Kitabı oku: «Forty Years of 'Spy'», sayfa 12

"No, you don't," and taking advantage of my having no available hand to protect myself, pushed me off the omnibus.

I fell heavily on to the kerb, and in consequence hurt my arm considerably. At the same moment a tradesman who knew me rushed to my rescue and excitedly said:—

"I'll take your parcel … you can rely upon me … you know me, sir … lose no time … you catch 'em."

I got on my feet with some difficulty and attempted to pursue the omnibus, but the conductor was pulling his bell violently and urging the driver to hurry. Finding it impossible to overtake them, I hailed a passing hansom and persuaded a policeman, who, for a wonder, happened to be near, to accompany me. We drove quickly, catching up the omnibus at its stopping place—Chelsea Town Hall—where we got down. The policeman, taking the case in hand, produced the usual note book, and proceeded to take the man's name and number (which had been the "casus belli"). When asked to state the case, the conductor said in unguarded tones:—

"The man's drunk, and he's got my money!"

I presented my case to the magistrate at the Westminster Police Court then and there, and shortly afterwards the conductor was summoned to appear; but the solicitor who represented the Omnibus Company asked for time to call witnesses, so the case was postponed for a week.

When the second hearing came on, and I had as my counsel, Mr. H. C. Biron (now the police magistrate),—by the way one of my three witnesses was the late Sir Evans Gordon,—I was much amused by the witnesses appearing against me. There was the driver of an omnibus which had been immediately behind the one I was thrown from, who said he had a full view of the whole incident. Under cross-examination he gave his version of the affair.

"That man," pointing to me, "got off the 'bus by 'imself—nobody touched 'im … I saw 'im."

"What else did you see?" asked Mr. Curtis Bennett.

"Well … I saw 'im tumble down."

"How would you describe this gentleman—was he carrying anything, for instance?"

"No," replied the man, "but 'e 'ad 'arf a cigar."

"Funny that you should have observed half a cigar and not a large parcel!" remarked Mr. Bennett.

"Can you describe him further?"

"Well, 'e 'ad a coat on and 'e 'ad long 'air."

Mr. Bennett smiled. "The gentleman in question is in court now—you'd better look at him—I don't think we could accuse him of long hair—you may stand down."

As I returned home that evening I heard the newsboys shouting something almost unintelligible, and caught a momentary glimpse of a poster bearing the words "Victory for–" Having a distinct curiosity to see who the Derby winner might be, I bought a paper and saw the poster "Victory for 'Spy,'" "'Spy' and the Conductor," "Result," and so on, both of which amused me immensely, as I had not imagined for one moment that the case would be brought into such undue publicity.

For some time after the affair of the omnibus, I was a considerable sufferer from my arm, and was under a doctor, whose fees I could probably have demanded in compensation from the company. I did not wish, however, to pursue the matter further, since I had only brought the action in the interests of others besides myself. The appeal failed; and the conductor had to pay £5.

Although I have caricatured a very large number of men at the bar and on the bench, I have not a proportionate number of personal anecdotes to tell of my subjects, for as I have stated, they were chiefly the result of studies from memory. As a result of my observations during criminal cases I have witnessed, I drew Sir Henry Poland, Montague Williams, Serjeant Parry (who was a great friend of Dr. Doran's and my father's), and Sir Douglas Straight (who became an Indian Judge). I was present not only at the farewell dinner given in his honour on that occasion, but also at that given him on his retirement from the editorship of the Pall Mall Gazette. In those days his great intimacy with Montague Williams (whom he frequently opposed in Court) gave them the nickname of "the Twins." After his return from the East, Sir Douglas was made editor of the Pall Mall Gazette, a post he held until a few years ago. He was an able man and a good editor. His cartoon appeared previous to his becoming a judge.

Sir George Lewis never got over his, which was the outcome of a study during the Bravo trial; and even when he was nearly eighty he admitted as much to me.

A strikingly unconventional looking man was the late Lord Grimthorpe, who came under my observation in '89; he wore a swallow tail coat, and never carried a stick or an umbrella. He had somewhat the appearance of a verger, although his was a strong, determined face. He was great in church matters, and seemed never happier than when putting up the backs of the Bishops during a debate in the Lords.

