After the execution, as soon as I was permitted to leave the prison, I
found the Yeoman selling the rope with which the malefactor had been
suspended, at a shilling an inch; and no sooner had I entered Newgate
Street, than a lath of a fellow, past threescore years and ten, who had
just arrived from the purlieus of Black Boy Alley,[302] woe-begone as
_Romeo’s_ apothecary, exclaimed,--“Here’s the identical rope at sixpence
an inch.” A group of tatterdemalions soon collected round him, most
vehemently expressing their eagerness to possess bits of the cord. It
was pretty obvious, however, that the real business of this agent was
to induce the Epping butter-men to squeeze in with their canvas bags,
which contained their morning receipts in Newgate market.[303] A little
further on, at the north-east corner of Warwick Lane, stood “Rosy Emma,”
exuberant in talk, and hissing-hot from Pie Corner,[304] where she had
taken her morning dose of gin and bitters; and as she had not waited to
make her toilet, was consequently a lump of heat.
“Now, my readers, I have been told,
Love wounds by heat, and Death by cold;
Of size she would a barrow fill,
But more inclining to sit still.”
Possibly she might have been a descendant of Orator Henley, and I make
no doubt at one time passionately admired by her Henry. I can safely
declare, however, that her cheeks were purple, her nose of poppy-red or
cochineal.
“The lady was pretty well in case,
But then she’d humour in her face;
Her skin was so bepimpled o’er,
There was not room for any more.”
Her eyes reminded me of Sheridan’s remark on those of Dr. Arne, “Like
two oysters on an oval plate of stewed beet-root.”[305] I regretted
most exceedingly, while she was cutting her rope and twisting her
mouth, that most of her once-famed ivories had absconded; but it gave me
inexpressible delight to see that her lips were not at all chapped. If
Emma’s lips had been ever so deeply cracked, she could not have benefited
by my friend “Social Day” Coxe’s[306] Conservatoria, as it was not then
sold.
Emma in her tender blossom, I understand, assisted her mother in selling
rice-milk and furmety to the early frequenters of Honey Lane market; and
in the days of her full bloom, new-milk whey in White Conduit Fields,
and at the Elephant and Castle. She must have been, as to her outward
charms, during her highest flattery, little inferior to the beautiful
Emma Lyon;[307] but in her last stage, perhaps not altogether unlike
the heroine so voluptuously portrayed by my late highly talented
friend, the Rev. George Huddesford, in his poem entitled “The Barber’s
Nuptials.”[308] Rosy Emma, for so she was still called, was the reputed
spouse of the Yeoman of the Halter, and the cord she was selling as the
identical noose was for her own benefit. This was, according to the
delightful writer, Charles Lamb,
“For honest ends, a most dishonest seeming.”[309]
[Illustration: LADY HAMILTON AS A BACCHANTE
“Romney! expert infallibly to trace …
The mind’s impression too on every face.”
_Cowper_]
Now, as fame and beauty ever carry influence, Emma’s sale was rapid;
had she been as lamentable as a Lincolnshire goose after plucking-time,
“Misery’s Darling,” or like Alecto when at the entrance of Pandemonium,
she would have had a sorry sale.[310] This money-trapping trick, steady
John, the waiter at the Chapter Coffee-house, assured me was invariably
put in practice whenever superior persons or notorious culprits had been
executed. Then to breakfast, but with little or no appetite; however,
after selecting one of Isaac Solomon’s H.B.’s, I made a whole-length
portrait of the late Governor by recollection, which Dr. Buchan, the
flying physician of the “Chapter”[311] frequenters, and several of the
Pater-Noster vendors of his _Domestic Medicine_, considered a likeness;
at all events, it was admitted into the portfolio of the Duke, with the
following acknowledgment written on the back: “Drawn by memory.”
1803.
About this time, in order to see human nature off her guard, I agreed
with a good-tempered friend of mine, one of Richard Wilson’s scholars, to
perambulate Bartholomew Fair, which we did in the evening, after taking
pretty good care to leave our watches at home. Our first visit was to a
show of wild beasts, where, upon paying an additional penny, we saw the
menagerie-feeder place his head within a lion’s mouth.
Our attention was then arrested by an immense baboon, called _General
Jacko_, who was distributing his signatures as fast as he could dip his
pen in the ink, to those who enabled him to fill his enormous craw with
plums, raisins, and figs. The next object which attracted our notice was
a magnificent man, standing, as we were told, six feet six inches and a
half, independent of the heels of his shoes. The gorgeous splendour of
his Oriental dress was rendered more conspicuous by an immense plume of
white feathers, which were like the noddings of an undertaker’s horse,
increased in their wavy and graceful motion by the movements of the
wearer’s head.
