ETON AND AFTER
Eton days.--Windsor Fair.--My Dame.--Fights and Fun.--
Boveney Court.--Mr. Hall Say.--Boveney.--Professor and Mrs.
Attwell.--I win a useful prize.--Alban Doran.--My father's
frescoes.--Battle Abbey.--Gainsborough's Tomb.--Knole.--Our
burglar.--Claude Calthrop.--Clayton Calthrop.--The Gardener
as Critic.--The Gipsy with an eye for colour.--I attempt
sculpture.--The Terry family.--Private theatricals.--Sir John
Hare.--Miss Marion Terry.--Miss Ellen Terry.--Miss Kate
Terry.--Miss Bateman.--Miss Florence St. John.--Constable.--
Sir Howard Vincent.--I dance with Patti.--Lancaster Gate and
Meringues.--Prayers and Pantries.
I have the liveliest recollection of my first day at Eton, when I was
accompanied by my mother, who wished to see me safely installed. In
her anxiety to make my room comfortable (it was afterwards, by the
way, Lord Randolph Churchill's room), she bought small framed and
coloured prints of sacred subjects to hang upon the walls, to give it,
as she thought, a more homely aspect. These were very soon replaced,
on the advice of Tuck, my fag-master (and wicket-keeper in the
eleven), by racehorses and bulldogs by Herring.
Next I remember my youthful digestion being put to test by a big boy
who "stood me," against my will, "bumpers" of shandy-gaff; and for my
first smoke a cheroot of no choice blend, the inevitable results
succeeding.
Shortly afterwards I was initiated into the mysteries of school life;
I had to collect cockroaches to let loose during prayers; and of
course the usual fate of a new boy befell me. I was asked the old
formula: or something to this effect--
"Who's your tutor, who's your dame?
Where do you board, and what's your name?"
If your reply did not give satisfaction, you were promptly "bonneted,"
and, in Eton phraseology, your new "topper" telescoped over your nose.
I was at first made the victim of a great deal of unpleasant "ragging"
by a bully, who on one occasion playing a game he called "Running
Deer!" made me a target for needle darts, one of which lodged tightly
in the bone just above my eye; but he was caught in the act by Tuck,
who punished the offender by making him hold a pot of boiling tea at
arm's length, and each time a drop was spilled, my champion took a
running kick at him.
I learned a variety of useful things. Besides catching cockroaches, I
became an adept in the art of cooking sausages without bursting their
skins: if I forgot to prick them before cooking, I was severely
reprimanded by my fag-master, and I considered his anger perfectly
justifiable; my resentment only existing where unjustifiable bullying
was concerned.
Windsor Fair was an attraction in those days, especially for the small
boys, as it was "out of bounds," and therefore forbidden. I remember
once being "told off" to go to the fair and bring as many musical and
noisy toys as I could carry; which were to be instrumental in a plot
against our "dame" ... (the Reverend Dr. Frewer) ... On the great
occasion, the boys secreted themselves in their lock-up beds. The rest
hid in the housemaid's cupboard, and we started a series of hideous
discords upon the whistles and mouth organs from the fair. Presently
our "dame" appeared, roused by the concert, and at the door received
the water from the "booby trap" all over his head, and then, drenched
to the skin and looking like a drowned rat, he proceeded to rout us.
We were all innocence with a carefully concocted excuse to the effect
that the reception had been intended for Anderson, one of the boys in
the house. Notwithstanding that expulsion was threatening us, we were
all called to his room next morning, severely reprimanded, but ...
forgiven.
Old Etonians will remember Jobie, who sold buns and jam; and Levy, who
tried to cheat us over our "tuck," and was held under the college pump
in consequence; and old Silly-Billy, who used to curse the Pope, and,
considering himself the head of the Church, was always first in the
Chapel at Eton. Then there was the very fat old lady who sold fruit
under the archway, and had a face like an apple herself. She sold an
apple called a lemon-pippin, that was quite unlike anything I have
tasted since, and looked like a lemon.
At "Sixpenny" the mills took place, and there differences were
settled. A "Shinning-match," which was only resorted to by small boys,
was a most serious and carefully managed affair; we shook hands in
real duel fashion, and then we proceeded to exchange kicks on one
another's shins until one of us gave in.
