their accuracy. Another friend, on whose veracity I have the fullest
dependence, called one evening on Blake, and found him sitting with a
pencil and a panel, drawing a portrait with all the seeming anxiety of
a man who is conscious that he has got a fastidious sitter; he looked
and drew, and drew and looked, yet no living soul was visible. 'Disturb
me not,' said he, in a whisper, 'I have one sitting to me.' 'Sitting
to you!' exclaimed his astonished visitor; 'where is he, and what is
he?--I see no one.' 'But I see him, Sir,' answered Blake, haughtily;
'there he is, his name is Lot--you may read of him in the Scripture.
_He_ is sitting for his portrait.'"
Blake's last residence was No. 3, Fountain Court, Strand; he had two
rooms on the first floor, that in front, with the windows looking into
the court, had its walls hung with frescoes, temperas, and drawings
of Blake's, and was used as a reception-room. The back room was the
sleeping and living-room, kitchen, and studio; in one corner was the
bed, in another the fire, at which Mrs. Blake cooked. By the window
stood the table serving for meals, and by the window the table at which
Blake always sat (facing the light), designing or engraving. "There
was," says Mr. Gilchrist, "an air of poverty as of an artizan's room;
but everything was clean and neat; nothing sordid. Blake himself, with
his serene, cheerful, dignified presence and manner, made all seem
natural and of course. Conversing with him, you saw or felt nothing
of his poverty, though he took no pains to conceal it: if he had,
you would have been effectually reminded of it. But, in these latter
years he, for the most part, lived on good though simple fare. His
wife was an excellent cook--a talent which helped to fill out Blake's
waistcoat a little as he grew old. She could even prepare a made dish
when need be. As there was no servant, he fetched the porter for
dinner himself, from the house at the corner of the Strand. Once, pot
of porter in hand, he espied coming along a dignitary of Art--that
highly respectable man, William Collins, R.A., whom he had met in
society a few evenings before. The Academician was about to shake
hands, but seeing the porter, drew up and did not know him. Blake
would tell the story very quietly, and without sarcasm. Another time,
Fuseli came in, and found Blake with a little cold mutton before him
for dinner, who, far from being disconcerted, asked his friend to join
him. 'Ah! by G--!' exclaimed Fuseli, 'this is the reason you can do
as you like. _Now I can't do this._' His habits were very temperate.
Frugal and abstemious on principle, and for pecuniary reasons, he
was sometimes rather imprudent, and would take anything that came
in his way. A nobleman once sent him some oil of walnuts he had had
expressed purposely for an artistic experiment. Blake tasted it, and
went on tasting, till he had drunk the whole. When his lordship called
to ask how the experiment had prospered, the artist had to confess
what had become of the ingredients. It was ever after a standing joke
against him. In his dress, there was a similar triumph of the man
over his poverty, to that which struck one in his rooms. In-doors, he
was careful, for economy's sake, but not slovenly: his clothes were
threadbare, and his grey trousers had worn black and shiny in front,
like a mechanic's. Out of doors he was more particular, so that his
dress did not in the streets of London challenge attention either way.
He wore black knee-breeches and buckles, black worsted stockings,
shoes which tied, and a broad-brimmed hat. It was something like an
old-fashioned tradesman's dress. But the general impression he made on
you was that of a gentleman in a way of his own."
Blake died August 12th, 1827: he composed and uttered songs to his
Maker so sweetly to the ear of his Katherine, that when she stood
to hear him, he, looking upon her most affectionately, said: "My
beloved, they are not mine--no--they are not mine." He expired in his
sixty-ninth year, in the back room at Fountain Court, and was buried
in Bunhill Fields on the 17th of August, at the distance of about
twenty-five feet from the north wall, numbered 80.
[Illustration: Joseph Nollekens. From the _Life and Times_ by J. T.
Smith.]
Nollekens, the Sculptor.
Avarice would appear to have run in the blood of the Nollekens family.
"Old Nollekens," the father of Joseph, was "a miserably avaricious
man," and when, in the Rebellion of 1745, his house was attacked by the
mob, who thought themselves sure of finding money, the old man became
so terrified that he lingered in a state of alarm until his death.
Little Joey was described by Mrs. Scheemakers, the sculptor's wife,
as "so honest that she could always trust him to stone the raisins."
