Kitabı oku: «Forty Years of 'Spy'», sayfa 13
"Well, Mr. Campbell, the caricature was done before I met you," I said, jestingly. "Had I known you I couldn't have done such a cruel thing." On parting he said, "If you ever caricature me again I shall expect you to be kind, so I needn't feel frightened of you in future."
When I sketched the Very Rev. Hermann Adler (the Chief Rabbi) I visited him at his house. While I was engrossed in my subject, his daughters came to see how the caricature was progressing.
"Oh, father!" they exclaimed, "it's just like you."
"How dare you! I'll cut you both out of my will," threatened the Rabbi, in mock anger.
Cardinal Vaughan I "stalked" and made many a note of before he sat to me. He usually wore an Inverness cape, and his finely cut features I found both attractive and impressive, but I could always see the making of a caricature in them.
I had stalked and sketched Dr. Benson, Archbishop of Canterbury, before he sat to me at Lambeth Palace. When I was drawing his son, Mr. A. C. Benson (then a Master at Eton), I showed him a little portrait sketch of his father, which pleased him so much that I gave it to him, but I have always regretted that I did not make an equestrian picture as he seems most familiar to me on horseback.
On many occasions my subjects have been particularly friendly and delightful in aiding me in my work, and sometimes extending their kindness across the boundary of professional moments. I remember a very delightful hour spent with Dr. Armitage Robinson—a subject in a thousand—when Dean of Westminster. He was astonishingly well up in Abbey lore, and together we visited chapels and crypts and strange hidden places which I feel sure must be practically unknown to the majority of visitors. When I heard he was leaving Westminster for Wells I felt an artist's regret that anything less imperative than death should have been permitted to disturb the impression of this picturesque Abbot in the peculiarly appropriate setting of old Westminster.
The finest and handsomest young athlete I ever drew as an undergraduate was R. B. Etherington-Smith, known to his intimates as "Ethel." He was rapidly making his mark as a surgeon, and his sad and untimely death was deplored by every one who knew him.
Among the cricketers I first caricatured F. R. Spofforth—the demon bowler—followed by W. G. Grace and C. B. Fry, whom I portrayed as a runner. John Loraine Baldwin, the veteran cricketer, I introduced into the series in his self-propelling invalid chair; he was a very fine old man, and the founder of the "Zingari," and also of the Baldwin Club.
Philipson, the distinguished wicket-keeper, I induced to stand in his rooms at the Temple as though keeping wicket; and Ranjitsinhji I closely observed playing cricket at Brighton, after finding it very difficult to keep him up to the mark with his appointments.
If I were to mention all my subjects in their various professions, I should fill more space than I am permitted, but among other well-known cricketers whom I have portrayed and caricatured are G. L. Jessop, Lord Harris, Ivo Bligh (Lord Darnley), George Hirst, F. S. Jackson, and Lord Hawke.
But amongst my pleasantest recollections are those of the university-rowing men with whom I came in close contact, for in every way possible they extended their hospitality to me, and I shall always remember with pleasure my visits to Oxford and Cambridge especially during the rowing season.
When studying Muttlebury, known as "Muttle," while instructing his eight on horseback from the bank, he provided me with a mount at the same time, to enable me to watch him in the capacity of a coach. I had a final glimpse of him, however, practising rowing on the floor of his room. My visits were usually referred to in the Granta, and a considerable amount of chaff was indulged in at my expense. On this particular visit when I went down to draw Mr. Muttlebury the following appeared under the heading of "Motty Notes!"
"Mr. Leslie Ward ('Spy' of Vanity Fair) came up on Monday to take Mr. Muttlebury's portrait, which is to appear in Vanity Fair just before the Boat Race. The question how to make it most characteristic will be a difficult one to settle. Certainly if our mighty President is sketched in a rowing attitude, it would scarcely be a case of all skittles and straight lines. Mr. Ward rode down with the crew, and is said to have been much impressed with the romantic beauty of our broad and rapid river, which he thought it would be quite impossible to caricature adequately.
"He was also struck with the colleges, and catching sight of the new buildings of Jesus from the common, said it was a fine house, and inquired who lived there.(!)
"On Tuesday morning, Mr. Muttlebury submitted to the torture. Left sitting."