I remember having a "shinning-match" to settle some dispute with one
of my greatest friends, but we were discovered, taken into Hawtrey's
during dinner, and there talked to in serious manner. Our wise
lecturer ended his speech with the time-honoured, "'Tis dogs delight
to bark and bite," etc.
In 1861 I recollect very well the Queen and Prince Consort reviewing
the Eton College Volunteer Corps in the grounds immediately
surrounding the Castle, while we boys were permitted to look on from
the Terrace.
At the conclusion of the review the volunteers were given luncheon in
the orangery, where they were right royally entertained.
Prince Albert, whom I had noticed coughing, retired after the review
into the castle, while the Queen and Princess Alice walked together on
the slopes.
This was the last time that Prince Albert appeared in public, for he
was shortly after seized with an illness from which he never
recovered.
From Eton I frequently had "leave" to visit some friends of my
parents, the Evans, of Boveney Court, a delightful old country house
opposite Surly Hall. Miss Evans married a Mr. Hall-Say, who built
Oakley Court, and I was present when he laid the foundation stone.
Mr. Evans, who was a perfectly delightful old man, lent one of his
meadows at Boveney (opposite Surly Hall) to the Eton boys for their
Fourth of June celebrations. Long tables were spread for them, with
every imaginable good thing, including champagne, some bottles of
which those in the boats used to secrete for their fags; and in my day
small boys would come reeling home, unable to evade the masters, and
the next day the "block" was well occupied, and the "swish" busy.
There were certain unwritten laws in those days as regards flogging; a
master was not supposed to give downward strokes, for thus I believe
one deals a more powerful sweep of arm and the stroke becomes torture.
In cricket, also, round arm bowling was always the rule; a ball was
"no ball" unless bowled on a level with the shoulder, but lob-bowling
was, of course, allowed. Nowadays, the bowling has changed. Perhaps
the character of the "swishing" has also altered, but somehow I think
the boys are just the same.
[Illustration: SIR WILLIAM BROADBENT, 1902.
_He was very angry and wrote to a leading Medical Journal to say how
greatly he disapproved of this indignity._]
[Illustration: SIR THOMAS BARLOW. 1903.]
[Illustration: SIR JAMES PAGET, BART. 1876.]
On the occasion of my first holiday, I arrived home from Eton a
different boy; imbued with the traditions of my school, I was full of
an exaggerated partisanship for everything good or indifferent that
existed there. I remember I discovered my sisters in all the glory of
Leghorn hats from Paris; they were large with flopping brims as was
then the fashion. But to my youthful vision they seemed outrageous,
and I refused to go out with the girls in these hats, which I
considered, with a small boy's pride in his school, were a disgrace to
me ... and consequently to Eton!
My regard for the honour and glory of this time-honoured institution
did not prevent me sallying forth on several occasions with a school
friend to anticipate the Suffragettes by breaking windows; although I
was not the proposer of this scheme, I was an accessory to the act,
and my friend (who seemed to have an obsessive love of breaking for
its own sake) and I successfully smashed several old (but worthless)
windows, both of the Eton Parish Church and also Boveney Church.
Although I have made this confession of guilt, I feel safe against the
law both of the school and the London magistrates.
In most respects I was the average schoolboy, neither very good, or
very bad. Running, jumping, and football I was pretty "nippy" at,
until a severe strain prevented (under doctor's orders) the pursuance
of any violent exercises for some time.
Previous to this I had won a special prize for my prowess in certain
sports when I arrived second in every event. I won a telescope, which
seemed a meaningless sort of thing until I went home for the holidays,
when I gave an experimental quiz through it from my bedroom window and
discovered the infinite possibilities of the girls' school next door.
Finally I was noticed by a portly old mistress who complained of my
telescopic attentions, never dreaming, from what I could gather, of my
undivided interest in other quarters, and my prize was confiscated by
my father.
During my enforced rest from all exercise of any importance, I spent
my time in compiling a book of autographs and in sketching anything I
fancied. My aptitude and love for drawing were not encouraged at
school at the request of my father, but I was always caricaturing the
masters, and having the result confiscated. It was inevitable, living
as I did in an atmosphere of art, loving the profession, and sitting
to my parents, that I should grow more and more interested and more
determined to become a painter myself, although strangely enough I
never had a lesson from either my father or mother.
