Kitabı oku: «Forty Years of 'Spy'», sayfa 17
When finally the pencil sketch of her small grandson was completed, as it was after a second sitting by daylight, I received the most delightful letter of appreciation and thanks from her ladyship, which I have kept to this day. Soon after my mother urged me to attend a special exhibition at the School of Art Needlework in which she was interested, and the first person I saw on entering was old Lady Ashburton. I went up to her and began to thank her for her welcome appreciation of my small drawing, and again she looked at me with astonishment and wonder. "Who are you?… I don't know you," she said. This time I did not hesitate to enlighten her. "Oh," she smiled in remembrance, "Go and find Miss Phillimore; I want to speak to her."
CHAPTER XV
NOTABLE PEERS—TANGIER—THE TECKS
Peers of the Period.—My Voyage to Tangier.—Marlborough House and White Lodge.
In 1880, the new premises of The Daily Telegraph were opened in Fleet Street. It will be remembered that the paper was originated by Mr. J. M. Levy. When he had made The Daily Telegraph a great permanent institution he retired from the toil of journalism and left the control and organising power to his son, the present Lord Burnham, who maintained its reputation, and at the time of the opening ceremony of the new offices in Fleet Street it was undoubtedly the most popular newspaper of the day. The Prince of Wales and Prince Leopold were present among the very distinguished and representative assembly to honour Sir Edward Lawson, and assist at the celebration of an interesting occasion.
When the guests began to move about and conversation became general, I had opportunity to observe the different people, and my eye was immediately attracted to old Lord Houghton (Monckton-Milnes). He had come on from a state banquet, and was dressed in the uniform of a Deputy-Lieutenant which was ludicrously ill-fitting, the tunic rucked up in many folds, whilst the trousers, which were much too long, hung also in folds; on his head he wore a black skull cap, which seemed strangely at variance with his patent leather boots, and he carried a very long stick with a crutch handle. As he moved to and fro among the guests, his odd appearance was accentuated by the occasional contrast of the immaculately groomed contingent, and on this occasion the poet-peer was truly a figure of fun.
I was not alone in my observations, as while I was still gazing at him the Prince of Wales came up to me and remarked what a splendid opportunity was before me of making a good caricature of Lord Houghton, and that I should never have a better. Immediately after and quite unaware that the subject had already been broached, Prince Leopold came to me with the same suggestion.
After the royal party had returned from supper, I noticed the Prince of Wales and Lord Houghton in deep conversation. Lady Lawson, having been let into the secret of the intended caricature, found me a convenient place near one of the pillars, where I watched him unobserved. Of course H.R.H. was amused to see our manœuvres.
Meanwhile, Lord Houghton was, judging from his expression, telling a wicked story to the Prince, and leant forward so that it should not be heard by those near. As he approached the point he became convulsed with laughter, and drawing still nearer, in his eagerness to make it understood, he slid to the end of the chair, and was about to whisper it to the Prince when the cushion, which was not fixed, gave way, and he fell to the floor with his legs in the air. The Prince of Wales picked him up, and looked at me, as much as to say, "Here is your chance." So that I went away with two ideas in my head, one of the entry in the wonderful uniform, and the other of the episode of falling off the chair. I made my caricatures in full colour and presented them in due course to the Princes, the Prince of Wales being very much amused to find that the same idea had occurred to them both, and I received a letter of thanks and full appreciation. Not long after, on going into the Beefsteak Club, I found the sole occupants of the room were Prince Leopold and Whistler, who was monopolising the Prince's attention by reading aloud extracts from a letter he was concocting, with the intention of administering a sound snubbing to a tradesman who had sent in an exorbitant bill. Jimmy, who was priding himself far more on his literary composition than the creation of one of his masterpieces, was chuckling over the pungent satire and barbed phrase with obvious appreciation, but the Prince was looking a little bored, and, by way of changing the subject, he turned to me and said that he had only just received the caricature of Lord Houghton, and how delighted he was with it.
