Kitabı oku: «Forty Years of 'Spy'», sayfa 8

OXFORD DONS

One of the difficulties of my position as a caricaturist for a newspaper came home to me on the occasion of the visit to my studio of a Queen's Messenger.

I was extremely busy at the time, and was, luckily for me, quite unable to accede to his request that I should immediately make a drawing of him, as he was shortly to appear in Vanity Fair. Making an appointment for the next day he took his departure. I called upon my editor on the following day, and while in conversation I remembered my engagement, and breaking it off suddenly, prepared to go.

"Who is your sitter?" said he.

I referred to the gentleman in question, who I imagined had been sent to me from my editor.

"I won't have that man. I have made no arrangement. He's been bothering me to put him in for years."

"What shall I do then?" I said. "This is very awkward for me."

"Tell him we've got too many Queen's Messengers already."

I hurried off and found my poor rejected sitter waiting with a thick stick, the presence of which he began to explain before I could make my apologies to him. He told me that he had bought the weapon, not in self-defence, or with an idea of attack, but because he thought it was most characteristic of him.

I then had to interrupt him with my excuses which was a most disagreeable task.

"Oh," he said, "that's only an excuse for not putting me in. I see it."

He flushed very red and showed a little temper, for he had been endeavouring for some time to be placed upon the list of subjects in Vanity Fair and without success.

After some discussion, during which, in some sympathy with his annoyance, I anxiously watched the stick, he slunk out of the studio with an air greatly different from the spruce and upright demeanour of his arrival.⁴

An awkward predicament in which I was the innocent arbitrator came about through a very gross caricature by another artist (I do not remember whom) of Mr. Pigott the censor of plays and a very old friend; I believe it was unpleasant, for he wrote to me and said he wished he had been put in my hands. I do not know whether I am wrong in saying so, but it was rather odd his writing to ask my advice, for he was strongly in favour of suing Vanity Fair for libel. At all events I called upon him and advised him to ignore the matter. He reassured me by saying, "Well, I've already come to that conclusion myself since writing my letter. I've seen my solicitors who gave me the same advice, but I still wish I'd been done by you."

A friend of mine came to me once and said, "You simply must make a drawing of 'Piggy' Palk, he's such a splendid subject—have you ever seen him? I'm sure if you had you couldn't resist making a caricature of him."

"Very well," I said. "Give me an opportunity of meeting him—what's he like?"

"I must introduce you to him first, we'll get up a little dinner—he shall be there—at the Raleigh Club. We'll introduce you as 'Mr. Spy'—don't forget that he wears an eyeglass, because he's nothing without it."

When the evening came I was placed on the opposite side of the table to the young man, where I had a good opportunity of studying his features, which were diminutive, with the exception of his ears which were enormous. I waited and waited for the eyeglass to appear (for as my friend had truly said, his face was nothing without it), and finally got up from dinner full of disappointment. There were several other guests who were quite aware of my identity, and all attempted to help me in my object, but without success, a fact which created no little amusement among us.

My host pressed his friend to join our party in his rooms, and "Piggy," as his friends called him, to my horror, said that he had another engagement; when, however, he was informed that there would be attractive young ladies among the party, he altered his mind. On arriving we were received by these charming ladies, who contributed to the evening's fun by entering very completely into the open secret of my visit. We had a piano and plenty of fun and chaff, and under cover of the evening's amusement I took in "Piggy" Palk. I was introduced to the most attractive of the ladies and enlisted her services on my behalf over the eyeglass. My friend at once introduced "Piggy" to her, and she induced him to produce the eyeglass. After some preliminary conversation she began:

"Oh, Lord Haldon, I see you have an eyeglass, do you ever wear it? Sometimes an eyeglass improves a man's appearance immensely, I should like to see how you look in one."

"Oh, yes," he said, "I sometimes wear it!" And so he put it into his right eye.

"Yes, it suits you very well. You don't make such faces as some people do in wearing it."

He was flattered.

"Now I'd just love to see if you look as nice with it in the left eye."

The obedient young man, mollified by her flattery, did all he was told, while I made good use of my eyes, and the company were becoming so hilarious that they could hardly conceal their merriment while the girl went on.

"It's really wonderful how effective it is, and how it suits you equally in either eye."