The boy is indeed the father of the man, for just as I anticipated my
future by becoming the school caricaturist, so Alban Doran, one of my
schoolfellows (and the son of my father's friend, Dr. Doran), spent
the time usually occupied by the average schoolboy in play or sport,
in searching for animal-culae or bottling strange insects, the result
of his tedious discoveries. I believe he kept an aquarium even in his
nursery, and was more interested in microscopes than cricket. The
clever boy became a brilliant man, distinguishing himself at
"Bart's," was joint compiler with Sir James Paget and Dr. Goodhart of
the current edition of the Catalogues of the Pathological series in
the Museum of the College of Surgeons. His success as a surgeon and a
woman's specialist was all the more wonderful, when we remember his
nervous shaking hands, which might have been expected to render his
touch uncertain; but when an operation demands his skill the
nervousness vanishes, and his hand steadies. He is noted for a
remarkable collection of the ear-bones from every type of living
creature in this country, and especially for his literary
contributions to the study of surgery.
When I was at home on my holidays I spent a great deal of my time in a
temporary studio erected on the terrace of the House of Lords. Here I
watched my father paint his frescoes for the Houses of Parliament.
Fresco painting would not endure the humidity of our climate, and
several of these historical paintings which hung in the corridor of
the House of Commons began to mildew. Other important frescoes were
completely destroyed by the damp; but my father restored his works,
and they were placed under glass, which preserved them. With his last
two or three frescoes he adopted a then new process called
"water-glass," which was a decided success.
Another holiday was spent at Hastings, where my father occupied much
of his time restoring frescoes which he discovered, half-obliterated,
in the old Parish Church at Battle. He intended eventually to complete
his task; but on his return to London he found that the great pressure
of work and engagements rendered this impossible. The dean of the
parish wrote in consequence to say that the restorations looked so
patchy that it would be better to whitewash them over!
The Archaeological Society met that year at Hastings, and my father,
who intended to prepare me for an architectural career, thought it
would encourage me if we attended their meetings, at which Planche,
the President, presided. We visited all the places of interest near,
and I heard many edifying discourses upon their histories, while I
watched the members, who were rather antiquities themselves, and
thoroughly enjoyed the many excellent luncheons spread for us at our
various halting places.
_A propos_ of restoration, my father visited Kew Church in 1865, and
found in the churchyard Gainsborough's tomb, which was in a deplorable
state of neglect. Near to Gainsborough are buried Zoffany,[1] R.A.,
Jeremiah Meyer, R.A., miniature painter and enamellist (the former's
great friend), and Joshua Kirby, F.S.A., also a contemporary. My
father at once took steps to have the tomb restored at his own
expense, and as the result of his inquiries and efforts in that
direction, received the following letter which is interesting in its
quaint diction as well as in reference to the subject.
Petersham, Surrey,
August 24th, 1865.
MY DEAR SIR,
It is with much pleasure that I learn that one great man is
intending to do Honor to the Memory of another. In reply to your
note, I beg that you will consider that my Rights, as the Holder
of the Freehold, are to be subservient by all means to the
laudable object of paying our Honor to the Memory of the great
Gainsborough.
I am,
My dear Sir,
Yours very truly,
R. B. BYAM, ESQ.
Vicar of Kew.
To J. RIGBY, Esq., Kew.
To this _capital_ letter my father replied:--
Kent Villa.
DEAR AND REVEREND SIR,
I cannot refrain from expressing to you my warm thanks for the
very kind and disinterested manner in which you have been pleased
to entertain my humble idea in regard to the restoration of
Gainsborough's tomb, and the erection of a tablet to his memory
in the church, the duties of which you so ably fulfil, nor can I
but wholly appreciate your very kind but far too flattering
reference to myself in your letter to our friend Mr. Rigby which
coming from such a source is I assure you most truly valued.
Your most obedient and obliged Servant,
E. M. WARD.
The tomb was restored, a new railing placed around it, and a tablet to
the artist's memory was also placed by my father inside the church.
[Illustration:
THOMAS GAINSBOROUGH ESQ^R
DIED AUG^{ST} the 2^{ND} 1788
AGED 61 YEARS
ALSO THE BODY OF GAINSBOROUGH DUPONT ESQ^R
WHO DIED JAN^{RY} 20^{TH} 1797
AGED 42 YEARS
ALSO MARGARET GAINSBOROUGH
WIFE OF THE ABOVE
THOMAS GAINSBOROUGH ESQ^R
WHO DIED DEC^{MR} THE 17^{TH} 1798
IN THE 72^{ND} YEAR OF HER AGE
RESTORED AND ENCLOSED AS A TRIBUTE OF RESPECT BY E. M. WARD R. A.
