“In the winter of 1815, making a tour of the Netherlands, I
was in Bruges when the well-known statue, or rather group, of
the ‘Virgin and Child,’ by Michael Angelo Buonarotti, which
had been carried from the church of Notre Dame to Paris, was
restored, in a packing-case, to that church. On this occasion
a procession of the priests and officers of the church, and
of some of the municipal officers, took place; and a Mass was
celebrated. About a month afterwards, I was again in Bruges,
and saw this fine work of art replaced in its former situation,
on the altar of one of the small chapels. It is, indeed, a
wonderful work.
“I was about the same period in Antwerp, and was present
when the pictures which had been taken to Paris, arrived in
carriages, and were escorted into the city by an English
regiment, then in garrison there (either the 15th or 25th of
infantry), preceded by the band of that regiment playing ‘God
save the King,’ and accompanied by the members of the Academy
of Antwerp, and the magistracy of the city. I own I felt all
the pride of an Englishman at seeing these works of art, which
British valour had regained, thus restored to the places from
whence they had been pillaged.
“STEPHEN PORTER.[420]
“TEMPLE, _Feb. 5, 1828_.”
In July, I went to Hungerford Stairs to gain what information I could
respecting “Copper Holmes.” A waterman, whose face declared he had seen a
few liberal days, accosted me with the usual question, “Oars, sculler?”
I shook my head; but, upon a nearer approach, asked him the following
question, “How long has Copper been dead?” “There sits his widow at that
window mending her stockings,” said he; “we’ll go and put it to her.”
On approaching her the waterman said, “This gentleman wants to know how
long Copper has been dead?” “How do you do?” said I, “your husband has
often in my early days rowed me to Pepper Alley.” “He died,” said the
woman (who retained enough in her care-worn features to induce me to
believe she had been pretty), sticking her needle on her cap, “he died,
poor fellow, on the 3rd of October, 1821, and a better man never trod
shoe-leather. He was downright and honest, and what he said he would do,
he did. I had been his wife two-and-twenty years; but he married me after
he left the _Ark_. His first wife lived in the _Ark_ with her children.”
“What vessel had the _Ark_ been?” “She had been a Westcountryman, and
it cost him altogether (with her fittings-up with sheets of copper)
one hundred and fifty pounds, and that gave him the name of ‘_Copper
Holmes_.’ His Christian name was Thomas. Ay, Sir, his lawsuit with the
City crippled him:[421] but I will say this for him, his Majesty had not
a better subject than poor Copper.” While she uttered this declaration,
both her eyes, which were seriously directed to her nose, were moistened
with the tears of affectionate memory, which induced me to turn to my
new acquaintance the waterman, and ask where he was buried? “In the
Waterman’s churchyard, Sir, under the pump-pavement on the south side of
St. Martin’s church.[422] Lord bless you! don’t you know the Waterman’s
burying-ground? I could take you to the spot where fifty of us have been
buried.” “What was his age?” “Sixty-six when he died.”
After parting with the widow, I requested the master of the ceremonies
to allow his man to ferry me over to the King’s Head Stairs, Lambeth
Marsh. “He shall,” said Charles Price; “and I’ll go with you, too.” The
waggish, though youthful countenance of the lad employed to bring in our
boat, revived the pleasure Mathews had afforded me in his description of
Joe Hatch,[423] and induced me to inquire after the waterman whose look,
voice, and manner he had borrowed for that inimitable representation.
“George Heath, you mean, Sir,” answered the boy; “Of Strand Lane,”
observed Price; “Heath is his real name. Lord bless ye, he’s a
good-hearted fellow! Why, I have often known him put his hand in his
pocket and relieve a fellow-creature in distress.”
This mention of Hatch induced me to question Price as to the Halfpenny
Hatch,[424] where Astley had first rode,[425] before he took the ground
at the foot of Westminster Bridge, on which the present Amphitheatre
stands. Before Price could answer, as we had made the shore, “You
will find the Halfpenny Hatch (for it still remains, though in a very
ramshackled state) at the back of St. John’s Church, Waterloo Road, at
the end of Neptune Place,” I was told upon my landing by a little chubby,
shining, red-faced woman, in what was formerly called a _mob-cap_.
Thither I went, and to my great surprise found the Halfpenny Hatch in
a dell, by reason of the earth being raised for the pavement of the
adjacent streets.[426] Field was the name of the person who occupied
the house; and, only a few years ago, money was received for the
accommodation of the public who chose to go through the hatch. It was
built subsequent to the year 1771, by Curtis, the famous botanist,[427]
whose name it still retains; but the original Hatch-house, Mrs. Field
informed me, was still standing at the back of the present one.