I very frequently travelled to Cambridge with Mr. "Rudy" Lehmann, whose reputation as a rowing coach—both for his own University, as well as Oxford and Harvard—is so widely known as to make further comment superfluous. He was the originator of the Granta and is on the staff of Punch, for which journal one of his best known and most amusing contributions was a skit purporting to be from the Emperor William to Queen Victoria. As a man of letters he has made his mark. He is the father of a very fine little boy who should make a reputation as an oar, and follow in the footsteps of his distinguished father.
When I arrived in Cambridge on one of many occasions after a visit at Oxford where I had gone with the object of producing C. M. Pitman for Vanity Fair, I discovered the contemporary number of the Granta had again been on my track and chaffed me more than ever; as I was on excellent terms with the authors of that publication, I took their friendly "digs" in the spirit they were intended. Here is a further specimen of their humorous prose:
"Mr. Leslie Ward has turned up again to gather his usual crop of caricatures for Vanity Fair. Mr. Pitman6 is to suffer first, I understand. Last year I think I informed you how Mr. Ward borrowed a cap and gown in order to attend the lectures of Professor Robinson Ellis7 whom he was commissioned to draw; and I have no doubt he will go through adventures just as surprising on his present visit.
"On arriving in Oxford last Monday, Mr. Ward remembered that some years ago he had breakfasted in certain rooms in King Edward Street, with a friend whose name he had forgotten. He therefore concluded that these must be the lodgings of the President of the O.U.B.O. Imagine his astonishment after he had driven there, when he was informed that Mr. Pitman had never occupied the rooms. Eventually, however, he ran his victim down at 155, High Street.
"Mr. Ward's next proceedings were characteristic of his amiable nature. At the bottom of the stairs he dropped his gloves, at the top of the stairs he dropped his stick, and in the room itself he dropped his hat. Having recovered all his scattered property, he took off his coat, and in doing so distributed over the floor a considerable fortune in loose gold and silver and copper, which for greater security he had placed in one of the outside pockets of his garment. Great and resounding was the fall thereof, but Mr. Ward, on having his attention called to the fact, merely observed with an easy carelessness that marks the true artist, that he thought he had heard something fall but wasn't sure.
"On being asked what other celebrities besides Mr. Pitman he proposed to draw, he declared that he had all the names written down on a piece of paper. Up to the present, however, though Mr. Ward had looked for it in the most unlikely places, this piece of paper has defied every effort to find it. Is it true, by the way, that once when on a visit to Cambridge, Mr. Ward who was staying at 'The Hoop,' wandered into the 'Blue Boar' and insisted, in spite of the landlady's despairing efforts to persuade him to the contrary, that he had slept there on the previous night and wanted to be shown his room, as the staircase had somehow become unfamiliar to him?"
Returning in the train, from one of my visits to the "Varsity," I fell asleep and passed the junction where I should have changed. I awoke, hearing a noise overhead, followed by the disappearance of the lamps, a fact that I did not pay much attention to, imagining they were being replenished. These sounds were followed by a clinking of chains and sudden jerks, which usually accompany the process of shunting, and which I thought meant that another train was being coupled to the one I occupied. A complete silence followed, and after a short interval—I was alone in the carriage—I opened the window and looked out, and discovered that my carriage and its immediate neighbours, had been shunted into a siding for the night. I was feeling extremely cold and did not care to risk a walk of an exploring nature, as express trains kept flashing by and the night was dark. Presently I saw men with lamps passing by some distance away, and by dint of shouting loudly, I attracted the attention of a porter, who called out when he saw me—
"What are you doin' there? Get out of that!"
"I shall be only too delighted," I said, when he approached. "I've been here for an hour."
I felt cold and simply furious. However, I followed the porter very gingerly over the rails to the station, where I had to wait a long time, and finally arrived in London at an unearthly hour. Since then I have been very wary of sleeping in trains.
CHAPTER XI
IN THE LOBBY
In the House.—Distinguished soldiers.—The main Lobby.—The Irish Party.—Isaac Butt.—Mr. Mitchell Henry.—Parnell and Dillon.—Gladstone and Disraeli.—Lord Arthur Hill.—Lord Alexander Paget.—Viscount Midleton.—Mr. Seely.—Lord Alington's cartoon.—Chaplains of the "House"—Rev. F. E. C. Byng.—Archdeacon Wilberforce.—The "Fourth Party."—Lord Northbrook and Col. Napier Sturt.—Lord Lytton.—The method of Millais.—Lord Londonderry.
