ECHOES OF “THE ROLL CALL”
On May 14th I lunched at Lady Raglan’s. Kinglake was there to meet me,
and we talked Crimea. I had read and re-read his much too prolix
history, which I thought overburdened with detail, giving one an
impression of the two Balaclava charges as lasting hours rather than
minutes. But I had learnt much that was of the utmost value from this
very superabundance of detail. Then on the next day I rose early, and
was off by seven with the Horsleys to Aldershot at the invitation of Sir
Hope Grant, of Indian celebrity, commanding, who travelled down with us.
“Lady Grant received us at the house, where we found a nice breakfast,
and where I got dried, being drenched by a torrential downpour. Would
that it had continued longer, if only to lay the hideous sand in the
Long Valley, which made the field day something very like a fiasco. I
tried to sketch, but my book was nearly blown out of my hand, my
umbrella was turned inside out and my arms benumbed by the cold. M.,
most luckily, was on the field, and Mrs. Horsley and I were soon
comfortably ensconced in his hansom cab and trying to feel more
comfortable and jolly. When the sham fight began we had to keep shifting
our standpoint, and Mrs. H. and I had repeatedly to jump out of the
hansom, as we were threatened by an upset every minute over those
sandhills. As to the two charges of cavalry, which Sir Hope had on
purpose for me, I could hardly see them, what with the dust storms half
swallowing them up in dense dun-coloured sheets and my eyes being full
of sand. However, I made the most of the situation, and hope I have got
some good hints. I ought to have so much of this sort of thing, and hope
to now, with all those ‘friends in court!’ When the march past began Sir
Hope sent to ask me if I would like to stand by his charger at the
saluting base, which I did, and saw, of course, beautifully. I felt
extraordinarily situated, standing there, half liking and half not
liking the situation, with an enormous mounted staff of utterly unknown,
gorgeous officers curvetting and jingling behind me and the general. As
one regiment passed, marching, as I thought, just as splendidly as the
others, I heard Sir Hope snap at them ‘Very bad, very bad. Don’t,
don’t!’ And I felt for them so much, trusting they didn’t see me or mind
my having heard.”
Three days later, at a charming lunch at Lady Herbert’s, I met her son,
Lord Pembroke, and Dr. Kingsley, Charles’s brother--“The Earl and the
Doctor.” It was interesting to see the originals of the title they gave
their book. The next day people came to the Academy to find, in place of
“The Roll Call,” a placard--“This picture has been temporarily removed
by command of Her Majesty.” She had it taken to Windsor to look at
before her departure for Scotland, and to show to the Czar, who was on a
visit.
Calderon, the R.A., whom I met that evening, told me the Academy had
never been receiving so many daily shillings before, and that it ought
to present me with a diamond necklace. And so forth, and so forth--all
noted in the faithful Diary, wherein many extravagances of the moment in
my regard are safely tucked away. Two days later I see: “_May
20th._--The Woolwich review was quite glorious. I went with Lady
Herbert, the Lane Foxes, Lord Denbigh and Capt. Slade. We posted there
and back with two jolly greys and a postboy in a sky-blue jacket. This
was quite after my own heart. Lord Denbigh talked art and war all the
way, interesting me beyond expression. We were in the forefront of
everything on arrival, next the Saluting Point, round which were grouped
the most brilliant sons of Mars I ever saw gathered together, and of
various nations. The Czar Alexander II. headed these, flanked by my two
friends, the Prince of Wales and the Duke of Cambridge. The artillery
manœuvres were effective, and I sketched as much as I could, getting
up on the box, Lord Denbigh holding my parasol over my head, as the sun
was strong. I suppose people like spoiling me just now, or _trying_ to.”
Then, two days later, I note that I dined at Lady Rose Weigall’s, my
left-hand neighbour at table the Archbishop of York, Dr. Thomson, who
took in the hostess. He and I seem to have talked an immense deal about
all sorts of things. He confided to me that his private opinion was that
the Irish Church should never have been disestablished. In the course of
further conversation I thought it better to let him know I was a
Catholic by a passing remark. I said I thought the Neapolitans did not
make such solid Catholics as the English. He stared, none too pleased!
