Forty Years of 'Spy'

If it had not been a question of time and money, I would not have encouraged sitters in my studio at all. When I became pressed for time, however, it was impossible to seek my subjects, especially when, with the exception of men of definite public position, I was not always sure of finding them. One interesting point in connection with the men whom one finds only in such places as the House of Commons, is the fact that one is then at the mercy of the lighting of the building. This frequently accounts for bad portraits and unrecognizable caricatures, for lighting falsifies extraordinarily.

Of course I had innumerable sitters who were delightful in every way, and many who, if they were peculiar, were otherwise good sorts; but I am chiefly concerned at this moment with the strange stories of the exceptional cases that have astonished me from time to time. A peculiarity of some of my sitters in which I have rarely found an exception, is as to their professed ability to stand. I do not like to tire my sitters, and I usually tell them I am afraid they will find a position wearisome, which they deny, telling me at the same time that standing for hours is not in the least tedious to them. Half an hour goes by—and they start to sigh and fidget, and presently give in, and finally confess they had not expected it to be such an ordeal—and always with the air of having remarked something entirely original. I have noticed, too, the brightness of step with which my sitters enter my studio, and, after a long sitting, the revived brightness brought about by the mention of lunch.

Bradlaugh, who was a willing subject, asked me upon entering my studio rather breezily whether I wished him to stand upon "'is 'ead or 'is 'eels," so he quite appreciated the situation.

There are people who become nervous about their clothes. I have known a peer object to spats because they did not look nice in a picture. One man who was a noted dandy grew very concerned about his trousers. After making innumerable efforts to persuade him to stand still, I was obliged to wait while he explained about his clothes.

"My trousers are usually perfect, and without a crease," he said, bending to look at them, while he bagged out the knees and found creases in every direction. The more creases he saw the more concerned he became and looked at them in grieved surprise as though he had never seen them before.

A sitter who worried over his clothes came to me in the form of a gentleman from Islington, who wore the most extraordinary trousers, for which he continually apologized, and seemed quite oblivious of the fact that I was drawing him in profile. Every other moment he would turn full face to me with some remark ending with another apology for his trousers (which reminded me of the first Lord Lytton's, they were so wide at the foot).

"Please remember I am drawing you in profile," I would interject occasionally, as he turned his face to me, and each time he would try to remember, apologize for his nether garments, and his forgetfulness, raising his hat and bowing to me at every apology. Why he was so conscious of his clothes I do not know, unless he found their cut necessary to Islington.

À propos of clothes. After being at Tattersall's one day, I went with Mr. Sterling Stuart to lunch, and afterwards we proceeded to his dressing-room to choose a suit which he was to wear when I drew his caricature. As he gave me a free hand I found one which attracted my eye immediately; it was an old tweed with a good broad, brown stripe, and I felt there was no question to which was the best for my purpose.

He appeared the next day in my studio looking the pink of perfection, and as I surveyed him I suddenly realized with dismay that his trousers did not match the incomparable coat. I drew his attention to what I imagined was an oversight.

"Well, my boy! do you think," he said, "that the man who built that coat could have lived to build the trousers too?"

Not long after my cartoon of the Prince of Wales appeared, I was passing by a tailor's shop and I saw a reproduction in the window. Feeling slightly curious as to its exact object there, I went to look, and on closer examination found that the ingenious tailor was using it as a form of advertisement, and underneath was written:—

"The very best coat that I've seen the Prince wearWas drawn by the artist of Vanity Fair."

The sensitiveness of people with a tendency towards corpulency is also at times provocative of trouble. Sir Watkins William Wynn, who sat for me on one occasion, was quite a portly old gentleman, and, presumably in order to conceal his stoutness from my notice, he buttoned his coat before taking up his position. As an inevitable result, a number of well marked creases made their appearance in the region of his watch-chain, and these I naturally included in my drawing. When he subsequently saw the latter he refused at first to believe that so many creases existed, but after I had finally convinced him of their presence he went straight off to his tailor's and bestowed the blame on him. No doubt the tailor profited in the long run; however, I fancy, as a matter of fact, that I have been of service to a good many tailors in my time. For many of the notabilities I have cartooned seemed altogether unaware of their habilatory shortcomings till they were confronted with them in my drawings.

Self-conceit is the keynote of the story of a noble lord who called upon me at my studio with a view to my "putting him in Vanity Fair." I was very busy at the time, and had consequently to suggest the postponing his appointment till a later hour, whereupon he took great offence and refused to return at all. But I was determined he should not escape me, and I took the opportunity at an evening party to study him thoroughly. When his caricature appeared he was so chagrined that he dyed his hair, which was white, to a muddy brown, in order that he should not be recognized.