Sir James Ingham I studied, like most of my legal subjects, from memory, but to make variety from the other magistrates, I caught him in the adjoining yard and produced him in the act of deliberating in a case of cruelty to a horse.

Sir Thomas Chambers, Recorder of London, was a favourite subject (among the early cartoons), and one of my funniest caricatures. He was a delightful kind of gentleman, but owing to a chronic affection of his eyes, always carried his handkerchief in his hand to wipe away a tear, looking all the while as though he had lost his best friend.

Sir Charles Hall, who followed Sir Thomas as Recorder of London, was a great social success, and a favourite in Royal circles. He was as popular at the Garrick Club as he was in country houses. I met him first at Glen Tanar while on a visit to Sir William Cunliffe Brooks, where I shot my first stag. He was an exceptionally fine rifle shot, and "brought down" many there.

Lord Halsbury, a late Lord Chancellor, was another subject for whom I have the greatest admiration, and he is one of the very remarkable men of the day. His eye is as bright and his brain as clear as it ever was.

Sir Alfred Cripps (now Lord Parmoor), was very amusing to study and to draw, and my sketches of him fill a book. I believe he is in himself quite as fascinating a person as his varying expressions in Court led me to find him.

Sir Herbert Cozens-Hardy, Master of the Rolls, is another characteristic subject. Three times I have done him in various capacities for Vanity Fair.

Lord Robert Cecil I caught as he walked up and down Whitehall in wig and gown, during the South African case upon which he was at the time engaged.

Some of the judges were very tolerant of an artist taking liberties with their idiosyncrasies. The late Sir Albert de Rutzen, the Bow Street magistrate, was an exception. He was most strict, and always had a keen eye for any one whom he suspected of sketching in Court.

During the Crippen trial, a lady who sat next to me, a personal friend of Sir Albert's, warned me to be very careful not to let him discover my object in coming to the court or to appear to be watching him for the purpose of caricaturing him. As I was very intent upon obtaining a nearer glimpse of him, I sent a letter of introduction to Sir Albert and asked him if he could give me a few minutes to take a note of his features. As he was very busy at that time he suggested I might return another day about lunch time, when he would give me the time I required. Perhaps he was rather forgetful, for when I arrived at his rooms at the hour appointed I was told Sir Albert could not possibly see me. But this disappointment did not deter me from carrying out my object, and in due time the cartoon appeared in Vanity Fair.

To go through the list, and to mention all the caricatures and drawings I have made, would take so long that I can only mention a few of the present-day barristers and legal celebrities, some of whom I number amongst my friends.

Charles Gill, the famous K.C., whom I have known for years, I drew in '91. He is Recorder of Chichester, and a brilliant barrister with a cheerful and wholesome countenance. He now lives the life of a country squire when he can find time to do so.

Sir Charles Mathews, whom I also number amongst my old friends, is one of the kindest-hearted men I know, in spite of the fact that he could, if it was necessary in Court, make the most cutting observations in the least unpleasant way. He was, by the way, the bosom friend of the late Lord Chief Justice, Lord Russell of Killowen, and is the Public Prosecutor.

When I made a drawing of Mr. Birrell, I was much amused by his telling me that Mrs. Birrell was particularly pleased with the portrait, because it would be a continual reminder to him to pin his tie down, which I had depicted in its usual place, somewhere above his collar.

I observed Mr. Plowden (who was not exactly an advocate of Woman Suffrage) at a dinner held by one of the Women's Societies, where I sat opposite to him, and was much amused to watch his face as a speaker alluded to magistrates in a manner that can hardly be termed polite. As Mr. Plowden was a man of humour, the reference evidently appealed to him, if one might judge from his expression.

Lord Alverstone I met in a similar way as the guest of the evening at the Punch Bowl Club, when I had the honour of being in the chair and the pleasure of hearing the Lord Chief Justice sing the Judge's Song from "Trial by Jury." It is noteworthy that he was a teetotaller and a great Churchman. He was always willing to preside or give his patronage to any occasion when he could aid athleticism in any shape or form, for he had been a great athlete and runner in his day.

The present Lord Chief Justice, Lord Reading, (Sir Rufus Isaacs) is one of the most delightful men I have ever met. He is, as everybody knows, a great worker, and I remember he told me that, after his strenuous sittings, he went away for three months' holiday every year, and during that time, nothing, not even the lawyer's brief, could induce him to remember that he was a K.C., or lure him away from his well-earned rest. He thoroughly believed that only by this method of holiday-making was he enabled to work as hard as he did at other times.