The ground belonging to the Halfpenny Hatch was freehold, of about seven
acres, and sold by the Curtis family to Messrs. Basing, Atkins, and
Field, for the sum of £3500. They disposed of it in about six months
afterwards to Mr. Roupell, the present owner, for the sum of £8000.[428]
Being determined to take a sketch of the remains of this vine-mantled
Halfpenny Hatch, I took water at Strand Lane Stairs[429] on the following
evening, where I found George Heath busily engaged in his boat. Upon
seeing a poor chimney-sweeper who descended the steps with me, he stood
up and cried out, “I tell you what, Sir Cloudesley Shovel, although you
are a miller, depend upon it, I’ll dust your jacket for the injury you
have done my vessel.” A ferryman observed, “His wife was gone to take
a walk up Highgate Hill.” “A strainer,” observed George Heath. During
the time occupied in sketching, William Field, who lives in the Hatch,
pointed out part of the gate which had received a bullet, supposed
to have been aimed by some scoundrel at the elder Mr. Curtis, who
providentially escaped, though the ball, which came from a considerable
distance, passed only a few inches above his head.
1829.
On the 25th of July, 1829, being on my way to the great Sanctuary, my
pleasure was inconceivable upon observing that the intended repairs of
Whitehall Chapel had commenced. The scaffolding was erected before its
street-front, and the masons had begun their restorations at the south
corner, strictly according with the fast decaying original.[430] “Well,”
said I to my respected friend, Mr. Henry Smedley, whose house I had
entered just as the chimes of the venerable Abbey and St. Margaret’s
had agreed to complete their quarters for nine, “I am delighted to
find that Inigo’s beautiful front of Whitehall is in so fair a way of
recovery.”[431]
Bonington’s drawings, held at a respectful distance from the
_butter-dish_, were the next topic of conversation.[432] “I agree with
you,” observed my friend, “they are invaluable; even his slightest
pencil-touches are treasures. I have shown you the studies from the
figures which surround Lord Norris’s monument in the Abbey; have they not
all the spirit of Vandyke?[433] Ay, that drawing of the old buildings
seems to be your favourite; what a snug effect, and how sweetly it is
coloured!--there never was a sale of modern art so well attended.”
After taking boat at the Horse Ferry for Vauxhall,--for the reader must
be informed that Mr. Smedley and myself had an engagement to pass the day
with Mr. William Esdaile, on Clapham Common,[434]--I asked the waterman
some questions as to “Copper Holmes.” He could not speak correctly as
to the time of his death, but said that he had been much reduced by the
lawsuit he had with the City about his barge. “Yes, that I know,” said I;
“and it certainly was a nuisance on the banks of the Thames, and also an
encroachment upon the City’s rights and privileges.”
On arriving at Mr. Esdaile’s gate, Mr. Smedley remarked that this was
one of the few commons near London which had not been enclosed.[435] The
house had one of those plain fronts which indicated little, but upon
ascending the steps I was struck with a similar sensation to those of
the previous season, when first I entered this hospitable mansion. If I
were to suffer myself to utter anything like an ungrateful remark, it
would be that the visitor, immediately he enters the hall, is presented
with too much at once, for he knows not which to admire first, the choice
display of pictures which decorate the hall, or the equally artful and
delightful manner in which the park-like grounds so luxuriantly burst
upon his sight. Mr. Esdaile entered the library during our admiration of
its taste of design and truly pleasing effect.
The walls are painted with a subdued red, a colour considered by most
artists best calculated to relieve pictures, particularly those with
broad gold frames. The first picture which attracted our notice was the
upper one of two upon the easel nearest the window. The subject is a
Virgin and Child, attributed to Albert Dürer, though I must own the style
is so elegantly sweet, with so little of the German manner, that I should
have considered it the work of a high Italian master. The upper one of
the two pictures on the correspondent easel near the bookcase, is from
the exquisite pencil of Adrian Ostade; it was the property of Monsieur de
Calonne,[436] at whose auction Mr. Esdaile purchased it when he became a
collector of pictures.
It would be highly presumptuous in me to attempt to describe the pictures
from so cursory a view. Suffice it to say, they are chiefly of the first
class; and I cannot charge the possessor with an indifferent specimen.