The next night I met at the Westmorelands’, at dinner, Lord George
Paget, Colonel Kingscote, and Henry Weigall, my host of the previous
evening. Lord George was drawn out during dinner about Balaclava, and I
listened to his loud cavalry soldier’s talk with the keenest interest.
He protested that we were making him say too much, but we were
insatiable. Lord George was a man I had tried to picture; he was almost
the last to ride back from the light cavalry charge. His manner and
speech were _soldatesque_, his expressions requiring at times a “saving
your presence” to the ladies, as a prefix. For me time flew in listening
to this interesting Balaclava hero, and it was very late when I made up
my mind to go, a wiser but by no means a sadder girl.
At a dinner at Lady Georgiana Fullerton’s my sister and I met Aubrey de
Vere, who delighted Alice with his conversation. The general company,
however, seem to have chiefly amused themselves with the long and, on
the whole, silly controversy which was appearing in _The Times_
regarding the sequence of the horse’s steps as he walks. It began by my
horse’s walk in “The Roll Call” having been criticised by those who held
to the old conventional idea. How many hours I had moved alongside
horses to see for myself exactly how a horse puts his feet down in the
walk! I had told many people to go down on all fours themselves and
walk, noting the sequence with their own hands and knees, which was sure
to be correct instinctively. At this same dinner Lady Lothian told me
she had followed my advice, and the idea of that sedate _grande dame_,
with grey hair combed under a white lace cap, pacing round her room on
all fours I thought delightful. Since those days I have been vindicated
by the snap-shot.
I find many Diary pages chiefly devoted to preparations for “Quatre
Bras” and the doing of several pen-and-ink reminiscences of what I had
seen at Woolwich and Aldershot, and exhibited at the “Dudley.” Some were
bought by the picture dealer Gambart, and some by Agnew. One of those
pen-and-inks was the “Halt!”--those Scots Greys I only half saw through
the dust storm at Aldershot pulling up in the midst of a tremendous
charge, very close to us. Gambart had come to my studio to see if he
could get anything, and when I told him of this “Halt!” which I had just
sent to the “Dudley,” he there and then wrote me a cheque for it,
without seeing it. When he went there to claim it, behold! it had
already been sold, before the opening. He was very angry, and threatened
law against the “Dudley” for what he called “skimming” the show before
the public got a chance. But the possessor was, like Mr. Galloway, a
_Maanchester maan_, and these are very firm on what they call “our
rights.” It was no use. I had to make Gambart a compensation drawing.
This introduces Mr. Whitehead, for whom I was to paint “Balaclava.” He
had the “Halt!” tight.
On Corpus Christi Day that year Alice and I, having received our
invitations from the Bishop of Salford, of happy pilgrimage memory, to
join in the services and procession in honour of the Blessed Sacrament
at the Missionary College, Mill Hill, we went thither that glorious
midsummer day. At page 127 of the Diary I have put down certain
sentiments about the practice of the Catholic faith in England, and I
express a longing to see the Host carried through English fields. I
little thought in one year to see my hope realised; yet so it was at
Mill Hill. After vespers in the little church, the procession was
formed, and I shall long remember the choristers, in their purple
cassocks, passing along a field of golden buttercups and the white and
gold banners at the head of the procession floating out against a
typical English sky as their bearers passed over a little hillock which
commands a lovely view of the rich landscape. The bishop bore the Host,
and six favoured men held the canopy. Franciscan nuns in the procession
sang the hymns.
The early days of that July had their pleasant festivities, such as a
dinner, with Alice, at Lady Londonderry’s (she who was our mother’s
godmother on the occasion of her reception into the Catholic Church) and
the Academy _soirée_, where Mrs. Tait invited me and Dr. Pollard to a
large garden party at Lambeth Palace. There I note: “The Royalties were
in full force, the _Waleses_, as I have heard the Prince and Princess
called, and many others. It was amusing and very pleasant in the
gardens, though provokingly windy. I had a curiously uncomfortable and
oppressed feeling, though, in that headquarters of the--what shall I
call it?--Opposition? The Archbishop and Mrs. Archbishop, particularly
Mrs., rather appalled me. But dear Dr. Pollard, that stout Protestant,
must have been very gratified.”