SEPTEMBER 1865
GAINSBOROUGH'S TOMB AT KEW CHURCHYARD AND TABLET TO HIS MEMORY INSIDE
CHURCH.]
Some very pleasant memories are connected with enjoyable summers spent
at Sevenoaks, where my father took a house for two years, close to the
seven oaks from which the neighbourhood takes its name. Particularly I
remember the amusing incident of the burglar. I was awakened from
midnight slumbers by my sister knocking at the door and calling in a
melodramatic voice "Awake!... awake!... There is a burglar in our
room." I promptly rushed to her bedroom, where I found my other sister
crouching under the bedclothes in speechless terror. Having satisfied
myself as to the utter absence of a burglar in that particular room, I
started to search the house--but by this time the whole household was
thoroughly roused; the various members appeared with candles, and
together we ransacked the establishment from garret to cellar. In the
excitement of the moment we had not had time to consider our
appearances and the procession was ludicrous in the extreme. My
grandfather (in the absence of my father) came first in dressing-gown,
a candle in one hand and a stick in the other. My mother came next (in
curl papers), and then my eldest sister. It was the day of chignons,
when everybody, without exception, wore their hair in that particular
style. On this occasion my sister's head was conspicuous by its quaint
little hastily bundled up knot. I wore a night-shirt only; but my
other sister, who was of a theatrical turn of mind (she who had
awakened me), had taken the most trouble, for she wore stockings
which, owing to some oversight in the way of garters, were coming
down.
After satisfying ourselves about the burglar--who was conspicuous by
his absence--we adjourned to our respective rooms, while I went back
to see the sister upon whom fright had had such paralyzing effects.
There I heard an ominous rattle in the chimney.
"Flora!" said my stage-struck sister, in trembling tones, with one
hand raised (_a la_ Lady Macbeth)--and the poor girl under the clothes
cowered deeper and deeper.
Two seconds later a large brick rattled down and subsided noisily into
the fireplace.
"That is the end of the burglar," said I, and the terrified figure
emerged from the bed, brave and reassured. Retiring to my room I
recollected the procession, and having made a mental note of the
affair went back to bed. Early the next morning I arose and made a
complete caricature of the incident of the burglar, which set our
family (and friends next day) roaring with laughter when they saw it.
[Illustration: MY BROTHER, WRIOTHESLEY RUSSELL.
1872.]
[Illustration: MY SISTER, BEATRICE.
1874.]
In those days we used to sketch at Knole House, then in the possession
of Lord and Lady Delaware. My mother made some very beautiful little
pictures of the interiors there, and several smaller studies. She
copied a Teniers so perfectly that one could have mistaken it for the
original. The painting was supposed to represent "Peter and the Angels
in the Guard Room," and the guards were very conspicuous. On the other
hand, as one only discovered a little angel with Peter in the
distance, one could almost suppose Teniers had forgotten them until
the last minute, and then had finally decided to relegate them to the
background. This picture (the original) was sold at Christie's during
a sale from Knole several years ago.
Of course the old house was the happy hunting ground of artists; the
pictures were mostly fine although some of them were at one time in
the hands of a cleaner, by whom they were very much over-restored. A
clever artist (and a frequenter of Knole at that time for the purpose
of making a series of studies) was Claude Calthrop (brother of Clayton
Calthrop the actor and father of the present artist and writer Dion
Clayton Calthrop). I was then just beginning to be encouraged to make
architectural drawings, and I was making a sketch of the exterior of
Knole House when one of the under gardeners came ambling by wheeling a
barrow. He paused ... put down the barrow, took off his cap ...
scratched his head and said to me, "Er ... why waaste yer toime loike
that ... why not taake and worrk loike Oi dew!"
Another time when I was sketching in that neighbourhood, in rather a
lonely part, I fell in with a gipsy encampment. One of the tribe, a
rough specimen, of whom I did not at all like the look, was most
persistently attentive. He asked a multitude of questions, about my
brushes, paints, and materials generally--and seemed anxious as to
their monetary value. As he did not appear to be about to cut my
throat--and I felt sure he harboured no murderous intentions towards
my painting--I began to feel more at ease, and when no comments after
the style of my critic, the gardener, were forthcoming, it struck me
that perhaps I had a vagrant but fellow beauty-lover in my gipsy
sentinel. I wish now that I had even suggested (in view of his evident
love of colour) his changing his roving career for one in which he
could indulge his love of _red_ to the utmost and more or less
harmlessly.
