Beautiful and truly valuable as Mr. Esdaile’s drawings unquestionably
are, it would not only be considered an impeachment upon my judgment, but
a conviction of the deepest injustice towards that wonderful collection
so classically formed by Sir Thomas Lawrence, were I not unequivocally to
state, that this latter is by far the most choice, as well as extensive,
of any I have yet seen or heard of, and perhaps it may be stated with
equal truth, ever formed. What catalogue can boast so formidably of
Michael Angelo, Raphael, Claude, Rubens, and Rembrandt?[442] Surely
none; for I have seen those of Sir Peter Lely, the Duke of Argyle, and
Hudson,[443] at the last of whose sales the immortal Sir Joshua employed
me as one of his bidders, his pupil Mr. Score[444] was another. It would
be assuming too much, to attempt a description of the individual and high
importance of the productions of all the four above-mentioned masters,
possessed by the liberal President.
As prospective pleasures are seldom realised, a truth many of my readers
must acknowledge, and being determined never to colour a picture at once,
but to await the natural course of events,[445] I on the 3rd of August
started with my wife for Hampton Court, not only to see the present state
of that palace, but to notice the sort of porcelain remaining there,
without fixing upon any further plan for the completion of the day’s
amusement.
King William III., who took every opportunity of rendering these
apartments as pleasing to him as those he had left in the house in the
Wood, introduced nothing by way of porcelain, beyond that of delf, and on
that ware, in many instances, his Majesty had W. R., surmounted by the
crown of England, painted on the fronts. Of the various specimens of this
clumsy blue and white delf, displayed in the numerous rooms of this once
magnificent palace, the pride of Wolsey and splendour of Henry VIII., the
eight large pots for the reception of King William III.’s orange-trees,
now standing in her Majesty’s gallery, certainly have claims to future
protection. As for the old and ragged bed-furniture, it is so disgraceful
to a palace, that, antiquary as I in some degree consider myself, I
most heartily wish it in Petticoat Lane. In passing through the rooms,
I missed the fine whole-length picture of Admiral Nottingham,[446] and
also the thirty-four portraits of the Admirals. The guide informed me
that they were presented by our present King, William IV., to the Painted
Hall at Greenwich. “A noble gift,” said I, “but where can they put them
up?” In order to take some refreshment, we entered the parlour of the
“Canteen,” that being the sign of the suttling-house of the Palace.
During our stay, Legat’s[447] fine engraving from Northcote’s forcibly
effective picture of the “Death of the Princes in the Tower,” which
honoured the room, caught the attention of one of two other visitors to
the Palace. “Bless me,” said he, “are those brutes going to smother those
sweet babes? Why, they are as beautiful as the Lichfield children.”[448]
The observation was not made to me, and as the subject has been too often
mentioned, I shall forbear saying more about it.
As my wife and I were strolling on, in order to secure places for
our return to London in the evening, I ventured to pull the bell at
Garrick’s Villa, and asked for permission to see the temple in which
Roubiliac’s figure of Shakspeare had originally been placed.[449]
Mr. Carr, the present proprietor of the estate, received us with the
greatest politeness. Upon expressing a hope that my love for the fine
arts would plead my apology for the intrusion, he assured me it would
afford him no small pleasure to walk with us to the lawn. “Do sit down,
for a tremendous storm appears to be coming on; we must wait a little.”
His lady, of most elegant manners, at this moment entered the room and
cordially joined in her husband’s wishes to gratify our curiosity,
observing that, if we pleased, she would show us the house. This offer
was made in so delightful a manner, that we were truly sensible of the
indulgence.
Upon returning to a small room which we had passed through from the hall,
“Ah! ah!” said I, “you are curious in porcelain, I see,--the crackle.
What fine Dresden! I declare here is a figure of Kitty Clive, as the
_Fine Lady_ in Lethe, from the Chelsea manufactory.”[450] There is an
engraving of this by Moseley, with the landscape background etched by
Gainsborough. This figure of Mrs. Clive, which was something less than
a foot in height, was perfectly white, and one of a set of celebrated
characters, viz., John Wilkes; David Garrick, in _Richard the Third_;
Quin, in _Falstaff_; Woodward, in the _Fine Gentleman_; the Duke of
Cumberland, etc. Most of these were characteristically coloured, and are
now and then to be met with.[451]
“How you enjoy these things!” observed Mrs. Carr. “This is the
drawing-room; the decorated paper is just as it was in Mr. Garrick’s
time; indeed, we have had nothing altered in the house. I never enter
this room without regretting the enormous expense we were obliged to
incur, in taking down a great portion of the roof, owing to a very
great neglect in the repairs of the house during Mrs. Garrick’s time.