Mr. Marshall Hall (to whom I am related by marriage) is one of the most versatile of my legal subjects, for besides being a K.C. and a late member of Parliament, he has the advantage of being a fine shot, a good golfer, a clever mimic, and a wonderful judge of precious stones, of old silver and of objets d'art generally—of which he has a very exceptional collection. As a raconteur he is unsurpassed, and in consequence most amusing company.

My friend, Mr. H. C. Biron, the magistrate, who is also a lover of art and a delightful host, is still a bachelor, and lives in a gem of a house in Montpelier Square, where my drawing of him is placed on the walls. As the son of an eminent "beak," he was born into the very atmosphere of the law, and the Starchfield case was perhaps the most sensational that has as yet come before him.

Nor must I forget to mention the very popular K.C. member for Cambridge, Mr. P. P. Rawlinson.

CHAPTER X
THE CHURCH AND THE VARSITIES—PARSONS OF MANY CREEDS AND DENOMINATIONS

Dean Wellesley.—Dr. James Sewell.—Canon Ainger.—Lord Torrington.—Dr. Goodford.—Dr. Welldon.—Dr. Walker.—The Van Beers' Supper.—The Bishop of Lichfield.—Rev. R. J. Campbell.—Cardinal Vaughan.—Dr. Benson, Archbishop of Canterbury.—Dr. Armitage Robinson.—Varsity athletes.—Etherington-Smith.—John Loraine Baldwin.—Ranjitsinhji.—Mr. Muttlebury.—Mr. Rudy Lehmann.

Parsons of different creeds and denominations have been represented in Vanity Fair from time to time—Anglicans, Romans, Wesleyans, Congregationalists and others. My method with a clerical subject is to go to his church and watch him in the pulpit, but it is not always easy to catch a Bishop, because he has not, so to speak, a home of his own. I remember making an excursion to St. Botolph's to study the Bishop of Kensington, only to find he was not preaching there that day but at St. George's, Camden Hill. Back west I went and after the sermon I waited outside the vestry door. Presently the Bishop came out, bag in hand, and walked down the hill. I hastened on ahead with the intention of doubling back and securing a good near view, but he turned into the Tube Station. I followed and secured a seat opposite him, and made the mental notes which resulted in the cartoon which was published very shortly afterwards in Vanity Fair.

Now and again I have been put to considerable trouble in stalking my man. I remember particularly well the peculiar circumstances under which I studied Dean Wellesley of Windsor, who was rather an eccentric looking old gentleman. I was staying at Windsor, in the Winchester Tower, with some friends who were officially connected with the Castle, and I learned that my best chance of seeing the Dean would be in the early morning when he was in the habit of taking a constitutional around the Round Tower about 7.30 a.m. I welcomed the opportunity, rose early and went out. The Dean was already on the scene pacing to and fro in the snow, supporting himself by an umbrella in one hand and a walking-stick in the other. I did not follow him in an obtrusive manner, but after pacing round two or three times, I must have attracted his attention, for I feel sure he had never seen any other individual taking such an odd constitutional at that hour. But of course he could not suspect my object. As he walked, I looked at him carefully, and especially observed his hat which, I had been informed, would be turned down according to the direction of the wind. On this occasion, it was turned up in front, although I am sure that in walking round the Tower he must have been kept busy on such a cold and windy morning. In due time the caricature (which I always regard as one of my best) was published. Through the medium of my father, who was a very old friend of the Dean, I heard that he was very annoyed at the caricature.

Some time after, I was walking with my father in the High Street at Windsor when we met the Dean!

"Let me introduce my son," said my father. "He is the culprit and is responsible for your caricature in Vanity Fair."

"Oh indeed," said the Dean. "I'm very pleased to make his acquaintance—I shouldn't have been, had any one recognized the caricature as myself!"

An amusing sequel occurred a few days later when my mother met Mrs. Wellesley, who told her that, thanks to the cartoon, the Dean had at last discarded the awful hat she had been vainly trying to get rid of for a quarter of a century.

