Kitabı oku: «John Leech, His Life and Work. Vol. 1 [of 2]», sayfa 5

From internal evidence I find the date of “Comic Tales,” etc., to be 1841, contemporary, therefore, with the establishment of Punch. There is a drawing of so pretty a conceit as to warrant my selecting it, though artistically it is inferior to Leech’s work even at that time. The drawing heads a paper entitled “Speculations on Marriage and Young Ladies,” and as it tells its own story, quotation from Mr. Smith is needless.

In one amusing paper in “Comic Tales,” the author treats us to “an Act for amending the representation of certain public sights, termed equestrian spectacles, in the habit of being represented at a favourite place of resort, termed the Royal Amphitheatre, Westminster Bridge.” The paper is framed in the form of an Act of Parliament, and the author forbids the use of ancient jokes or stereotyped phrases in a very humorous manner.

“Be it enacted,” he announces, after condemning a variety of objectionable practices, “that the clown shall not, after the first equestrian feat, exclaim: ‘Now I’ll have a turn to myself!’ previous to his toppling like a coach-wheel round the ring; nor shall he fall flat on his face, and then collecting some sawdust in his hand, drop it down from the level of his head, and say his nose bleeds; nor shall he attempt to make the rope-dancers’ balance-pole stand on its end by propping it up with the said sawdust; nor shall he, after chalking the performers’ shoes, conclude by chalking his own nose, to prevent his foot slipping when he treads upon it; nor shall he pick up a small piece of straw, for fear he should fall over it, and afterwards balance the said straw on his chin as he runs about; neither shall the master of the ring say to the clown, when they are leaving the circus: ‘I never follow the fool, sir!’ nor shall the fool reply: ‘Then I do!’ and walk out after him.”

I would draw attention to the figure of the clown in this cut, which is simply perfect in expression and character. The affected strut of the ring-master also is admirably caught.

A paper on Christmas pantomimes is illustrated by such a perfect clown that I cannot resist my inclination to present him to my readers.

“Comic Tales and Pictures of Life” contains, at least, one drawing that is equal to Leech at his best. The cut illustrates an article on “Delightful People,” a short essay, amusing enough.

Music, whether performed by the band or by musical guests, is an important factor in an evening party. Mr. Albert Smith tells us that “a lady of his acquaintance” had secured those “Delightful People, the Lawsons,” for a large evening party she was about to give; and after lauding the charming qualities of Mr. and Mrs. Lawson, she put a final touch to the Lawson attractions by informing her friend that their daughter, Miss Cinthia Lawson, was not only a delightful girl, but that “she sings better than anyone you ever heard in private.” In the interval of dancing Cinthia sings. “The young lady now dressed in plain white robes, with her hair smoothed very flat round her head à la Grisi, whom she thought she resembled both in style of singing and features, and consequently studied all her attitudes from the clever Italian’s impersonation of Norma… At last the lady begun a bravura upon such a high note, and so powerful, that some impudent fellows in the square, who were passing at the moment, sang out ‘Vari-e-ty’ in reply. Presently, a young gentleman, who was standing at her side, chanced to turn over too soon, whereupon she gave him such a look, that, if he had entertained any thoughts of proposing, would effectually have stopped any such rash proceeding; but her equanimity was soon restored, and she went through the aria in most dashing style until she came to the last note, whose appearance she heralded with a roulade of wonderful execution.”

I remember Grisi, and I cannot share Miss Lawson’s conviction of her resemblance to that great singer – personal resemblance, I mean – and, in all probability, she had as feeble a claim to an equality of genius; but that she had a powerful voice, and that she gave it full effect, is evident by Leech’s perfect rendering of that wonderful mouth, from which one can almost hear the roulade. All the lines of the figure, with the movement of the hands, and the backward action of the singer, are true to Nature. The assistant at the music-book and the stolid old gentleman are also excellent.