Wilson and Gainsborough were honoured with two of the best places in
this room, which commands a most beautiful view of the grounds. In
passing to the best staircase, our eyes were attracted by the works of
Rubens, Ruysdael, Salvator Rosa, etc. I was highly gratified with the
standing of the colours of one of the rich landscapes from the easel
of my old and worthy friend, George Arnald, A.R.A. This picture was
originally purchased by my revered patron, Richard Wyatt, of Milton
Place, Egham, at whose sale Mr. Esdaile bought it. Two sumptuously rich
and large dishes of Oriental china, with their stands, occupy the corners
of the staircase, which leads to several chambers; the walls of the
left-hand one of which are adorned with drawings, framed and glazed, by
Cipriani and Bartolozzi; but more particularly with several architectural
ruins by Clerisseau, in his finest manner. On the north side of this room
stands a magnificent japan glazed case, which contains specimens of the
Raphael ware and Oriental porcelain, with two richly adorned alcoves,
with figures of Gibbon the historian, and his niece, manufactured at
Dresden.
In Mr. Esdaile’s bedroom are other specimens of curious porcelain, of
egg-shell plates, cups and covers of the dragon with five claws, and two
exquisite black and mother-o’-pearl flower-pots, from the collection
of the Duchess-Dowager of Portland. On the top of a curiously wrought
cabinet, in the drawing-room below stairs, stand three dark rich blue
vases of Sèvres, and two vases of deep blue, embossed with gold leaves,
from the Chelsea manufactory. These articles, with a curious figure of
Harlequin set in precious stones, the body of which is formed of an
immense pearl, were purchased by Mr. Esdaile at the sale of her late
gracious Majesty Queen Charlotte. The lower parts of the japan case in
the upper room are filled with drawings; so are two other cases which
stand on the western side of the room, made purposely for their reception.
The first drawings of our repast this day (for it would take twenty to
see the whole) were those by the inimitable hand of Rembrandt, many of
which were remarkably fine, one particularly so, of a man seated on a
stile near some trees, which appear to have been miserably affected by
a recent storm. This drawing is slight, and similar in manner to the
artist’s etching, called by some collectors the “Mustard Print.” One of
the drawings with landscapes on both sides is remarkably curious, as
they are drawn with what is called “the Metallic Pen”; it is certainly
the first specimen of the kind I have seen. The Ostade drawings were
our next treat, two of which the artist etched; one is the long print
of a merry-making on the outside of an alehouse, penned and washed; the
other is of the backgammon-players, completely finished in water-colours.
At this time the servant announced nooning; after which Mr. Smedley
requested to see Hogarth’s prints, in order to report to Mr. Standly[437]
the rarities in Mr. Esdaile’s collection. In this, however, we were
disappointed, as it did not contain any which that gentleman did not
possess.
On our return to Mr. Esdaile’s room, we were indulged with several of
Hogarth’s drawings. A volume containing numerous drawings by Wilson was
then placed on the table. “Bless me,” said I, “here is the portrait of
my great-uncle, Tom of Ten Thousand.”[438] This is the identical drawing
thus described by Edwards:--“It may, however, be asserted, that he drew
a head equal to any of the portrait-painters of his time. A specimen of
which may be seen by a drawing, now in the possession of J. Richards,
Esq., R.A.,[439] which is the portrait of Admiral Smith, and which was
drawn before Wilson went abroad. It is executed in black and white chalk,
as large as life, upon brown French paper, and is treated in a bold,
masterly manner; but this is not a work which can authorise the critic to
consider him as superior to the other portrait-painters of his day.”[440]
This drawing was made by Wilson, before he commenced the picture which
I am now in possession of, so well engraved in mezzotinto by Faber. Of
these inestimable drawings, which are mostly in black chalk, stumped,
perhaps the most interesting are those for Celadon and Amelia, and the
Niobe. Valuable and truly epic as these specimens certainly are, I must
say, for my own part, I should give the preference to the book containing
those by Gainsborough, of rustic scenery. I had seen many of them before,
in the possession of the artist, Colonel Hamilton, Mr. Nassau, and
Mr. Lambert. Two that were possessed by the latter, are stamped with
Gainsborough’s initials in gold.
Dr. Richardson,[441] Mr. Esdaile’s son-in-law, having arrived, and dinner
being announced, we gave up these fascinating sources of pleasure, for
that which would enable us to enjoy them another day.
The Doctor, with his accustomed elegance of manners, delighted us during
our repast with some most interesting observations made during his
travels; after which, Flora invited us to the garden, where Mr. Esdaile
had, with his usual liberality, allowed her to display some of her most
rare as well as picturesque sweets. On our return from the enchanting
circuit of the grounds, our general conversation was on the pleasures we
had received; and, indeed, so delighted were we with the entertainment of
the day, that we talked of little else till our arrival at Westminster
Bridge.
[Illustration: LONDON STREET MERCHANTS: DOOR-MATS