When I was about sixteen I turned my attention to modelling, and in
the vacation I started a bust of my young brother Russell. I spent all
my mornings working hard and at length finished it. On the last day of
my holiday I went to have a final glance at my work and found the
whole thing had collapsed into a shapeless mass of clay. With the
exception of watching sculptors work I had no technical knowledge to
help me; but, not to be discouraged, I waited eagerly for the term
to end, so that I might return to my modelling. When the time came,
and my holidays began, I at once set to work again, taking the
precaution to have the clay properly supported this time. Allowing no
one to help me, I worked away strenuously, for I was determined it
should be entirely my own. My bust was finished in time to send in to
the Royal Academy, where it was accepted. I had favourable notices in
the _Times_ and other papers, which astonished and encouraged me, and
I went back to school tremendously elated at my success.
[Illustration: BUST OF MY BROTHER, WRIOTHESLEY RUSSELL.
1867.
_Exhibited that year in the Royal Academy, modelled by myself._]
[Illustration: MY DAUGHTER SYLVIA.
_Sketched 1906._]
Tom Taylor, then art critic of the _Times_, wrote to my mother,
saying:--
DEAR MRS. WARD,
... I must tell you how much Leslie's bust of Wrio was admired by
our guests last night--particularly by Professor Owen....
Later I started another bust of Kate Terry, but I was never pleased
with it, as it did not do my distinguished sitter justice, and I
resolved not to send it to an exhibition.
I did not follow up my first success in the paths of sculpture, for I
still suffered slightly from my strain, and I came to the conclusion
that it would prove too great a tax on my strength at that time if I
took up this profession.
The stage claimed a great part of my attention about this time, and I
became an inveterate "first-nighter" in my holidays. From the pit
(for, except on rare occasions, I could not afford a more expensive
seat), or when lucky enough to have places given me, I saw nearly all
the popular plays of the day; and when Tom Taylor introduced my
parents to the Terry family, I became more interested than ever, owing
to the greater attraction of personal interest. I grew ambitious and
acted myself, arranged the plays, painted the scenery, borrowing the
beautiful costumes from my father's extensive historical wardrobe.
The first time I appeared before a large audience was at the Bijou
Theatre, Bayswater, which was taken by a good amateur company called
"The Shooting Stars," composed chiefly of Cambridge Undergraduates. We
arranged two plays, and the acting of the present Judge Selfe was
especially good, also that of Mr. F. M. Alleyne.
One night, when I came down from my dressing-room, made up in
character to go on the impromptu stage, I complimented an old
carpenter of ours, waiting in the wings, upon the clever way in which
he had arranged the stage and the scenery.
"Oh yes, sir," he replied, very modestly, thinking I was a stranger,
"_I_ didn't paint the scenery, Mr. Leslie did that!"
In some theatricals at the Friths' house, when John Hare coached us, I
took the part of an old butler. On my way to Pembridge Villas, attired
ready for the stage, I remembered I needed some sticking plaster to
obliterate one of my teeth; so leaving the cab at a corner, I entered
a chemist's shop, where I was amused, because the assistant put me on
one side rather rudely for other customers who came later, and after
attending to them, addressed me roughly with a, "Now, what do _you_
want?" His rudeness was an unconscious tribute to my effective
disguise, and his manners altered considerably when I disillusioned
him.
At one time Miss Marion Terry, who was then about to go on the stage,
after witnessing my acting in a play of Byron's, suggested in fun and
raillery at my enthusiasm that we should make our debut together.
Owing to her excessive sensibility and highly strung temperament,
rehearsals were very trying to her at first, and for this reason her
eventual success was in doubt. When one has seen her perform her many
successful parts with such exquisite talent and pathos, one feels glad
to realize that she finally overcame her nervousness, and that her
gift of acting was not lost to the public.
I knew the Terrys very well then, and I was in love with them all; in
fact, I do not know with which of them I was most in love.
