After nearly a decade’s worth of research, the true face of Sir Isaac Brock was finally revealed in the profile portrait by Gerrit Schipper (pl. 3). While Philip Jean’s miniature of a youthful Ensign Brock (pl. 27) is authentic in its own right, the depiction of an older Brock on the verge of becoming the “Hero of Upper Canada” holds far greater relevance. For many years, however, the existence of the profile portrait was unknown, as Ferdinand Brock Tupper used his influence as Brock’s biographer to suppress it. Thankfully, Dr. John George Hodgins was determined to have an accurate likeness of Brock for Ontario’s Educational Museum. His persistence was rewarded with a photograph of the profile portrait, which George Berthon used as the model for his own painting of Brock (pl. 9). This grand canvas was intended to be Brock’s official portrait, and it soon became the most widely recognized portrait of the great man—but not for long.
The miniature discovered by Miss Sara Mickle (pl. 11) was considered a much better portrayal, mainly because it was painted in three-quarter pose and showed more of the hero’s noble countenance than did Berthon’s reworking of the profile portrait. It was also more visually appealing, featuring a handsome young officer for the hopeless romantics to moon over. But while the miniature came highly recommended, it did not appear quite right to certain members of the Robinson family. Gossip began to undermine the credibility of this newfound likeness, and, fearing a confrontation with one of Toronto’s first families, Miss Mickle readily accepted Miss Agnes FitzGibbon’s offer to seek out evidence of the miniature’s authenticity. It must have seemed a godsend at the time, especially as Miss FitzGibbon was developing something of a reputation for being a Canadian historian. But in terms of the miniature, at least, her attitude towards historical research had more to do with proving a point than seeking the truth.
Fortunately for Miss FitzGibbon and Miss Mickle, they were never taken to task over the identity of the young officer in the miniature. Miss FitzGibbon certainly tempted fate when she denounced Berthon’s portrait of Brock as being a “lifeless presentment,” but despite this provocation none of the Robinsons were willing to engage Miss FitzGibbon in an undignified war of words. “Historian,” who was likely Christopher Robinson, merely skirted the issue by defending Berthon’s portrait against Miss FitzGibbon’s unfair criticism. The Honourable John Beverley Robinson would have been far more outspoken, as it was he who commissioned Berthon’s portrait. But the former lieutenant governor was dead. And while Major General Charles W. Robinson was convinced that Miss Mickle was trying to foist a false image on the people of Canada, he was unable to disprove the miniature’s authenticity and so he kept his silence. Had he been less concerned about his reputation as a gentleman, the general could very easily have undermined Miss Mickle’s discovery simply by pointing out the various discrepancies in the miniature. But just as Miss FitzGibbon predicted, General Robinson had no stomach for fighting women and so the misidentification went unchallenged.
For almost a century thereafter, Lieutenant George Dunn was mistaken for Major General Sir Isaac Brock. Ludwig Kosche finally set the record straight in 1985, and it was a significant breakthrough—albeit one that Kosche himself relegated to obscurity. Publishing his findings in a professional journal of limited distribution was by no means conducive to reaching a wider audience. A more popular approach would have had greater effect, provided there was a willingness on his part to deal with the Dunn miniature separately, and either in a newspaper or magazine article. But Kosche was anxious to be done with Brock, so the portraits were left in their original groupings according to medium. It was an unfortunate decision, as this format made it impossible to emphasize the awful truth behind Lieutenant Dunn’s miniature.
Apart from the flaws in his presentation, most of Kosche’s findings are sound and reliable. But in accepting William Berczy as the artist responsible for the profile portrait (pl. 3), the normally wary Kosche allowed himself to be led astray. Eventually, Jeanne Riger confirmed my belief that Gerrit Schipper was the artist. With this correct attribution, I was able to pin down the time and place of the portrait’s commission. The unorthodox arrangement of Brock’s buttons, which was not in compliance with his appointment to brigadier general, remained a vexing problem as it tended to cast doubt on the sitter’s identity. But after making sense of the discrepancy, I resolved the question in favour of Brock and no one else. My next challenge was to try to understand the process used in the making of the profile portrait. Having satisfied myself that Schipper probably employed a physiognotrace, I decided to look into the workings of that instrument. During this exercise, it became obvious to me that Brock’s portrait was done from life and that no part of it was pre-painted. Another important consideration was the quality of Schipper’s portraiture, and whether it was good or bad. While the latter contention was patently ridiculous, refuting the nonsense required a good deal of effort.
It was Ferdinand Brock Tupper who originated the idea that the profile portrait was somehow “no good.” Actually, all Tupper ever claimed was that Brock’s family “possessed no good likeness of the general.” But in doing so, he implied a negative impression of the profile portrait. Tupper might have been influenced by Major John B. Glegg’s admission that he never possessed a “good likeness” of his friend and general. While it is likely that Major Glegg simply meant to say that he had nothing better to offer, Tupper appears to have thought that he was passing judgement on the profile portrait. There is also the possibility that because this portrait shows only one side of Brock’s face, it was deemed unsuitable as a model for an elaborate memorial in St. Paul’s Cathedral. Such a rejection could easily have given rise to a mistaken belief that the portrait was therefore “no good.” Whatever his rationale, Tupper judged Schipper’s profile portrait of Brock to be unworthy of his famous uncle.
However much Ferdinand Brock Tupper may have disapproved of the profile portrait (pl. 3), there is not the slightest hint that his uncle was unhappy with it—especially as Brock appears to have kept this particular portrait with him until the day he died. Even if the portrait was a gift from Governor Sir James H. Craig, and supposing there was a reluctance to dispose of it for fear of causing offence, any such concern would have been greatly diminished once Brock was posted to Upper Canada in 1810. With Governor Craig’s departure in 1811, followed by the news of his death early the next year, Brock was free to do as he pleased with the profile portrait. But since it was not discarded, Brock probably thought the likeness did him justice. His brothers must have agreed, as they carefully preserved both the original profile portrait and a copy as well. Little is known of this copy (pl. 4), except that it was an heirloom in Savery Brock’s branch of the family for many years. And the duplication resulted in a very close copy, which suggests that the original was sufficiently true to life as to warrant an exact reproduction.
But regardless of his skill in rendering an accurate representation, Schipper could not compete with the leading portrait painters of his day—and neither did he try. Instead he specialized in small profile portraits, expeditiously painted in pastels and sold at moderate cost. This was portraiture for the masses, and Schipper was undoubtedly one of its great masters.1 By combining art and technology, it was Schipper the itinerant artist who ultimately succeeded in capturing the true face of Sir Isaac Brock.