Although from the year 1873, I had drawn all the cartoons in Vanity Fair, and Mr. Gibson Bowles had procured a privileged pass for me in the inner lobby of the House of Commons for the purpose of studying the characteristics of my parliamentary subjects, the same facilities were accorded me through Mr. Palgrave (Clerk of the Desk), where for the two following years I was making drawings and portraits for the Graphic.
In 1876 I returned to Vanity Fair, permanently and exclusively to work for that publication, when Pellegrini and I shared our labours pretty equally until his health gave way and he became a chronic invalid, so that for some years before his death I was responsible for most of the cartoons in the paper. Of course, actual sketching or the use of the pencil in both assemblies was prohibited (for the privilege of a pass was also accorded me in the House of Lords through the courtesy of the Black Rod) but after careful observation I was always able to go home and express on paper the result.
I must not forget that in 1903, after the bomb explosion in Westminster Hall, that the number of people admitted to the inner lobby was considerably reduced, in fact, from that time to the present the strangers are few and far between, but although my permit was limited to two days a week my name remained in the lobby-list until I retired from the paper in the latter part of 1909.
In "the House" I found that generally speaking members were very much occupied with the affairs of the moment, and usually quite unconscious of one's observance; but when it came to the point of special study of a subject for the purpose of caricature, it was by no means easy to find him or to watch him under such circumstances as enabled me to arrive at the knowledge necessary for my purpose and still leave him unaware. However, I found more than one "kind friend at court" do me good service. Amongst these Sir A. W. Clifford, Black Rod, was most courteous and helpful in the House of Lords, and always ready to find me a place—usually under the gallery. I came to know his face really well, and caricatured him with faithful directness and in full uniform. By great good fortune, Mr. Gibson Bowles was my editor, and he would occasionally inveigle a subject of rare promise to my lair. The Sergeant-at-Arms is always the man in power in the House of Commons. I have a most grateful remembrance of much courtesy received from the present occupant of that post of honour, Captain Erskine, but in the days of which I now write, Mr. Gosset—always depicted by Harry Furniss as a beetle—was in authority, and most kind in trying to place me at the best point for observation, usually under the Speaker's gallery. But quite the most desirable hunting-ground in the House just then was his own room. There he held quite a court, and among his intimates were many distinguished men whom nature and the circumstance of dress had designed for the caricaturist's art.
Among them was Isaac Butt, M.P. for Limerick, a pioneer of the Home Rule movement, and a most popular man, endowed with a charm of frankness and simple good fellowship which endeared him to all who knew him. He told most amusing stories, and as an advocate he defended O'Brien and almost every Irish political prisoner of note. He was described by "Jehu Junior" as the man who "invented Home Rule" … an attempt to dismember the Empire, and to found in Ireland a Commune of Paris on a larger scale. When I observed him first I was struck by the unusual formation of his ears which bulged in an extraordinary manner, and also by his habit of fidgeting with an open penknife which he always carried in his hand, and continuously opened and shut in the same absent-minded manner in which some people fidget with a watch-chain; the habit found its place in my caricature, and proved a great surprise to the subject.
Among the Irish members I caricatured Mr. Mitchell Henry who led the Home Rule Party in '79, but afterwards "ratted." He gave me three sittings, but was afterwards heard to say that he did not know "where the devil that fellow got hold of him!" I got to know him after extremely well, and accepted his hospitality on more than one occasion. He was very wealthy at one time, and up to the last collected every relic of Dr. Johnson he could lay hands on. My father had also taken a very great interest in anything connected with the great man and had painted several events in his life, of which I suppose the best known is "Dr. Johnson in the Anti-chamber of the Earl of Chesterfield," now in the Tate Gallery. At his death I sold to him a very interesting study from one of these pictures.