Thinking he had made an impression, "Piggy" took her into a corner and made himself most fascinating, assiduously retaining the eyeglass all the time.

"He seems to be getting on very well," said one of the guests to me, in an undertone.

I was about to reply when Lord Haldon turned to me and said:—

"Do you know, 'Mr. Spy,' that it's very bad manners to whisper?"

So addressing myself to the lady, I offered my humble apologies and regrets for my forgetfulness (much to her amusement).

When the caricature appeared he wondered "who the fellow was who had seen him," and tried to remember when it was he had worn lilies of the valley in his dress coat. I wonder he did not suspect "Mr. Spy."

CHAPTER VII
PORTRAITURE

Some of my sitters.—Mrs. Tom Caley.—Lady Lucia Warner.—Lady Loudoun.—Colonel Corbett.—Miss Reiss.—The late Mrs. Harry McCalmont.—The Duke of Hamilton.—Sir W. Jaffray.—The Queen of Spain.—Soldier sitters.—Millais.—Sir William Cunliffe Brooks.—Holman Hunt.—George Richmond.—Sir William Richmond.—Sir Luke Fildes.—Lord Leighton.—Sir Laurence Alma Tadema.—Sir George Reid.—Orchardson.—Pettie.—Frank Dicksee.—Augustus Lumley.—"Archie" Stuart Wortley.—John Varley.—John Collier.—Sir Keith Fraser.—Sir Charles Fraser.—Mrs. Langtry.—Mrs. Cornwallis West.—Miss Rousby.—The Prince of Wales.—King George as a boy.—Children's portraits.—Mrs. Weldon.—Christabel Pankhurst.

"In portraits, the grace and one may add the likeness consists more in the general air than in the exact similitude of every feature."

Sir Joshua Reynolds.

Of the study of portraiture I was always fond, and the prospect of becoming a portrait painter appealed greatly to me.

Although Fate interrupted this good intention through the unforeseen offer to work for Vanity Fair (which, with my love for caricature, I could not resist the temptation of accepting), I did not refuse commissions to execute portraits, but as the number of cartoons that I had undertaken to do for publication was considerable, naturally private work had to make way for it. Finding it difficult to direct my mind to both the serious and the comic at the same time, I was obliged to select different days for each; in case I might put too humorous an expression into the picture of a baby, or distort the features of a mayor in his robes.

My father had an admiration for Ouless' method of painting a portrait, and with a slight acquaintance already that artist gave me good advice.

I was lucky in my first commissions for ladies' portraits, for they were of exceptionally pretty women, viz. Mrs. Miller Munday and Miss Chappell (Mrs. T. Caley), both hung in the Royal Academy. These were followed by equally attractive sitters in Lady Lucia Warner, the Countess of Loudoun, and (the first) Mrs. Harry McCalmont. A presentation picture shortly afterwards came my way, of Colonel Corbett of Longnor Hall (Shrewsbury), an extremely tall old gentleman of ripe years. I painted the picture on a full-length canvas, and after the first sitting or two he begged to be allowed to sit in a chair for the head; the experiment failed, for in less than half an hour the Colonel of the Shropshire Yeomanry, Master of Hounds, and formerly Officer in "the Guards" was fast asleep.

"No more of this," he said, when I roused him, "I'll stand to the bitter end," and he did, until the picture was completed.

It is a strange fact, though, that military men stand less well than would be expected of them, and tire sooner. For instance, an officer whom I was painting, sent his "soldier servant" to stand in the uniform he was to wear in my portrait of him, for one employs a soldier in preference to an ordinary model, because they are invariably correct in their knowledge of a uniform and how to put it on. The man showed signs of nervousness, which did not surprise me, but when, after standing a very short while, he turned from a healthy pink to a deathly white, I recommended a rest and a walk in the fresh air. When he returned to the position again, he became faint, so I offered him brandy. This he refused on the grounds that he was a teetotaller, but as his paleness showed no signs of abating, I with difficulty persuaded him to take a little stimulant. It seemed to have the desired effect, for the blood circulated again, and I reassured him, and continued painting without further complications. This was not by any means my first experience, for on another occasion a very tall and powerfully built man, an ex-soldier and "chucker-out" at a music-hall, came for the same purpose, and after standing for a time, from sheer exhaustion had to give it up.