As this extraordinary man was to perform some wonderful feats of
strength, we joined the motley throng of spectators at the charge of
“only threepence each,” that being vociferated by Flockton’s[312]
successor as the price of the evening admittance.
After he had gone through his various exhibitions of holding great
weights at arm’s-length, etc., the all-bespangled master of the show
stepped forward, and stated to the audience that if any four or five
of the present company would give, by way of encouraging the “Young
Hercules,” _alias_ the “Patagonian Samson,” sixpence apiece, he would
carry them all together round the booth, in the form of a pyramid.
With this proposition my companion and myself closed; and after two
other persons had advanced, the fine fellow threw off his velvet cap
surmounted by its princely crest, stripped himself of his other gewgaws,
and walked most majestically, in a flesh-coloured elastic dress, to the
centre of the amphitheatre, when four chairs were placed round him, by
which my friend and I ascended, and, after throwing our legs across his
lusty shoulders, were further requested to embrace each other, which we
no sooner did, cheek-by-jowl, than a tall skeleton of a man, instead
of standing upon a small wooden ledge fastened to Samson’s girdle, in
an instant leaped on his back, with the agility of a boy who pitches
himself upon a post too high to clear, and threw a leg over each of
our shoulders; as for the other chap (for we could only muster four),
the Patagonian took him up in his arms. Then, after _Mr. Merryman_ had
removed the chairs, as he had not his full complement, Samson performed
his task with an ease of step most stately, without either the beat of a
drum, or the waving of a flag.
I have often thought that if George Cruikshank, or my older friend
Rowlandson, had been present at this scene of a pyramid burlesqued, their
playful pencils would have been in running motion, and I should have been
considerably out-distanced had I then offered the following additional
description of our clustered appearance. Picture to yourself, reader,
two cheesemonger, ruddy-looking men, like my friend and myself, as the
sidesmen of Hercules, and the tall, vegetable-eating scarecrow kind of
fellow, who made but one leap to grasp us like the bird-killing spider,
and then our fourth loving associate, the heavy dumpling in front, whose
chaps, I will answer for it, relished many an inch thick steak from the
once far-famed Honey Lane market,[313] all supported with the greatest
ease by this envied and caressed _Pride_ of the _Fair_, to whose powers
the frequenters of Sadler’s Wells also bore many a testimony.
In the year 1804, Antonio Benedictus Van Assen engraved a whole-length
portrait of this Patagonian Samson, at the foot of which his name was
thus announced, “_Giovanni Baptista Belzoni_.” This animated production
was executed at the expense of the friendly Mr. James Parry, the justly
celebrated gem and seal engraver, of Wells Street, Oxford Street.
[Illustration: GIOVANNI BAPTISTA BELZONI
“Belzoni _is_ a grand traveller, and his English is very prettily broken.”
_Lord Byron_]
After the close of Bartholomew Fair, this Patagonian was seen at that
of Edmonton, exhibiting in a field behind the Bell Inn, immortalised by
Cowper in his “Johnny Gilpin;” and I have been assured that, so late as
1810, at Edinburgh, he was, during his exhibition in Valentine and Orson,
soundly hissed for not handling his friend the bear, at the time of her
death, in an affectionate manner. Several years rolled on, and he was
nearly forgotten in England, until the year 1820, and then many people
recognised in the Egyptian traveller Belzoni the person who had figured
away at fairs, as I have stated. The following anecdotes, in private
circulation, of this extraordinary man may not be considered wholly
uninteresting.
He was a native of Padua, and educated in order to become a profound
monk; but, during the frenzy of war, being noticed by the French army, in
consequence of his commanding figure, to be admirably well calculated for
a fugleman, prudently avoided seizure for so deadly a service, by getting
together what few things time would permit him, and so left Rome. I
should have stated to the reader that, upon his arrival in London in the
year 1803, he walked into Smithfield during Bartholomew Fair time, where
he was seen by the master of a show, who, it is said, thus questioned his
_Merry Andrew_:--“Do you see that tall-looking fellow in the midst of
the crowd? he is looking about him over the heads of the people as if he
walked upon stilts; go and see if he’s worth our money, and ask him if
he wants a job.” Away scrambled Mr. _Merryman_ down the monkey’s post,
and, “as quick as lightning,” conducted the stranger to his master, who,
being satisfied of his personal attractions, immediately engaged, plumed,
painted, and put him up.