Fortunately it was discovered just as we took possession of the premises,
or the consequences might have been fatal.” “Your grounds are beautiful,”
observed my wife. “Yes,” said Mrs. Carr, “and several of the trees
were planted by Mrs. Garrick; that mulberry-tree was a sucker from
Shakspeare’s tree at Stratford; that tulip-tree was one of her planting,
and so was the cedar. Now you shall see our best bed-room.” The end of
this room which contains the bed is divided from the larger portion by a
curtain suspended across the ceiling, which gives it the appearance of
a distinct drawing-room, for the comfort of a visitor, if indisposed.
“We will now go to Mr. and Mrs. Garrick’s bed-room.” Notwithstanding the
lowness of the ceiling, the room still carries an air of great comfort.
Here we were again gratified with a display of some choice specimens of
Oriental porcelain.
We then descended to the dining-room, in which were portraits of the
Tracy family. On one side of the chimneypiece hangs a half-length picture
of Mrs. Garrick, holding a mask in her right hand. This was painted by
Zoffany,[452] before her marriage, who was one of her admirers; over the
sideboard hangs a portrait of Tom Davies, the author of the _Life of
Garrick_, who had been his steadfast friend.[453] We then returned to the
bow-room, in which we were first received; from thence we entered the
library, and were then shown Mr. Garrick’s dressing-table. On our return
to the bow-room, I asked Mr. Carr in what part of the house Hogarth’s
Election pictures had hung. “In this,” said he; “one on either side of
the fireplace.”[454]
The rain still continuing, our amiable shelterers insisted on our
staying dinner, as it was impossible to see the Temple in such a
storm. We accepted this hospitable invitation; and in the course of
conversation Mrs. Carr assured us that we were not only seated upon the
sofa frequently occupied by Dr. Johnson, but also the identical cover.
“Now, Mrs. Smith, I will show you my Garrick jewels, which Mr. Carr, in
consequence of a disappointment I received, by their not being left to me
by will, according to Mrs. Garrick’s repeated promises, most liberally
purchased for me at the price fixed upon them by Messrs. Rundell and
Bridge; for I must inform you that the intimacy of my family with
Mrs. Garrick was of thirty years’ standing, and that lady and I were
inseparable.” The first treasure produced was a miniature of Mr. Garrick,
set in brilliants; the second, a rich bracelet of pearls, containing the
hair of Mr. and Mrs. Garrick. Mrs. Carr politely presented my wife and
myself with impressions of a profile of Mr. Garrick, contemplating the
features of Shakspeare.
After dinner was announced, and in the course of taking our wine, I
thanked our worthy hosts for their hospitality. “This house,” said Mr.
Carr, “was ever famous for it. Dr. Johnson has frequently knocked up Mr.
and Mrs. Garrick at a very late hour, and would never go to bed without
a supper.”[455] I asked his opinion as to the truth of the anecdote
related by Lee Lewis concerning Mrs. Garrick’s marriage. “There certainly
is,” he replied, “a mystery as to who her father was.” Mrs. Carr observed
that, after Mrs. Garrick had read Lewis’s assertions, she, with her usual
vivacity, exclaimed, “He is a great liar; Lord Burlington was not my
father, but I am of noble birth.”
“Is it true,” I asked, “that Lord Burlington gave Mr. Garrick £10,000 to
marry her?”
“No, nor did Mrs. Garrick ever receive a sum of money from Lord
Burlington: she had only the interest of £6000, and that she was paid by
the late Duke of Devonshire.”[456]
The rain now subsided; and as we passed through the passage cut under
the road, Mrs. Carr stopped where Mrs. Garrick had frequently stood,
while she related the following anecdote. ‘_Capability Brown_,’[457]
was consulted as to the communication of these grounds with those by
the water. Mr. Garrick had an idea of having a bridge to pass over the
road, similar to the one at Pain’s Hill;[458] but this was objected to
by _Capability Brown_, who proposed to have a tunnel cut. Mr. Garrick at
first did not like that idea; but Dr. Johnson observed, “David! David!
what can’t be over-done may be under-done.”[459]
As we entered the Temple, instead of seeing a vacant recess, we were
agreeably surprised to find that the present owner had occupied it by a
cast of Roubiliac’s statue of Shakspeare, most carefully taken by Mr.
