Not often, however, has the signboard been so fortunate as to obtain the attention of such masters of the limner’s art. { 229}
In the vast majority of cases the village sign-painter has been a person of limited ideas and but small skill, painting and re-painting the old familiar patterns. The following tale is related illustrative of this conservative bent of the sign-painter’s mind.
A pious old couple, who had taken a Public wherein they hoped peacefully to end their days, determined that they would not have any of your common wordly signs, such as the Crown, the Blue Boar, and the like, but something of a quite uncommon and even of a quasi-religious nature, and after much cogitation their choice fell upon the title of the Angel and Trumpet. The village sign-painter was summoned to the conclave, and the case was solemnly opened to him.
Landlord: “Well, John, me and my missis have been thinking about this sign, and we hear as you’re up to painting amost anythink.”
Sign Painter (with proper professional pride): “Yes, mister, I can do you pretty well what you like; the Red Lion, and so as that.”
L.: “No, John, that a’n’t quite what we wants. Me and my missis has been a-thinking as we’d like to have the Angel and Trumpet. Now, can you do it?”
S. P. (doubtfully): “Well, mister, I can do un; but you’d better by half have the Red Lion; it’s a dell a thirstier sign.”
L. (with decision): “No, John, we must have the Angel and Trumpet, so if you can’t do un, say so, and we must get some un as can.”
S. P. (driven to bay): “All right; I’ll paint the Angel and Trumpet, but (aside) I specs it’ll be a good dell like the Red Lion.”
Unfortunately the history breaks off at this point, and we are left in doubt as to the result. The troubles of the unfortunate sign-painter may be imagined; the unwilling hands striving to depict the benign features of the angel; the fierce and truculent visage of the lion making its appearance, whether the artist would or not.
The unskilfulness of the signboard painter has even been considered of sufficient importance to form the subject of a Royal Proclamation. Our good Queen Bess, with that vigour of language which endeared her to the hearts of her faithful subjects, and proved her to be her father’s daughter, issued an order, “that portraits of herself, made by unskilful and common painters, should be knocked in pieces, and cast into the fire.” The reasons for this summary treatment, and also a promised remedy for the woes of her faithful subjects, thus deprived of the counterfeit presentment of her most gracious Majesty, are set forth in a proclamation shortly afterwards issued. “Forasmuch” said this weighty { 230} document, “as thrugh the natural desire that all sorts of subjects and people, both noble and mean, have to procure the portrait and picture of the Queen’s Majestie, great nomber of Paynters, and some Printers, and Gravers, have already, and doe daily, attempt to make in divers manners portraictures of hir Majestie, in paynting, graving and prynting, wherein is evidently shown, that hytherto none have sufficiently expressed the naturall representation of hir Majestie’s person, favor, and grace . . . . “Therfor”—after much more to the same effect—“hir Majestie being as it were overcome with the contynuall requests of hir Nobility and Lords, whom she can not well deny, is pleased that for their contentations, some coning persons, mete therefore, shall shortly make a pourtraict of hir person or visage,” and, in short, that her loving subjects shall be enabled to take copies thereof, but in the meantime shall perpetrate no further libellous “pourtraicts,” under pains and penalties.