An altogether very different type of peer was the old Marquis of Winchester, hereditary bearer of the Cap of Maintenance, whose office it is to carry the Cap on state occasions, such as the Opening of Parliament. On the last occasion on which Queen Victoria opened Parliament in person, I recollect this Marquis, who was the last remaining representative of the old Georgian type of beau, and of most picturesque appearance, make a striking figure in the group. It was the only occasion on which I was present at the ceremony, and I remember that as the Queen was going up the steps of the throne, she slipped.
In the early spring of 1882, having a troublesome cough which I could not shake off, I was ordered to take a trip to Tangier.
It was indeed a novel idea to me, having travelled so little, to see so primitive and interesting a place as it had been described to me, and with a portfolio of unfinished Vanity Fair cartoons to complete while away, I set off on a P. and O. for Gibraltar. I arrived there in a dense mist, which, however, passed off in a few hours.
I had a letter of introduction to Colonel Whitaker, who was in command of the Artillery at this time, and having ascertained that there was no boat to take me to Tangier for two or three days, I promptly presented my letter, which was answered with equal promptitude, inviting me to dine at the regimental mess on the following evening. I, of course, accepted, and had a thoroughly good time. Next day I called upon him at one of the charming villas on the Rock, to thank him for his hospitality.
Anxious to be in the warm and sunny clime of Africa, I now lost no time in getting on board a paddle-boat of sorts for my destination. I didn't like the look of the morning, for it was not one that I had pictured to myself as being appropriate to the occasion. When we were under way, I noticed a depressing-looking group of Moors huddled up together, who, as the vessel proceeded, grew very ill indeed, and this didn't enliven matters. On arriving in the Bay of Tangier, the passengers were landed in small boats, their baggage being seized from them, regardless of instructions, by a collection of officious Moors, who followed them with the porters to their respective hotels.
The proprietor of the Continental, Ansaldo by name, was quite a personality and looked after his visitors with the greatest interest, especially those who were likely to make a prolonged stay in his hotel. Evidently anxious to make me at home, he immediately introduced me to a young doctor who was permanently staying in the hotel, and who "knew the ropes," and he was quite a good fellow and very useful in showing me the way about.
My disappointment regarding the weather led me to inquire of him if it was at all usual to see such dull skies in Tangier, and how long the drizzling rain was likely to last. The answer came promptly, "Wait and see," and I did for a week, when the sun appeared in its full glory and everything was couleur de rose for a long time to come.
Having a letter of introduction to Mr. White (the Consul), I lost little time in calling upon him, and after ringing at the bell of the Consulate and giving instructions for its safe delivery, I was shown into the drawing-room. He was evidently occupied at the time, so I had to wait. At last he came in, and to my astonishment handed me the letter back, saying, "I think there is some mistake."
Being much puzzled as to what he meant, I took it out of the envelope and read as follows (as nearly as I can remember):—
"Dear Mr. Ward,
"Mind when presenting the letter of introduction to Mr. White you make out that you are an intimate friend of mine, and be careful in speaking of me to call me by my Christian name, Maughan, pronounced like Vaughan. He is a good chap and will be useful to you, especially if he thinks you are a great pal of mine," etc....!
Imagine my feelings, which were indescribable; with awkward apologies I beat a hasty retreat. Afterwards I had the face to send Mr. White the right letter, the result being that while I was sketching in the market-place next morning, he politely came up to me, and later on I received an invitation to dine at his house, so all ended well.
Having made a "faux-pas," there was nothing now left but to forget it, so, under the guidance of new acquaintances, I sallied forth in pursuit of pastures new. The Socco or market-place first of all appealed to me as a subject for my water-colour brush, and from the hill (taking it all in) I made my first sketch which, on my return home, Sargent happened to see and complimented me upon. The picturesque groups of women in strange straw hats, and the Moors in their Jhelabs, the camels, snake-charmers, and the ebony-coloured men from Timbuctoo, were all something to feast one's eyes upon. Again, the occasional saint (mad-man) and the strings of blind beggars were a novelty to the stranger's eye.