With this, the best of the drawings in “Comic Tales,” I take my leave of the book.

CHAPTER VI
JOHN LEECH AND THE ETON BOY

I had been told that a friend whose acquaintance I made many years ago was in possession of some correspondence with Leech of considerable interest. I wrote to him on the subject, and received the following reply:

“Dear Mr. Frith,

“I had intended waiting till my return to town to see whether I could find John Leech’s letters before writing to you; but as you ask for the story, here it is, to the best of my recollection, and it is heartily at your service. When I was a boy at Eton I sent to Punch an incident which happened at a dance. Young Oxford complaining to his partner of the dearth of ‘female society’ at the University, she retorts, ‘What a pity you didn’t go to a girls’ school instead!’ Its appearance beneath an illustration of Leech’s caused great excitement in our house at Eton, and as great tales of Mr. Punch’s liberality were current – as, for example, that the sender of the advice ‘To persons about to marry —don’t,’ had received £100 – I began to look anxiously for some tip for my contribution. An enterprising pal said, ‘It’s a beastly shame; and if you’ll go halves, I’ll write to Punch and wake ’em up.’ This speedily resulted in the receipt of a post-office order for two guineas from John Leech, accompanied by a rather dry note, to the effect that Mr. Punch considered that he had already done enough in providing an original illustration to my joke. I was indignant, and wrote back to Leech returning the money, but he would not hear of this. He told me I could buy gloves with the money for the young lady if I liked – which I am afraid I didn’t. Several kind letters from him followed, with an invitation, gladly accepted, to call and see him in the holidays, and a present, which I still treasure, of two volumes of his ‘Life and Character.’

Lady: “Are you at Eton?”

Young Oxford: “Aw, no! I’m at Oxford.”

Lady: “Oxford! Rather a nice place, is it not?”

Young Oxford: “Hum! – haw! pretty well; but then I can’t get on without female society!”

Lady: “Dear! dear! pity you don’t go to a girls’ school, then!”

“At the time I remember my schoolfellows considered me a born caricaturist, an opinion I naturally shared. Leech was most indulgent to my early efforts – gave me some wood-blocks to work upon, and encouraged me to persevere, which, alas! I have not done, etc.

“Yours truly.”

Here follows Leech’s “dry note”:

“32, Brunswick Square, London,

“June 6, 1859.

“Dear Sir,

“The editor of Punch is the person who should be addressed upon all money matters connected with that periodical. However, in the present instance, perhaps it will answer every purpose if I adopt the suggestion of your ‘great friend and confidant,’ and ‘do the handsome and send a tip direct,’ which I do in the shape of a post-office order for one guinea; or, as your ‘entirely disinterested’ young friend is to have half of what you get, it will be even better if I make the order for two guineas instead, as I do, only you must not look upon this as a precedent. I am afraid Mr. Punch would have considered that the trouble and expense he was at to have an original design made to your few lines would have been ample recompense. In future send to the editor your notion of what you expect for any contribution, and he will accept or reject accordingly, I dare say.

“Yours faithfully,

“John Leech.”

The Eton boy was “indignant, and wrote back to Leech returning the money,” to which Leech replied as follows:

“32, Brunswick Square,

“November 8, 1859.

“Dear Sir,

“No, no; it must be as it is; besides, the order is made out in your name, and can be used by no one else. After all, your contribution was very amusing, and pray consider yourself as quite entitled to the sum offered. If you have any doubt as to how you should spend the money, why, then, buy some gloves for the young lady who said the smart thing to the Oxford man. As to my being offended, dismiss the notion from your mind at once. Your first note I consider perfectly good-natured, and your second as frank and gentleman-like. I hope you will do me the favour to accept two volumes of my sketches, in which I hope you will find some amusement.

“I will direct the volumes to be sent to you this afternoon.

“Believe me, dear sir,

“Yours faithfully,

“John Leech.”

