Part 20

In 1760, Nollekens proceeded to Italy, by the way of Paris. On arriving in the French capital, he presented himself at the house of an uncle there, told his name, and claimed kindred. The old gentleman stood with his door half opened, put a few cool questions, and seemed to doubt the veracity of his story; but at length catching a glimpse of a gold watch-chain, he invited him to dinner. The pride of the young artist, however, had been deeply touched--he declined the invitation, and went his way. On reaching Rome, the friendless youth found his stock reduced to some twenty guineas; and dreading want, and what was worse, dependence, he set about mending his fortune with equal despatch and success. He modelled and carved in stone a bas-relief, which brought him ten guineas from England; and in the next year the Society of Arts voted him fifty guineas for his Timoclea before Alexander, which was in marble. He was now noticed by the artists of Rome, and lived on friendly terms with Barry, who was waging a useless and vexatious war with interested antiquarians and visitors of wealth and virtu. Indeed, such was the gentleness of his nature, and his mild and unassuming demeanor, that he never made enemies except amongst those who could have done no one credit as friends.

NOLLEKENS AND GARRICK.

During Nollekens’ residence at Rome, Garrick came one day into the Vatican, and observing the young sculptor, said, “Ah! what? let me look at you! You are the little fellow to whom we gave the prizes in the Society of Arts? eh!” Nollekens answered, “Yes,” upon which the actor shook him kindly by the hand, inquired concerning his studies, and invited him to breakfast the next morning. He did more--he sat to him for his bust, and when the model was finished, he gave him twelve guineas. This was the first bust he ever modelled.

NOLLEKENS’ TALENTS IN BUST SCULPTURE.

The bust of Sterne, which he afterwards executed at Rome in terra cotta, materially increased his reputation; and the applause that it received probably warned the sculptor of his talents in that branch of the art, in which he afterwards became so distinguished. It forms a truly admirable image of the original, and Nollekens, to his last hour, alluded to it with pleasure. “Dance,” he used to say, “made my picture with my hand leaning on Sterne’s head--he was right.” This striking bust is now in the collection of Mr. Agar Ellis. His talents in bust sculpture were universally acknowledged, and when Mr. Coutts, the banker, applied to Fuseli, then keeper of the Royal Academy, for the best sculptor to execute his bust, the painter replied, “I can have no difficulty in telling you; for though Nollekens is weak in many things, in a bust he stands unrivalled. Had you required a group of figures, I should have recommended Flaxman, but for a bust, give me Nollekens.”

NOLLEKENS’ BUST OF DR. JOHNSON.

While he was modelling the bust of Dr. Johnson, the latter came one day accompanied by Miss Williams, a blind lady; and being very impatient of the protracted sittings, he came quite late, which so displeased the sculptor that he cried out, “Now, Doctor, you _did_ say you would give my bust half an hour before dinner, and the dinner has been waiting this long time.” “Nolly, be patient, Nolly,” said the sage, making his way to the bust. “How is this, Nolly, you have loaded the head with hair.” “All the better,” returned the artist, “it will make you look more like one of the ancient sages or poets.--I’ll warrant now, you wanted to have it in a wig.” The Doctor remonstrated seriously, saying, “a man, sir, should be portrayed as he appears in company”--but the sculptor persisted. The bust is an admirable work of art, besides being a faithful likeness.

NOLLEKENS’ LIBERALITY TO CHANTREY.

When Chantrey sent his bust of Horne Tooke to the Exhibition, he was young and unfriended; but the great merit of the work did not escape the eye of Nollekens. He lifted it from the floor, set it before him, moved his head to and fro, and having satisfied himself of its excellence, turned to those who were arranging the works for the Exhibition, and said, “There’s a very fine work: let the man who made it be known--remove one of my busts, and put this in its place, for it well deserves it.” Often afterwards, when desired to model a bust, he said in his most persuasive way, “Go to Chantrey, he is the man for a bust; he will make a good bust of you--I always recommend him.” He sat for his bust to Chantrey, who always mentioned his name with tenderness and respect.

NOLLEKENS AND THE WIDOW.