On July 4th Colonel Browne, C.B., R.E., who took the keenest interest in
my “Quatre Bras,” and did all in his power to help me with the military
part of it, had a day at Chatham for me. He, Mrs. B. and daughters
called for me in the morning, and we set forth for Chatham, where some
300 men of the Royal Engineers were awaiting us on the “Lines.” Colonel
Browne had ordered them beforehand, and had them in full dress, with
knapsacks, as I desired.
They first formed the old-fashioned four-deep square for me, and not
only that, but the beautiful parade dressing was broken and _accidenté_
by my directions, so as to have a little more the appearance of the real
thing. They fired in sections, too, as I wished, but, unfortunately, the
wind was so strong that the smoke was whisked away in a twinkling, and
what I chiefly wished to study was unobtainable, _i.e._, masses of men
seen through smoke. After they had fired away all their ammunition, the
whole body of men were drawn up in line, and, the rear rank having been
distanced from the front rank, I, attended by Colonel Browne and a
sergeant, walked down them both, slowly, picking out here and there a
man I thought would do for a “Quatre Bras” model (beardless), and the
sergeant took down the name of each man as I pointed him out very
unobtrusively, Colonel Browne promising to have these men up at
Brompton, quartered there for the time I wanted them. So I write: “I
shall not want for soldierly faces, what with those sappers and the
Scots Fusilier Guards, of whom I am sure I can have the pick, through
Colonel Hepburn’s courtesy. After this interesting ‘choosing a model’
was ended, we all repaired to Colonel Galway’s quarters, where we
lunched. After that I went to the guard-room to see the men I had chosen
in the morning, so as to write down their personal descriptions in my
book. Each man was marched in by the sergeant and stood at attention
with every vestige of expression discharged from his countenance whilst
I wrote down his personal peculiarities. I had chosen eight out of the
300 in the morning, but only five were brought now by the sergeant, as I
had managed to pitch upon three bad characters out of the eight, and
these could not be sent me. We spent the rest of the day very pleasantly
listening to the band, going over the museum, etc. I ought to see as
much of military life as possible, and I must go down to Aldershot as
often as I can.
“_July 16th._--Mamma and I went to Henley-on-Thames in search of a rye
field for my ‘Quatre Bras.’ Eagerly I looked at the harvest fields as we
sped to our goal to see how advanced they were. We had a great
difficulty in finding any rye at Henley, it having all been cut, except
a little patch which we at length discovered by the direction of a
farmer. I bought a piece of it, and then immediately trampled it down
with the aid of a lot of children. Mamma and I then went to work, but,
oh! horror, my oil brushes were missing. I had left them in the chaise,
which had returned to Henley. So Mamma went frantically to work with two
slimy water-colour brushes to get down tints whilst I drew down forms in
pencil. We laughed a good deal and worked on into the darkness, two
regular ‘Pre-Raphaelite Brethren,’ to all appearances, bending over a
patch of trampled rye.”
I seem to have felt to the utmost the exhilaration produced by the
following episode. Let the young Diary speak: “The grand and glorious
Lord Mayor’s banquet to the stars of literature and art came off to-day,
July 21st, and it was to me such a delightful thing that I felt all the
time in a pleasant sort of dream. I was mentioned in two speeches, Lord
Houghton’s (‘Monckton Milnes’) and Sir Francis Grant’s, P.R.A. As the
President spoke of me, he said his eye rested with pleasure on me at
that moment! Papa came with me. Above all the display of civic
splendour one felt the dominant spirit of hospitality in that
ever-to-me-delightful Mansion House. It was a unique thing because such
aristocrats as were there were those of merit and genius. The few lords
were only there because they represented literature, being authors.
Patti was there. She wished to have a talk with me, and went through
little Italian dramatic compliments, like Neilson. Old Cruikshank was a
strange-looking old man, a wonder to me as the illustrator of ‘Oliver
Twist’ and others of Dickens’s works--a unique genius. He said many nice
things about me to Papa. I wished the evening could have lasted a week.”
The next entries are connected with the “Quatre Bras” cartoon: “Dreadful
misgivings about a vital point. I have made my front rank men sitting on
their heels in the kneeling position. Not so the drill book. After my
model went, most luckily came Colonel Browne. Shakes his head at the
attitudes. Will telegraph to Chatham about the heel and let me know in
the morning.
