Some of these were so exquisitely done that Wedgwood said more than once, "It really hurts me to think of parting with these gems."
Long years afterwards, when he had reached the top of the tree, Flaxman used to find endless pleasure in talking of these humble labours.
And all this time he was leading a very quiet life. That strong thirst for knowledge that had always been his, spurred him on to learn all he could. So during the day he worked at casts and models, and in the evenings he sketched or turned to his beloved poets. Either he preferred the old Greek poets' company to that of living friends, or it might be that the slight deformity that was his through life--the high shoulders, the sidling gait--left him shy and sensitive, and in a measure inclined to creep into his shell.
Looking over the huge portfolio of Flaxman's drawings that one can still see to-day, it is easy to discover where he went for most of his subjects. The poets came in for their share, and also history and portraits, but his great delight was to produce scenes from the Bible and the _Pilgrim's Progress_, "The Marys at the Sepulchre," "The Flight into Egypt," "The Angels round the Cradle of Christ."
But although he was getting to be known among men of talent he was still poor and struggling. It is proof enough of this for us to read how at this time he made his busts half life-size and of clay, whereas had he been rich they would surely have been full-size and of marble. About this time he began to talk of what had been with him till now a secret longing. It was to see Rome. The desire had been long growing in his heart. To Rome sculptors and painters flock, for it is the great city of sculpture and painting, and to a sculptor it is as if his education were unfinished, so long as his eyes have not feasted on those beautiful examples of art.
"If I remain here," he said sadly, "I shall be accused of ignorance concerning those noble works of art which are to the sculptor what learning is to a man of genius."
About this time he took what seemed a foolish step, looking alone to the progress of his art. He married. Sir Joshua, the President of the Royal Academy, who had _not_ given him the gold medal, met him in the street one day and stopped him. "Ha! Flaxman," he said, "I have heard that you have married. I tell you you are ruined for an artist. You cannot now go to Rome to study the great sculptors of antiquity."