In the town, what struck me first was the persistent way in which these blind people followed one about in pursuit of coppers; many of them I was told had their eyes simmered for some quite paltry offence and in consequence were doomed for life. An occasional leper, too, one came across, but he was despicable beyond description in the eyes of his fellow-creatures.
Becoming by degrees used to the first impressions, and beginning to generalise on the surroundings, the desire came upon me to see something of the country, and for this purpose the hiring of a barb or mule was indispensable.
Mr. Harris (The Times correspondent) and my doctor friend were extremely kind in showing me round at first, and with their aid and advice I soon got to know my way about. The latter escorted me in the evenings to the different haunts of vice, the Kieffe dens, where men were lying sometimes unconscious from excessive abuse of the drug (which was smoked in a small pipe), or to a rather low Spanish music hall of a not refined or elevating character; and to while away the time, I learnt to know how these people enjoyed their leisure hours.
I have no desire to bore my readers, with detailed descriptions of the various weird and picturesque ceremonies that constantly engross the attention of European visitors in Tangier, although I feel sorely tempted while speaking of them to go on. "Sumurun" and "Kismet" illustrate them far better than I can do, and there are many well-written books on the subject.
My companion now suggested what he thought would best give me an idea of the surrounding country and coast scenery, viz. a ride to Cape Spartel9 Lighthouse. I assented, and we hired the mules.
The view all along the route was certainly very engrossing; but at certain altitudes, looking down on the sea, I felt as though I must fall over into the abyss below, it being so precipitous! However, we reached our destination in safety and I was well rewarded by the panorama that surrounded us. After dismounting and taking refreshment, a Moor approached with what appeared to be—rather uncanny—a full-grown scorpion. After marking, with a piece of stick, a circular line on the ground he proceeded to cover it with red-hot ashes, and when this wall of charcoal was completed, to place the wretched scorpion within the circle. Naturally, it did its utmost to escape, but, growing weary in its attempts, arched its tail over its back and stung itself to death. This was termed suicide, but I fear the scorching was the cause, although it retired well into the middle of the circle first. The performance, although curious, was distinctly not edifying.
About now I was lucky enough to make the acquaintance of an English merchant—Mr. Stanbury—from Birmingham who annually visited Morocco. He knew the country and the people and could speak their language, and not only was he a useful travelling companion, but a very nice fellow to boot. As he was starting on a business visit to Tetuan, and invited me to come with him, I took this exceptional advantage of joining him, as I heard it was a place that an artist would revel in.
We were most unlucky in the day we selected to start, for it rained incessantly. I wore a common Moorish Jhelab, which, being full of grease, protected me from the damp. A soldier and muleteer accompanied us, and notwithstanding that we were well mounted, our journey was not all my fancy pictured. It is about a sixty-mile ride, and although we plodded on, the ground was so heavy that it was useless to attempt to get into the town that night. We therefore stopped half-way at the Fondak where the cattle are housed, at four in the afternoon. The rain showing no signs of ceasing, we put up for the night.
After being served with hot coffee and brandy from a primitive bar, we lay down on straw mats which apparently had not been shaken for months. My friend, as the time went on, being evidently used to an emergency of this kind, calmly went to sleep; I, on the other hand, being attacked by an army of fleas, did not get any rest before two o'clock, when I fell into a deep slumber from which I found it difficult to awake. As we had to make a start at three, I pulled myself together, but in the hurry left my gold wrist-watch behind me. The annexe adjoining the bar was occupied by the proprietor, his wife, and a coffee boy.
We were soon in our saddles, escorted as before, and entered the gates of the city, where the consul with others were in readiness to receive us. We entered a mansion, and I was puzzled to know whether it was a hotel or the Consulate, as the consul conducted us there. He was an Eastern of sorts, that was certain, and one who was evidently acclimatized to bad drainage, for I nearly choked as I was shown my room. Upon realizing the absence of my watch, the soldier lost little time in going back for it, but not finding it, brought back the proprietor of the Fondak as a suspect.
