English Eccentrics and Eccentricities

by John Timbs

Mr. Smith declares, that in some respects, aged as he was, he attempted to practise the usual method of renovation of some of that species of widowers who have not the least inclination to follow their wives too hastily. Mrs. Nollekens had left him with his handsome maid, who had become possessed of her mistress' wardrobe, which she quickly cut up to her advantage. Her common name of Mary soon received the adjunct of Pretty from her kind master himself. As it soon appeared, however, that Pretty Mary, who had an eye to her master's disengaged hand, took upon herself mightily, and used her master rather roughly, she was one day, very properly, though unceremoniously, put out of the house, before her schemes were brought to perfection.

Nollekens took snuff; he certainly kept a box, but then it was very often in his other coat-pocket, an apology frequently made when he partook of that refreshment at the expense of another.

"You must sometimes be much annoyed," observed a lady to Mr. Nollekens, "by the ridiculous remarks made by your sitters and their flattering friends, after you have produced a good likeness."—"No, ma'am, I never allow anybody to fret me. I tell 'em all, 'If you don't like it, don't take it.'" This may be done by an artist who is "tiled in;" but the dependent man is sometimes known to submit to observations as the witty Northcote has stated, even from "nursery-maids, both wet and dry."

At the commencement of the French Revolution, when such numbers of priests threw themselves upon the hospitality of this country, Nollekens was highly indignant at the great quantity of bread they consumed. "Why, do you know now," said he, "there's one of 'em living next door to me, that eats two whole quarterns a-day to his own share! and I am sure the fellow's body could not be bigger, if he was to eat up his blanket."

Mr. Browne, one of Nollekens's old friends, after having received repeated invitations to "step in and take pot-luck with him," one day took him at his word. The sculptor apologized for his entertainment, by saying that as it was Friday, Mrs. Nollekens had proposed to take fish with him, so that they had bought a few sprats, of which he was wiping some in a dish, whilst she was turning others on the gridiron.

When Mr. Jackson was once making a drawing of a monument at the Sculptor's house, Nollekens came into the room and said, "I'm afraid you're cold here." "I am, indeed," said Jackson. "Ay," answered the Sculptor, "I don't wonder at it: why, do you know, there has not been a fire in this room for these forty years."

Miss Gerrard, daughter of the auctioneer, frequently called to know how Nollekens did; and once the Sculptor prevailed upon her to dine. "Well, then," said he to his pupil, Joseph Bonomi, "go and order a mackerel; stay, one won't be enough, you had better get two, and you shall dine with us."

A candle with Nollekens was a serious article of consumption: indeed, so much so, that he would frequently put it out, and merely to save an inch or two, sit entirely in the dark, and at times, too, when he was not in the least inclined to sleep. If Bronze ventured into the yard with a light, he always scolded her for so shamefully flaring the candle. One evening, his man, who then slept in the house, came home rather late, but quite sober enough to attempt to go upstairs unheard without his shoes, but as he was passing Nollekens's door, the immensely increased shape of the keyhole shone upon the side of the room so brilliantly that Nollekens cried out, "Who's there?"—"It's only me," answered the man; "I am going to bed."—"Going to bed, you extravagant rascal!—why don't you go to bed in the dark, you scoundrel."—"It's my own candle," replied the man. "Your own candle! well then, mind you don't set fire to yourself."

Nollekens frequently spoke of a man that he met in the fields, who would now and then, with all the gravity of an apothecary, inquire after the state of his bowels. At last the sculptor found out that he wanted to borrow money of him.

Whenever Mr. and Mrs. Nollekens had a present of a leveret, which they always called a hare, they contrived, by splitting it, to make it last for two dinners for four persons; the one half was roasted, and the other jugged.