The reader will readily conceive that a man like Belzoni, seriously
educated for the duties of the Church, and accustomed to associate
with people of good manners, could with no little reluctance endure
the vulgar society his pecuniary circumstances alone compelled him to
associate with. However, after the expiration of nine years, in the
course of which time he had married and saved money, he and his wife
were enabled to visit Portugal, Spain, and Malta, from which place they
embarked for Egypt. Fortunately for Belzoni, the wife he had chosen
more than equally shared his numerous dangers, by spiritedly joining
in all his enterprises, which some of my readers will recollect are
most delightfully described by herself in what she styles “A Trifling
Account,” printed at the end of her husband’s _Travels in Egypt, Nubia_,
etc.[314]
As most of my readers have perused this work, I shall only state that,
shortly after the arrival of Belzoni and his wife in England, my friend
Dr. Richardson,[315] the traveller, who had been kind to them in every
possible way when in Egypt, introduced me to them when they lodged in
Downing Street, Westminster. Here I not only had great pleasure in seeing
my steady supporter again, but enjoyed most pleasantly the conversation
I had with his enterprising partner, whose sensible and intrepid cast of
features well accorded with her artless, unsophisticated, and interesting
“Trifling Account,” to which I have alluded.
In 1784, when Sir Ashton Lever petitioned the House of Commons for a
lottery for his museum, Mr. Thomas Waring made the following declaration
before the Committee to whom the petition was referred:--“That he had
been manager of Sir Ashton’s collection ever since it had been brought to
London in the year 1775; that it had occupied twelve years in forming;
and that there were upwards of twenty-six thousand articles. That the
money received for admission amounted, from February 1775 to February
1784, to about £13,000, out of which £660 had been paid for house-rent
and taxes.” Sir Ashton Lever proposed that his whole museum should
go together, and that there should be 40,000 tickets at one guinea
each.[316]
[Illustration: BARTHOLOMEW FAIR]
Few people would believe that so lately as this year, the Duke of Dorset,
Lord Winchilsea, Lord Talbot, Colonel Tarleton, Mr. Howe, Mr. Damer, Hon.
Mr. Lennox, and the Rev. Mr. Williams played at cricket in an open field
near White Conduit House.[317] Who could have conjectured that Du Val’s
Lane, branching from Holloway, within memory so notoriously infested with
highwaymen that few people would venture to peep into it even in mid-day,
should, in 1831, be lighted with gas?[318]
In 1784, Nathaniel Hillier’s[319] collection of prints was sold by
Christie: they were well selected as to impression, but much deteriorated
in value by Mr. Hillier’s attachment to strong coffee, with which he had
stained them. It has been acknowledged by one of the family that, what
with the expense of staining, mounting, and ruling, his collection only
brought them one-fifth of the cost of the prints in the first instance.
Dr. Samuel Johnson also died this year [1784]; during the time the
surgeon was engaged in opening his body, Sir John Hawkins, Knight, was in
the adjoining room seeing to the weighing of the Doctor’s tea-pot, in the
presence of a silversmith, whom Sir John, as an executor, had called upon
to purchase it.[320]
1805.
“Mr. Townley presents his compliments to Mr. West, and requests
that, when he sees Mr. Lock[321] at his house, he will be so
good as to deliver to him the packet sent herewith, containing
two prints from Homer’s head,--Mr. T. not knowing where Mr.
Lock lives in town. The drawing representing the ‘Triumphs
of Bacchus’ by Rubens,[322] in the eighth night’s sale at
Greenwood’s, differing much from the bas-relief in the Borghese
Villa, from which Caracci is supposed to have composed his
picture of that subject in the Farnese Gallery,[323] Mr. T. has
no intention to bid for it.
“PARK ST., WESTMINSTER, _21st Feb. 1787_.”
* * * * *
“MY DEAR SIR,--I return you many thanks for your kind
information respecting the sale of the marbles at the late Lord
Mendip’s house at Twickenham.[324] Had I been there and in
spirits, the fine Oriental alabaster vase would not have been
sold so cheap, and would probably have come to Park Street.
I should also have probably purchased the medallion of an
elderly man over a chimney-piece. I shall be glad to find out
who bought it, and at what price. I should also have liked the
ancient fountain. Pray, what was it sold for, and who bought it?
“I mean to take a farewell look at the _robaccia_ at Wilton, to
verify my former notes on that collection.
“I flatter myself that many bad symptoms of my long disorder
begin to abate, though it still, I feel, has strong hold upon
me. I shall remain here about a fortnight longer, then return
to Park Street.
“If you will give me the pleasure of a line from you, you may
direct to me, No. 36, Milsom Street, Bath. I am, sir, ever most
faithfully yours, etc.