His love of modelling was his greatest pleasure, though he had an idle
propensity for bell-tolling; and whenever his master missed him, and
the dead-bell of St. James's church was tolling, he knew perfectly well
what Joey was at.
As Nollekens grew up, not unmindful of his art, he rose early
and practised carefully, and being a true son of his father, was
passionately fond of money. He was much employed as a shrewd collector
of antique fragments, some of which he bought on his own account; and
after he had dexterously restored them with heads and limbs, he stained
them with tobacco-water, and sold them for enormous sums.
When he returned from Rome, he succeeded as a smuggler of silk
stockings, gloves, and lace; all his plaster busts being hollow, he
stuffed them full of the above articles, and then spread an outside
coating of plaster at the back across the shoulders of each, so that
the busts appeared like solid casts. Pointing to the cast of Sterne,
Nollekens observed to Lord Mansfield: "There, do you know that bust,
my Lord, held my lace ruffles that I went to Court in when I came from
Rome."
His mode of living when at Rome was most filthy: he had an old woman
who was so good a cook, that she would often give him a dish for
dinner which cost him no more than threepence. "Nearly opposite to my
lodgings," he said, "there lived a pork-butcher who sold for twopence
a plateful of cuttings--bits of skin, gristle, and fat, and my old
lady dished them up with a little pepper and salt; and with a slice of
bread, and sometimes a bit of vegetable, I made a very nice dinner."
Whenever good dinners were mentioned after that, he was sure to say,
"Ay, I never tasted a better dish than my Roman cuttings."
Nollekens married the daughter of Mr. Justice Welch. She was as
parsimonious as her husband. Of a poor old woman, whom she allowed to
sit at the corner of her house, she would contrive to get four apples,
instead of three, to make a dumpling, saying, "for there's my husband,
myself, and two servants, and we must have one a-piece." When she went
to Oxford Market to beat the rounds, in order to discover the cheapest
shops, she would walk round several times to give her dog Cerberus an
opportunity of picking up scraps.
Nollekens's bust of Dr. Johnson is a wonderfully fine one, and very
like, but the sort of _hair_ is objectionable, having been modelled
from the flowing locks of a sturdy Irish beggar, who, after he had sat
an hour, refused to take a shilling, stating that he could have made
more by begging.
Most of Nollekens's sitters were much amused with his oddities. He once
requested a lady who squinted dreadfully to "look a little the other
way, for then," said he, "I shall get rid of the shyness in the cast of
your eye;" and to another lady of the highest rank, who had forgotten
her position, and was looking down upon him, he cried, "Don't look so
_scorny_; you'll spoil my busto; and you're a very fine woman; I think
it will be one of my best bustos."
A lady in weeds for her dear husband, drooping low like the willow,
visited the sculptor, and assured him she did not care what money was
expended on the monument to the memory of her beloved: "Do what you
please, but do it directly," were her orders. Nollekens set to work
at once, and in a short time finished the model, strongly suspecting
she might, like some others he had been employed by, change her mind.
The lady, in about three months, made her second appearance, in which
more courage is generally assumed, and was accosted by him, before she
alighted, with "Poor soul! I thought you'd come;" but her inclination
was changed, and she said, "How do you do, Nollekens; well, you have
not commenced the model?"--"Yes, but I have though," was the reply.
_The Lady_--"Have you, indeed? These, my good friend, I own," throwing
herself into a chair, "are early days; but since I saw you, an old
Roman acquaintance of yours has made me an offer, and I don't know
how he would like to see in our church a monument of such expense to
my late husband; indeed, perhaps, after all, upon second thoughts, it
would be considered quite enough if we got our mason to put up a mural
inscription, and that, you know, he can cut very neatly."--"My charge,"
interrupted the artist, "for my model will be one hundred guineas;"
which she declared to be enormous. However, she would pay it, and "have
done with him."
Nollekens's housekeeping was a model of parsimony. Coals he so rigidly
economized that they were always sent early before the men came to work
that he might have leisure-time for counting the sacks and disposing
of the large coals to be locked up for parlour use. Candles were never
lighted at the commencement of evening, and whenever they heard a knock
at the door, they would wait until they heard a second rap, lest the
first should have been a runaway, and their candle wasted. Mr. and Mrs.