But to return to my subject. When I was working for the Graphic, a portrait in which I took much pleasure was that of Millais. The sittings were most interesting, for in the course of conversation, I gained a considerable insight into his character, and gleaned much information as to his opinions, method of working, and views upon art.

Watts had been the idol of the Royal Academy students up till now, but Millais was taking his place in their estimation, and although he was well to the front as a portrait painter, the enormous competition in this branch of art was scarcely evident yet. The time was approaching, however, when the art student had to consider how he could best live by painting. He was at first full of the noblest intentions, and would frequently exclaim, "Art for Art's sake; that's my motto … none of your pot-boilers for me." Unfortunately, the day for these very laudable sentiments was passing, and, when men were dependent on their profession, something else had to be thought of. Hence the necessary study of portrait painting.

I remember Millais mentioned his belief in the pre-Raphaelites and their influence upon the young artist; but he considered it important that the student should gradually abandon the influence for a more masterly method of painting and a freer brush. This versatile genius must have puzzled his adorers not a little by his erratic experiments in style; his emulations of Reynolds in a modern portrait (of three ladies playing cards) were in direct contradiction to his previous work—the paint, I remember, was extremely thick, especially on the necks of the ladies. A portrait of Irving followed the next year, painted quite thinly. The students were puzzled and distracted, for in the meantime they had all followed the previous lead, and were still painting necks in foundation white laid on without discretion. Then Millais astonished his coterie by painting "Chill October" in his best manner.

I called upon him once on a matter of advice and discovered him puzzling over his picture called "Cherry Ripe." Something was wrong, and he could not place the fault, and he appealed to my "fresh eye" to find it. It occurred to me that something in the drawing of the head, which was covered with a mob-cap, was slightly out of drawing, and I called his attention to it.

"You've hit it, my boy," he said. "That's just what I thought myself, but I was not quite certain."

He paid me the great compliment of saying he had seen enough of my work to know he could safely ask my opinion, and I felt extremely flattered.

When Sir William Cunliffe Brooks commissioned him to paint the portrait of his daughter (the Marchioness of Huntly), a considerable stir was created in the art world when it became known that Millais had received £1000 for the painting, for up till that time such a figure was unheard of for a modern portrait. Sir William was delighted with the picture, but when he saw the completed portrait he was disappointed to find that his daughter's hands (which were most beautiful) were covered with gloves. He accordingly returned the picture, and expressed his desire that an alteration might be made and the hands shown in all their beauty. Millais made a compromise by repainting one of the hands ungloved.

Holl had discarded his pathetic subjects for portraits, and surprised the art world with a vigorous canvas of the celebrated mezzotint engraver, Samuel Cousins, which was followed by an equally strong portrait of Piatti the violoncello player. Consequently, he became quite the vogue and was until his death completely occupied with commissions. I think that of his many successes the painting of Lord Spencer was perhaps his finest portrait.

Holman Hunt (Ruskin's ideal painter) had no following as a portrait painter; his portraits were hard, "tinny," and laboured, and became singularly unpleasant on a large canvas, although his subject pictures were conceived from a high standpoint, and for that reason will last.

Old George Richmond was a highly accomplished draughtsman; many of his portraits in crayon were exquisite masterpieces,⁵ and most of the great men of the day (especially the clergy) were depicted at one time or another by his refined pencil. William Richmond (now Sir William), his son, inherited his father's talent but in a different manner; foremost in my memory stands out a portrait of Lady Hood.

Ouless, the eminent portrait painter, like Millais, was a Jersey man, and both were highly successful students in their respective days at the R.A. Schools.

The painter of "The Doctor," now Sir Luke Fildes, exhibited a very beautiful portrait of his wife, which established him as a portrait painter at once, and it is unnecessary to say how many fine portraits he has painted since.

Lord Leighton showed what refinement meant in his delineation of a beautiful woman's head, and although his method of painting was scarcely adapted to portraits, he showed great force in a head of Richard Burton, the traveller.

When I was drawing Leighton for the Graphic years ago, he amused me by saying:—

"Every one has his prototype, and some people resemble animals. What do I remind you of?"