Ellen Terry sat to my father for his picture of "Juliet," and Kate
Terry for "Beatrice" in _Much Ado_. I remember too that when Ellen
made her reappearance in the theatre, my mother lent our great actress
a beautiful gold scarf, to wear in that part in which she fascinated
us on the stage as fully as she did in private life. Among my
cherished letters I find the following notes written to me at school,
after her marriage to G. F. Watts.
1866.
MY DEAR LESLIE,
I am extremely obliged to you for your sketch and I'm sorry Alice
[my sister] should be "riled" that I wanted a _character_ of her,
as the people down here call caricatures. Please give my love to
her and to her Mama and to all the rest at Kent Villa--when you
write. Mrs. Carr and Mr. Carr (my kind hostess and host) think
the caricature is a capital one of _me_!
Polly [Miss Marion Terry] sends her love, and is awfully jealous
that I should have sketches done by you and _she not_!!
With kindest regards and best thanks, believe me, dear Leslie,
Sincerely yours,
ELLEN WATTS.
DEAR LESLIE,
I fulfil my promise by sending you the photo of my sister Kate,
that you said you liked! I _think_ it's the same. I hope you'll
excuse it being so soiled, but it's the only one I have--the fact
is, the Baby [her brother Fred] seized it, as it lay upon the
table waiting to be put into a cover, and has nearly bitten it to
pieces.
I came up from Bradford, in Yorkshire, on Monday last, where I
had spent a week with Papa and Polly, and I can't tell you,
Leslie, how cold it was. I intend going to Kent Villa, as soon as
possible. I've promised Alice a song of Mrs. Tom Taylor's and
have not sent it to her yet, "Better late than never," tho' I
really have been busy.
With my best regards,
Sincerely yours,
NELLY WATTS.
Those were delightful days spent with delightful companions. Lewis
Carroll was sometimes a member of the pleasant coterie which met at
our house in those days. My sister Beatrice was one of his greatest
child friends, and although he always sent his MSS. for her to read,
he disliked any mention of his fame as an author, and would abruptly
leave the presence of any one who spoke about his books. The public
at that time were in complete ignorance of the real identity of Lewis
Carroll. Later in life, when I wished to make a cartoon of Mr. Dodgson
for _Vanity Fair_, he implored me not to put him in any paper.
Naturally, I was obliged to consent, but _Vanity Fair_ extorted some
work from his pen as a compromise. He was a clever amateur
photographer, and in my mother's albums there are photographs taken by
him of several members of the Terry family, together with some of us.
* * * * *
Mrs. Cameron was famous in those days as an amateur photographer, and
she took photographs of all the leading people of the day. Watts and
Tennyson were among her intimates, and most celebrities of the day
knew her by sight. She was a very little old lady--I remember being in
a shop (where some of her photographs were on view) with my young
brother, who was a beautiful boy, when Mrs. Cameron entered. She
caught sight of Russell, and could not take her eyes from his face. At
last she said, "I want to know who the little boy is with you," and
seemed very interested. I told her who we were, whereupon she asked if
I thought my parents would allow him to sit to her. Of course they
were delighted.
In 1867 Kate Terry resolved at the height of her fame to marry Mr.
Arthur Lewis (of whom I have more to say later), and to retire from
the stage, apparently quite content to leave her glories. Then the
most famous of the Terry sisters, Kate received an ovation worthy of
her. The _Times_, in a long article, said: "It is seldom that the
theatre chronicles have to describe a scene like that at the New
Adelphi on Saturday, when Miss Kate Terry took her farewell of the
Stage as Juliet.... Again and again Miss Terry was recalled, and again
she appeared to receive the long and continued plaudits of the
crowd.... Let us close our last notice of Miss Terry with the hope
that in her case the sacrifice of public triumph may be rewarded by a
full measure of that private happiness which is but the just
recompense of an exemplary, a laborious, conscientious and devoted
life, on and off the stage, as the annals of the English theatre--not
unfruitful in examples of wives--may show."
_Punch_ was just as enthusiastic and published a long eulogy in verse,
two stanzas of which I quote below:--
She has passed from us just as the goal she had sighted,
From the top of the ladder reached fairly at last;
With her laurels still springing, no leaf of them blighted,
And a fortune:--how bright!--may be gauged by her past.
May this rhyme, kindly meant as it is, not offend her,
All fragrant with flowers be the path of her life,
May the joy she has given in blessings attend her,
And her happiest part be the part of "The Wife."
