How Jack Sheppard's Portrait was painted.
Early in the morning of Thursday, the 15th of October, 1724, the door of
the Castle was opened by Austin, who, with a look of unusual importance,
announced to the prisoner that four gentlemen were shortly coming up
with the governor to see him,--"four _such_ gentlemen," he added, in a
tone meant to impress his auditor with a due sense of the honour
intended him, "as you don't meet every day."
"Is Mr. Wood among them?" asked Jack, eagerly.
"Mr. Wood!--no," replied the turnkey. "Do you think I'd take the trouble
to announce _him_? These are persons of consequence, I tell you."
"Who are they?" inquired Sheppard.
"Why, first," rejoined Austin, "there's Sir James Thornhill, historical
painter to his Majesty, and the greatest artist of the day. Those grand
designs in the dome of St. Paul's are his work. So is the roof of the
state-room at Hampton Court Palace, occupied by Queen Anne, and the
Prince of Denmark. So is the chapel of All Souls at Oxford, and the
great hall at Blenheim, and I don't know how many halls and chapels
besides. He's now engaged on the hall at Greenwich Hospital."
"I've heard of him," replied Jack, impatiently. "Who are the others?"
"Let me see. There's a friend of Sir James--a young man, an engraver of
masquerade tickets and caricatures,--his name I believe is Hogarth.
Then, there's Mr. Gay, the poet, who wrote the 'Captives,' which was
lately acted at Drury Lane, and was so much admired by the Princess of
Wales. And, lastly, there's Mr. Figg, the noted prize-fighter, from the
New Amphitheatre in Marylebone Fields."
"Figg's an old friend of mine," rejoined Jack; "he was my instructor in
the small sword and back sword exercise. I'm glad he's come to see me."
"You don't inquire what brings Sir James Thornhill here?" said Austin.
"Curiosity, I suppose," returned Jack, carelessly.
"No such thing," rejoined the jailer; "he's coming on business."
"On what business, in the name of wonder?" asked Sheppard.
"To paint your portrait," answered the jailer.
"My portrait!" echoed Jack.
"By desire of his Majesty," said the jailer, consequentially. "He has
heard of your wonderful escapes, and wishes to see what you're like.
There's a feather in your cap! No house-breaker was ever so highly
honoured before."
"And have my escapes really made so much noise as to reach the ear of
royalty?" mused Jack. "I have done nothing--nothing to what I _could_
do--to what I _will_ do!"
"You've done quite enough," rejoined Austin; "more than you'll ever do
again."
"And then to be taken thus, in these disgraceful bonds!" continued Jack,
"to be held up as a sight for ever!"
"Why, how else would you be taken?" exclaimed the jailer, with a coarse
laugh. "It's very well Mr. Wild allowed you to have your fine clothes
again, or you might have been taken in a still more disgraceful garb.
For my part, I think those shackles extremely becoming. But, here they
are."
Voices being heard at the door, Austin flew to open it, and admitted Mr.
Pitt, the governor, a tall pompous personage, who, in his turn, ushered
in four other individuals. The first of these, whom he addressed as Mr.
Gay, was a stout, good-looking, good-humoured man, about thirty-six,
with a dark complexion, an oval face, fine black eyes, full of fire and
sensibility, and twinkling with roguish humour--an expression fully
borne out by the mouth, which had a very shrewd and sarcastic curl. The
poet's appearance altogether was highly prepossessing. With a strong
tendency to satire, but without a particle of malice or ill-nature in
its display. Gay, by his strokes of pleasantry, whether in his writings
or conversation, never lost a friend. On the contrary, he was a
universal favourite, and numbered amongst his intimate acquaintances the
choicest spirits of the time,--Pope, Swift, Arbuthnot, and "all the
better brothers." His demeanour was polished; his manners singularly
affable and gentle; and he was remarkable, for the generosity of his
temper. In worldly matters Gay was not fortunate. Possessed, at one
time, of a share in the South Sea stock, he conceived himself worth
twenty thousand pounds. But, on the bursting of that bubble, his hopes
vanished with it. Neither did his interest,--which was by no means
inconsiderable,--nor his general popularity, procure him the preferment
he desired. A constant attendant at court, he had the mortification to
see every one promoted but himself, and thus bewails his ill-luck.
Places, I found, were daily given away,
And yet no friendly gazette mentioned Gay.