At the request of Mr. Bowles I went over to Dublin to make a special picture of Parnell and Dillon in Kilmainham Gaol. I had letters of introduction to both, and Parnell wrote to my hotel a very charming letter of acquiescence in answer to my request for an interview, which letter I greatly regret that I have had the misfortune to mislay. Then I received a second letter in which he informed me that he had heard that he would not be allowed to see me alone in prison, but that a warder would have to be present the whole time, and under the circumstance he was forced to decline my request. It was within the bond of my contract with Mr. Bowles that I should not be required to place the signature "Spy" on any drawing that was not the outcome of personal observation of the subject required, so I gave it up, and the Parnell-Dillon cartoon which appeared in Vanity Fair was from the clever imagination of Harry Furniss. I remember Parnell as a carelessly dressed man with good features, a fine head with a high forehead and eyes both striking and piercing, but not altogether pleasant in expression. I was in the law-courts when the Piggott case was on, and opposite to me was the celebrated Royal Academician, Philip Calderon, who was studying him with the intention of making a large picture of the court commissioned by the Graphic, but it was never finished or produced as a sketch.
When the Vanity Fair cartoons were put up for sale at Christie's the only one of my series (curiously enough) that failed to find a bidder was the drawing of Piggott, although it was one of my most successful studies, from a sketch as he stood in the witness-box.
Gladstone and Disraeli I drew in black and white, of course many years before, for the Graphic, and on subsequent occasions for Vanity Fair. As a careful observation of the movement of my subject is always necessary, one day in talking to Monty Corry I told him I was on the look-out for an opportunity to complete my study of his chief, whom I wished to observe at a distance sufficiently near and far to get his gait. He said that they would be leaving Downing Street for the House of Lords together at a certain hour, and he suggested that I should follow them or walk on the opposite side of the road. At the appointed time I was at my post and keenly watched them start, Disraeli leaning on Monty Corry's arm. As they strolled towards the House of Lords I followed along on the other side, mentally taking in their movements and completing my impression of the great leader and his secretary. Also at the request of Mr. Monty Corry, Disraeli's valet gave me an opportunity of inspecting the coat with the astrachan collar which seemed to hold a share in its owner's strong individuality, and from these observations I made the caricature "Power and Place" which appeared in due course in Vanity Fair, and was published in a special number.
That the character of the man may be seen in his walk I have frequently proved, though never more clearly than through the two most distinguished statesmen of their generation; Disraeli walked, or appeared to walk, on his heels as though he were avoiding hot ashes. In strongest contrast was the walk of Gladstone, who planted his feet with deliberate but most vigorous firmness as though with every step he would iron his strong opinion into the mind of the nation.
À propos of caricature and movement, Lord Arthur Hill presented some difficulty to the caricaturist because he was so charged with movement that he never appeared to pause for a moment. His leading feature was his stride which seemed, and was, of tremendous length. He also had a very long neck and a curiously flat head, and he always seemed to walk as though he saw a stout wall in front of him and was full of determination to get through it. My caricature is just one long stride.
Man's dress is very much more commonplace than it used to be, and nowadays clothes seldom help out the artist, but in the days of which I write the exaggerated styles or idiosyncrasies in some apparently trivial detail of male attire made all the difference in the world to the caricaturist, and many of the older peers, country squires and occasional eccentric gentlemen retained the old-fashioned habits of dress in spite of the wisdom or folly of fashion. Gladstone, of course, was the making of many caricaturists, the lion-like striking face in the setting of the high collar was a picture in ten thousand. I drew the "Grand Old Man" over and over again from sheer interest, his face had the strongest fascination for me. I watched it change with the years; and year by year the unusual collar grew less in dimensions and in importance to the caricaturist, as the character pencilled itself about the features of the wonderful old face.
Also among clothes-subjects was Mr. John Laird, member of Parliament, who was a superlative delight to the caricaturist, for his clothes were unique even among the remarkable, his usual costume consisting of a long-tailed frock-coat covered by a short pea-jacket which extended only a little beyond his waist.
Lord Alexander Paget—the father of the present Lord Anglesey—known to his friends as "Dandy Paget," was a very smart man of the best type. He wore a hat with a very curly brim, and dressed in very loud checks; but he could wear what he liked, for he always "looked right." I stayed a week-end with him in Cheshire, and while there he obliged me by showing me his wonderful wardrobe in which I never saw a more varied selection, and I soon hit on the suit which I thought the most effective for my purpose. This was the one with the biggest check of all, and with the peggiest of peg-top trousers.
