45



NEW BOOKS.



Pen and Pencil Sketches, by Henry Stacy Marks, R.A.


These two large volumes contain a number of charming illustrations,

but the literary portion of the work is of considerably less merit. Still,

although very slight, the book is readable and amusing, and the author

relates some valuable reminiscences of Ruskiu—these, indeed, are the only

things of permanent interest which we can find in the book. After all,

there is no reason why the autobiography of a popular artist should be

specially interesting, but as Mr. Marks is a celebrated painter ot birds, we

expected to find a great deal about birds in his book, and are disappointed

that so little space is devoted to the subject.


Mr. Marks tells us that he first thought of birds as a subject for his

art during a tour in the South of France in 1S63. He says,—“ We stayed a

night at Amiens at the Hotel du Rliin. It was while walking early the next

morning in the hotel garden that I suddenly came upon two ordinary white

storks (Ciconia albaj at liberty, taking, as I was, a stroll before breakfast. I

was fascinated at once, and followed them, sketch book in hand. That

habit of standing on one leg, the dainty, stealthy, striding walk, the quaint

clattering of the mandibles, and a certain weird, almost human expression,

as if ‘the soul of our grandam might haply inhabit a bird,’ were all very

novel and delightful to me. I really believe, in thinking of that morning,

that the storks impressed me more than all the churches, town-halls, and

even (I blush to confess it) the picture galleries that we entered. Since then

the storks, the cranes, the herons, and all the long-legged birds, have been

special favourites of mine, and in many respects I prefer them to the human

model. They are less vain and less greedy, they don’t bore you with their

conceit, or with long gossiping stories, without point, of the artists to whom

they have sat. Nor do they expect you to be talkative and amusing for

their benefit, or require seven shillings a day and a hot lunch as a slight

recognition of their invaluable services.”


In 1888, Mr. Marks became a haunter of the Zoo, and soon estab¬

lished intimate relations with his feathered friends. “Many of the

birds, I believe, learned actually to know me, and watched my proceedings

with evident curiosity. Some of the parrots, with their monkey-like mis¬

chievous nature, resented having their portraits taken, and the moment

that pencil and sketch-book appeared became very restless and fidgety

or indulged in shrieking remonstrances. ‘Not to-day, thank you!’ they

would scream to me, and if, inadvertently, I had left my water-bottle within

reach of one of them, he would incontinently tip it over and spill the contents

with malicious glee. Other less excitable natures resigned themselves to

fate, and became profoundly indifferent, regarding me with extreme con¬

tempt from the corners of their half-closed eyes. But of all the birds who

entirely ignore you, commend me to the eagle, who won’t even look at

you ; or to the adjutant-stork, who looks wiser than any bird ever was, and

is the best sitter of them all. On what weighty problem is he pondering,

in what profound reflection engaged, as he stands there, often on one leg

only, motionless as a statue, for a quarter of an hour at a time ? The parrot-

house is a good winter studio, kept at a comfortable uniform temperature.

The heat in summer makes it impracticable for any one not blessed with a

constitution like a salamander, and the glaring, untempered sunshine is

distracting. The walls, coloured with that vile French blue, so much

affected by the modern house-painter, or decorator, as he persists in calling

himself, form the worst possible back-ground for parrots and macaws. And

the noise, as everyone knows, is deafening ; the house is a pandemonium of

discordant shrieks, squeals, and screeches. Visitors open the door, look in

for a moment, and retire with their fingers stopping their ears. Artists

subject to headache are driven to frenzy and despair, and though I have at

various times spent so many hours among the parrots and cockatoos, I have

never got accustomed to the frightful racket in which they so gleefully

indulge.”



