Page:The Strand Magazine (Volume 6).djvu/118

"The Widower," "The Penitent"—the history of those who are unhistorical at the moment the painter puts it on the canvas. His versatility is great. Dickens was the first to recognise that. It is a wide bridge that connects the flower-girls of Venice with the applicants for admission to a casual ward! Mr. Luke Fildes is altogether an artist who can fascinate with the beautiful as truly as he can make one almost shudder at the pictures of life where the beautiful is seldom found.

Luke Fildes was born on St. Luke's Day, 18th October, 1844. Hence he was called Luke, his family having a strong leaning towards biblical names.

"I cannot trace any inclination towards painting in the family," said Mr. Fildes, as he lit up a little Italian cigar, a box of which Henry Woods occasionally dispatches from Venice. "I was only about ten when my father died, and soon after his death I went to school at Chester, and lived with my grandmother, whom I shall always think of as 'the indulgent one.' I quite unconsciously turned towards drawing. Even before I went to school, my chief delight was copying and colouring pictures; my great ambition was to become the possessor of a big box of paints. At school, drawing became a passion with me. Whilst most of the boys were taught drawing, this subject was not included in my curriculum. But it was my happiness to watch them, and I used to draw by myself."

The Glass Studio.
From a Photo. by Elliott & Fry.

The little artist was discovered, and at the suggestion of friends he was sent to the School Art at Chester. His progress was very rapid, and at the end of three months his master saw his ability, and said to his grandmother: "He ought to be educated for an artist."

"Now," said Mr. Fildes, smilingly, "I come from a stock who knew very little about artists—whose only notion of an artist was the travelling portrait-painter who in those days put up at the local inn, drank and got into debt, and had a poor, long-suffering wife with a quiver full! So my grandmother was not impressed with the notion. She suggested something more substantial; but always the indulgent one—she gave in to whatever I said. I should tell you that while at Chester I made the acquaintance of a water-colour painter, who gave me my first lessons in painting. He first opened out to me what picturesque art might be; we worked and talked together, and he showed me a new world. So, at last, in October, 1860, a few days before my birthday, hearing there was a good school and a capital master there, I migrated to Warrington—my first launching out into life by myself. I was then about sixteen."

At the Warrington School of Art he met a boy named Henry Woods—a younger student than he, very clever, very companionable. And they became chums, and have never ceased to be so. As to what this very important meeting led to—more anon. There he worked under an excellent teacher. He began to think. He had in his heart decided upon what his profession should be, but how was it to be brought about? The Great Exhibition of 1862 drew him to London! London! It played havoc with him—made him restless, dissatisfied—and when, at the end of ten days, he returned to Warrington he was tired of the place, and surprised his master at the School of Art by telling him that he was going to leave the town.