——[61]"Quia me vestigia terrent
Omnia te adversum spectantia, nulla retrorsum."
When Lord Eldon saw this, he was much amused; and on being told that it was written by Fuseli, laughed heartily.
In the spring of 1824, I persuaded him not to lecture, which it was his intention then to do, being apprehensive that the exertion which he must employ would be too great for his diminished strength; in the early part of 1825, he however delivered his last course of lectures, with certainly less of energy of manner, but without much apparent fatigue: he had also prepared some pictures for the ensuing exhibition at the Royal Academy.
Notwithstanding these proofs of remaining powers, on Sunday, the 10th of April 1825, Fuseli, being then on a visit to the Countess of Guilford at Putney Hill, complained of indisposition, while walking in the pleasure-grounds. He was engaged on that day to dine in St. James's Place, with Mr. Samuel Rogers; and Lady Guilford had ordered her carriage to convey him thither; but as his illness continued, Mrs. Fuseli prevailed upon him (with difficulty) to remain in the house, and he gave up the engagement. It was an affecting coincidence, that on the evening before, being out on the lawn with the Ladies North, and looking at the stars, which shone with great brightness, he said, (possibly from the consciousness of symptoms which he considered dangerous,) "I shall soon be amongst them." On the Monday, it was evident to all about him that he was much worse, and he expressed a strong desire to see me; being informed of his illness, I immediately went to Putney, and from his altered appearance had great fears of what would be the issue. The opinions of Sir Alexander Crichton and Dr. Holland, who arrived there shortly after, confirmed my apprehensions, for they said, when questioned by me, that "they could not give any specific name to the complaint; for it appeared to them, that all the functions of nature had given way, and, in their opinion, he could not last many days."
The attentions of the Countess of Guilford and her family to Fuseli were unremitting; every thing was done by them to promote his comfort, and even to anticipate his wishes; the question constantly asked was, "Can nothing further be done to keep him a little longer with us?" but it was too apparent, notwithstanding these kindnesses, and the skill and attention of his physicians, that life was fast ebbing. I saw him every day, and I have reason to believe that, from the commencement of his illness, he did not expect to recover; for, on the Wednesday, he put his hand into mine, and said, "My friend, I am fast going to that bourne whence no traveller returns." But he neither expressed regret at his state, nor, during his illness, shewed any despondency or impatience. I left him at a late hour on the Friday (the evening before he died); he was then perfectly collected, and his mind apparently not at all impaired, but his articulation was feeble, and the last words which he addressed to his physicians, the death guggles being then in his throat, were in Latin: so perfect was his mind at this time, that he said to me, "What can this mean? when I attempt to speak, I croak like a toad."
On Saturday morning, at seven o'clock, he was told that Mr. Cartwright was in the house: as he knew two gentlemen of that name, he was uncertain which it was. On Mr. Cartwright approaching his bedside, he put out his hand, and exclaimed, "Is it you, Samuel?" This gentleman raised him in his bed, and moistened his mouth and lips with liquid, by means of a feather, for which he feebly thanked him.[62]
On Mr. Cartwright's arrival in London, he immediately wrote to me, saying, "he feared ere I received his communication that Fuseli would be no more;" this apprehension of his was shortly afterwards confirmed by a letter from Lady Guilford, informing me that he had breathed his last that morning, (Saturday, the 16th of April, 1825,) at half-past ten o'clock, without much apparent pain, and in complete possession of his faculties; and that, in consequence, my presence, as an intimate friend and executor, being immediately required, both by Mrs. Fuseli and herself, at Putney, she had sent her carriage to enable me to come down without delay.
On my arrival at Putney Hill, I found the Countess of Guilford and the Ladies Susan and Georgina North in deep grief. Fuseli was highly esteemed by these ladies, and reciprocally felt towards them the warmest friendship. He entertained for Lady Susan great regard; but he had for Lady Georgina, that affection which a master usually feels towards an amiable, accomplished, and highly promising pupil. This young lady had devoted much time to the study of the Fine Arts, and, assisted by the occasional hints and instructions of Fuseli, has arrived at eminence in the highest branch, that of historical design. After some preliminary observations, Lady Guilford observed, that she considered it a duty to act upon this melancholy occasion as she was sure her father (Mr. Coutts) would have acted were he alive; and she said, "As to arrangements, I give you, Mr. Knowles, a carte blanche; but observe, it is my wish, as Mr. Fuseli has died here, that his remains should be so placed as will not disgrace a public funeral; for I feel convinced that the Royal Academy will pay that tribute to his memory." Her Ladyship added, (with her usual feelings of generosity,) "but if they fail to do so, then I request you will order such a funeral as is due to the high merits of the deceased; and any additional expense which may be incurred by my wishes, I will gladly reimburse. Remember, my desire is, to have every respect shewn to his remains." A few hours after I had returned to London, Lady Guilford sent me in writing her instructions to the above effect; and said in her note, that "she was induced to do so, that her wishes and intentions might not be misunderstood."
Early on the Sunday morning, I called upon Sir Thomas Lawrence, not only as a friend of the deceased, but in his official capacity as President of the Royal Academy, to inform him of Fuseli's death, and to ask what he considered would be the notions of the Members of the Academy with respect to his funeral. Sir Thomas, who had been for many years the friend and companion of Fuseli, and an admirer of his talents, met this question with feeling and great candour, and remarked that, he knew of no precedent for any public honours being paid to the remains of a Keeper of the Royal Academy. I urged that there could not be a precedent to operate in this case, for, on account of the great talents of the deceased, the Royal Academy had rendered an existing law of theirs nugatory, by allowing him to hold the situation not only of Keeper, but also of Professor of Painting, a compliment which had fallen to the lot of no other man, nor was such an occurrence likely again to take place. Sir Thomas acknowledged that he had strong claims to some distinguished attention being paid to his remains, and promised, under this view of the case, to convene a meeting of the Council immediately, to take the matter into consideration.
After this interview, I went to Putney Hill, for the purpose of removing the corpse to Somerset House; and in the evening, followed the remains of Fuseli there, where Mr. Balmanno, the other executor named in the will, was ready to receive the body. It was, at our desire, placed in a room, around the walls of which were arranged "The Lazar-house," "The Bridging of Chaos," and other sublime productions of his pencil, the subjects being chiefly from Milton.