Encouraged by Leech’s kindness, and being, as he says, “a born caricaturist in the opinion of his friends,” the Eton boy sent some sketches for Leech’s opinion. To this application he received the following reply:

“32, Brunswick Square,

“June 11, 1859.

“My dear Sir,

“I am very busy, so you must excuse a rather short note. Your sketches I have looked at carefully, however, and I have no hesitation in saying that they show a great perception of humour on your part. They seem to me to be altogether very good; and I have no doubt that with practice you might make your talent available in Punch and elsewhere. I don’t know about your taking lessons, except from Nature, and learn from her as much as possible. Try your hand at some initial letters – if drawn on the wood clearly, so much the better – and I will, with great pleasure, hand them to the editor of Punch. ‘The Pleasures of Eton’ is capital; the style, I take it, founded a little upon Doyle’s works. I would not do that too much. You have quite cleverness enough to strike out a path of your own, and with my best wishes for your success,

“Believe me,

“Yours faithfully,

“John Leech.”

In sending these letters the Eton boy of old says he is “sure that nothing would more thoroughly exemplify Leech’s genial wit and courteous kindliness than these replies to an unknown schoolboy.” I suppose the letter in which my friend was invited to call upon Leech “in the holidays” is not to be found. But that he did call and received a present of “wood-blocks to work upon,” accompanied by “encouragement to persevere,” which, alas! he has not done, we have from himself.

This incident is especially delightful, as it reflects perfectly the quality of heart and mind so characteristic of Leech.

CHAPTER VII
MR. SPONGE’S SPORTING TOUR

Mr. Surtees, the writer of the sporting novels, possessed considerable powers of invention, which he indulged – amongst other vagaries – in giving names to most of the characters in his books, which served to enlighten his readers as to their physical and mental peculiarities, and never more happily than when he christened the hero of this sporting tour Mr. Soapy Sponge. “Mr. Sponge,” says our author, “wished to be a gentleman without knowing how;” but what Mr. Sponge did know was how to sponge upon everybody with whom he could force an acquaintance, and this he effected with surprising success. Hunting and good hunting quarters were the objects of Mr. Sponge’s machinations, and upon a half-hearted invitation from a Mr. Jawleyford, of Jawleyford Court, an invitation given without an idea that it would be accepted (as sometimes happens), Mr. Sponge found himself installed in the ancestral mansion of the Jawleyfords. Mr. Jawleyford was “one of the rather numerous race of paper-booted, pen-and-ink landowners,” says Mr. Surtees, “whose communications with his tenantry were chiefly confined to dining with them twice a year in the great entrance-hall after the steward, Mr. Screwemtight, had eased them of their rents.” Then Mr. Jawleyford would shine forth the very impersonification of what a landlord ought to be. Dressed in the height of fashion, he would declare that the only really happy moments of his life were those when he was surrounded by his tenantry.

In the background of this admirable drawing we see Mr. Jawleyford’s portrait, flanked by his ancestors, on canvas and in armour, hanging on the panelled walls of his gorgeous home. The variety of character in the “chawbacons,” each a marked individuality, contrasts effectually with his quasi fashionable landlord. For the first banquet at Jawleyford Court, “Mr. Sponge,” says the author, “made himself an uncommon swell.” His dress is minutely described, and faithfully depicted by Leech, in the etching in which we see the sponger conducting a very portly Mrs. Jawleyford, followed by her daughters, to the dining-room. The young ladies who have entered the drawing-room “in the full fervour of sisterly animosity,” according to the author, seem – in the lovely group that Leech makes of them – to have speedily made up their quarrel, as their entwined arms and pretty, happy faces prove. The solemn butler, who looks with awe at his aristocratic master, is in Leech’s truest vein, while Mr. Jawleyford himself is simply perfect. In the footmen and page the illustration is less successful; they seem to approach, if not to reach, caricature.