Nollekens used a flat candlestick, when there was anything to be done;
and J. T. Smith, his biographer, was assured that a pair of moulds, by
being well nursed, and put out when company went away, once lasted them
a whole year.
Before he was married, Nollekens kept but one servant who always
applied to him for money to purchase every article _fresh_, as it was
wanted for the next meal; and by that mode of living, he considered, as
he kept his servant upon board-wages, he was not so much exposed to her
pilfering inclinations, particularly as she was entrusted with no more
money than would enable her to purchase just enough for his own eating;
and he generally contrived to get through the small quantity he allowed
himself. He was very cunning in hinting at little presents, and
frequently complained of a sore throat to those who made black currant
jelly.
Sometimes, in the evening, to take a little fresh air, and to avoid
interlopers, Mr. and Mrs. N. would, after putting a little tea and
sugar, a French roll, or a couple of rusks into their pockets, stray
to Madam Caria's, a Frenchwoman, who lived near the end of Marylebone
Lane, and who accommodated persons with tea equipage and hot water at
a penny a head. Mrs. Nollekens made it a rule to allow one servant--as
they kept two--to go out on the alternate Sunday; for it was Mr.
Nollekens's opinion that if they were never permitted to visit the
Jew's Harp, Queen's Head and Artichoke, or Chalk Farm, they never would
wash _theirselves_.
One day, when some friends were expected to dine with Mr. Nollekens,
poor Bronze (the servant), labouring under a severe sore throat,
stretching her flannelled neck up to her mistress, hoarsely announced
"_all the Hawkinses_" to be in the dining-parlour! Mrs. Nollekens, in
a half-stifled whisper, cried, "Nolly, it is truly vexatious that we
are always served so when we dress a joint. You won't be so silly as
to ask them to dinner?" _Nollekens_--"I ask them! Let 'em get their
meals at home; I'll not encourage the sort of thing; or, if they
please, they can go to Mathias's; they'll find the cold leg of lamb
we left yesterday." _Mrs. Nollekens_--"No wonder, I am sure, they
are considered so disagreeable by Captain Grose, Hampstead Steevens,
Murphy, Nicolls, and Boswell." At this moment who should come in but
Mr. John Taylor, who looked around, and wondered what all the fuss
could be about. "Why don't you go to your dinner, my good friend?" said
he; "I am sure it must be ready, for I smell the gravy." Nollekens,
to whom he had spoken, desired him to keep his nonsense to himself. A
dispute then arose, which lasted so long, that perhaps the Hawkinses
overheard it, for they had silently let themselves out without even
ringing the bell.
Smith, the grocer, of Margaret Street, was frequently heard to declare
that whenever Mrs. Nollekens purchased tea and sugar at his father's
shop, she always requested, just as she was quitting the counter, to
have either a clove or a bit of cinnamon to take some unpleasant taste
out of her mouth; but she never was seen to apply it to the part so
affected; so that, with Nollekens's nutmegs, which he pocketed from
the table at the Academy dinners, they contrived to fill the family
spice-box, without any expense whatever.
For many years Nollekens made one at the table of the Royal Academy
Club; and so strongly was he bent upon saving all he could privately
conceal, that he did not mind paying two guineas a year for his
admission ticket, in order to indulge himself with a few nutmegs,
which he contrived to pocket privately: for as red-wine negus was the
principal beverage, nutmegs were used. Now it generally happened, if
another bowl was wanted, that the nutmegs were missing, Nollekens,
who had frequently been seen to pocket them, was one day requested by
Rossi, the sculptor to see if they had not fallen under the table;
upon which Nollekens actually went crawling beneath, upon his hands
and knees, pretending to look for them, though at the very time they
were in his waistcoat-pocket. He was so old a stager at this monopoly
of nutmegs, that he would sometimes engage the maker of the negus in
conversation, looking at him full in the face, whilst he slyly and
unobserved, as he thought, conveyed away the spice; like the fellow who
is stealing the bank-note from the blind man in the admirable print of
the Royal Cockpit, by Hogarth.
Mrs. Nollekens would never think of indulging in such expensive
articles as spick and span new shoes, but purchased them second-hand,
as her friends, by their maids, _pumped_ out of Bronze, who also let
out that her muffs and parasols were obtained in the same way. The
sculptor's wife would also often plume herself with borrowed feathers
a shawl or a muff of a friend she never refused when returning home,
observing, that she was quite sure that they would keep her warm; never
caring how they suffered from the rain, so that her neighbours saw her
apparelled in what they had never before seen her wear.
