Forty Years Of Spy Part 15

"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 rea.s.suring 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 relations.h.i.+p 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 succ.u.mbed 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM." _Drawn in 1886_.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: GRAND PRIX. _Presented to me by the Commissioners of the Turin Exhibition, 1910._]

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 t.i.tle, 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 t.i.tle 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 princ.i.p.al 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 pa.s.s 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!"

Accompanying their father were the young Princes, who were amused by the various properties of the studio, which included an old-fas.h.i.+oned sword, whereupon one of the Princes (so I was told afterwards), I think the present King George, drew it from its scabbard and attacked the lay figure.

I was equally fortunate with my second portrait, having a very fine subject in Lady Shrewsbury, who in those days was always a charming hostess at s.h.i.+pley, where I spent many pleasant days. Both these portraits were hung in the Royal Academy.

Some of my young subjects have revealed the most astonis.h.i.+ng proclivities in the course of their sittings. I remember young Mark Sykes, who is now the popular member of Parliament, came with his mother to sit to me, and to keep her son amused, Lady Sykes told him impromptu stories, which were delightfully imaginative and at the same time so clever. During one unguarded moment when I was drawing, I forgot to keep my young pickle under observation, and grew engrossed in Lady Sykes' narrative; pausing with the mahl stick in my hand (with which I had been keeping him in order) I listened to the story. In a trice my young friend s.n.a.t.c.hed the mahl stick and whacked me on the head, effectively rousing me from my temporary interest in the story.

I never heard a boy laugh with more satisfaction.

Many child sitters came to me then. There were three little children I was painting, and they, being motherless, were rather at the mercy of various maids and governesses. On the occasion of one visit to me, they had no one to escort them. Consequently, the eldest, a girl of about eleven, arrived in a cab in charge of her two smaller sisters instead of the governess who usually kept them all three in order while I painted them. In the absence of this good lady, the two children behaved themselves uncommonly well, and I was able to paint them without interruption; but the child looking after them, having been in the studio about an hour, suddenly said tersely, "I'm going now ... I'm tired."

Then and there she carried off her charges with an air of great authority, ordered a cab, and was gone.

Being a child lover, and believing I was well able to control recalcitrant children, I was nevertheless unprepared for the behaviour of one little lady who came with her nurse to be painted. After two or three sittings, finding her somewhat weary, I thought to encourage her by showing her the portrait.

"Now," I began, with the best intentions, "if you'll be very good and sit _very_ still, I'll show you after this sitting what I've done."

I kept my promise and lowered the oil painting which was quite wet, so that she might view it with greater ease.

"I told Mummie," she began, "I never wanted to come and sit for my picture," and, making a quick movement, carefully obliterated the whole of my work. My astonishment and chagrin were considerable, but, after severe corrections at home, the little girl returned to apologize and finish her sittings, and I completed the picture.

One time, when I was visiting Mr. and Mrs. Coope at Brentwood, they commissioned me to paint two of their daughters; the late Mrs. Edward Ponsonby and Miss Coope also partly completed a portrait of old Mr.

Coope, but gave him up in despair, and he, upon seeing my bewilderment, sympathetically remarked, "The only artist who, had he lived now, could have painted me would have been Franz Hals." But that was before Sargent's day.

My hostess, Mrs. Coope, a very handsome and charming old lady, wrote to me some time after my return to ask me to come down and make a drawing of her little grandchildren, who were staying with her then.

When I arrived, I was shown into the nursery and introduced to a little baby, who was entirely occupied with crawling on the floor.

After pursuing my erratic model all over the room in hopes of catching her at a happy moment, and failing hopelessly in my quest, I gave up, and was informed by the fond grandparent--

"She'll never sit still ... your only chance is to crawl on the floor after her with your pencil and paper, and if you want to arrest her attention, the only thing is to buzz like a bee."

So I buzzed, found the ruse successful, and made the sketch, which was very well received.

I read of the death of Mrs. Georgina Weldon the other day, at the age of seventy-seven. I recalled the days when she sat to me for the drawing I made of her in _Vanity Fair_. Mrs. Weldon was a very handsome and extraordinary woman, her life being chiefly spent in fighting law cases in the Courts.