The prodigious success of the "Beggars' Opera," which was produced about
four years after the date of this history, rewarded him for all his
previous disappointments, though it did not fully justify the well-known
epigram, alluding to himself and the manager, and "make Gay _rich_, and
Rich _gay_." At the time of his present introduction, his play of "The
Captives," had just been produced at Drury Lane, and he was meditating
his "Fables," which were published two years afterwards.
Behind the poet came Sir James Thornhill. The eminent painter had
handsome, expressive features, an aquiline nose, and a good deal of
dignity in his manner. His age was not far from fifty. He was
accompanied by a young man of about seven-and-twenty, who carried his
easel, set it in its place, laid the canvass upon it, opened the paint
box, took out the brushes and palette, and, in short, paid him the most
assiduous attention. This young man, whose features, though rather plain
and coarse, bore the strongest impress of genius, and who had a dark
gray, penetrating eye, so quick in its glances that it seemed to survey
twenty objects at once, and yet only to fasten upon one, bore the
honoured name of William Hogarth. Why he paid so much attention to Sir
James Thornhill may be explained anon.
The rear of the party was brought up by a large, powerfully-built man,
with a bluff, honest, but rugged countenance, slashed with many a cut
and scar, and stamped with that surly, sturdy, bull-dog-like look, which
an Englishman always delights to contemplate, because he conceives it to
be characteristic of his countrymen. This formidable person, who was no
other than the renowned Figg, the "Atlas of the sword," as he is termed
by Captain Godfrey, had removed his hat and "skull covering," and was
wiping the heat from his bepatched and close-shaven pate. His shirt also
was unbuttoned, and disclosed a neck like that of an ox, and a chest
which might have served as a model for a Hercules. He had a flattish,
perhaps, it should be called, a _flattened_ nose, and a brown,
leathern-looking hide, that seemed as if it had not unfrequently
undergone the process of tanning. Under his arm he carried a thick,
knotted crab-stick. The above description of
--the great Figg, by the prize-fighting swains
Sole monarch acknowledged of Mary'bone plains--
may sound somewhat tame by the side of the glowing account given of him
by his gallant biographer, who asserts that "there was a majesty shone
in his countenance, and blazed in his actions, beyond all I ever saw;"
but it may, possibly, convey a more accurate notion of his personal
appearance. James Figg was the most perfect master of self-defence of
his day. Seconded by his strength and temper, his skill rendered him
invincible and he is reputed never to have lost a battle. His
imperturbable demeanour in the fight has been well portrayed by Captain
Godfrey, who here condescends to lay aside his stilts. "His right leg
bold and firm, and his left, which could hardly ever be disturbed, gave
him a surprising advantage, and struck his adversary with despair and
panic. He had a peculiar way of stepping in, in a parry; knew his arm,
and its just time of moving; put a firm faith in that, and never let his
opponent escape. He was just as much a greater master than any other I
ever saw, as he was a greater judge of time and measure." Figg's prowess
in a combat with Button has been celebrated by Dr. Byrom,--a poet of
whom his native town, Manchester, may be justly proud; and his features
and figure have been preserved by the most illustrious of his companions
on the present occasion,--Hogarth,--in the levée in the "Rake's
Progress," and in "Southwark Fair."
On the appearance of his visitors, Sheppard arose,--his gyves clanking
heavily as he made the movement,--and folding his arms, so far as his
manacles would permit him, upon his breast, steadily returned the
glances fixed upon him.
"This is the noted house-breaker and prison-breaker, gentlemen," said
Mr. Pitt, pointing to the prisoner.
"Odd's life!" cried Gay, in astonishment; "is this slight-made stripling
Jack Sheppard? Why, I expected to see a man six foot high at the least,
and as broad across the shoulders as our friend Figg. This is a mere
boy. Are you sure you haven't mistaken the ward, Mr. Pitt?"
"There is no mistake, Sir," rejoined the prisoner, drawing himself up,
"I am Jack Sheppard."
"Well, I never was more surprised in my life," said the poet,--"never!"
"He's just the man _I_ expected to see," observed Hogarth, who, having
arranged everything to Thornhill's satisfaction, had turned to look at
the prisoner, and was now with his chin upon his wrist, and his elbow
supported by the other hand, bending his keen gray eyes upon him, "just
the man! Look at that light, lithe figure,--all muscle and activity,
with not an ounce of superfluous flesh upon it. In my search after
strange characters, Mr. Gay, I've been in many odd quarters of our
city--have visited haunts frequented only by thieves--the Old Mint, the
New Mint, the worst part of St. Giles's, and other places--but I've
nowhere seen any one who came up so completely to my notion of a
first-rate housebreaker as the individual before us. Wherever I saw him,
I should pick him out as a man designed by nature to plan and
accomplish the wonderful escapes he has effected."