When Lord Leighton compared his own head with that of a ram, I saw the resemblance at once: his hair curled like horns upon his forehead, and the general contour of his features was certainly reminiscent of that animal.

I must not forget the late Sir L. Alma Tadema, another subject painter, but one who did not often encroach upon the sphere of portraiture. When he did, I often traced a certain resemblance in his painting of the flesh to the marble he so perfectly expressed in his subject pictures.

Seymour Lucas is, I consider, one of our few and consistent historical painters who can mingle portraiture successfully with his own art.

Of course, Orchardson, Pettie, and Frank Dicksee are big examples of aptitude in portrait painting by subject painters. Nowadays, however, there is a new generation, and the average standard is in a marked way higher, although great men naturally only crop up once in a way. To mention all the names of the good portrait painters would be a hopeless task, for there are too many. Criticism would lead one into so many long lanes without any turnings, and would also involve the condemnation of some of the flights of the so-called art of the present day.

Of artists who are no longer with us, I should like to mention the late Sir George Reid, whose works are not sufficiently well known in London, but who was undoubtedly a great portrait painter.

The late Charles Furse, who showed such power and who was gaining ground every day, stood out as one of our strongest portrait painters; unfortunately, death cut short his efforts.

The late Robert Brough was fast becoming (if he had not already attained that position) another painter who deserves a place amongst our ablest men.

But I must not forget to mention the President of the Royal Academy, Sir E. Poynter, who exhibits many portraits.

When I was first beginning to paint, Mr. Peter Graham very kindly lent me his studio, where I made my earliest studies in oil. One of my first sitters was the uncle of my old friend, Edward Nash, of Rugby and 'Varsity fame, who made the stipulation that I should arrange a looking-glass in a position to allow of his watching me paint and to prevent him falling asleep. I found the demand rather embarrassing, for I was not accustomed to attentions of this kind, being new to portraiture, and consequently feeling considerable restraint at being watched at my work.

Another early victim of my brush, thinking he had given me a sufficient number of sittings, suggested that I should promptly finish it, as his doctor had warned him that he was in danger of lead poisoning from the constant contact with oil colours; but when he was reassured on this point he allowed me to continue.

During a visit to Crewe, I painted more portraits. I remember my host, when a visitor called one day, said quite seriously:—

"Mr. Ward is getting on nicely with my picture. He is putting on the second coat of paint."

Another time I was staying at a country house in Staffordshire, painting my host in hunting-dress. I came down early one morning to look at it, preparatory to a last sitting, when I discovered to my astonishment my host's dog sitting up begging before his master's picture. I think this one of the sincerest compliments I was ever paid.

This was at the time when the Oxford and Cambridge Boat Race was about to be rowed. I am always interested in the chances of the rival crews; still, my interest was nothing out of the common, and there was no particular reason why one night I should have had a most vivid dream, in which I saw the two crews racing … until the Cambridge boat filled with water and swamped. The dream was most distinct, and I remembered it when I awoke, and related it at breakfast. My host's house was in a rather remote part of the country; and the London papers did not arrive until late. When they came, the first thing that struck my eye on opening the Daily Telegraph was, "Swamping of the Cambridge Crew at practice."

When I became the owner of a studio myself, I was fortunate in my choice of a landlord. Mr. Augustus Savile Lumley had built the very fine studios in William Street, Lowndes Square, on his return from a military and diplomatic career in Europe. He was an artist, and was gifted in many ways, especially with great social abilities. For some time he was equerry to the Duchess of Teck, and he had been connected with the Royal Household for an indefinite period. During my acquaintance with him he became Marshal of the Ceremonies. He was considered a great authority on costume, and as such was continually in request when the Prince of Wales (and other notable hosts) contemplated entertaining on a large scale. In person he was fashionable and correct, a beau of the old school, who affected a waist! After he was appointed Marshal of the Ceremonies, I recollect his tailor sent in an exorbitant bill for his uniform, which he very rightly refused to pay; and when his tailor sued him for the money, he brought an action and won his case.

After Mr. Henry Savile and Lord Savile had died, he inherited Rufford Abbey, and at his death Mr. Herman Herkomer, the portrait painter, took his handsome studio in William Street, where he had painted several portraits of the Prince of Wales, whose friendship he had enjoyed.