Smith gives a rather amusing account of a lady in weeds for her husband, who “came drooping like a willow to the sculptor, desiring a monument, and declaring that she did not care what money was expended on the memory of one she loved so. ‘Do what you please, but oh! do it quickly,’ were her parting orders. Nollekens went to work, made the design, finished the model, and began to look for a block of marble to carve it from, when in dropped the lady--she had been absent some three months. ‘Poor soul,’ said the sculptor, when she was announced, ‘I thought she would come soon, but I am ready.’ The lady came light of foot, and lighter of look. ‘Ah, how do you do, Mr. Nollekens? Well, you have not commenced the model?’ ‘Aye, but I have though,’ returned the sculptor, ‘and there it stands, finished.’ ‘There it is, indeed,’ sighed the lady, throwing herself into a chair; they looked at one another for a minute’s space or so--she spoke first. ‘These, my good friend, are, I know, early days for this little change’--she looked at her dress, from which the early profusion of crape had disappeared,--‘but since I saw you, I have met with an old Roman acquaintance of yours, who has made me an offer, and I don’t know how he would like to see in our church a monument of such expense to my late husband. Indeed, on second thoughts, it would perhaps be considered quite enough, if I got our mason to put up a mural tablet, and that you know he can cut very prettily.’ ‘My charge, madam, for the model,’ said the sculptor, ‘is one hundred guineas.’ ‘Enormous! enormous!’ said the lady, but drew out her purse and paid it.” The mutability of human nature!

NOLLEKENS’ COMPLIMENTS.

Cunningham says that a portion of his sitters “were charmed into admirers by the downright bluntness of his compliments, which they regarded as so many testimonies on oath of their beauty. As a specimen of his skill in the difficult art of pleasing, take the following anecdotes. He was modelling the head of a lady of rank, when she forgot herself, changed her position, and looked more loftily than he wished. ‘Don’t look so scorney, woman,’ said the sculptor, modelling all the while, ‘else you will spoil my bust--and you’re a very fine woman--I think it will make one of my very best busts.’ Another time he said to a lady, who had a _serious_ squint, ‘Look for a minute the other way, for then I shall get rid of a slight shyness in your eye, which, though not ungraceful in life, is unusual in art.’ On another occasion, a lady with some impatience in her nature was sitting for her portrait; every minute she changed her position, and with every change of position put on a change of expression, until his patience gave way. ‘Lord, woman!’ exclaimed the unceremonious sculptor, ‘what’s the matter how handsome you are, if you won’t sit still till I model you!’ The lady smiled, and sat ever afterwards like a lay figure.”

AN OVERPLUS OF MODESTY.

It has been remarked by some close observer, that modesty is like shadow in a picture--too much of it obscures real excellence, while the proper medium exhibits all parts in agreeable relief. John Riley, an English portrait painter who flourished in the latter part of the seventeenth century, was a proof that one may have a superabundance of this in itself excellent quality. Walpole says, “He was one of the best native artists who had flourished in England; but he was very modest, had the greatest diffidence of himself, and was easily disgusted with his own works. His talents were obscured by the fame rather than by the merit of Kneller, and with a quarter of the latter’s vanity, he might have persuaded the world that he was as great a master.” He was but little noticed until the death of Lely, when Chiffinch being persuaded to sit to him, the picture was shown, and recommended him to the king. Charles II. sat to him, but almost discouraged the bashful artist from pursuing a profession so proper for him. Looking at the picture, he cried, “Is this like me? Then od’s fish, I’m an ugly fellow!” This discouraged Riley so much that he could not bear the picture, though he sold it for a large price. However, he kept on, and had the satisfaction of painting James II. and his Queen, and also their successors, who appointed him their painter. Riley died three years after the accession of William and Mary, in 1691.

THE ARTIST FOOTMAN.

Edward Norgate, an English painter of excellent judgment in pictures, was sent into Italy by the Earl of Arundel to purchase works of art. On returning, however, he was disappointed in receiving remittances, and was obliged to remain some time in Marseilles. Being totally unknown there, he used frequently to walk for several hours in a public part of the city, with a most dejected air; and while thus engaged, he was occasionally observed by a merchant, who, doubtless impelled by kind feelings, ventured one day to speak to the wanderer, and told him that so much walking would have soon brought him to the end of his journey, when Norgate confessed his inability to proceed for want of money. The merchant then inquired into his circumstances, and told him that perceiving he was able to walk at least twenty miles a day, if he would set out on his journey homeward, he would furnish him handsomely for a foot traveler. By this assistance, Norgate arrived in his own country.

AN ARCHITECT’S STRATAGEM.

William Winde, a Dutch architect who visited England in the reign of Charles II., erected, among other works, Buckingham House in St. James’ Park, for the Duke of Bucks. He had nearly finished this edifice, but the payment was most sadly in arrears. Accordingly Winde enticed the Duke one day to mount upon the leads, to enjoy the grand prospect. When there, he coolly locked the trapdoor and threw the key over the parapet, addressing his astounded patron, “I am a ruined man, and unless I have your word of honor that the debts shall be paid, I will instantly throw myself over.” “And what is to become of me?” asked the Duke. “You shall go along with me!” returned the desperate architect. This prospect of affairs speedily drew from the Duke the wished-for promise, and the trapdoor was opened by a workman below, who was a party in the plot.

