George Morland, the famous painter of rustic and low life--a great but
dissolute genius--when he left the paternal roof, had for master an
Irishman in Drury-lane, who kept him constantly at his easel by never
leaving his elbow. His meals were brought him by the shop-boy; his
dinner consisting usually of sixpennyworth of beef from a cookshop, and
a pint of beer. If he asked for five shillings, his taskmaster would
growl, “D’ye think I’m made of money?” and give him half-a-crown.
Morland painted pictures for this man enough to fill a room for
admittance to which half-a-crown was charged. From this bondage he was
freed by an invitation to Margate, by a lady of fortune, to paint
portraits in the season; he stole away from his garret, and entered on
profitable labour. In winter he returned to London. He had so risen in
repute, that prints from his pictures had a marvellous sale. Soon, such
was the demand for anything from his hand, that, though often ill-paid,
he could earn from seventy to a hundred guineas a-week. But no man could
be more heedless of money; and he hardly ever knew what it was to be out
of want. He was constantly granting bills, and when they fell due, he
seldom had cash to meet them. To get a note of £20 renewed for a
fortnight, he has been known to give a picture that at once sold in his
presence for £10. His easel was always surrounded by associates of the
lowest cast--horse-dealers, jockeys, cobblers, &c. He had a wooden
barrier placed across his room, with a bar that lifted up, to allow the
passage of those with whom he had business, or who enjoyed his special
favour. He might have been said to be in an academy in the midst of
models. He would get one to stand for a hand, another for a head, an
attitude, or a figure, according as their countenance or character
suited him. Thus he painted some of his best pictures, while his low
companions were regaling on gin and red herrings around him.
Morland, indeed, neither in nor beyond the studio let slip an
opportunity which he could turn to professional advantage. Nature was
the grand source from which he drew all his images. He dreaded becoming
a mannerist. With other artists he never held any intercourse, nor had
he prints of any kind in his possession; and he often declared that he
would not step across the street to see the finest assemblage of
paintings that ever was exhibited. Once, indeed, he was induced to go to
see Lord Bute’s collection; but, having passed through one room, he
refused to see more, declaring that he did not wish to contemplate the
works of any other man, lest he should become an imitator.
At the death of his father, Morland was advised to claim the dormant
title of Baronet, which had been conferred on one of his lineal
ancestors by Charles II. Finding, however, that there was no emolument
attached to the title, he renounced the distinction; saying that “plain
George Morland could always sell his pictures, and there was more honour
in being a fine painter than a titled gentleman; that he would have
borne the vanity of a title had there been any income to accompany it;
but as matters stood, he would wear none of the fooleries of his
ancestors.” He died in 1804, while in confinement in consequence of
intemperance.