During his travels and vicissitudes abroad, Mr. Augustus Savile Lumley had met many foreign artists of note, and when his studios were unoccupied, quite a coterie of foreigners gathered there. Consequently, I had some interesting neighbours.

John Varley, McClure Hamilton, Archibald Stuart Wortley, and John Collier were amongst the artists who then occupied studios in the same building.

Archibald Stuart Wortley was accomplished in many ways. I made his acquaintance at the Slade Schools when we were both studying drawing, and when we met again at William Street we soon became friends. I found him excellent company. It was just after his picture of "Wharncliffe Chase" had come back from exhibition at the Royal Academy, and he had completed a portrait of his sister (afterwards Lady Talbot) and one of Lady Wharncliffe, his aunt, that he started on his shooting pictures, which for some time he made a speciality of, and with which he succeeded so well. "The Big Pack," and "Partridge Shooting" were enormously popular, especially with sportsmen, who were delighted to find that one of the best shots in England could show equal dexterity with the brush in suggesting birds actually in flight. But eventually, anxiety to succeed as a portrait painter led him to give most of his time to this branch of art. Amongst his best-known portraits were perhaps those of King Edward VII., Purdy, the gun-maker, and his own mother. He founded the Society of Portrait Painters, consisting of fifty members, among whom were and now are some of the most eminent artists of the day. He was the first President of that institution, which two years ago became a Royal one. Under the Presidency of J. J. Shannon, R.A., I am glad to say it now thrives, and I had recently the honour to be on the Hanging Committee at the Grafton Galleries when the last annual exhibition was held.

Archie Wortley was very versatile in his tastes, and probably too much so for the pursuance of a profession. Outside that he was a social success, for he played the piano and sang, danced on the stage as a rival to Vokes, was a clever mimic and raconteur, made an excellent after-dinner speech, and shot pigeons so well that in his match with Carver (the champion) he tied. He was a keen fisherman and a good all-round sportsman. There were two things he could not and would not do, and they were, to get astride a horse or to walk for the sake of walking. Two of my happiest holidays were spent with him and with his charming wife (formerly the beautiful Miss Nelly Bromley) in an old Manor House on the north coast of Jersey, where he occupied his time painting or shooting geese at night on the Ecrehon Rocks, improving his garden, and felling trees. On the occasion of my first visit, he welcomed me with the remark:—

"You will get no frost or snow here, old chap—none of that weather that I know you left in London!"

A morning or two after I was certainly amused to find his small son busily engaged in building up a snow man in the garden after breakfast, and when I jokingly reproached my friend for his former reassuring remarks upon the weather, he said:—

"Well, I'm astounded. Snow hasn't been seen on the island since Heaven knows when!"

His son, Jack, who strongly resembles his father in features, and who was then a jolly little chap, distinguished himself in later life as a soldier, and comparatively recently married the daughter of Mr. Lionel Phillips.

"Archie" came of a remarkable family; his younger brother is the Right Honourable Charles Stuart Wortley, and General Sir Edward Montagu Stuart Wortley was his cousin. The same relationship existed between him and the present Lord Montagu of Beaulieu. In later years he was suddenly bitten with the idea that he had business abilities, and might make money. Accordingly, he gave up his painting and spent all his time in the pursuit of business in the city, thinking he saw a way to make his fortune at the period of the "boom" following the South African war. Unfortunately, the tide turned, and many speculators found themselves in a tight place—poor Archie among them. He had by this time lost his connection as a portrait painter; everything seemed to go wrong; and over anxiety affected his nerves and health to such an extent that it gave way, and he never recovered from the shock. In a very short time, he succumbed to a fatal illness, deeply regretted by a large number of friends and acquaintances, for he was, to those who knew him, the best and the most loyal of friends.

When I vacated my studio to move into another, John Collier took the lease of it. This was at the time I first became acquainted with him, when he had just returned from studying in Munich.

Tadema was a great friend of his father, Sir Robert Collier, the eminent lawyer who begged him—as a further lesson of instruction—to paint a picture from start to finish in the presence of his son. This the R.A. was induced to do. The painting was on a large canvas, from a female figure, and the title, if I remember rightly, was "The Model." Sir Robert afterwards became the possessor of the picture.