She was reputed to know more law (especially the law of libel) than many barristers who had long been engaged in practice, and she conducted her cases with great skill and eloquence, though not often with success, especially in later years, when she seemed to become almost a monomaniac upon legal matters.

Some eight years after marriage, Mrs. Weldon formed a design for teaching and training, especially in music, a number of friendless orphans. She started her scheme in 1870 at Tavistock House (once the residence of Charles d.i.c.kens), and with her husband's consent, began her philanthropic project with a number of the poorest and youngest children. Many leading musicians of the day became a.s.sociated with her--Mr. Henry Leslie, M. Rivire, and M. Gounod among them.

Some of her friends and relatives could not understand why Mrs. Weldon gave up her time and money to a work which they viewed with disfavour, and their disapproval deepened when she developed an interest in spiritualism. "One night," says the _Times_, "she was waited upon by two strangers of professed benevolent disposition, who were afterwards proved to be medical men on a visit of inspection (the keepers of a private asylum); they tried to force a way into her house and carry her off as a lunatic under an order of detention. She baffled them and escaped."

Mrs. Weldon's first attempt to justify herself was by proceedings against Dr. Forbes Winslow, in whose private asylum it had been intended to place her. Baron Huddleston, however, who heard the case, non-suited her, ruling that the statute of 1845 was a defence, and declined to allow the case to go to the jury. From this finding the Divisional Court subsequently dissented. Mrs. Weldon gained the first-fruits of her long battle in July, 1884, when, after a ten days'

trial, she gained a verdict for 1000 damages against Dr. Semple, who had signed the certificate of lunacy, and who was one of the two "benevolent strangers." Mrs. Weldon afterwards got a verdict against Dr. Forbes Winslow for 500 damages. A verdict for a like amount had been given in her favour in May in an action against the _London Figaro_.

In March, 1885, she was sentenced to six months' imprisonment without hard labour, for a libel upon M. Rivire in certain reflections--made in her publication "Social Salvation"--upon his career before he came to England. In May of the same year coming from prison to the Court under a writ of _habeas corpus_, she was awarded, by a jury sitting at the Middles.e.x Sessions Court to a.s.sess damages, a verdict of 10,000 against the composer of _Faust_, for a series of libels upon her published in various French papers.

In all her actions Mrs. Weldon conducted her own case with a brilliance that was remarkable, as was her English, which was perfectly beautiful; but her reputation of fearlessness where the law was concerned made one very careful of repeating in her presence any casual remark that might lead to trouble. During the time she sat to me I remember one particular day especially, when she arrived in high dudgeon, complaining bitterly of a housekeeper in another studio into which she had by mistake been shown. This lady had been impolite, and had not treated her with the respect due to her position; and for this slight she was prepared to sign a "round robin" to get rid of the woman and persuade the other tenants to help her.

Not paying much attention to the story, although I regretted any trouble that had occurred, I did not realize the ident.i.ty of the offending "woman," until, going into my mother's studio, she informed me that on no account did she want to see Mrs. Weldon, whose voice she had now identified. But, as Mrs. Weldon was leaving, my mother inadvertently ran into her and was recognized. Having determined to have a day _en neglige_, and to spend her time tearing up an acc.u.mulation of old letters, my mother had made arrangements not to be in to any models or visitors; her annoyance was considerable when Mrs.

Weldon knocked at her door in mistake for mine, and without looking twice to distinguish her visitor, she had informed her that she did not require any models that day. After explanations and apologies had been exchanged on either side, peace was restored, as, incidentally, was my visitor's equanimity.

Mrs. Weldon was engaged at this period to sing at the London Pavilion at a very handsome salary. On one of these occasions, when I went to hear her, I amused myself during an interval with making a caricature of the conductor of the orchestra; when I had completed the drawing, I noticed that my temporary model had observed my procedure, and a moment later the attendant handed me a little piece of paper on which was drawn a caricature of myself! and a note requesting me to send my drawing for his inspection--which I did.