Also for rare habilatory peculiarity, the uncle of "the Dasher" (the late Earl of Portarlington) was hard to beat. He was an old gentleman who usually, in walking costume, wore a decidedly blue frock-coat trimmed with deep braid, lavender-coloured trousers of a nautical cut and patent leather boots, showing but the tips, after the Bulwer-Lytton style. His hair was trimmed over his ears in the Buster-Brown manner, and his moustache and tip well cosmetiqued. His silk hat was of a build of its own, well curled. His tie of a brilliant hue, a fancifully arranged handkerchief emerging from his breast pocket, the gayest of button-holes, and grey kid gloves completed an ensemble wonderful to behold. One of the greatest treats I have ever had was watching him pirouette through the figures of a quadrille, in the good old-fashioned style, on the occasion of a ball at Stafford House.
One curious anomaly, a Puritan Beau, I remember in Mr. Sturge, the old Quaker, whom my eye always seemed to seek and find in the Lobby, leaning upon his stick, his face shaded by a silk hat with an extraordinary wide brim, and a white cravat tied carefully under his chin. Day after day he was to be seen there, but when the Lobby list was wiped out after the bomb scare, I missed my pet figure who came no more.
The names by which some of the members were known were not without significance. Mr. Tom Collins, M.P., had the reputation of being the noisiest and most slovenly man in the House of '73, and was commonly known as "Noisy Tom." Lord Vivian, whose caricature I believe to be among my happiest, was dubbed "Hook and Eye." He was a well-known racing man, and I frequently observed him on the race-course.
Then there was Mr. Edward Jenkins, M.P., known as "Ginx's Baby," after his well-known book of that name. Mr. Adams-Acton, the well-known sculptor, arranged a dinner in order that I might meet him, but I am ashamed to say that I entirely forgot the engagement until some days after. My father, being one of the guests, was extremely put out at my non-appearance. "We waited for you a quarter of an hour," he said, "I was so ashamed!" However, I made my excuses to Mr. Adams-Acton and took further opportunities of seeing the well-known M.P. in the Lobby of the House, where his intensely Shakesperian forehead marked him out from the rest.
The Earl of Powis, irreverently dubbed "Mouldy" by "Jehu Junior," was a delightful old peer of a period long past, and one of my favourite studies. Viscount Midleton I frequently saw in the Lobby; he was nearly blind, and his helplessness seemed peculiarly pathetic in "the House," as he used to run up against doors and pillars when unattended, but as a rule he was led by his secretary.
It was in '78 that I caricatured old Mr. Seely, M.P. for Lincoln, and a great breeder of pigs. He was the grandfather of Brigadier-General Seely, once Minister of War in the Asquith Government. It was "Jehu Junior" who described my subject as "an amiable and decent person … and there is no reason in the nature of things why he should not have lived and died happy and respectable. But he was returned to Parliament for Lincoln." Years after when I saw Colonel Seely in the House for the first time I recognized him at once because of the same characteristic attitude, although he is very much taller.
A number of well-known faces recur in my memory from the background of the House! There was Robert Dalgleish, M.P., another jovial and most popular member, who wore the longest finger nails I have ever seen excepting on a Chinaman: Lord Cottesloe, who was the son of one of Nelson's companions in arms, and whom I used to watch with great interest as he came down the steps of the House of Lords: Viscount Cole (now Lord Inniskillen), whom I knew as a boy at Eton: also Viscount Dupplin, known as "Duppy," who was always smartly dressed and wore white ducks in summer; he was celebrated for his knowledge of the Chinese language.
À propos of the caricature of the late Lord Alington, one of my earliest, a very old friend of mine who was something of a busybody to me, "There is something about Pellegrini's work that you ought to study." I said, "I don't want to study anybody's work, only my subjects." "Well," he replied, "don't be offended, old chap, it's only to your advantage that I am saying this. Go and look at Pellegrini's cartoon of Lord Alington in this week's Vanity Fair. There is something in that which you never get." My only answer was, "You old ass, go and look at it yourself and read the signature upon it," which happened to be my own.