When the latter was created a peer, under the title of Lord Monkswell, he found more time for his pet occupation, viz., painting Alpine scenery, of which he had such consummate knowledge.

There is one amusing story that his wife used to tell of him, and that was her great difficulty in preventing him from using his best cambric handkerchiefs as painting rags; when she thought to prevent this extravagant habit by buying him common ones for that purpose, he invariably produced the latter (when at a dinner-party)—of course by mistake.

John Varley, a remarkably clever water-colour draughtsman and son of the eminent member of the "Old Water Colour Society" of that name, occupied a studio opposite mine, but, sadly enough, he contracted an illness at the time, from which he died. Many of his pictures were painted in Egypt, and were mostly of Eastern scenery.

The next occupant of this room was Mr. McClure Hamilton, whose well-known portrait of Mr. Gladstone in his study was not only a fine piece of work, but a wonderful likeness.

In addition to my fellow artists I had some very agreeable and interesting neighbours in the vicinity of William Street, for General Sir Keith and Lady Fraser lived close by, while just opposite was the house of General Sir Charles Fraser. All three were charming people and most hospitable.

Sir Charles, the elder brother of Sir Keith, was not only a distinguished soldier and a V.C., but was very popular with the ladies; and, being a bachelor, he delighted in giving luncheon parties for them. On several occasions I was privileged to be invited. I never refused such invitations if I could help it, for it was delightful to meet the beautiful women who were always sure to be present.

It was so characteristic of him to be constantly raising his hat in the Park that I drew him (as I knew him) in this very act, for Vanity Fair.

At a party given by Mrs. Millais, I saw a lady whom I thought one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. I had the temerity to follow her from room to room to catch another glimpse of her exquisite features. I had heard of Mrs. Cornwallis West, but her beauty was even greater than I had imagined. I promptly gained an introduction, and found her, in addition, to be most fascinating and amusing. She sat to me for her portrait, during which time she kept me in fits of laughter.

"Professional beauty" was at this period a term commonly used, although frequently inappropriate to the ladies to whom it was applied, and photographers must have made a fortune by the exhibition of the photographs of these society ladies then in their windows. Frank Miles, a popular young artist of the day, whose drawings were published in the form of photographs of pretty heads of girls, which were to be seen then on the walls of every undergraduate's rooms, once said to me, "Leslie, I know you like to see lovely faces. I have one of the most wonderful creatures I have ever seen coming to my studio. Come, and I'll introduce you."

At Miles's studio in Adelphi Terrace the next day, I met Mrs. Langtry, who was then at the height of her beauty. To me her principal charm was that of expression, and the wonderful blue eyes which contrasted so strangely with her rich dark hair. Her neck and shoulders were perfect, and I remember her extreme fascination of manner.

Another beauty who hailed from the island of Jersey was Mrs. Rousby, whom I met first at Sir James Ferguson's (the surgeon). She came over to England with her husband, who was manager of the theatre at Jersey. She acted in Tom Taylor's play 'Twixt Axe and Crown in which she made a great success, chiefly through her attractive appearance. Mr. Frith (who was a relation of her husband, I believe) painted her portrait as she appeared in the play. Her popularity was unbounded; one could hardly pass a tobacconist's shop without noticing the familiar features carved upon a meerschaum pipe; and her photographs were everywhere.

I was constantly drawing her from memory and trying to represent her as truthfully as I could.

During the completion of my oil painting of Miss Chappell (Mrs. Tom Caley), the Prince of Wales visited Mr. Augustus Lumley, to whom his Royal Highness was sitting, and Mr. Lumley, in the course of conversation, mentioned my name. The Prince, with the tactful remembrance that distinguished him, recollected my name at once and expressed a wish to see my work. Unfortunately, I was not in, and Mr. Lumley showed the Prince round my studio. On the easel stood my portrait of Miss Chappell (who was then a very beautiful girl of about sixteen, and was afterwards just as handsome in her womanhood), and on the wall was pinned a decided caricature of H.R.H. The portrait, I was pleased to hear, was admired, the Prince exclaiming, "What a pretty girl!" Then he caught sight of the caricature of himself, and said, "What a beast of a thing!"