GEORGE MORLAND.
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.