a picture called “A man in Easy Circumstances,” and the title pleased an old snob, who had more money than brains, and who, taking it for granted that he was buyin’ the portrait of some distinguished rich man, ordered the picture to be sent to his gallery before he had seen it. Judge of his surprise when the old snob found his “man in easy circumstances” was really a Long Island loafer, hangin’ around a tavern and taking his ease, tramp fashion. He didn’t see the joke, but it got wind, and Mount got his name up, besides havin’ the old snob’s money in his pocket. There’s sometimes something in a name, after all.
Inman and Ingham were both members of the old Academy, and were constantly pokin’ fun at each other. Inman painted very quickly, but carelessly; but Ingham painted very slowly and carefully. So Inman got up a story of ingham’s havin’ undertaken to paint a boy’s portrait for his grandfather, but before the portrait was finished the boy’s grandfather had died, and his father and mother had died, and the boy had married and raised a family, and was himself a grandfather. Now Inman had taken a likeness of old Jacob Barker in an hour and was proud of it. And Ingham conceded that it was a wonderful performance, but the most wonderful thing about it, Ingham said, was that it was not only taken as a picture in sixty minutes, but it would serve equally well as a portrait for sixty people.
But by far the jolliest thing in the history of paintin’s in old New York was the impudently clever joke played on the public in the exhibition of “The Fall of Our First Parents,” as it was called. The history of this paintin’ shows that human nature hasn’t changed much in the last forty years or so.
A dissolute young Frenchman here once painted a “fancy” picture of a French grisette and a French hussar overtaken by a thunderstorm. The grisette and the soldier were both in a state of nature and had no grace about ‘em; in fact, the whole thing was a daub. It was hung in some “flash house” and attracted some attention among the fast patrons of the place from its audacity and devilry, and was finally brought to the notice of man named Creighton, who was a painter or somethin’ of the sort connected with some public institution. Prior to this Trumbull had been taken to see the picture and had unhesitattoingly pronounced it “an indecent daub,” and Clover had refused on any account to have anythin’ to do with it; but Creighton had had some experience with a certain kind of “art.” He had been intimate with the chaps who got up “the old masters” to order, and he saw a chance to do something with the picture, though he didn’t at first clearly know exactly what.
But he first got possession of the picture for a mere song, and then the idea came to him. A young fellow named Bullett happened to “drop in” at Creighton’s place and saw this daub.
“Quite an Adam and Eve sort of an affair,” said Bullett, with a laugh, and then Creighton started up. That was the very idea he had been waitin’ for; he knew what to do with the picture now. He would make “quite an Adam and Eve sort of an affair” out of it indeed, and money out of it besides.
He said nothin’ at the time, but he got the picture “touched up” and “toned down” a little for a few dollars, and then, for a few dollars more, he got a quick-witted young man for an “agent” who wrote splendid “announcements” and advertisements for him in the papers, and wrote up a tip-top lecture about the temptation and the fall and all that.
Then he hired a hall and announced that the world-renowned paintin’ of the “Fall of Our First Parents” had been brought over, at enormous expense, from Paris to this country, and would be exhibited to the “intelligence and culture of the great moral and religious city of New York.” Then he got an actor, who knew all about stage effects and lights, to arrange green baize and gauze and lights around the touched up, toned down daub, in such a manner as to produce the best effect, and to manage the thunder and lightnin’. And then he “gave a private view” of the “world renowned paintin’” to the critics and a few leadin’ people, among whom were some clergymen and lawyers and old merchants and politicians, and got ‘em all to sign certificates testifyin’ to “the grand moral effect and high religious tone” of “his superb and reverential work of art,” and then publishin’ those certificates with their well-known signatures in all the papers he threw open his hall to the general public and made money quite rapidly for a few weeks. All the old maids who hung pieces of cloth around the nude statues in the houses at that time, went to see those stark naked figures, and went wild over ‘em, and there was a special discount made to Sunday-schools.
And as the lecture was well written and well delivered, and as the lights, etc., were well managed, and the points of the picture were well displayed, I don’t see but that the old maids and the Sunday-schools got the worth of their money after all.
[Editor’s notes: The source of the above column was a magazine article: Thorpe, Thomas Bangs. “New York Artists Fifty Years Ago,” Appleton’s Journal of Literature, Science, and Art, May 25, 1872, p. 572-575.
Though the paintings that James Creighton promoted were judged by the above column–and its source, the article by Thorpe–as worthless daubs, they were in fact painted by Claude-Marie Dubufe, a student of Jacques-Louis David, and member of the informal “School of David” French artists. Today his Adam and Eve paintings hang in the Art Museum of Nantes, France.]