When Mr. Sponge found himself in good quarters, no hint however strong, no looks however cold, no manner however unpleasant, would move him, until he had provided himself with others to his liking. Under the impression that he was rich, the Misses Jawleyford set their caps at him. Amelia and Emily rivalled each other in tender attentions to the adventurer, who, after hesitating as to which of them he should throw the handkerchief to, fixed upon Miss Amelia, who found her sister “in the act of playing the agreeable” with Mr. Sponge as she “sailed” into the drawing-room before dinner; then, “with a haughty sort of sneer and toss of the head to her sister, as much as to say, ‘What are you doing with my man?’ – a sneer that suddenly changed into a sweet smile as her eye encountered Sponge’s – she just motioned him off to a sofa, where she commenced a sotto-voce conversation in the engaged-couple style.”

During his stay at Jawleyford Court, Mr. Sponge’s time was passed in hunting, smoking all over the house – a habit the owner detested – and in making love to Miss Amelia; taking care, however, not to commit himself until he had discovered from papa what the settlements were to be. We who are behind the scenes know that Jawleyford Court is “mortgaged up to the chimney-pots,” and that Mr. J. is over head and ears in debt besides. We know also that Mr. Sponge is impecunious, his hunters are hired; he is, in fact, as his author describes him, “a vulgar humbug.” “Jawleyford began to suspect that Sponge might not be the great ‘catch’ he was represented,” says the author. No doubt in finding himself baffled in his attempts to sound his host upon the subject of settlements, Mr. Sponge also “began to suspect” that neither of the Misses Jawleyford would be the “catch” that he wanted. Still, he held on to his quarters in defiance of the attempts to get rid of him. He was removed from the best bedroom to one in which it was impossible to light a fire, or, rather, to endure it when it was alight, because of an incurable smoky chimney. He was given poor food and corked wine, still he stayed, until he had provided himself with a temporary home at the house of a hunting gentleman named Puffington.

Mr. Puffington, who made Sponge’s acquaintance at the covert-side where Lord Scamperdale’s hounds met, “got it into his head” that Mr. Sponge was a literary man, whose brilliant pen was about to be employed in the interest of fox-hunting in general, and of certain runs of Mr. Puffington’s hounds in particular. Mr. Puffington “was the son of a great starch-maker at Stepney.” Puffington, senior, made a large fortune, which enabled his son to become the owner of Hanby House, and of the “Mangeysterne – now Hanby-Hounds,” because he thought they would give him consequence. Our author says, Mr. Puffington “had no natural inclination for hunting,” but he seems to have become M.F.H. so that he might entertain some of the sporting friends he had made at college, such “dashing young sparks as Lord Firebrand, Lord Mudlark, Lord Deuceace, Sir Harry Blueun, Lord Legbail, now Earl of Loosefish,” and so on.

My space, or, rather, the want of it, prevents my telling how it was that Mr. Sponge “awoke and found himself famous” as an author. In conjunction with a friend, who steered him through the spelling and grammar, he concocted an article for the Swillingford Patriot– Grimes, editor – which “appeared in the middle of the third sheet, and was headed, ‘Splendid Run with Mr. Puffington’s Hounds.’” Mr. Grimes was ably assisted in his editorial duties by “his eldest daughter, Lucy – a young lady of a certain age, say liberal thirty – an ardent Bloomer, with a considerable taste for sentimental poetry, with which she generally filled the Poet’s Corner.”

As Mr. Puffington quite expected to be immortalized in some work of general circulation, his indignation knew no bounds when he found himself relegated to a corner of the county paper, and all his hopes of his doings being read by “the Lords Loosefish, the Sir Toms and Sir Harrys of former days” grievously disappointed. Never, surely, were disgust, disappointment, and rage more perfectly expressed than in the second portrait of Mr. Puffington: not only the face, but the whole figure – one can fancy how the hand in the pocket of the dressing-gown is clenched – denotes the surprise and exasperation of the miserable man.