I had another early morning experience in pursuit of Dr. James Sewell (Warden of New College, Oxford). I followed him into the college chapel and sat near his stall, but I felt I had not sufficiently impressed his features upon my memory to make a perfectly satisfactory caricature, so I inquired into his customs in hope of finding him again. I discovered that he also was in the habit of taking an early morning walk, and at 8.30 the next day I awaited him at a suitable distance from his door. After getting tired of waiting what seemed a very long time, I knocked at his door and asked the servant if Dr. Sewell was in.

"No," he replied; "the Doctor started a long time ago, but he went out by the other door this morning."

I felt rather sold, but determined to keep my vigil at an earlier hour the next morning. Accordingly I watched again, and this time saw him come out in all the glory of his beautiful white collar and cravat (which had earned him the nickname of "The Shirt"), and a red handkerchief, as usual, hanging from the pocket of his coat tail. I "stalked" him discreetly, and with success. After a final glimpse of him, walking down one of the paths of the gardens of Oxford, I hurried home to make a note of my observations.

During my frequent visits there, I usually stayed at "The Mitre," for I liked the old place. The staircase was crooked with age and the bedroom floors extremely uneven. On the occasion of one of my sojourns in that charming town, I recollected with considerable pleasure a standing invitation from Sir John Stainer, who had invited me, in the event of my coming to Oxford, to dine with him and taste some exceptionally fine old port that had been bequeathed him. I dined with Sir John and tasted the port, and enjoyed a very pleasant evening. Returning to "The Mitre" I went into the coffee-room before retiring, and as I was feeling very fit and in excellent spirits, I entered into conversation with other occupants of the room, one of whom dared me to place a very ripe cheese that was standing on the table in the crown of somebody's silk hat. Being under the impression that it was the hat of my quondam acquaintance, I promptly plunged the cheese into it. After some joking repartee, I retired to bed but could not help noticing how much more crooked the staircase seemed than usual and how the ceiling appeared to be falling. In my bedroom the floor was like the waves of the sea, and I experienced considerable difficulty in reaching land, but after the utmost perseverance I arrived at the bed, where, holding on to the post to ensure my safety, I fell into a perfect sleep. Imagine my surprise when the next morning I found myself lying on the floor fully dressed, with one arm firmly encircling the bed-post. Pulling myself together I realized that it was eleven o'clock, and that I felt in excellent form and ready to face anything the day might bring, since the effects of the old port had worn off. At breakfast the excellence of my appetite was somewhat marred by a paper with which the waiter presented me, which, on opening, I found to be a bill from Foster's for a new silk hat. My acquaintance of the night before had disappeared, and a total stranger to me proved to be the owner of the damaged hat.

The same day I had the good fortune to meet one of my favourite subjects, namely, Canon Ainger, at Dr. Warren's (the President of Magdalen), where I was invited to lunch. I had depicted the famous preacher in the pulpit after paying many visits to the Temple Church, where I had divided my attention between his fine sermons and his interesting personality. He quite entered into the spirit of my caricature and congratulated me upon it.

About the period when a number of distinguished professors and schoolmasters had appeared in Vanity Fair, I happened to be on a visit to my people at Windsor, when I met Lord Torrington (a very courtly old gentleman of the old school), who was calling on them. Formerly he had been Lord of the Bedchamber to William IV. and Governor of Ceylon, also a Lord in Waiting to the Queen, and had been selected to escort the Prince Consort to England.

In the course of conversation my caricatures were referred to, and Lord Torrington remarked to me, in fun, "You've had such a lot of schoolmasters and professors in your paper. I do not think they're particularly interesting. How should I do for a change?"

I privately decided that the suggestion was an excellent one, and as it had not yet occurred to me in those days to ask my subject to sit to me, I lost no time in observing him as he talked and made a mental note of every trait and peculiarity. After his departure I immediately made a caricature and sent it off to Vanity Fair.

The next time Lord Torrington came to Windsor he failed to make his customary call upon my mother, who met him some time afterwards in the neighbourhood.

"How is it, Lord Torrington," she asked after the usual polite formalities, "that you have not been to see me?"

"Because, Mrs. Ward," he replied in deeply offended tones, "I shouldn't be responsible for my actions if your son were in the house."

"Then," said my mother, reassuringly, "I'll take good care if he is there next time, that he shall be locked in his room!"

To which he replied, "Even that assurance does not satisfy me!" And true to his word, he never called again.