“_July 23rd._--Colonel Browne came, and with him a smart sergeant-major,
instructor of musketry. Alas! this man and telegram from Chatham dead
against me. Sergeant says the men at Chatham must have been sitting on
their heels to rest and steady themselves. He showed me the exact
position when at the ‘ready’ to receive cavalry. To my delight I may
have him to-morrow as a model, but it is no end of a bore, this wasted
time.”
“_July 24th._--The musketry instructor, contrary to my sad expectations,
was by no means the automaton one expects a soldier to be, but a
thoroughly intelligent model, and his attitudes combined perfect
drill-book correctness with great life and action. He was splendid. I
can feel certain of everything being right in the attitudes, and will
have no misgivings. It is extraordinary what a well-studied position
that kneeling to resist cavalry is. I dread to think what blunders I
might have committed. No civilian would have detected them, but the
military would have been down upon me. I feel, of course, rather
fettered at having to observe rules so strict and imperative concerning
the poses of my figures, which, I hope, will have much action. I have to
combine the drill book and the fierce fray! I told an artist the other
day, very seriously, that I wished to show what an English square looks
like viewed quite close at the end of two hours’ action, when about to
receive a last charge. A cool speech, seeing I have never seen the
thing! And yet I seem to have seen it--the hot, blackened faces, the set
teeth or gasping mouths, the bloodshot eyes and the mocking laughter,
the stern, cool, calculating look here and there; the unimpressionable,
dogged stare! Oh! that I could put on canvas what I have in my mind!
“_July 25th._--A glorious day at Chatham, where again the Engineers were
put through field exercises, and I studied them with all my faculties. I
got splendid hints to-day. Went with Colonel Browne and Papa.
“_July 28th._--My dear musketry instructor for a few more attitudes. He
has put me through the process of loading the ‘Brown Bess’--a
flint-lock--so that I shall have my soldiers handling their arms
properly. Galloway has sold the copyright of this picture to Messrs.
Dickenson for £2,000! They must have faith in my doing it well.”
On August 11th I see I took a much-needed holiday at home, at Ventnor;
and, as I say, “gave myself up to fresh air, exercise, a little
out-of-door painting, and Napier’s ‘Peninsular War,’ in six volumes.”
Shortly before I left for home I received from Queen Victoria a very
splendid bracelet set with pearls and a large emerald. My mother and
good friend Dr. Pollard were with me in the studio when the messenger
brought it, and we formed a jubilant trio.
It was pleasant to be amongst my old Ventnor friends who had known me
since I was little more than a child. But on September 10th I had to bid
them and the old place goodbye, and on September 11th I re-entered my
beloved studio.
“_September 12th._--An eventful day, for my ‘Quatre Bras’ canvas was
tackled. The sergeant-major and Colonel Browne arrived. The latter, good
man, has had the whole Waterloo uniform made for me at the Government
clothing factory at Pimlico. It has been made to fit the sergeant-major,
who put on the whole thing for me to see. We had a dress rehearsal, and
very delighted I was. They have even had the coat dyed the old
‘brick-dust’ red and made of the baize cloth of those days! Times are
changed for me. It will be my fault if the picture is a fiasco.”
During the painting of “Quatre Bras” I was elected a member of the Royal
Institute of Painters in Water Colour, and I contributed to the Winter
Exhibition that large sketch of a sowar of the 10th Bengal Lancers which
I called “Missed!” and which the _Graphic_ bought and published in
colours. This reproduction sold to such an extent that the _Graphic_
must have been pleased! The sowar at “tent-pegging” has missed his peg
and pulls at his horse at full gallop. I had never seen tent-pegging at
that time, but I did this from description, by an Anglo-Indian officer
of the 10th, who put the thing vividly before me. How many, many
tent-peggings I have seen since, and what a number of subjects they have
given me for my brush and pencil! Those captivating and pictorial
movements of men and horses are inexhaustible in their variety.
I had more models sent to me than I could put into the big
picture--Guardsmen, Engineers and Policemen--the latter being useful as,
in those days, the police did not wear the moustache, and I had
difficulty in finding heads suitable for the Waterloo time. Not a head
in the picture is repeated. I had a welcome opportunity of showing
varieties of types such as gave me so much pleasure in the old
Florentine days when I enjoyed the Andrea del Sartos, Masaccios, Francia
Bigios, and other works so full of characteristic heads.