“C. TOWNLEY.
“BATH, 36, MILSOM STREET, _11th June 1802_.”
1806.
In the month of June this year, the late Atkinson Bush,[325] then of
Great Ormond Street, brought to my house Mr. Parton, vestry-clerk of
St. Giles’s-in-the-Fields, with a view to obtain such particulars of
that parish as I was acquainted with, he being then busily engaged in
collecting materials for its history. In the course of conversation, I
was astonished to find that it was his intention to have a plan of the
parish engraved for his work, purporting to have been taken between the
years twelve and thirteen hundred, a period more than two centuries
and a half earlier than Aggas’s plan of London, and from which I could
not help observing that in my opinion he had most glaringly borrowed.
When he assured me he had not, my request was then to know his authority
for producing such a plan, but for that question he was not provided
with an answer, nor did he appear to be willing to be probed by further
interrogatories. To my great astonishment, when Mr. Parton’s book made
its appearance, I not only found this plan professing to be between the
years twelve and thirteen hundred so minutely made out, with every man’s
possession in the parish most distinctly attributed, but every plot of
garden so neatly delineated, with the greatest variety of parterres,
walks with cut borders, as if the gardener of William III. or Queen Anne
had then been living. As Mr. Parton omitted to give any authority for the
introduction of so wonderfully early a piece of ichnography, I applied
to several leading men in the parish of St. Giles, but could gain no
intelligence whatever respecting it: so much for this plan of St. Giles’s
parish, as produced by Mr. Parton.[326]
[Illustration: “The Townley Marbles.”]
1807.
On the 7th of November of this year, aged 65, died at Rome the celebrated
Angelica Kauffmann, who was appointed a member of the Royal Academy by
King George III. at its foundation.[327] That she was a great favourite
with the admirers of art may be inferred by the numerous engravings from
her productions by Bartolozzi and the late William Wynn Ryland.[328]
Her pictures are always tasteful, and often well composed, clearly and
harmoniously coloured, and extremely finished with a most delicate but
spirited pencil. Indeed, her talents were so approved by her brother
Academicians, that those gentlemen allotted her compartments of the
ceiling in their council-chamber at Somerset Place for decoration, in
which most honourable and pleasing task she so well acquitted herself,
that her performances are the admiration of every visitor, but more
particularly those who possess the organ of colour. She etched numerous
subjects; the best impressions are those before the plates were
aqua-tinted.
When I was a boy, my father frequently took me to Golden Square to see
her pictures, where she and her father had for many years resided in the
centre house on the south side. There are several portraits of her, but
none so well-looking as that painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds, of which
there is an engraving by Bartolozzi.
Angelica Kauffmann was a great coquette, and pretended to be in love
with several gentlemen at the same time.[329] Once she professed to be
enamoured of Nathaniel Dance;[330] to the next visitor she would divulge
the great secret that she was dying for Sir Joshua Reynolds. However, she
was at last rightly served for her duplicity by marrying a very handsome
fellow personating Count de Horn. With this alliance she was so pleased,
that she made her happy conquest known to her Majesty Queen Charlotte,
who was much astonished that the Count should have been so long in
England without coming to Court. However, the real Count’s arrival was
some time afterwards announced at Dover; and Angelica Kauffmann’s husband
turned out to be no other than his _valet de chambre_. He was prevailed
upon subsequently to accept a separate maintenance.[331] After this man’s
death she married Zucchi, and settled in Rome. During her residence
there, she was solicited by the artists in general, but more particularly
by the English, to join them in an application to this country for
permission to bring their property to England duty free; and as I possess
the original letter which that lady wrote to Lord Camelford[332] upon the
subject, I cannot refrain from inserting it.
“MY LORD,--I do not know, if by having lived several years
in England, and having the honour to be a R.A., I may be
sufficiently entitled to join with the artists of Great Britain
in their request, or better to say, in returning thanks to your
Lordship for patronising them in a point so very essential,
which is to assist them in obtaining the free importation of
their own studies, models, or designs, collected for their
improvement during their own stay abroad.
“The heavy duty set upon articles of that nature causes that
the artist, whose circumstances do not permit him to pay
perhaps a considerable sum, must either be deprived of what
he keeps most valuable, or buy his own works at the public
sale at the Custom House. This I have myself experienced on my
coming to England,--and I mention it here, in consequence of
the opinion of some of my friends, who think that my assertion,
added to what other artists may have reported to that purpose,
may be of some use to obtain their object.