An old gentleman of great position in the world who came to my studio, had a very red nose. After the sitting, as he was leaving, he said rather shyly:—

"I hope you will not be too generous with your carmine, as it might give the public a wrong impression, and it is an unfortunate fact that both my grandfathers, my father, and myself all have had red noses, and all are total abstainers."

Another subject was restless to a degree, and walked about the room instead of permitting me to draw him.

"Hope you won't keep me very long," he said, "I'm never still for a moment, I'm always walking about my room. You'd better do me with a book in my hand as though I were dictating to my clerk."

I was rather disconcerted, for this was not to be a caricature, but a characteristic portrait.

"But," I said, "your friends won't know you so. Anyway, go on walking."

I made little notes as I watched him, and after he had been walking some time I began to hope that he would be getting tired, when he stopped short and said:—

"No! You'd better do me with my hand on my waistcoat."

"Very well," I replied, "we'll begin again."

In this position I began a drawing of him, when he decided it would not do.

"Oh, well," I said, "sometimes you sit down, don't you? And it seems to me a very natural thing to do. Suppose I draw you that way?"

Mark Twain was another subject who came under the category of the "walkers." I had a good deal of difficulty in getting hold of him, but when I eventually caught him at his hotel, I found him decidedly impatient.

"Now you mustn't think I'm going to sit or stand for you," he told me, "for once I am up I go on."

The whole time I watched him he paced the room like a caged animal, smoking a very large calabash pipe and telling amusing stories. The great humorist wore a white flannel suit and told me in the course of conversation that he had a dress suit made all in white which he wore at dinner-parties. He had just taken his Honorary Degree at Oxford, and he rather wanted to put his gown on, but I preferred to "do" him in the more characteristic and widely-known garb. He struck me as being a very sensitive man, whose nervous pacings during my interview were the result of a highly strung temperament. The only pacifying influence seemed to be his enormous pipe which he never ceased to smoke.

When I think of all the good stories I have missed when I have been studying these really humorous people, I regret that my attention must be centred on my work regardless of the delightful personalities which sometimes it has been my good fortune to meet.

I should like to be able to wind up my sitters like mechanical toys, to be amusing to order. What a lot of trouble it would save!

A clever amateur caricaturist once wanted me to paint his portrait, and during his sittings gave me his views upon caricature. He informed me that he had no compunction whatever in doing a caricature upon the physical defects of his subjects, and that if, for instance, a man had … well … a decidedly large stomach, he would not hesitate to increase it.

After several sittings I made one of the best drawings and characteristic portraits I have ever done, as he appealed to me as a subject, for he was individual in his dress, and his hat had a character which is rare nowadays.

But during the progress of the work, he was self-conscious and awkward, which is a result curious in a man who had a clever gift of caricature, himself. However, I did not exaggerate my work to the extent of producing a caricature, and gave him more credit than to expect me to flatter him. But it seemed that I expressed his bulk more truthfully than was tactful, for it appeared he had undergone a dieting process and considered himself quite sylph-like in consequence. When the drawing was in the hands of the lithographers I went down to see the proof, and to my surprise this man turned up. He appeared to be very friendly, shook hands, and expressed the usual polite banalities. I was a trifle puzzled, but I heard afterwards that he went to the office the next day with his lawyer to look at the drawing, and said to him:—

"Don't you consider this to be a most offensive caricature of me?" (He imagined I was intending to insult him.)

This resulted in publication being forbidden, whereupon the lithographers informed him that the drawing was already finished, and all the expense of reproduction incurred. He accordingly paid what was necessary, and it was never published, so I heard no more of the matter.

Some time after I met his medical adviser, whom I told of this extraordinary hallucination as to my intentions. He appeared amused.

"Oh!" he said, "he is really a very good fellow; but it's been a mania with him to reduce his stomach, and he was under the impression that he'd succeeded."

My methods of studying my subjects vary considerably, and the most successful of my caricatures have been without exception those which were made without the knowledge of the persons portrayed. After all, this is nothing more than natural, for by watching a man unawares one more successfully catches his little tricks of manner, and to some extent his movements, all of which are carefully concealed when he comes in the guise of a complacent sitter to the studio. And so, for the purpose of frank caricature, one prefers to rely upon memory.