As he spoke, a smile crossed Sheppard's countenance.
"He understands me, you perceive," said Hogarth.
"Well, I won't dispute your judgment in such matters, Mr. Hogarth,"
replied Gay. "But I appeal to you, Sir James, whether it isn't
extraordinary that so very slight a person should be such a desperate
robber as he is represented--so young, too, for such an _old_ offender.
Why, he can scarcely be twenty."
"I am one-and-twenty," observed Jack.
"One-and-twenty, ah!" repeated Gay. "Well, I'm not far from the mark."
"He is certainly extremely youthful-looking and very slightly made,"
said Thornhill, who had been attentively studying Sheppard's
countenance. "But I agree with Hogarth, that he is precisely the person
to do what he has done. Like a thorough-bred racer, he would sustain
twice as much fatigue as a person of heavier mould. Can I be
accommodated with a seat, Mr. Pitt?"
"Certainly, Sir James, certainly," replied the governor. "Get a chair,
Austin."
While this order was obeyed, Figg, who had been standing near the door,
made his way to the prisoner, and offered him his huge hand, which Jack
warmly grasped.
"Well, Jack," said the prize-fighter, in a rough, but friendly voice,
and with a cut-and-thrust abrupt manner peculiar to himself; "how are
you, lad, eh? Sorry to see you here. Wouldn't take my advice. Told you
how it would be. One mistress enough to ruin a man,--two, the devil.
Laughed at me, then. Laugh on the wrong side of your mouth, now."
"You're not come here to insult me, Mr. Figg?" said Jack, peevishly.
"Insult you! not I;" returned Figg. "Heard of your escapes. Everybody
talking of you. Wished to see you. Old pupil. Capital swordsman. Shortly
to be executed. Come to take leave. Trifle useful?" he added, slipping a
few gold pieces into Jack's hand.
"You are very kind," said Jack, returning the money; "but I don't
require assistance."
"Too proud, eh?" rejoined the prize-fighter. "Won't be under an
obligation."
"There you're wrong, Mr. Figg," replied Jack, smiling; "for, before I'm
taken to Tyburn, I mean to borrow a shirt for the occasion from you."
"Have it, and welcome," rejoined Figg. "Always plenty to spare. Never
bought a shirt in my life, Mr. Gay," he added, turning to the poet.
"Sold a good many, though."
"How do you manage that, Mr. Figg?" asked Gay.
"Thus," replied the prize-fighter. "Proclaim a public fight. Challenge
accepted. Fifty pupils. Day before, send round to each to borrow a
shirt. Fifty sent home. All superfine holland. Wear one on the stage on
the following day. Cut to pieces--slashed--bloodied. Each of my scholars
thinks it his own shirt. Offer to return it to each in private. All make
the same answer--'d--n you, keep it.'"
"An ingenious device," laughed Gay.
Sir James Thornhill's preparations being completed, Mr. Pitt desired to
know if he wanted anything further, and being answered in the negative,
he excused himself on the plea that his attendance was required in the
court at the Old Bailey, which was then sitting, and withdrew.
"Do me the favour to seat yourself, Jack," said Sir James. "Gentlemen, a
little further off, if you please."
Sheppard immediately complied with the painter's request; while Gay and
Figg drew back on one side, and Hogarth on the other. The latter took
from his pocket a small note-book and pencil.
"I'll make a sketch, too," he said. "Jack Sheppard's face is well worth
preserving."
After narrowly examining the countenance of the sitter, and motioning
him with his pencil into a particular attitude, Sir James Thornhill
commenced operations; and, while he rapidly transferred his lineaments
to the canvass, engaged him in conversation, in the course of which he
artfully contrived to draw him into a recital of his adventures. The
_ruse_ succeeded almost beyond his expectation. During the narration
Jack's features lighted up, and an expression, which would have been in
vain looked for in repose, was instantly caught and depicted by the
skilful artist. All the party were greatly interested by Sheppard's
history--especially Figg, who laughed loud and long at the escape from
the Condemned Hold. When Jack came to speak of Jonathan Wild, his
countenance fell.
"We must change the subject," remarked Thornhill, pausing in his task;
"this will never do."