Next morning I rose feeling very "chippy," but being somewhat refreshed after partaking of a light breakfast, proceeded to the outskirts of the town with my sketch-book, where I discovered some picturesque bits.
On returning to my hotel I found a summons to give evidence in a case of alleged robbery. The law court to which I was taken was presided over by two picturesque elderly judges in the purest of white robes and equally clean turbans. Our party was fully represented. The man professed complete innocence of having even seen the watch, so meanwhile he was kept under surveillance.
The effect of the poisonous atmosphere I had imbibed in my lodging began to tell on my health, so I determined to get out of it and cut short my otherwise interesting visit.
I was now on my homeward journey, and having conveyed my instructions to the escort, viz. that if he should fail to extract a confession from the man (who then had his arms bound with cord), he was to trouble no more about him and leave him at the Fondak. About this the soldier seems to have taken no heed and was obdurate, and upon arriving there, arrested the coffee-coloured coffee boy as well, and marched the two of them into Tangier. Although this annoyed me and I tried to remonstrate at the time, I was powerless in the matter. On arriving in Tangier, however, very tired, I was only too glad to dismiss them from my mind and give orders that they should be at once liberated, while I came to the conclusion that the woman was the guilty party after all.
After the first ten days of North African air, my cough had gone, so that I was quite able to appreciate the change of scene, the white buildings, the coloured people, the superb vegetation, the mosques (but not the mosquitoes, as the latter worried me terribly); and by degrees the fascination of the climate, the atmosphere of romance and adventure surrounding the interesting race amongst whom I was living, took hold of me. My artistic sense was being constantly appealed to, and everywhere I saw a picture awaiting my brush. The Arabs and Moors, in their picturesque dresses, were to me extraordinarily attractive, with their magnificent physique and bearing, and especially the letter-carriers with their finely moulded ankles and feet with perfect straight toes. At Tangier I was fortunate enough to behold two of the most beautiful pictures I have ever seen. I was walking in the bay one evening, watching the sun set like a ball of fire, dipping into a sea that shimmered with a thousand opalescent reflections as the wavelets rippled to my feet, when I came upon a group of swarthy, naked fishermen hauling in their nets, which were full of leaping fish that scintillated iridescently. With strong fine movements the men drew them in, some standing in the water, others on the shore, their bodies wet with the water that rolled off their mahogany skins in pearly drops. At each movement of their superb limbs, the play of muscle attracted my eye, and as they turned, their bodies bathed in the amber light, I saw a multitude of scales from the fish clinging to their bodies, like so many sequins, gold in the sun and silver in the colder light from the east. Spellbound, I watched them falling into groups and alternating attitudes, which in themselves were magnificent—an Arabian Nights dream and an ideal composition for the painter who could depict the movement, colour, and light of a scene that few men are lucky enough to behold. I shall never forget it and never see such beauty again, for it is well-nigh impossible that nature should repeat such perfection, with similar conspiracies of light, shade, and shadow in exactly the same manner.
Another scene I was privileged to witness from the balcony of my room (which looked down on some rocks in the bay), where I was "lazing" in the sun one morning, when I became aware of a picturesque group of Moorish ladies who, with their maids, were preparing to disrobe by the sea. The process was interesting because it was so astonishingly beautiful; after removing their outer garment and yashmak, they appeared in robes of every imaginable colour. Garment after garment was divested in this manner, and each one more bewilderingly brilliant than the other, gorgeous orange, green, or scarlet, contrasted with the cool sea and the hot African sky, the rocks looming darkly in the background, the soft sand at their feet; and presently when a bevy of beautiful brown ladies stepped into the water, I saw a real Alma Tadema picture without the inevitable marble, and all the added charm of movement and the sky and the sea.