I have always considered one of my best early caricatures to be that of the Rev. Dr. Goodford, Provost of Eton, whom I stalked in the High Street. I had remembered him, of course, when a small boy at Eton as Headmaster. When he saw the caricature he protested rather indignantly against my having depicted him with his umbrella over his shoulder—on the grounds that it was not his habit to walk in this way. A short time after the publication of the cartoon he was passing down the High Street with his wife when his reflection caught his eye in Ingleton Drake's shop-window, and he stopped suddenly to gaze in astonishment at what he saw therein. Running after Mrs. Goodford, who had walked on oblivious of his distraction, he exclaimed, "My dear … 'Spy' was quite right after all—I do walk with my umbrella over my shoulder."

In later days when caricatures made way for characteristic portraiture I frequently met, for the first time, men whom I had "stalked" in earlier days. On one occasion I called upon a dignitary of the Church who had arranged to give me sittings. As I commenced to work he gave his opinions upon artists of the day, and he referred to a caricature of himself that had appeared in Vanity Fair.

"I can't think who did it," he said distastefully, "but it was a horrid thing. I'll show it to you."

Calling his secretary, he asked that the offending drawing should be found. The search, however, proved unsuccessful, at which fact I need not say that I was greatly relieved. I suggested to the reverend gentleman that I would rather he did not discover it at all! "But why?" said he. "It is the best I ever saw." It had been intended for a caricature, and the Bishop's friends had been unanimous in proclaiming it to be in every way typical, and not over-caricatured.

Some of my subjects had fixed ideas as to their own characteristics. I remember I was bent on doing Dr. Welldon, then Headmaster of Harrow, in profile, but he suddenly wheeled round on his heel and remarked, as if in explanation, "I always look my boys straight in the face." I endeavoured to persuade him to return to his former position. "You must imagine your boys over there," I explained, pointing to a distant spot on a far horizon, and the plan worked well.

I took the opportunity of informing him that I sketched him in 1874, whilst studying the game of football at "the wall" at Eton, for a full-page drawing which the Graphic had commissioned me to execute. Mr. Frank Tarver refreshed my memory on all the points to enable me to be accurate, and afterwards at his request the team posed and Welldon was one of the group. Mr. Frank Tarver also wrote the letterpress which accompanied the picture.

While Dr. Walker, Headmaster of St. Paul's, was posing to me in cap and gown, he puffed a huge cigar, and I asked him if he smoked when he was interviewing his boys.

"Oh yes," he replied, "not in class of course, but always in my study, even when the boys are there. I smoke when the boys happen to come in; as you see, a good big one, too!"

For many years, most of my time was employed either in making portraits, stalking a possible caricature, or travelling to the most likely or unlikely places to pursue a "wanted" subject for Vanity Fair. My work greatly extended my list of acquaintances, and often I found business and pleasure strangely bound together in one's daily life and occupation, and sometimes a little incongruously.

On one occasion I was due to stay with my old friends Mr. and Mrs. George Fox (now Mrs. Dashwood) in order to study the Bishop of Lichfield with a view to making a drawing of him. The night before I was the guest at the never-to-be-forgotten supper given in honour of Jan Van Beers, the Belgian artist, an exhibition of whose remarkable work at one of the Bond Street galleries was just then arousing great interest. Van Beers was a delightful man and a clever artist, but although he could originate and portray the most extraordinary ideas, it is not by the weird and eccentric creations, but by his light and humorous work, that he is still remembered. When I was talking of him with Sir Alma Tadema, he remarked that it was a pity such unusual talent should be thrown away on such frivolous and unworthy subjects.

The suggestion of the supper came in the first place, from Sir John Aird, a patron of Van Beers'; and, as Sir John wished it to be a unique entertainment, he felt he could not do better than leave its arrangement to the originality of Van Beers himself.

Van Beers called on me some little time before the date, and asked me if I could collect a number of both my own and Pellegrini's caricatures, including those of several of the expected guests, so that slides might be made from them to throw upon a sheet with the aid of a lantern; and, after some difficulty, I found the right people to do the work.