I have spent such a considerable time in public places of interest that I fear I am quite well known to the police. Not infrequently I have been detected in the act of obtaining my victims (by the pen), for I discovered the following account in a newspaper: "An amusing incident occurred one evening in the House of Commons Lobby in connection with the caricaturist and a victim. I had seen 'Spy' silently and patiently stalking a new member (Mr. Keir Hardie) with a striking and tempting personality. The new member, however, was nervous, having apparently an instinctive idea that he was being pursued, for he moved restlessly about, casting suspicious glances all round him. An evening or two after I was surprised to see 'Spy' and his victim engaged in a friendly conversation, the artist taking advantage of the opportunity to examine every detail of face and figure. It seems that the new member thought he recognized a friend in his pursuer, and not knowing what he was after, he went up to him feeling that he had found refuge, and that here at least was one man who did not want to sketch him. I need hardly say that 'Spy' took full advantage of the chase, and not long after this the victim appeared in Vanity Fair."

That reminds me of the time when Lord Henry Lennox came up to me in the Lobby.

"My dear," he said in his usual characteristic manner, "you see that little man over there—I detest him—he caricatured me and made me appalling."

He took a violent dislike to Pellegrini, who had seized upon his obvious stoop with a wonderful touch, and converted it into one of his finest caricatures.

Cardinal Newman quite unconsciously placed me in rather an awkward dilemma. At the time when I was anxious to stalk him I heard he was in Birmingham; so I went to Euston Station, and had actually bought my railway ticket when suddenly I caught sight of his Eminence upon the platform. Here was an opportunity not to be missed! I saw him go into the buffet and followed him. He sat down at a small table and ordered soup. I took a seat opposite and ordered food also, studying him closely while he partook of it. But I was not altogether satisfied, and I felt anxious to see him again. So I travelled down to Birmingham, and on the following day I called at the Oratory and asked one of the priests there at what time the Cardinal was likely to go out. Evidently, in spite of my protests, the priest concluded that I wanted an audience with Cardinal Newman, for saying that he would apprize him of my visit, he disappeared. My object had been to perfect my former study by a further glimpse; and a personal interview was really the last thing I desired. There was accordingly nothing left for me but to bolt!

My most comical search was probably one in which I was assisted by Mr. Gibson Bowles. It took place in Holloway Gaol. The Rev. Arthur Tooth, "the Man of the Mount," and that most celebrated ritualist, was in durance vile.

"Awkward," said Mr. Bowles, "but we must certainly have him. Let me see.... I'm the Secretary to the Persian Relief Fund.... Come along, Ward."

What possible connection could exist between the Persian Relief Fund and the Rev. Arthur Tooth I failed utterly to see, but apparently Mr. Bowles made the authorities at Holloway see it, for we got safely through, and I had the unique experience of observing the Reverend gentleman as he posed behind the bars.

I found Mr. Bowles an invaluable second when studying my subjects, he was so thoroughly a man of the world and withal so tactful and resourceful that I was glad when we worked in company. It was a great help for me, and I was able to employ my attention in observing while he took the responsibility of conversations and entertainment of the subject entirely off my hands. Sometimes I disconcerted my friends, who were all unaware of the promptings of the caricaturist's conscience. I was walking down St. James' Street one day with a friend discussing the subjects of the day with easy equanimity when I saw Brodrick the Warden of Merton (whom I had been hoping to catch for weeks). I suddenly grew quite excited, and, seeing him turn a corner, I rushed on in pursuit. My friend begged me to desist, and, finding me deaf to his entreaties, left me. I followed Mr. Brodrick into a shop, had one long look at him, and went home to complete a caricature that came with immediate success.

On occasions, disguise has been necessary for a "complete stalk"—when I was endeavouring to obtain a glimpse of Doctor Spooner (known to fame as the creator of Spoonerisms), I started by means of masquerading as a student in cap and gown, and as the renowned gentleman's sight was very bad indeed, he was a pretty safe man to tackle. My methods were, of course, well known to the real undergraduates who aided me to the best of their ability; but on this occasion one student in the front row nearly gave me away. Suddenly turning round in the middle of the lecture, he inquired in a loud stage whisper, "How are you getting on?"

"Hush! He'll see," I remonstrated.

"Oh!" exclaimed the undergraduate, "that's all right if he does. I'll tell him you're my guv'nor!"

Mr. Comyns Carr, an old and valued friend of mine, always divided my work into two classes, one of which he was pleased to term the "beefs" and the other the "porks." He begged me, when I was painting his own cartoon, to put him among the "porks." I promised I would and did my best to prevent his face from becoming too florid. But apparently my labours were in vain, or else the lithographers failed me, for after the drawing was published, Comyns Carr greeted me at the club with the words, "Oh, Leslie! I'm among the 'beefs' after all!"

I regretted the fact, but unfortunately the fault was not mine. The reproduction was limited to the number of colours, so that there was no happy medium for the lithographers; if the reproducers wanted a florid effect, the face appeared red all over, if the drawing was a "pork" with a red rose in his coat and a faint colour in his cheeks, they made the face all red and used the same colour for the rose.

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.