When my visit of five weeks was at an end, and professional duties had to be thought of, I prepared for departure, and, accompanied by the brothers Duff-Gordon and Ansaldo (the hotel proprietor), I journeyed to Gibraltar, where Ansaldo had formerly been a big "boss," and was still very popular. As the first race-meeting was being held, I accepted his invitation to witness the sport, where he offered me hospitality in his refreshment tent. At the end of a very jolly day, Cosmo Duff-Gordon and his brother joined me at the hotel, they having returned from the bull-ring in Algeciras; and the next day we were homeward bound on the P. and O. for England.
One of the smartest figures in Society was Lord Portarlington, known to his friends as "the Dasher." I drew him—and there was plenty of him—smoking his very unusually large cigar, and not forgetting the gardenia, which was in proportion.
À propos of the choice of riding in a four-wheeler or a hansom, "the Dasher" on one occasion played heavy lead in a cab drama in which the third person and I took part in addition to the cabman and the crowd. We were leaving the Beefsteak Club together one night when "the Dasher" suggested that as we were all going the same way he should give us a lift, so he hailed a four-wheeler and we drove off. He directed the driver to go to Grosvenor Place, but the man mistook the way and drove on. Lord Portarlington got up to direct the cabman, I tried to stop him, fearing his weight was too great for the springs to bear, but I was too late—they all gave way and over we went. The third occupant was a long thin creature, whose boots I distinctly felt on my back as he wormed his way out through the open window, which for the time being was in place of the roof; then I felt myself being hauled up and extricated just in time to see the cabman dragged from under the horse, which directly he was freed from his harness bolted, taking the greater part of the crowd in his wake. Meantime, Lord Portarlington remained a prisoner in the cab; just then a man came up to me not knowing I had been a victim in the accident, and looking at me very earnestly as much as to say, "This is a sad case indeed," said in a hushed voice, pointing to the overturned cab, "Do you know, sir, there is somebody in there!" At last by the aid of several pairs of strong arms acting in concert Lord Portarlington was dragged out, but he felt the shock badly, and was laid up for two or three days.
It must have been at the end of the 'eighties when my drawing of M. Gennadius, who has now been Greek Minister for over thirty years, was published. He was quite willing that I should have ample opportunity for observation, and we dined and spent a pleasant evening together at his club.
In 1890 Prince George of Wales gave me the honour of a sitting at Marlborough House. His Majesty even in those days was a good sitter, and, like most naval men, was patient withal. He was very natural and genial in his manner, and I remember we were walking round the room and looking at the pictures by way of a little break in the monotony of the sitting, when Queen Alexandra (then Princess of Wales) came into the room to know how the sketch was progressing.
It was through Mr. Augustus Savile Lumley and my father that I first became acquainted with the Duke of Teck, whom I had the privilege to meet on several occasions. As he had learnt that the authorities on Vanity Fair were desirous of publishing his portrait, and also one of Princess May in that journal, he called at my studio to talk the matter over, and eventually it was decided that I should visit White Lodge for the purpose of receiving sittings from both.
On the first occasion I hailed a hansom to drive down there, and it was a coincidence that while directing the driver the nearest route he stopped me and said, "I know the way, sir—I was for some time second coachman there!" This was substantiated shortly after when I had related the fact to Prince Adolphus, who went out to see him.
I found on entering that Princess May was prepared to sit, so Fraülein Bricka, her former governess with whom I had corresponded, took me into the drawing-room and presented me to her. The Princess, whom I had previously seen, was at once charming in her manner, and although I am sure those sittings were not a treat for her to look forward to, she showed admirable patience throughout.
I was not, however, fated to start my drawing under good auspices. On that occasion I had anticipated a sitting from the Duke of Teck and not from the Princess May, and I had brought with me blue rough-surfaced paper which I use for men's drawings, and which I knew would be difficult as a foundation for the unusual delicacy and brightness of the skin and complexion of my subject. I confided my difficulty to Fraülein Bricka, and suggested that I should immediately go into Richmond and bring back the paper suitable for the purpose, but she thought that as the Princess was prepared to sit it would be better to make the best of the materials I had at hand; and as she was so anxious that everything should go well, I fell in with the idea.