THE FREEDOM OF THE TIMES IN THE REIGN OF CHARLES II.

The freedom allowed in social intercourse is well illustrated by a sketch in the account of Graham. William Wissing, a Dutch painter who succeeded Sir Peter Lely in fashionable portrait painting in England, was noted for his complaisant manners, which recommended him to most people’s esteem, “In drawing his portraits, especially those of the fair sex, he always took the _beautiful_ likeness; and when any lady came to sit to him whose complexion was in any ways pale, he would commonly take her by the hand and dance her about the room till she became warmer; by which means he heightened her natural beauty, and made her fit to be represented by his hand”!

HANNEMAN’S PICTURE OF “PEACE”

Descamps says that Adrian Hanneman painted for the States of Holland an emblematical subject of Peace, impersonated by a beautiful young female habited in white satin, and seated on a throne. The picture was very charming, so much so that the gallant burgomasters presented the living model who served for it with a gratuity of 1000 florins!

WEESOP.

This Dutch painter is chiefly known in England, for his successful imitations of Vandyck. He spent some time there, but left in 1649, saying, “He would never stay in a country where they cut off their king’s head, and were not ashamed of the action.” Walpole remarks that it would have been more sensible to say, he would not stay where they cut off the head of a king who rewarded painters, and then defaced and sold his collection.

FOOTNOTE:

[A] “I cannot forbear quoting Madame Hahn-Hahn’s reflections on the Museum of Seville, and the custody of pictures in that city in 1841.

“‘It is wretched to see how these invaluable jewels of pictures are preserved! Uncleaned’ (this is at least some comfort), ‘without the necessary varnish, sometimes without frames, they lean against the walls, or stand unprotected in the passages where they are copied. Every dauber may mark his squares upon them, to facilitate his drawing; and since these squares are permanent in some pictures in order to spare these admirable artists the trouble of renewing them, the threads have, in certain cases, begun to leave their impression on the picture. The proof of this negligence is the fact that we found to-day the mark of a finger-nail on the St. Augustine, which was not there on the first day that we saw it. We can only thank God if nothing worse than a finger-nail make a scar on the picture! It stands there on the ground, without a frame, leaning against the wall. One might knock it over, or kick one’s foot through it! There is to be sure a kind of ragged custode sitting by, but if one were to give him a couple of dollars he would hold his tongue; he is, moreover, always sleeping, and yawns as if he would put his jaws out. He does not forget, however, on these occasions to make the sign of the cross with his thumb, opposite his open mouth, for fear the devils should fly in--such is the common belief. You see clearly that with this amount of neglect and want of order, the same fate awaits all the Murillos here as has already befallen Leonardo’s Last Supper at Milan. These are all collected in two public buildings, in the church of the Caridad and in the Museum.

‘The Caridad was a hospital or charitable institution. The pictures were brought thither from Murillo’s own studio; there are five--Moses, the Feeding of the Five Thousand, the St. Juan de Dios, a little Salvator Mundi, and a small John the Baptist; the sixth, the pendant to the St. Juan de Dios, the St. Elizabeth with the Sick, has been carried to the Museum at Madrid. It is very questionable whether these fine pictures will be still in the Caridad in ten years’ time. Nothing would be easier than to smuggle out the two small pictures! A painter comes--copies them--does not stand upon a few dollars more or less--takes off the originals and leaves the copies behind in their places, which are high up and badly lighted--the pictures are gone for ever! This sort of proceeding is not impossible here, and Baron Taylor’s purchases for Paris prove the fact. It cannot of course be done without corruption and connivance on the part of the official guardians; and after all one has hardly the courage to lament it. The pictures are, in fact, saved--they are protected and duly valued; whilst to me it is completely a matter of indifference whether a custode, on account of this sort of sin, suffer a little more or a little less in Purgatory.’”--Reisebriefe, ii. s. 126-8.

Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber:

Charles I. of England, in 1530, purchased the Mantuan collection for £20,000=> Charles I. of England, in 1630, purchased the Mantuan collection for £20,000 {pg 263}

Fragment d’un Traité sur les Moveuments du corp humain=> Fragment d’un Traité sur les Mouvements du corps humain {pg 275}