Garrard,[460] similar to the one with which he furnished the late Mr.
Whitbread for the hall of Drury Lane Theatre. On our return to the villa,
we were shown a small statue of Mr. Garrick, in the character of Roscius;
but by whom it was modelled I was not able to learn. The following
inscription was placed under the plinth:--“This figure of Garrick was
given to Mr. Garrard, A.R.A., by his widow, and is now respectfully
presented to Mrs. Carr, to be placed in Garrick’s Villa, July 14, 1825.”
In the bow-room, in which we again were seated, is a portrait of Mr.
Hanbury Williams, and also two drawings of Mr. and Mrs. Garrick, by
Dance, of which there are lithographic engravings by Mrs. Solly, the
daughter of the Rev. Mr. Racket, with impressions of which that lady
honoured me for my wife’s illustrated copy of the _Life of Dr. Johnson_.
Mrs. Solly also favoured me with a sight of a pair of elegant garnet
bracelets, which had been left to her by Mrs. Garrick. The bell,
Nollekens’s old friend, announced the arrival of the stage, and we took
our departure.
On the following morning, taking advantage of the Museum vacation allowed
to officers of that establishment, and feeling an inquisitive inclination
to know in what way the portraits of the admirals had been disposed of
in Greenwich Hospital, I went thither, where I found a display of great
taste in the distribution of the pictures which adorn the Painted Hall of
that national and glorious institution. Many of my readers will recollect
that in second editions of works errors are usually corrected. Such, I
understand, has been the case in the hanging of the pictures in this
splendid gallery; for, in the first instance, numerous small and also
indifferent subjects were hung at the top of the room, and the spectator
was told that this arrangement was merely to produce uniformity, until
a period arrived when larger and better productions could occupy their
places. The liberality of King William IV., who gave no fewer than
fifty-five pictures, in addition to the very valuable presents made by
the Governors of the British Institution, enabled Mr. Seguier, keeper of
the royal collection, to display his best taste in the re-arrangement.
All the small pictures have been taken away, and a most judicious display
of whole-length portraits, the size of life, occupy their spaces. Modern
artists must not only be pleased with the truly liberal manner in which
their works are here exhibited, but will rejoice in having an opportunity
of retouching and improving their pictures, from the manner in which the
light falls upon them--an advantage always embraced in large edifices
by the old masters, but perhaps more particularly by Rubens, who, it is
well known, worked upon his performances after they had been elevated to
their respective destinations. I must own, without a wish to cast the
least reflection upon the works of other modern artists displayed in
this gallery, that the noble picture of the Battle of Trafalgar, painted
by Arnald, the Associate of the Royal Academy, at the expense of the
Governors of the British Institution, at present arrests most powerfully
the attention.
As I was admiring the dignity of the Hampton Court admirals, who
never appeared to such advantage, a well-known voice whispered over
my shoulder, “You are not aware, perhaps, that Vandevelde painted the
sea-distances in those pictures?” “No,” answered I; “that is a very
interesting fact;” adding that “I could not believe Kneller to have
been the painter of all the heads.” Mr. Seguier rejoined, “Dahl, in my
opinion, painted some of them.”[461] In the course of conversation
he gave me no small pleasure by observing that he had read my work of
_Nollekens and his Times_.--“I can answer as to the truth of nine-tenths
of what you have asserted,” said he, “having known the parties well.”
Upon leaving this interesting gallery, a pleasing thought struck me, that
if a volume of naval history, commencing with the early ballads in the
Pepysian Library, and ending with the delightful compositions of Dibdin,
were printed, and given to every collier’s apprentice as a reward for his
good behaviour, it might create in him that spirit of emulation which,
when drafted from his vessel, would induce him to defend the long-famed
wooden walls of Old England most undauntedly. Humble as the versification
of these our old ballads may justly be considered, yet I have frequently
seen the tear of gratitude follow the melody of Incledon while singing
the song of “Admiral Benbow.”[462]
[Illustration: CHARLES DIBDIN
“He found a voice for the British sailor.”