Amongst strongly-marked and characteristic faces I well remember Lord Colonsay (Scotch law), who had a most beautiful mop of shining silver hair; also the Rev. Francis E. C. Byng, afterwards Lord Stafford, who was Chaplain to the House of Commons from '74 to '89. He was a little man with great natural dignity, glossy curly black hair and a very prominent chin. He was a perfect study for the caricaturist, and I believe anything but a stereotyped parson. The late Chaplain, the Rev. Basil Wilberforce, Archdeacon of Westminster Abbey, sat to me a few years ago for Vanity Fair; I had observed him in the House of Commons, and in his beautiful and most interesting home in Deans' Yard. His unrivalled stateliness of bearing was combined with unusual lightness of movement, and he was a most impressive figure, especially on occasions of state ceremonial. I remember watching him with great pleasure in his place in the Speaker's procession as it passed to the House for prayers. There was no man in London who had such a following in the pulpit. As a subject he was most interesting and very patient. His gown in the reproduction is the best sample of three-colour work I had had done, and he was so pleased with my drawing that he bought it.
Of course I did not confine my secret observations to the House, but made for my man anywhere that I could watch him. I caught Sir Henry Rawlinson at a Royal Academy Soirée and finished the study at another social evening at the Royal Geographical Society. In those days the Royal Academy social gatherings made good hunting-ground, and it was vastly entertaining to watch the orthodox social celebrities swarm round the "lions." Occasionally it was still possible to meet those who consider it a solemn misdemeanour if not a hideous crime to portray one's friends and acquaintance in the spirit, or with the pen of humour. I remember on one occasion just after I had published a caricature which probably caused a little surprise to the unconscious subject, I met a man who must have strongly objected to my observing eye so over-full was he of righteous indignation.
"Well," said he, on the note that conveys that magnificent sense of superiority which seems the mark of a limited intelligence, "have you been caricaturing any more of your friends?"
As a matter of fact the work of the leading modern caricaturists is peculiarly free from vulgar offence. The art of caricature as the art of any other form of portraiture is to portray the true leading features through the mirthful marking of the obvious. Occasionally the caricaturist draws on the extraordinary, for instance, Mr. Harry Furniss, has immortalized the late Sir William Harcourt's row of chins, but it is as guiltless of offence as Mr. Gladstone's collar or Mr. Chamberlain's orchid.
Not long after I had caricatured Sir Albert Rollit he introduced me to his pretty daughter in the Lobby. "Oh, I'm so pleased to know you, Mr. Ward," she said. "You made that splendid caricature of my father."
"It is good of you to take it in the spirit which it is drawn," I answered; "because it is a caricature."
One of the stoutest men I ever drew was Sir Cunliffe Owen, director of the Kensington Museum, and head of the English Commission of the International Exhibition at Paris in '72. When I dined with him there I was astonished to see that he drank no wine—although his guests were plentifully supplied—but under his doctor's orders he was limited to one small tumbler of water. While in Paris I stayed with Sir Cunliffe in the company of the members of the English Commission in Paris as their guest. They gave me an amazingly good time, and I made a sketch of my host for Vanity Fair.
It was towards the end of 1880, that I was asked by Mr. Bowles to obtain a cartoon of the "Fourth Party" for Vanity Fair, and later on it was claimed that the cartoon was proof positive of the existence of the "Fourth Party." It is certain that Lord Randolph Churchill, Mr. Balfour, Sir John Gorst, and Sir Henry Drummond Wolff came to my studio, and that we had great difficulty in finding a seat suitable for the accommodation of Mr. Balfour's sprawl.
I have naturally met many most distinguished soldiers, among them Field Marshal Sir William Gomm, whom I met by the introduction of Mr. Gibson Bowles. He had attained the age of ninety, looked years younger, and was, in fact, astonishingly sprightly—a tiny little dot of a man.
"What is the secret of your longevity?" inquired Mr. Bowles. "No doubt you lived a careful life."
"Indeed, sir, nothing of the kind!" replied the old gentleman, who was very much afraid of being mistaken for a prig. There was more than a hint of the dandy about this vigorous nonogenarian. I was interested to observe that he wore patent leather shoes of a decidedly dainty shape, decorated with steel buckles holding enormous bows, and his trousers were the most wonderful in shape I have ever seen.
Another great soldier I depicted was Sir Hastings Doyle, a remarkable man in his day. He had the most charming manners, and is said to have known no fear. His sitting-room was like a fashionable woman's boudoir, and when the great general appeared I noticed his eyebrows and moustache were darkened with cosmetic, and his cheeks slightly touched with carmine as was frequently the custom then with many an old beau.