On the occasion of the first sitting the Duchess paid an early visit to see how the drawing progressed, and after a few observations invited me to luncheon. Occasionally the Princes came in to break the monotony of sitting for their sister.
The Duchess of Teck was a great favourite with the people wherever she went. She had great natural dignity, sympathetic consideration for others, and that charm of manner which puts every one else at ease. I remember on one of my visits, H.R.H. had most kindly invited me to luncheon on the occasion of the last sitting which I eventually received from the Princess. I expressed my regret, and hoped I might be excused on the plea that I had to go down to Newmarket, and she with her usual graciousness at once assented. When I had finished my last sitting the Duke came into the room, and, not knowing that I was not able to remain, said, "Well, Ward, you're going to stay to lunch of course." I replied that I regretted I was unavoidably prevented, which H.R.H. was aware of.
"Very curious," he said, "since the Duchess has asked you to stay to luncheon that you refuse." He went into her boudoir and came out completely in understanding; and slapping me on the shoulder, said, "Poor Ward. Poor Ward, I quite understand. I'm sorry you can't stay."
The Duchess followed him in. "You refused to stay to lunch," she said, chaffingly, "but I am not going to let you off altogether. What shall it be, you have only to say." So I thanked her and suggested some sandwiches and a glass of sherry.
I proceeded to pack my paints and brushes, "Never mind about that," said the Duchess, "Prince Francis will do it for you, and the Princess will help him." I attempted to protest, but the Duchess pointed to the table saying, "I command you to sit down and eat your sandwiches and drink your wine," and by the time I had refreshed myself, my paraphernalia was packed.
As I left the family came into the hall to see me off, and as I was getting into my cab the footman put into my hand a packet of sandwiches with a direction from H.R.H. that I should eat them on the way.
I was never pleased with the result of the drawing, and to my horror in the end the printing was extremely unsatisfactory, and in spite of the complimentary press notices that appeared I have always believed that the sketch of the Princess was a failure. I felt the disappointment the more, as there had been so much willingness and kindness to help me make a successful drawing, and also I always feared the Duchess shared my disappointment. She came in one afternoon just towards the end of the sitting and looked for a long time at the sketch, and then in her kindest voice said, "If I may make a suggestion, Mr. Ward, the drawing is not pretty enough for the Princess. It may be, perhaps, that I, like most mothers, have an exaggerated idea of the good looks of my children, but I admire my daughter very much, and I do not think at present the drawing does her justice."
I was entirely of her opinion, and the strong points of the picture should have been the colouring and the charm of expression.
When Prince Charles of Denmark (the present King of Norway) and his elder brother first made their appearance before the British public, a similar reception to that with which this chapter opens was given at The Daily Telegraph office by Lord Burnham. I, having that morning received a sitting from Prince Charles at Marlborough House, had the honour of meeting him again in the evening, when he presented me to his brother, the present King of Denmark. I had already met their father, who was Crown Prince of Denmark at the time. He, like all the Danish royal family, had the great charm of simplicity, and talked with very great pride and affection of his family, and he told me of all that he had seen in England, Dr. Barnardo's home for boys had made the greatest impression upon him.
On one occasion, when I was at work upon Prince Charles's portrait at Marlborough House, we saw a dirigible balloon sailing by outside that roused some discussion as to their possible utility in the future.
I remember his then saying with a laugh, that before long such things would be no novelty, and that many of us would be flying about in the air in the near future.
His words often recurred to me during the time I was making the Vanity Fair cartoon of that enthusiastic airman, Mr. Hedges Butler, who stood for me in the car of his balloon, which was suspended from the ceiling in my lofty studio, and remained in it all the time I painted him.