_Tom Taylor_]
“What, upon the old trot, Master?” observed a funny-mover,[463] as I
descended the rotten old stairs of Hungerford Market. “Will you make
one with us? I know you don’t mind where you steer.” We had hardly made
Chelsea Reach, when one of our crew noticed a foundered freshman, who
had most ingeniously piloted himself into a cluster of osiers, in order
to adjust his cravat, as a lady in our boat was to meet him that evening
in Vauxhall Gardens. Our steersman, who was fond of a bit of fun, thus
assailed him, “I say, Maty, why you’re water-logged there; you put me
in mind of the Methodist parson who ran adrift last Saturday nearly
in the same place: he made a pretty good thing of it.” “Ay,” observed
a dry old fresh-water passenger in our boat, “I saw the fellow; and
when the Battersea gardeners[464] quizzed him, he attempted to stand
up like a poplar; but the wind operating upon his head, it hung like a
bulrush. However, when he was seated, instead of advising them to make
ready for simpling-time, or bespattering them with low language, he
exercised his pulpit volubility in favour of vegetables, declaring that
for years he had lived upon them, and insisted that every young person
of every climate should eat nothing else, strengthening this opinion
with the following quotation from Jeremy Taylor, who declared that ‘a
dish of lettuce and a clear fountain would cool all his heats.’ After
this he most strenuously advised them to ask more money for their pecked
fruit than they had been accustomed to receive, observing, that they
should keep Shakspeare’s caution in mind, ‘Beware all fruit but what
the birds have pecked.’[465] At the close of his address, a descendant
of old Mother Bagley, called ‘The King of Spades,’ proposed to his men
not only to join him in all their coppers, but to fresh-water the poor
fellow’s boat, for which he thanked them, and declared that he was almost
ready to float in his own perspiration; but that he, like Sterne’s[466]
‘Starling,’ could not get out. The Mortlake boys soon gave him three
cheers, and away he scuttled like an eel towards Limehouse Hole, sticking
as close to his boat as a toad to the head of a carp.”
At this the lady simpered. “Bless your heart, fair one,” observed the
narrator, addressing the lady who was destined for Vauxhall Gardens, “you
never saw such a skeleton as this vegetable-eater. As for his complexion,
it was for all the world like--what shall I say?”
“Perhaps a Queen Anne’s guinea,” observed our waterman, “that they used
to let into the bottom of punch-ladles”--many of which were frequently to
be seen in the pawnbrokers’ windows in Wapping.
“As for his voice during his preaching,” rejoined our entertaining
companion, “no lamb’s could be more innocent.”
As we were tacking about, the wind standing fair to drop the lady at
Vauxhall-stairs, our old weathergage, the waterman, who reminded me
of Copper Holmes, thus addressed a lopped Chelsea Pensioner:--“I say,
old Granby,[467] people say that he who loves fighting is much more
the sexton’s friend than his own.” “Ay, Master Smelter,” answered the
corporal, “we are all alive here, and, like the Greenwich boys, willing
to fight again; Old England for ever!”
I then requested the waterman to put me on shore, in order to visit
Chelsea College, purposely to see what had been done with my friend
Ward’s allegorical picture of the Triumph of the Duke of Wellington. The
Right Hon. Noblemen and Gentlemen, Governors of the British Institution,
wishing to perpetuate the memory of the noble victory on the plains
of Waterloo, they, with their accustomed liberality to the fine arts,
commissioned James Ward, Esq., R.A., to paint an allegorical picture
worthy a place in the Hall of that glorious establishment, Chelsea
Hospital. Having heard that Mr. Ward’s picture had been hung up, I went
thither, but, to my utter astonishment, found it not only suspended
without a frame (just as a showman in a fair would put out his large
canvas to display “the true and lively portraiture” of a giant, the
Pig-faced Lady, or the Fire-eater), but with its lower part projecting
over a gallery, just like the lid of a kitchen salt-box; so that the
upper and greater half, being on an inclined plane, had copiously
received the dust, and doubtless, if it be allowed to accumulate,
the Duke’s scarlet coat will undergo a brick-dust change, and his
cream-coloured horses become the dirtiest of all the drabs.
If this picture be considered worth preserving, why expose it so
shamefully to injury by suffering it to hang as it does? If, on the
contrary, why not at once consign it to the waters of oblivion, by
casting it into Chelsea Reach? Mr. Ward’s superior talents have been in
numerous instances acknowledged by some of the best judges.
Descending Villiers Street on one of my peregrination mornings, a
tremendous storm obliged me to request shelter of Mrs. Scott, the wife
of the present keeper of York Terrace, and successor of Hugh Hewson,
a man who declared himself to be the genuine character famed by Dr.