Mr. Sponge’s literary effort has “done for him” with Mr. Puffington. He must go. Easier said than done.

“Couldn’t you manage to get him to go?” asked Mr. Puffington of his valet.

“Don’t know, sir. I could try, sir – believe he’s bad to move, sir,” said the valet.

Driven to despair, the host “scrawled a miserable-looking note, explaining how very ill he was, how he regretted being deprived of Mr. Sponge’s agreeable society – hoped he would come another time,” and so on. Even the “sponger” felt the difficulty of parrying such a palpable notice to quit. “He went to bed sorely perplexed,” and in his waking moments trying to remember “what sportsmen had held out the hand of good fellowship and hinted at hoping to have the pleasure of seeing him”; he could think of no one to whom he could volunteer a visit. But Fortune favours the brave sponger, as she often does unworthy people, and in Mr. Jogglebury Crowdey, an eccentric individual whose acquaintance Sponge had made in the hunting-field, he found another host. At the suggestion of Mrs. Jogglebury, who, without the slightest reason, had taken it into her head that Mr. Sponge was a wealthy man, and would make a satisfactory godfather to one of her children, Mr. Jogglebury called on Mr. Sponge at the Puffington mansion, and invited him to “pay us a visit.”

No sooner does our hero grasp the situation than he says:

“Well, you’re a devilish good fellow, and I’ll tell you what, as I am sure you mean what you say, I’ll take you at your word and go at once.”

And in this determination he persists, though Mr. J. pleads for some delay, as Mrs. Jogglebury Crowdey requires some little time for preparation in receiving so distinguished a guest.

The visit to Puddingpote Bower, as the Jogglebury dwelling was called, proved as unfortunate as the previous visits; the more people saw of Mr. Sponge the less they liked him, and this time the dislike was mutual. “Jog and Sponge,” says the author, “were soon most heartily sick of each other.” Mr. Sponge soon began to think that it was not worth while staying at Puddingpote Bower for the mere sake of his keep, “seeing there was no hunting to be had from it.”

Within twelve or thirteen miles from the Bower there lived Sir Harry Scattercash, a very fast young gentleman indeed. He kept “an ill-supported pack of hounds, that were not kept upon any fixed principles; their management was only of the scrimmaging order,” but Mr. Sponge, scenting an invitation, determined to make one amongst the field.

In his attempt to “go it,” my lord “was ably assisted by Lady Scattercash, late the lovely and elegant Miss Glitters, of the Theatre Royal, Sadler’s Wells. Lady Scattercash could ride – indeed, she used to do scenes in the circle (two horses and a flag), and she could drive, and smoke, and sing, and was possessed of many other accomplishments.”

What a winning creature Leech has made of her, and the scarcely less delightful little tiger behind her, may be seen in the illustration which the law of copyright prevents me from introducing, as it also prohibits the appearance here of Sir Harry, her husband, the happy possessor of the charming Lady Scattercash.

“Sometimes,” says the author of “Sponge,” “Sir Harry would drink straight on end for a week!” Mr. Sponge made desperate efforts to take up his abode at Nonsuch House, but Sir Harry was surrounded by congenial spirits, who, one and all, had taken prejudice against that worthy; so, beyond a hunting dinner, at which everybody, including the ladies, took more wine than was good for them, Mr. Sponge and Nonsuch House were strangers to each other for a time. But, as the hunting-field is open to all and sundry, Mr. Sponge, not easily daunted, put in a frequent appearance, in the sure and certain hope that admission to free quarters at Sir Harry’s was only delayed. Beyond what is elegantly called “peck and perch,” Nonsuch House contained a very powerful attraction in the form of Miss Lucy Glitters, sister to Lady Scattercash. Miss Lucy was a lovely person, and her charms were increased in Mr. Sponge’s eyes because he persuaded himself that the sister-in-law of a baronet must necessarily be a rich woman. Miss Lucy had also the conviction that Mr. Sponge was a rich man; how else could he spend his time in the sports of the field, with all their expensive accompaniments? Miss Glitters was a bold rider, and that accomplishment also endeared her to the gentleman in whom the passion of love burned suddenly, and with a very furious flame indeed; till on one fateful hunting day the amorous couple found themselves “in at the death”: they had distanced the field, they were alone. Mr. Sponge secured the brush, and said:

“We’ll put this in your hat, alongside the cock’s feathers.”