Mrs. Nollekens's notions of charity were of the same second-hand
description. One severe winter morning, two miserable men, almost dying
for want of nourishment, implored her aid; but the only heart which
sympathized in their afflictions was that of Betty, in the kitchen,
who silently crept upstairs, and cheerfully gave them her mite. Mrs.
Nollekens, who had witnessed this delicate rebuke from the parlour
window, hastily opened the parlour door and vociferated, "Betty, Betty!
there is a bone below, with little or no meat on it, give it the poor
creatures!" upon which the one who had hitherto spoken, steadfastly
looking in the face of his pale partner in distress, repeated, "Bill,
we are to have a bone with little or no meat on it!" When they were
gone, the liberal-hearted Betty was seriously rated by her mistress,
who was quite certain she would come to want.
Mr. Nollekens, having entered his barber's shop, and his turn arrived,
placed one of Mrs. Nollekens's curling papers, which he had untwisted
for the purpose, upon his right shoulder, upon which the barber wiped
his razor. Nollekens cried out, "Shave close, Hancock, for I was
obliged to come twice last week, you used so blunt a razor."--"Lord
sir!" answered the poor barber, "you don't care how I wear my razors
out by sharpening them."
The old miser, who had been under his hands for upwards of twenty
years, was so correct an observer of its application, that he generally
pronounced at the last flourish, "That will do;" and before the shaver
could take off the cloth, he dexterously drew down the paper, folded
it up and carried it home in his hand, for the purpose of using it the
next morning when he washed himself.
Nollekens used to sing a droll song, of which the following is a
verse:--
"So a rat by degrees
Fed a kitten with cheese,
Till kitten grew up to a cat;
When the cheese was all spent,
Nature follow'd its bent,
And puss quickly ate up the rat."
One day, Northcote, the Academician, had just reached his door in
Argyle Street when Nollekens, who was looking up at the house, said to
him, "Why, don't you have your house painted, Northcote? Why, it's as
dirty as Jem Barry's was in Castle Street." Now, Nollekens had no right
to exult over his brother artist in this way, for he had given his own
door a coat of paint, and his front passage a whitewash, _only the day
before_, and they had been for years in the most filthy state possible.
Mr. Smith received from Miss Welch the following specimens of
Nollekens's way of spelling words in 1780:--"Yousual, scenceble,
obligine, modle, ivery, gentilman, promist, sarvices, desier, Inglish,
perscription, hardently, jenerly, moust, devower, jellis, retier,
sarved, themselfs, could _for_ cold, clargeman, facis, cupple, foure,
sun _for_ son, boath sexis, daly, horsis, ladie, cheif, talkin, tould,
shee, sarch, paing, ould mades, racis, yoummer in his face, palas, oke,
lemman, are-bolloon, sammon, chimisters _for_ chymists, yoke _for_
yolk, grownd," &c.
After Mrs. Nollekens's death, as if he had been too long henpecked,
Mr. Nollekens soon sported two mould candles instead of one; took wine
oftener, sat up later, lay in bed longer, and would, though he made
no change in his coarse manner of feeding, frequently ask his morning
visitor to dine with him. Yet his viands were dirtily cooked with
half-melted butter, mountains-high of flour, and his habits of eating
were filthy. He frequently gave tea and other entertainments to some
one of his old models, who generally left his house a bank-note or
two richer than when they arrived. Indeed, so stupidly childish was he
at times, that one of his Venuses, who had grown old in her practices
coaxed him out of ten pounds to enable her to make him a plum-pudding.
Mr. Smith declares, that in some respects, aged as he was, he attempted
to practise the usual method of renovation of some of that species of
widowers who have not the least inclination to follow their wives too
hastily. Mrs. Nollekens had left him with his handsome maid, who had
become possessed of her mistress' wardrobe, which she quickly cut up
to her advantage. Her common name of Mary soon received the adjunct of
Pretty from her kind master himself. As it soon appeared, however, that
Pretty Mary, who had an eye to her master's disengaged hand, took upon
herself mightily, and used her master rather roughly, she was one day,
very properly, though unceremoniously, put out of the house, before her
schemes were brought to perfection.