Smollett in _The Adventures of Roderick Random_, under the appellation of
Hugh Strap.[468] Here I met with a young man whose father had attended
Hewson’s funeral, who informed me that Hugh had been frequently known
to amuse the ambulators of that walk by recapitulating the enterprising
events which had taken place during his travels with the Doctor. Hugh,
who had for years followed the trade of a hairdresser, was buried in St.
Martin’s-in-the-Fields, and his funeral was attended by three generations.
On my way towards Hungerford Stairs, my organ of inquisitiveness was
arrested by two carvings in stone, of a wheatsheaf and sickles, let into
either side of the north-end houses in the alley leading to the “The
Swan.” A waterman informed me that the south portion of Hungerford Market
was originally allotted for the sale of corn, but I have since learned
that that device is the crest of the Hungerford family. “Pray now,” said
I to my oracle, “do enumerate the signs of Swans remaining on the banks
of the Thames, between London and Battersea Bridges.” “Why, let me see,
Master, there’s the Old Swan at London Bridge, that’s one;--there’s
the Swan in Arundel Street, two;--then ours here, three;--the Swan at
Lambeth, that’s down, though;--well then, the Old Swan at Chelsea, but
that has long been turned into a brewhouse, though that was where our
people rowed to formerly, as mentioned in Doggett’s Will; now they row
to the sign of the New Swan beyond the Physic Garden; we’ll say that’s
four;--then there’s the two Swan signs at Battersea, six.”[469]
Next evening, away I trudged to take water with George Heath (Mathews’s
Joe Hatch) at Strand Lane. “I find the Swan to be your usual sign up the
river,” said I.
“Why, yes,” replied George; “I don’t know what a coach, or a waggon and
horses, or the high-mettled racer have to do with our river. Bells now,
bells, we might have bells, because the Thames is so famous for bells.”
Bless me, thought I, how delighted would my old friend Nollekens have
been, had he heard this remark!
[Illustration: A PLEASURE PARTY ON THE THAMES]
“You like bells, then, Master Heath?”
“Oh yes! I was a famous ringer in my youth, at St. Mary Overies. They are
beautiful bells; but of all the bells give me Fulham; oh, they are so
soft, so sweet![470] St. Margaret’s are fine bells; so are St. Martin’s;
but after all, Fulham for my money, I say. I forget where you said I was
to take you to, Master?”
“Row me to Hungerford,” said I.
Here I alighted, and then went round to Wood’s coal-wharf, at the foot
of Northumberland Street,[471] where the said Mr. Wood dwells in the
very house in which Sir Edmund Berry Godfrey resided, who was strangled
in Somerset House.[472] Sir Edmund Berry was a woodmonger, and became
the court justice. In this appointment he was so active, that during the
time of the Great Plague, 1665, which continued to rage in 1666, upon the
refusal of his men to enter a pest-house, to bring out a culprit who had
furnished a thousand shops with at least a thousand winding-sheets stolen
from the dead, he ventured in alone, and brought the wretch to justice.
In Evelyn’s interesting work on medals, the reader will find that four
were struck, commemorative of Sir Edmund Berry Godfrey’s death; and in
addition to the elaborately engraved portraits noticed by Granger, he
will also find an original picture of him in the waiting-room adjoining
the vestry of St. Martin’s-in-the-Fields, where he was interred, and his
funeral sermon preached by Dr. Lloyd.[473]
In a little work published in 1658, entitled _The Two Grand Ingrossers of
Coals, viz. the Woodmonger and the Chandler_,[474] the reader will find
the subtle practices of the coal-vendors shortly after that article was
in pretty general use.
It is curious to observe how fond Horace Walpole, and indeed all his
followers, have been of attributing the earliest encouragement of the
fine arts in England to King Charles I. That is not the fact; nor is
that Monarch entitled, munificent as he was, to that degree of praise
which biographers have thought proper to attribute to him as a liberal
patron; and this I shall immediately prove. King Henry VIII. was the
first English Sovereign who encouraged painting, in consequence of
Erasmus introducing Hans Holbein to Sir Thomas More, who showed his
Majesty specimens of that artist’s rare productions. Upon this the king
most liberally invited him to Whitehall, where he gave him extensive
employment, not only in decorating the panels and walls of that palace
with portraits of the Tudors, as large as life, but with easel pictures
of the various branches of his family and courtiers, to be placed over
doors and other spaces of the state chambers.