On November 7th my sister and I went for a weekend to Birmingham, where
the people who had bought “The Roll Call” copyright were exhibiting that
picture. They particularly wished me to go. We were very agreeably
entertained at Birmingham, where I was curious to meet the buyer of my
first picture sold, that “Morra” which I painted in Rome. Unfortunately
I inquired everywhere for “Mr. Glass,” and had to leave Birmingham
without seeing him and the early work. No one had heard of him! His name
was Chance, the great Birmingham _glass_ manufacturer.
“_November 27th._--In the morning off with Dr. Pollard to Sanger’s
Circus, where arrangements had been made for me to see two horses go
through their performances of lying down, floundering on the ground,
and rearing for my ‘Quatre Bras’ foreground horses. It was a funny
experience behind the scenes, and I sketched as I followed the horses in
their movements over the arena with many members of the troupe looking
on, the young ladies with their hair in curl-papers against the
evening’s performance. I am now ripe to go to Paris.”
So to Paris I went, with my father. We were guests of my father’s old
friends, Mr. and Mrs. Talmadge, Boulevard Haussmann, and a complete
change of scene it was. It gave my work the desired fillip and the fresh
impulse of emulation, for we visited the best studios, where I met my
most admired French painters. The Paris Diary says:
“_December 3rd._--Our first lion was Bonnat in his studio. A little man,
strong and wiry; I didn’t care for his pictures. His colouring is
dreadful. What good light those Parisians get while we are muddling in
our smoky art centre. We next went to Gérôme, and it was an epoch in my
life when I saw him. He was at work but did not mind being interrupted.
He is a much smaller man than I expected, with wide open, quick black
eyes, yet with deep lids, the eyes opening wide only when he talks. He
talked a great deal and knew me by name and ‘_l’Appel,_’ which he
politely said he heard was ‘_digne_’ of the celebrity it had gained. We
went to see an exhibition of horrors--Carolus Duran’s productions, now
on view at the _Cercle Artistique_. The talk is all about this man, just
now the vogue. He illustrates a very disagreeable present phase of
French Art. At Goupil’s we saw De Neuville’s ‘Combat on the Roof of a
House,’ and I feasted my eyes on some pickings from the most celebrated
artists of the Continent. I am having a great treat and a great lesson.
“_December 4th._--Had a _supposed_ great opportunity in being invited to
join a party of very _mondaines Parisiennes_ to go over the Grand Opera,
which is just being finished. Oh, the chatter of those women in the
carriage going there! They vied with each other in frivolous outpourings
which continued all the time we explored that dreadful building. It is a
pile of ostentation which oppressed me by the extravagant display of
gilding, marbles and bronze, and silver, and mosaic, and brocade, heaped
up over each other in a gorged kind of way. How truly weary I felt; and
the bedizened dressing-rooms of the actresses and _danseuses_ were the
last straw. Ugh! and all really tasteless.”
However, I recovered from the Grand Opera, and really enjoyed the lively
dinners where conversation was not limited to couples, but flowed with
great _ésprit_ across the table and round and round. Still, in time, my
sleep suffered, for I seemed to hear those voices in the night. How
graceful were the French equivalents to the compliments I received in
London. They thought I would like to know that the fame of “_l’Appel_”
had reached Paris, and so I did.
We visited Detaille’s beautiful studio. He was my greatest admiration at
that time. Also Henriette Browne’s and others, and, of course, the
Luxembourg, so I drew much profit from my little visit. But what a
change I saw in the army! I who could remember the Empire of my
childhood, with its endless variety of uniforms, its buglings, and
drummings, and trumpetings; its _chic_ and glitter and swagger: 1870 was
over it all now. Well, never mind, I have lived to see it in the “_bleu
d’horizon_” of a new and glorious day. My Paris Diary winds up with:
“_December 14th._--Papa and I returned home from our Paris visit. My eye
has been very much sharpened, and very severe was that organ as it
rested on my ‘Quatre Bras’ for the first time since a fortnight ago. Ye
Gods! what a deal I have to do to that picture before it will be fit to
look at! I continue to receive droll letters and poems (!). One I must
quote the opening line of:
‘Go on, go on, thou glorious girl!’
Very cheering.”