I now quote my author: “The fair lady leant towards him, and as he adjusted it becomingly in her hat, looking at her bewitching eyes, her lovely face, and feeling the sweet fragrance of her breath, a something shot through Mr. Sponge’s pull-devil pull-baker coat, his corduroy waistcoat, his Eureka shirt, angola vest, and penetrated to the very cockles of his heart. He gave her such a series of smacking kisses as startled her horse and astonished a poacher who happened to be hid in the adjoining hedge.”

On the return of the happy pair Lucy rushes to her sister with the good news. Lady Scattercash was delighted, because “Mr. Sponge was such a nice man, and so rich! She was sure he was rich – couldn’t hunt if he wasn’t. Would advise Lucy to have a good settlement, in case he broke his neck.” On further inquiry, however, her ladyship had good reason to suspect that a red coat and two or three hunters were not satisfactory proofs of wealth; and in reply to one who knew, she retorted, “Well, never mind, if he has nothing, she has nothing, and nothing can be nicer.” With the conviction that nothing could be nicer, “Lady Scattercash warmly espoused Mr. Sponge’s cause,” the consequence being his instalment in splendid quarters at Nonsuch House, where he made himself thoroughly at home. “It was very soon ‘my hounds,’ ‘my horses,’ and ‘my whips,’ etc., being untroubled by his total inability to keep the angel who had ridden herself into his affections, for he made no doubt that something would turn up.” If it were not for the introduction of a delightful drawing by Leech, I should take no note of a “Steeplechase,” in which Mr. Sponge comes before us for the last time. This function is not a favourite with Mr. Surtees, nor is it looked upon without much anxiety by Miss Lucy. “She has made Mr. Sponge a white silk jacket to ride in, and a cap of the same colour. Altogether, he is a great swell, and very like a bridegroom,” says the author.

If this drawing suffered in the hands of the wood-engraver, it must have been beyond imagination beautiful, for, as it is, it shows us Leech in his full strength. Nothing, it seems to me, could surpass the figure of Lucy, whose expression of loving fear for the safety of the bold Sponge is shown to us in one of the prettiest faces conceivable. Sponge himself is no less successfully rendered as he smiles reassuringly at his beloved. The race – admirably described by the author – is run, and won by Mr. Sponge. “And now for the hero and heroine of our tale. The Sponges – for our friend married Lucy shortly after the steeplechase – stayed at Nonsuch House till the bailiffs walked in. Sir Harry then bolted to Boulogne, where he afterwards died. Being at length starved out of Nonsuch House,” says the historian, “he – Sponge – arrived at his old quarters, the Bantam, in Bond Street, where he turned his attention very seriously to providing for Lucy and the little Sponge, who had now issued its prospectus. He thought over all the ways and means of making money without capital… Professional steeplechasing Lucy decried, declaring she would rather return to her flag exercises at Astley’s as soon as she was able than have her dear Sponge risking his neck that way. Our friend at length began to fear fortune-making was not so easy as he thought; indeed he was soon sure of it.” Something had to be done; “accordingly, after due consultation with Lucy, he invested his all in fitting up and decorating the splendid establishment in Jermyn Street, St. James’s, now known as the Sponge Cigar and Betting Rooms, where noblemen, gentlemen, and officers in the Household troops may be accommodated with loans on their personal security to any amount.” We see by Mr. Sponge’s last advertisement that he has £116,000 to lend at 3½ per cent.