Holbein may be recorded as the earliest painter of portraits in
miniature, which were mostly circular, and all those which I have
seen were relieved by blue backgrounds. He was also the designer and
draughtsman of numerous subjects for the use of the court jewellers, as
may be seen in a most curious volume preserved in the print-room of the
British Museum, many of which are beautifully coloured. Holbein must
have been a most indefatigable artist, for he was not only employed
to paint that fine picture of King Henry granting the charter to the
Barber-Surgeons,[475] now to be seen in Barbers’ Hall, Monkwell
Street,[476] that in Bridewell of King Edward VI. granting the charter to
the citizens of London,[477] but numerous portraits for the Howards, and
other noble families; indeed, the quantity of engravings from the burin
of Hollar and other artists, from Holbein’s works, prove that painter to
have been just as extensively employed as Vandyke.
[Illustration: SIR EDMUND BERRY GODFREY
“He was esteemed the best Justice of Peace in England.”
_Burnet_]
King Charles I., it is stated, became possessed of numerous portraits
drawn by Holbein, of several personages of the crown and court of King
Henry VIII., from characters high in office, to _Mother Jack_,[478],
considered to have been the nickname of Mrs. Jackson, the nurse of Prince
Edward. These interesting drawings, it is said, the King parted with for
a picture; but how they again became the property of the Crown, I am
uninformed. However, true it is that they were discovered in Kensington
Palace, and taken from their frames and bound in two volumes. During Mr.
Dalton’s[479] librarianship he etched many of them in his coarse and
hurried manner. Since then Mr. Chamberlaine,[480] his successor, employed
Mr. Metz[481] to engrave one or two as specimens of an intended work,
but Mr. Bartolozzi’s manner being considered more likely to sell, that
artist was engaged to produce the present plates, which certainly are
far from being facsimiles of Holbein’s drawings, which I have seen. Many
of this master’s invaluable pictures are engraved and published in the
work entitled _Portraits of Illustrious Personages of Great Britain_;
accompanied by the biographical lucubrations of Edmund Lodge, Esq.[482]
The liberality of the brothers Paul and Thomas Sandby, Royal
Academicians, will be remembered by every person who had the pleasure of
being acquainted with them; but more particularly by those who benefited
by their disinterested communications and cheering encouragement in
their art. For my own part, I shall ever consider myself indebted to
them for a knowledge of lineal perspective. By their indefatigable
industry, the architecture of many of the ancient seats of our nobility
and gentry will be perpetuated; and I may say, but for the very accurate
and elaborate drawings taken by Paul from Old Somerset House gardens,
exhibiting views up and down the river, much of the Thames scenery must
have been lost.[483] The view up the river exhibits the landing-stairs
of Cuper’s Gardens, and that part of the old palace of Whitehall then
inhabited by the Duchess of Portland, upon the site of which the houses
of that patron of the arts, Lord Farnborough,[484] and other noblemen and
gentlemen, have recently been erected. The one down the river displays
an uninterrupted view of the buildings on either side to London Bridge,
upon which the houses are seen, by reason of Blackfriars Bridge not then
being erected. These drawings are in water-colours, and are preserved
in the thirteenth volume of Pennant’s interesting account of London,
magnificently illustrated, and bequeathed to the print-room of the
British Museum by the late John Charles Crowle, Esq.[485]
Should my reader’s boat ever stop at York Watergate,[486] let me request
him to look up at the three upper balconied windows of that mass of
building on the south-west corner of Buckingham Street. Those, and the
two adjoining Westminster, give light to chambers occupied by that
truly epic historical painter, and most excellent man, Etty, the Royal
Academician, who has fitted up the balconied room with engravings after
pictures of the three great masters, Raphael, Nicholas Poussin, and
Rubens.
The other two windows illumine his painting-room, in which his mind and
colours resplendently shine, even in the face of one of the grandest
scenes in Nature, our river Thames and city edifices, with a most
luxuriant and extensive face of a distant country, the beauties of which
he most liberally delights in showing to his friends from the leads of
his apartments, which, in my opinion, exhibit the finest point of view of
all others for a panorama. The rooms immediately below Mr. Etty’s[487]
are occupied by Mr. Lloyd, a gentleman whose general knowledge in the
graphic art, I and many more look up to with the profoundest respect. The
chambers beneath Mr. Lloyd’s are inhabited by Mr. Stanfield,[488] the
landscape-painter, whose clear representations of Nature’s tones have
raised the scenic decorations of Drury Lane Theatre to that pinnacle
of excellence never until his time attained, notwithstanding the
productions of Lambert, Richards, nay, even Loutherbourg. Mr. Stanfield’s
easel pictures adorn the cabinets of some of our first collectors, and
are, like those of Callcott, Constable, Turner, Collins, and Arnald,
much admired by the now numerous publishers of little works, who
unquestionably produce specimens of the powers of England’s engravers,
which immeasurably out-distance the efforts of all other countries.