Nollekens took snuff; he certainly kept a box, but then it was very
often in his other coat-pocket, an apology frequently made when he
partook of that refreshment at the expense of another.
"You must sometimes be much annoyed," observed a lady to Mr. Nollekens,
"by the ridiculous remarks made by your sitters and their flattering
friends, after you have produced a good likeness."--"No, ma'am, I never
allow anybody to fret me. I tell 'em all, 'If you don't like it, don't
take it.'" This may be done by an artist who is "tiled in;" but the
dependent man is sometimes known to submit to observations as the witty
Northcote has stated, even from "nursery-maids, both wet and dry."
At the commencement of the French Revolution, when such numbers
of priests threw themselves upon the hospitality of this country,
Nollekens was highly indignant at the great quantity of bread they
consumed. "Why, do you know now," said he, "there's one of 'em living
next door to me, that eats two whole quarterns a-day to his own share!
and I am sure the fellow's body could not be bigger, if he was to eat
up his blanket."
Mr. Browne, one of Nollekens's old friends, after having received
repeated invitations to "step in and take pot-luck with him," one day
took him at his word. The sculptor apologized for his entertainment,
by saying that as it was Friday, Mrs. Nollekens had proposed to take
fish with him, so that they had bought _a few sprats_, of which he was
wiping some in a dish, whilst she was turning others on the gridiron.
When Mr. Jackson was once making a drawing of a monument at the
Sculptor's house, Nollekens came into the room and said, "I'm afraid
you're cold here." "I am, indeed," said Jackson. "Ay," answered the
Sculptor, "I don't wonder at it: why, do you know, there has not been a
fire in this room for these forty years."
Miss Gerrard, daughter of the auctioneer, frequently called to know how
Nollekens did; and once the Sculptor prevailed upon her to dine. "Well,
then," said he to his pupil, Joseph Bonomi, "go and order a mackerel;
stay, one won't be enough, you had better get two, and you shall dine
with us."
A candle with Nollekens was a serious article of consumption: indeed,
so much so, that he would frequently put it out, and merely to save
an inch or two, sit entirely in the dark, and at times, too, when he
was not in the least inclined to sleep. If Bronze ventured into the
yard with a light, he always scolded her for so shamefully flaring
the candle. One evening, his man, who then slept in the house, came
home rather late, but quite sober enough to attempt to go upstairs
unheard without his shoes, but as he was passing Nollekens's door, the
immensely increased shape of the keyhole shone upon the side of the
room so brilliantly that Nollekens cried out, "Who's there?"--"It's
only me," answered the man; "I am going to bed."--"Going to bed,
you extravagant rascal!--why don't you go to bed in the dark, you
scoundrel."--"It's my own candle," replied the man. "Your own candle!
well then, mind you don't set fire to yourself."
Nollekens frequently spoke of a man that he met in the fields, who
would now and then, with all the gravity of an apothecary, inquire
after the state of his bowels. At last the sculptor found out that he
wanted to borrow money of him.
Whenever Mr. and Mrs. Nollekens had a present of a leveret, which they
always called a hare, they contrived, by splitting it, to make it last
for two dinners for four persons; the one half was roasted, and the
other jugged.
It was highly amusing to witness the great variety of trifling presents
and frivolous messages which Nollekens received late in life. One
person was particularly desirous to be informed where he liked his
cheese-cakes purchased; another, who ventured to buy stale tarts from
a shop in his neighbourhood, sent his livery servant in the evening to
inquire whether his cook had made them to his taste; whilst a third
continued constantly to ply him with the very best pigtail tobacco,
which he had most carefully cut into very small pieces for him. A
fourth truly kind friend, who was not inclined to spend money upon
such speculations himself, endeavoured once more to persuade Nollekens
to take a cockney ride in a hackney-coach to Kensington, to view
the pretty almond-tree in perfect blossom, and to accept of a few
gooseberries to carry home with him to make a tartlet for himself.
A fifth sent him jellies, or sometimes a chicken with gravy ready
made, in a silver butter-boat; and a sixth regularly presented him
with a change of large showy plants, to stand on the mahogany table,
especially in his latter years, when he was a valetudinarian, that he
might see them from his bed; yet the scent mattered not, a carrion
flower or a marigold being equally refreshing to him as jessamine or
mignonette.