Although I was not intended to enter the theatrical profession, the
stage never failed to attract me; and once, when I was still at
school, I was presented with a seat in exactly the centre of the dress
circle at a theatre where Miss Bateman (who became Mrs. Crowe) was
taking the part of Leah. I remember this fine actress made a great
sensation, especially in one scene where she uttered a rousing curse
with great declamatory power; the house was hushed with excitement and
admiration; and you could have heard the proverbial pin drop, when I
... who had been playing football that morning, was suddenly seized
with the most excruciating cramp; I arose ... and could not help
standing up to rub away the pain in my leg, the curse then for the
moment echoing throughout the audience.
Another time, somewhat later, I was again to prove a disturbing
element. I was at the old Strand Theatre, in the stage box, and my
host was a personal friend of Miss Florence St. John, then singing one
of her most successful songs. Now I am the unfortunate possessor of a
loud voice and a still louder sneeze, which latter I have never
succeeded in controlling. In the middle of the song, I was overcome
with an overpowering and irresistible desire to sneeze ... which I
suddenly did with terrific force. Miss St. John was so disconcerted,
that she stopped her song, and thinking it was a deliberate attempt at
annoyance from her friend--my host--called out, "You brute!" After
that, I took a back seat.
Besides visiting the theatre in my holidays, I used to go sketching
into the country; and one summer my parents took an old farmhouse at
Arundel. This reminds me of another unfortunate propensity of mine,
and that is, to tumble whenever I get an easy opportunity. When we
were inspecting the house, we discovered a curious sort of uncovered
coal hole under one of the front windows, and my father jokingly
remarked, "What a trap for Leslie!" Three days later, when we were
settled in the house, my parents were going for a drive ... and as I
waved them a farewell, which precipitately ended by my disappearing
into this hole, my father's jest became a prophecy.
At Arundel I made friends with a brewer named Constable, who was also
a clever amateur artist. Sometimes he took me fishing, but more often
I watched him sketch in the open. An interesting fact about Mr.
Constable was that his father had been an intimate friend of the great
Constable, although, curiously enough, no relation. My friend told me
that whatever he had learned had been owing to his close observation
of the great artist's methods. I remember his water colours showed
little of the amateur in their strength and handling, for they were
masterly and forcible in touch, and perhaps more effective because
they were usually painted in the late afternoon, when the sun was
getting low, and the long shadows were full of strength and depth of
colour.
Vicat Cole, R.A., was also a friend of his, and he used frequently to
paint at Arundel.
Although I worked hard in the holidays at my drawing, I managed to
enjoy myself pretty considerably, and was the fortunate possessor of
many delightful acquaintances.
One of the pleasantest memories of my later school days was of a dance
given by Mr. and Mrs. J. M. Levy and the Misses Levy at Lancaster
Gate. The cotillion was led by Sir Howard Vincent, and many of the
smart and well-known men of that day were there; among them Sir Eyre
Shaw, the "Captain Shaw" of "Gilbert and Sullivan" fame. Patti, who
was a very intimate friend of theirs, was present, sitting in the
middle of the room looking angelic and surrounded by a host of
admiring men. We were each given a miniature bugle. Patti had one
also, on which she sounded a note, and whoever repeated it exactly was
to gain her as a partner in the dance. The men advanced in turn, some
blew too high, and others too low, until one and all gave up in
disgust. At last my turn came; I was trembling with eagerness and
excitement, and determined to dance with Patti or die.... I hit the
note!... and gained my waltz!--and the applause was great as I
carried off my prize.
[Illustration: MR CHARLES COX (BANKER) 1881]
In earlier days I went to a juvenile party at Lancaster Gate, and,
going down to supper late, I found myself quite alone. I calmly
devoted my attention to some _meringues_, while it seems that my
people, amongst the last of the guests, were ready to go. The ladies
were putting on their cloaks.... I heard the sounds of departure, but,
still engrossed in the good things, I ate on. Hue and cry was raised
for me; and finally I was found covered with cream and confusion
amongst the _meringues_.
I remember, _a propos_ of my being a "gourmand," that I was a great
believer in the efficacy of prayer. My sister and I used to rise very
early in the mornings after dinner-parties to rummage in and to
ransack the cupboards for any dainty we fancied. After a good "tuck
in," we would pray for the forgiveness of our sins, and then we would
fall to breakfast with an easy conscience.