"Quite right, Sir James," said Austin. "We never suffer him to mention
Mr. Wild's name. He never appears to so little advantage as when
speaking of him."
"I don't wonder at it," rejoined Gay.
Here Hogarth received a private signal from Thornhill to attract
Sheppard's attention.
"And so you've given up all hope of escaping, eh, Jack?" remarked
Hogarth.
"That's scarcely a fair question, Mr. Hogarth, before the jailer,"
replied Jack. "But I tell you frankly, and Mr. Austin, may repeat it if
he pleases to his master, Jonathan Wild,--I have _not_."
"Well said, Jack," cried Figg. "Never give in."
"Well," observed Hogarth, "if, fettered as you are, you contrive to
break out of this dungeon, you'll do what no man ever did before."
A peculiar smile illuminated Jack's features.
"There it is!" cried Sir James, eagerly. "There's the exact expression I
want. For the love of Heaven, Jack, don't move!--Don't alter a muscle,
if you can help it."
And, with a few magical touches, he stamped the fleeting expression on
the canvass.
"I have it too!" exclaimed Hogarth, busily plying his pencil. "Gad! it's
a devilish fine face when lit up."
"As like as life, Sir," observed Austin, peeping over Thornhill's
shoulder at the portrait. "As like as life."
"The very face," exclaimed Gay, advancing to look at it;--"with all the
escapes written in it."
"You flatter me," smiled Sir James. "But, I own, I think it _is_ like."
"What do you think of _my_ sketch, Jack?" said Hogarth, handing him the
drawing.
"It's like enough, I dare say," rejoined Sheppard. "But it wants
something _here_." And he pointed significantly to the hand.
"I see," rejoined Hogarth, rapidly sketching a file, which he placed in
the hands of the picture. "Will that do?" he added, returning it.
"It's better," observed Sheppard, meaningly. "But you've given me what I
don't possess."
"Hum!" said Hogarth, looking fixedly at him. "I don't see how I can
improve it."
"May I look at it, Sir!" said Austin, stepping towards him.
"No," replied Hogarth, hastily effacing the sketch. "I'm never satisfied
with a first attempt."
"Egad, Jack," said Gay, "you should write your adventures. They would be
quite as entertaining as the histories of Guzman D'Alfarache, Lazarillo
de Tormes, Estevanillo Gonzalez, Meriton Latroon, or any of my favourite
rogues,--and far more instructive."
"You had better write them for me, Mr. Gay," rejoined Jack.
"If you'll write them, I'll illustrate them," observed Hogarth.
"An idea has just occurred to me," said Gay, "which Jack's narrative has
suggested. I'll write an opera the scene of which shall be laid
altogether in Newgate, and the principal character shall be a
highmaywan. I'll not forget your two mistresses, Jack."
"Nor Jonathan Wild, I hope," interposed Sheppard.
"Certainly not," replied Gay. "I'll gibbet the rascal. But I forget," he
added, glancing at Austin; "it's high treason to speak disrespectfully
of Mr. Wild in his own domain."
"I hear nothing, Sir," laughed Austin.
"I was about to add," continued Gay, "that my opera shall have no music
except the good old ballad tunes. And we'll see whether it won't put
the Italian opera out of fashion, with Cutzoni, Senesino, and the
'divine' Farinelli at its head."
"You'll do a national service, then," said Hogarth. "The sums lavished
upon those people are perfectly disgraceful, and I should be enchanted
to see them hooted from the stage. But I've an idea as well as you,
grounded in some measure upon Sheppard's story. I'll take two
apprentices, and depict their career. One, by perseverance and industry
shall obtain fortune, credit, and the highest honours; while the other
by an opposite course, and dissolute habits, shall eventually arrive at
Tyburn."
"Your's will be nearer the truth, and have a deeper moral, Mr. Hogarth,"
remarked Jack, dejectedly. "But if my career were truly exhibited, it
must be as one long struggle against destiny in the shape of--"
"Jonathan Wild," interposed Gay. "I knew it. By the by, Mr. Hogarth,
didn't I see you last night at the ridotto with Lady Thornhill and her
pretty daughter?"
"Me!--no, Sir," stammered Hogarth, colouring. And he hazarded a wink at
the poet over the paper on which he was sketching. Luckily, Sir James
was so much engrossed by his own task, that both the remark and gesture
escaped him.