“I heard from Dr. Bates,[333] and Mr. Reveley,[334] the
architect, how very much your Lordship is inclined to support
the earnest supplication drawn up by some of the artists, which
proves your Lordship to be a protector of the fine arts, and
of those who profess them. Consequently I have some reason to
hope that I may not be judged too impertinent for addressing
these lines to you. I have the honour to be, with the greatest
respect, my Lord, your Lordship’s most obliged humble servant,
“ANGELICA KAUFFMANN.
“TRINITÀ DE’ MONTI, _the 26th Dec. 1787_.”
This year, my laborious work, entitled _Antiquities of Westminster_, was
delivered to its numerous and patient subscribers.[335] The following
congratulatory letter is one of the many with which I have been honoured
by its extensive and steady friends:--
“LICHFIELD CATHEDRAL CLOSE,
_Thursday, 2nd July 1807_.
“Mr. White[336] presents his best respects to Mr. Smith.
His precious little box, from some unaccountable delay in
Cambridge, did not arrive till yesterday evening, accompanied
by a letter, which receives this early acknowledgment. Though
Mr. White has not had leisure to inspect critically the
literary portion of Mr. Smith’s elegant and splendid volume,
yet his whole time since it came has been occupied in studying
and admiring its numerous, accurate, and highly finished
engravings, which alone give it a superiority to any book of
art’s illustration which Mr. White can at present recollect.
Mr. Smith’s offer of a few loose prints is peculiarly kind and
acceptable; and Mr. White so far avails himself of it.
“Mr. White cannot refrain expressing his concern and
astonishment, that Mr. Smith should have experienced so
bitter a recession from friendly promises and assistance,
as Mr. H. obliged him to feel; at the same time, the candid
and unequivocal statement which Mr. Smith has made, must
exonerate him from the world’s reproof, and account for the
long protraction of the work. Mr. White cannot but indulge
the hope, that so noble an addition to our architectural
antiquities, so admirable an elucidation of every _precedent_
history of London, will most amply remunerate the pocket,
though no success can recompense that anxiety of mind which
Mr. Smith has undergone. The beautiful Cathedral of Lichfield
has been recently ornamented with some very fine ancient
painted windows, from the dissolved convent near Lille. If Mr.
Smith would publish them in colours, Mr. White thinks that
the subscription would fill rapidly; and if Mr. Smith would
but come down and look at them, Mr. White would be happy in
extending every accommodation, and rendering every assistance
to him. When the windows are known, the plan will be certainly
adopted by other artists of inferior competency.”
1808.
On the first of November this year, George Dance, the Royal Academician,
signed the dedication page of his first volume of portraits of eminent
men drawn in pencil, with parts touched lightly with colour from life,
and engraved by William Daniell, A.R.A., now a Royal Academician (he died
1837), consisting of thirty-six in number. The second volume, which also
contained thirty-six in number, was published in 1814.[337]
Fuseli, when viewing several of these portraits, was heard by one of Mr.
Dance’s sitters to make the following observations upon the likenesses.
Of Benjamin West he said, “His eye is like a vessel in the South Sea,--I
can just spy it through the telescope;” of that of Joseph Wilton the
sculptor, he observed, “How simple are the thinking parts of this man’s
head, and how sumptuous the manducatory;” of that of James Barry he made
the following declaration, “This fellow looks like the door of his own
house;” of that of Northcote he exclaimed, “By _Cot_, he is looking sharp
for a rat;” and of that of Sir William Chambers, he observed, drawling
out his words, “What a _grate_, heavy, _humpty-dumpty_, this leaden
fellow is.”[338]
[Illustration: JAMES NORTHCOTE, R.A.
“By _Cot_, he is looking out sharp for a rat.”
_Fuseli_]
In this sort of wit Fuseli had a formidable force of gunnery, and his
shot seldom missed its destination; however, it cannot shatter the above
work, as most of the portraits are of worthies too well known even to
need it necessary to engrave their names under them.
The greater portion of these likenesses are highly valuable to the
illustrators of Boswell’s _Life of Johnson_, and, indeed, most of the
modern biographical publications.
1809.
I cannot more pleasantly close this year than by inserting a copy of one
of John Bannister’s bills for his BUDGET;[339] and as the original is
now an extreme rarity, I conclude that some of those “_gude folks_” who
witnessed the delightful humour displayed by that gifted son of Thespis,
may possibly be better enabled to recollect how much they giggled
twenty-three years ago.
“Oh the days when I was young!”
The type of the long lines in the original bill, which is of a small
folio size, being too small to be read without spectacles, I have
necessarily, in some instances, been obliged to increase the number of
lines in the following copy.
“THEATRE, IPSWICH.