The supper from beginning to end was proved to be a gigantic surprise. As the midnight hour struck, the very representative gathering, very hungry and expectant, sat down at the long and charming decorated tables. Everywhere the eye rested on the most dazzling arrangements. Exquisite lights illuminated the room, charmingly assorted glass-flowers diffusing the electricity, which at that period was a decided novelty and only just becoming popular. Our sense of expectancy was titillated to the uttermost by the alternating lights thrown upon the scene from different angles, and the soup, which seemed somewhat tardy in making its appearance, was welcomed. For a moment all was in darkness, until suddenly a lurid glow arose in the weirdest manner from the table, which was discovered to be made entirely of glass covered with a very transparent table cloth. The bright light coming up from beneath gave the assembled guests a ghastly and weird appearance, accentuated no doubt by our increasing hunger. When the general illumination appeared once more and normalities were, so to speak, resumed, an excellent menu began to make things go. Between each course there was a fresh surprise in the form of a novelty entertainment—principally musical. From one corner of the room came an angelic voice singing a selection from an opera, which led to a discussion as to the identity of the singer who proved to be Melba. Then came Hollman, the 'cellist, followed by Florence St. John, who gave us a cheerful song from a comic opera. One bright particular star followed another until by degrees everything glowed. In the midst of the repast a monster pie was brought in and placed opposite Alma Tadema (who was in the chair). He cut it, and to our delighted astonishment countless little birds flew out in all directions alighting here there and everywhere, as though to complete the delightful scheme of decoration, whilst with one accord they seemed to burst into exquisite song. Toasts followed and suitable speeches, the artists joined the general company and were individually thanked for the pleasure they had given. It had been arranged that the caricatures should appear earlier in the evening, but owing to a mistake on the part of the operator they arrived as the last item of the evening's entertainment, and after such an excellent supper, in which the wines were truly worthy of the perfect quality of the fare, the assembly could hardly be expected to crane their necks very far back in search of the caricatures of familiar faces thrown by the lantern-slides upon the ceiling. And in any case, to my mind, the effect was spoiled by the exaggerated angle at which they were reflected.

After the coffee the party broke up about three o'clock. I had arranged to leave London by the five o'clock train for Lichfield, so had engaged a bedroom at the Euston Hotel in order to lose no time in changing. I went to bed and slept soundly for over an hour, was duly aroused, caught my train and arrived at Elmhurst, the residence of Mr. and Mrs. George Fox, in time for early breakfast.

The Lichfield festival was being held at the time of my visit, and there was a great gathering of the clergy and their wives. I attended a very fine service in the Cathedral, after which Mrs. Maclagan (the Bishop's wife) gave a big luncheon party to which I had been invited. My main object was to make a cartoon of the Bishop of Lichfield for Mrs. Maclagan, who was determined that a cartoon of her husband should appear in Vanity Fair. She did her utmost to persuade him to give me sittings, but he was very reluctant and not to be cajoled, so she gave me this opportunity to observe him, and placed me near him at the luncheon table. There were scarcely any laymen present, indeed I believe that Mr. Fox and I were the only men present not "of the cloth"; and nearly all the clergymen had come to the festival from a distance. My name got mixed up with that of a decidedly important parson who was announced as Mr. Leslie Ward—not altogether to his satisfaction I fear.

Mrs. Maclagan being a perfect hostess, had chosen me an admirable companion, a lady who started the conversation by asking me which plays I had seen in London. I gathered she had been intending to go on the stage, previous to her marriage, but she had become a Dean's wife and devoted her talents to charity performances and "drew in the shekels" for the Church. I had a very enjoyable lunch, a charming vis à vis, and an excellent subject in view.

I prolonged my visit to await the return of the Dean of Lichfield, Dr. Bickersteth, who was absent. As he did not return at the expected date I gave up the idea and hope of seeing him for the time being, but on my return journey, to my great delight, the Dean was on the platform and en route for some local station. I got into the same carriage, and was able to take a good look at him. He was a very good subject, and made an excellent caricature.

When I decided to give my attention to the Rev. R. J. Campbell I studied him closely at the City Temple. On my return I drew him in every sort of way but could not satisfy myself, for he had so many gestures and different attitudes, and when he works himself up and droops over the pulpit "fearless but intemperate" he looks rather like a gargoyle. Not long after I had succeeded in caricaturing him to my satisfaction, I met him at one of Sir Henry Lucy's delightful luncheon parties, where, after the ladies had left the dining-room, I sat next him, and in the course of conversation, gathered that he thought I had hit him rather hard.