"I suppose I was mistaken," returned Gay. "You've been quizzing my
friend Kent, I perceive, in your Burlington Gate."
"A capital caricature that," remarked Thornhill, laughing. "What does
Mr. Kent say to it?"
"He thinks so highly of it, that he says if he had a daughter he would
give her to the artist," answered Gay, a little maliciously.
"Ah!" exclaimed Sir James.
"'Sdeath!" cried Hogarth, aside to the poet. "You've ruined my hopes."
"Advanced them rather," replied Gay, in the same tone. "Miss Thornhill's
a charming girl. _I_ think a wife a needless incumbrance, and mean to
die a bachelor. But, if I were in your place, I know what I'd do--"
"What--what would you do?" asked Hogarth, eagerly.
"Run away with her," replied Gay.
"Pish!" exclaimed Hogarth. But he afterwards acted upon the suggestion.
"Good-b'ye, Jack," said Figg, putting on his hat. "Rather in the way.
Send you the shirt. Here, turnkey. Couple of guineas to drink Captain
Sheppard's speedy escape. Thank him, not me, man. Give this fellow the
slip, if you can, Jack. If not, keep up your spirits. Die game."
"Never fear," replied Jack. "If I get free, I'll have a bout with you at
all weapons. If not, I'll take a cheerful glass with you at the City of
Oxford, on my way to Tyburn."
"Give you the best I have in either case," replied Figg. "Good-b'ye!"
And with a cordial shake of the hand he took his departure.
Sir James Thornhill, then, rose.
"I won't trouble you further, Jack," he remarked. "I've done all I can
to the portrait here. I must finish it at home."
"Permit me to see it, Sir James!" requested Jack. "Ah!" he exclaimed, as
the painting was turned towards him. "What would my poor mother say to
it?"
"I was sorry to see that about your mother, Jack," observed Hogarth.
"What of her?" exclaimed Jack, starting up. "Is she dead?"
"No--no," answered Hogarth. "Don't alarm yourself. I saw it this morning
in the Daily Journal--an advertisement, offering a reward--"
"A reward!" echoed Jack. "For what?"
"I had the paper with me. 'Sdeath! what can I have done with it? Oh!
here it is," cried Hogarth, picking it from the ground. "I must have
dropped it when I took out my note-book. There's the paragraph. '_Mrs.
Sheppard left Mr. Wood's house at Dollis Hill on Tuesday_'--that's two
days ago,--'_hasn't been heard of since_.'"
"Let me see," cried Jack, snatching the paper, and eagerly perusing the
advertisement. "Ah!" he exclaimed, in a tone of anguish. "She has fallen
into the villain's hands."
"What villain?" cried Hogarth.
"Jonathan Wild, I'll be sworn," said Gay.
"Right!--right!" cried Jack, striking his fettered hands against his
breast. "She is in his power, and I am here, chained hand and foot,
unable to assist her."
"I could make a fine sketch of him now," whispered Hogarth to Gay.
"I told you how it was, Sir James," said Austin, addressing the knight,
who was preparing for his departure, "he attributes every misfortune
that befals him to Mr. Wild."
"And with some justice," replied Thornhill, drily.
"Allow me to assist you, Sir James," said Hogarth.
"Many thanks, Sir," replied Thornhill, with freezing politeness; "but Id
not require assistance."
"I tell you what, Jack," said Gay, "I've several urgent engagements this
morning; but I'll return to-morrow, and hear the rest of your story.
And, if I can render you any service, you may command me."
"To-morrow will be too late," said Sheppard, moodily.
The easel and palette having been packed up, and the canvass carefully
removed by Austin, the party took leave of the prisoner, who was so much
abstracted that he scarcely noticed their departure. Just as Hogarth got
to the door, the turnkey stopped him.
"You have forgotten your knife, Mr. Hogarth," he observed,
significantly.
"So I have," replied Hogarth, glancing at Sheppard.
"I can do without it," muttered Jack.
The door was then locked, and he was left alone.
At three o'clock, on the same day, Austin brought up Jack's provisions,
and, after carefully examining his fetters, and finding all secure, told
him if he wanted anything further he must mention it, as he should not
be able to return in the evening, his presence being required elsewhere.
Jack replied in the negative, and it required all his mastery over
himself to prevent the satisfaction which this announcement afforded
him from being noticed by the jailer.
With the usual precautions, Austin then departed.
"And now," cried Jack, leaping up, "for an achievement, compared with
which all I have yet done shall be as nothing!"