However, although I am willing to pass the highest encomiums on the
landscape-engraver for his Liliputian labours, I am much afraid, in the
course of time, we shall have productions smaller still; and that the
diminutive size of a watch-paper, measuring precisely in diameter _one
inch, two-eighths, and one-sixteenth_, will be the noblest extent of
their labours. To men of their talent (and there are several among these
pigmy burinists), I will venture, now I am upon the silver streams of
noble Father Thames, to lead their attention to Woollett’s Fishery, but
more particularly to West’s La Hogue, and then let them ask themselves
this question: Would it not redound more to our glory to be master of
equal excellence in the grand style in which those works are produced,
than to contribute too long to the illustrations of scrapbooks only?
Yes, gentlemen, I think you would say so. Let me endeavour, then, to
arrest your gravers from this blinding of the public, by reducing
your works to so deplorable a nicety, that by-and-by you will find
yourselves totally blind. Why not, as talent is not wanting, prove to
the collectors that England has more Woolletts than one? It is true
there are several at present engaged in engraving plates from the fine
old pictures in the National Gallery, who have my cordial good wishes
for their success; yet I trust that, after that task is at an end,
they will, with a considerable augmentation to their numbers, pay a
becoming respect so justly due to modern painters of their own country,
whose works in historical subjects, as well as portraits and landscape,
extinguish unquestionably those of foreign powers; and I may say, with
equal truth, equal most of those of the old schools. Such a publication,
however successful their present one may be, I can answer for it would
be patronised by the noblemen and gentlemen of England with redoubled
liberality, and in such tasks the engravers will have the opportunity
of producing finer things by the more powerful, and indeed inestimable
advantage of having their progressive proofs touched upon by the painters
themselves.
“Pull away, my hearty” (for I was again in a boat).--“To Westminster,
Master?”--“Ay, to Westminster.”
Being now in view of the extensive yards which for ages have been
occupied by stone and marble merchants, “Ay,” said I, “if these wharfs
could speak, they, no doubt, like the Fly, would boast of their noble
works. Was it not from our blocks that Roubiliac carved his figures of
Newton, the pride of Cambridge, and that of Eloquence, in Westminster
Abbey; Bacon’s figure of Mars, now in Lord Yarborough’s possession;
Rossi’s Celadon and Amelia, and Flaxman’s mighty figure of Satan, in
the Earl of Egremont’s gallery at Petworth; as well as three-fourths of
Nollekens’s numerous busts, which, according to whisperings, have only
been equalled by Chantrey? And then, has not our Carrara been conveyed to
the studios of Westmacott and Baily?[489]”
[Illustration: JOHN FLAXMAN R.A.
“This little man cuts us all out in sculpture.”
_Bankes_]
After the truly interesting information the print-collectors have
received from the pen of Mr. Ottley,[490] a gentleman better qualified
than any I know to speak on works of art, more particularly those of
the ancient schools of Italy, it would be the highest audacity in me to
offer my own observations, however conversant my friends are pleased
to consider me on those subjects. All I shall therefore now add to Mr.
Ottley’s valuable stock of knowledge are the following circumstances,
which occurred respecting that beautiful impression in sulphur, taken
from a pax, engraved by Tomaso Finiguerra, before the said impression was
so liberally purchased by the Duke of Buckingham, who has most cheerfully
afforded it an asylum at Stowe. It has been for many years in the
Print-Room of the British Museum.[491]
Mr. Stewart favoured me, at my earnest request, with the following
statement of the fortunate manner in which he secured this unique and
inestimable production as a treasure for England.
“The sulphur cast, from the celebrated pax of ’Maso Finiguerra, came
into my hands in the following manner:--The Cavalier Seratti, in whose
valuable collection it originally existed, was captured in going from
Cagliari to Leghorn, and carried to Tunis, where he resided, I believe,
for one or two years; but, dying in captivity, the Dey of Tunis took
possession of the whole of his property. Such part of it as was not of
any intrinsic value was sold to a party of Jews, who brought it over to
Malta with a view of sending it to Great Britain for sale. This took
place about the commencement of 1804. The property coming from Barbary
was of course placed in the lazaretto. While there the plague broke out
in the island, and it was a full year before the property was liberated.
