From the following flummery bespattered on this wax-worker by the editor of the Post Angel, I may, with the greatest probability, conclude that his substance was just as vulnerable as that of many of the hirelings who feed themselves by puffing what they denominate “the fine arts,” and that he had no objection to a dozen of port, had it been ever so crusted.
“The Observator” states that “the ingenuity of man hath found out several ways to imitate Nature, and represent natural bodies to the eye by sculpture, picture, carving, waxwork, etc.; and though some of the ancients were famed for this art, as Zeuxis and Apelles, yet our last ages have outstripped them, and made considerable improvements, as may be easily discernible to those who are skilled in antiquities, and have observed the rude and coarse pieces of the ancients. Those that question the truth of this, need but step to that famous artist, Mrs. Goldsmith, in the Old Jewry, whose workmanship is so absolute (in the effigies which she has made of his late Majesty), as it admits of no correction. She also made the late Queen, the Duke of Gloucester, to the general satisfaction of a great number of the nobility and gentry. I am not for the Hungarian’s wooden coat of mail, the work of fifteen years; nor Myrmeride’s coach with four horses, so little that you might hide them under a fly’s wing: these are but a laborious loss of time, an ingenious profusion of one of the best talents we are entrusted with; but this effigy of his late Majesty has taken up but a small part of Mrs. Goldsmith’s time, and yet it is made with so much art, that nothing seems wanting but life and motion. I own,” continues this time-server, “’tis little wonder to see a picture have motion; but Mrs. Goldsmith is such a person (as all will own that see this effigy which she has made of King William), that she has almost found the secret to make even dead bodies alive.”
THOMAS GAINSBOROUGH, R.A.
“We are all going to heaven, and Van Dyck is of the company.”
His dying words
1832.
“You are never idle,” observed my old, OLD, very OLD friend John Taylor,[497] as he entered my parlour on the 3rd of November, in his ninety-third year: “bless me, how like that is to your father! Well, Howard is a very clever fellow! Pray now, do tell me, did your father know Churchill? My friend Jonathan Tyers introduced me to him in Vauxhall Gardens much about the time Hogarth represented him as a bear with a pot of porter.[498] I think, to the best of my recollection, the print was brought out in 1763. Mr. Tyers asked Mr. Churchill what he thought of it. ‘Oh!’ said he, ‘it is a silly thing, Sir. I should have thought Hogarth had known better.’” I then requested Mr. Taylor to describe Mr. Churchill’s dress for Vauxhall Gardens. “Oh! not as a clergyman, not in black, as he appeared in the pit of the theatre. Let me see: his coat was blue, edged with a narrow gold lace; a buff waistcoat; but I won’t be certain whether that was laced or not—I rather think it was not. He had black silk small-clothes, white silk stockings, small silver shoe-buckles, and a gold-laced three-cornered hat.”
“Did you know Gainsborough, Sir?” “Oh! I remember him; he was an odd man at times. I recollect my master Hayman coming home after he had been to an exhibition, and saying what an extraordinary picture Gainsborough had painted of the Blue Boy; it is as fine as Vandyke.”[499] “Who was the Blue Boy, Sir?” “Why, he was an ironmonger, but why so called I don’t know. He lived at the corner of Greek and King Streets, Soho; an immensely rich man.” “Did you know Mrs. Abington?” “Oh yes; she was a most delightful actress of women of fashion, though she made herself very ridiculous by attempting the part of Scrub.[500] Mr. Hoole, when he heard she was to play the character that evening, sent for a chair and went to see her; but he said it was so truly ridiculous, that he was quite disgusted. Ay, I see you have got Nollekens’s bust of Dr. Johnson. I made two drawings of him when I was at Oxford: one was for Sir Robert Chambers,[501] who married the pretty Miss Wilton, that went to India; who had the other, I can’t immediately say. I remember the Doctor asked me what countryman I was.—‘A Londoner, Sir, a Londoner.’ ‘And where born?’ ‘In the parish of Ethelburga, in Bishopsgate Within.’ It is a very small church; but my father and mother[502] were buried there, though I suppose, by this time, there’s nothing of them left. My friend Jonathan Tyers took milk and water for upwards of twenty years at his meals, though he very well knew what a good glass of wine was, as well as any man in England. Ay, and a fine haunch of venison, too. Many and many a time I have dined with him in the gardens, when I was making the drawing for Boydell, of Hayman’s picture of the Admirals. Mr. Tyers gave very excellent dinners, I must say.”
The truly skilful manner in which Mr. John Seguier has proceeded with the pictures painted by Rubens, which adorn the ceiling of Whitehall Chapel, will, I hope, prove a lasting record of his success in picture-cleaning. When first I ascended the scaffold, my astonishment was beyond conception at the enormous size of the objects. The children are more than nine feet, and the full-grown figures from twenty to twenty-five in height. The pictures were in a most filthy and husky state. However, it afforded me infinite delight to hear Mr. Seguier declare, that he firmly believed he should be able to remove Cipriani’s washy colouring completely; and that he expected to find that of Rubens in its pristine state. Upon my seeing these pictures on the floor, after they had been cleaned,[503] I found his predictions verified, and can now, by the judicious nourishment afforded to the canvas, announce their effect to be truly glorious. Every precaution has been taken, under the able direction of Sir Benjamin Clarke Stevenson, to render the roof impervious to the most inveterate weather, so that posterity, in all probability, may long enjoy the beauties of these masterpieces of art.