The Jews by this time had become apprehensive, owing to the numerous
obstacles they had encountered in the realisation of their projects; and
my friend the Abbate Bellanti, librarian to the Government Library, with
a view to retain the collection in his native island, induced a Maltese
merchant to make the Jews such an offer for the whole of the Seratti
collection as they at last accepted. The merchant, however, retracted;
and the abbot, after having made himself responsible for the bargain
towards the Jews, found himself in an unpleasant predicament. In this
dilemma he applied to me, and I readily engaged to fulfil the agreement
which the merchant had forfeited. The sulphur in question formed the
object of a separate bargain. I paid the value of £15 for it. I was very
unfortunate in the transmission of my collection to England, two ships
having been cast away in the Channel in November, 1815, both with a
considerable portion of my property on board. I was more successful with
the third portion, which arrived in 1816; in this was the sulphur cast.
I never would have parted with it but for the above accident, whereby at
that time I was much straitened in my circumstances.
“The sulphur I sold to Mr. Colnaghi for £150, which I thought a low price
at the time for such an interesting and unique curiosity, indispensable
for illustrating and fixing the date of the invention of the art of
engraving (as it is now called). This sulphur, with the print preserved
at Paris, and the pax of Finiguerra himself, preserved at Florence,
together with the entry in the journal of the Goldsmiths’ Company, also
preserved at Florence, showing the date of the completion of the pax
to be 1452, form altogether an irrefragable chain of proof which must
satisfy the most sceptical. By a memorandum in Seratti’s own handwriting,
which is amongst my papers (but having been sent from Bombay to
Liverpool, I have not yet got), it appears that he purchased the sulphur
from a painter, who bought it with a heap of other trinkets at the stall
of a petty dealer in Florence: and on acquiring it Seratti compared
it with the pax itself, and ascertained it to be the genuine work of
Finiguerra.
“I may add a few observations of my own, not altogether irrelevant to the
subject.
“The silver vessel, or pax, generally enclosed some relic, and was
kissed by the congregation or other individuals in token of devotion;
and the Count Seratti mentions that the one of which this sulphur is in
part a facsimile, is very much worn by this repeated act of devoutness.
The word pax appears to be a corruption of pyxis, a box; and we have in
Shakspeare _a pyx of little value_. The engraving was usually filled up
with a metallic mixture of a dark composition, which, being fused by
the action of fire, became incorporated with the vessel itself. This
process was called Niello, or Anniello, Niellare, or Anniellare; hence
our _anneal_, the term probably derived from _nigellum_, or perhaps
even from Mêl, the Indian term for _black_, and applied to indigo, by
which name that dye was originally known in Europe, and it was probably
used in the composition before alluded to. The term _anniello_, and the
purpose to which these pyxes were applied, is further illustrative of a
passage in Shakspeare, which I believe has hitherto puzzled commentators.
It is this:--Hamlet accuses his uncle of having dispatched his father
‘unhousel’d, unanointed, _unanneal’d_;’ it alludes to the custom in
Catholic countries of offering relics preserved in their pyxes to be
kissed after extreme unction.
“I shall be happy to communicate any further particulars respecting this
interesting vestige of art which may be required of me, in as far as I am
able.
“J. STEWART.
“_2nd May, 1829._”
1830.
The glowing evening of the 16th of July added lustre to the enchanting
grounds of William Atkinson, Esq. of Grove End, Paddington;[492] and
perhaps, if I were to assert that few spots, if any, excel in the variety
of its tasteful walks and unexpected recesses, I should not outstep the
verge of truth.
The villa was designed by Mr. Atkinson, with his usual attention
to domestic comfort; the grounds were peculiarly manured under his
direction, and the rarest trees and choicest plants he could procure from
all the known parts of the globe were planted by his own hand, and that
too in the course of the last twelve years. On the knolls the antiquary
will find sculpture from Carthage; and in the silent trickling dells the
mineralogist specimens of the varieties of English stone, imbedded in
the most picturesque strata. The delightful surprise of the spectator is
beyond belief, particularly on turning back to view his trodden path,
when that sun which fired the mind of Claude sparkles among the gently
waving branches from climes he may never visit. Upon my observing to
Mrs. Atkinson that in this meandering retreat my mind would be instantly
soothed, that lady then recalled to my recollection Allan Ramsay’s
_Gentle Shepherd_, by repeating the following lines:
“How wholesome is’t to breathe the vernal air,
And all the sweets it bears, when void of care.”[493]