PORTRAITURE
Some of my sitters.--Mrs. Tom Caley.--Lady Leucha 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.
[Illustration: _The portrait of a well-known character who claimed
direct descent from the Stuarts. He wore gold buttons and spurs with a
red stripe down the side of his trousers, and was to be frequently
seen in Piccadilly in the seventies._]
[Illustration: _At a country dance near Manchester._ 1872.
PORTRAITS.]
[Illustration: BUCKSTONE.
"_New Men and Old Acres._"]
[Illustration: _See page 202_.]
[Illustration: _A Crusader at "Drury Lane"_.]
My father had an admiration for Ouless' method of painting a portrait,
and with a slight acquaintance already that artist gave me good
advice.
I was lucky in my first commissions for ladies' portraits, for they
were of exceptionally pretty women, viz. Mrs. Miller Munday and Miss
Chappell (Mrs. T. Caley), both hung in the Royal Academy. These were
followed by equally attractive sitters in Lady Lucia Warner, the
Countess of Loudoun, and (the first) Mrs. Harry McCalmont. A
presentation picture shortly afterwards came my way, of Colonel
Corbett of Longnor Hall (Shrewsbury), an extremely tall old gentleman
of ripe years. I painted the picture on a full-length canvas, and
after the first sitting or two he begged to be allowed to sit in a
chair for the head; the experiment failed, for in less than half an
hour the Colonel of the Shropshire Yeomanry, Master of Hounds, and
formerly Officer in "the Guards" was fast asleep.
"No more of this," he said, when I roused him, "I'll stand to the
bitter end," and he did, until the picture was completed.
It is a strange fact, though, that military men stand less well than
would be expected of them, and tire sooner. For instance, an officer
whom I was painting, sent his "soldier servant" to stand in the
uniform he was to wear in my portrait of him, for one employs a
soldier in preference to an ordinary model, because they are
invariably correct in their knowledge of a uniform and how to put it
on. The man showed signs of nervousness, which did not surprise me,
but when, after standing a very short while, he turned from a healthy
pink to a deathly white, I recommended a rest and a walk in the fresh
air. When he returned to the position again, he became faint, so I
offered him brandy. This he refused on the grounds that he was a
teetotaller, but as his paleness showed no signs of abating, I with
difficulty persuaded him to take a little stimulant. It seemed to have
the desired effect, for the blood circulated again, and I reassured
him, and continued painting without further complications. This was
not by any means my first experience, for on another occasion a very
tall and powerfully built man, an ex-soldier and "chucker-out" at a
music-hall, came for the same purpose, and after standing for a time,
from sheer exhaustion had to give it up.
But to return to my subject. When I was working for the _Graphic_, a
portrait in which I took much pleasure was that of Millais. The
sittings were most interesting, for in the course of conversation, I
gained a considerable insight into his character, and gleaned much
information as to his opinions, method of working, and views upon art.
Watts had been the idol of the Royal Academy students up till now, but
Millais was taking his place in their estimation, and although he was
well to the front as a portrait painter, the enormous competition in
this branch of art was scarcely evident yet. The time was approaching,
however, when the art student had to consider how he could best live
by painting. He was at first full of the noblest intentions, and would
frequently exclaim, "Art for Art's sake; that's my motto ... none of
your pot-boilers for me." Unfortunately, the day for these very
laudable sentiments was passing, and, when men were dependent on their
profession, something else had to be thought of. Hence the necessary
study of portrait painting.
I remember Millais mentioned his belief in the pre-Raphaelites and
their influence upon the young artist; but he considered it important
that the student should gradually abandon the influence for a more
masterly method of painting and a freer brush. This versatile genius
must have puzzled his adorers not a little by his erratic experiments
in style; his emulations of Reynolds in a modern portrait (of three
ladies playing cards) were in direct contradiction to his previous
work--the paint, I remember, was extremely thick, especially on the
necks of the ladies. A portrait of Irving followed the next year,
painted quite thinly. The students were puzzled and distracted, for in
the meantime they had all followed the previous lead, and were still
painting necks in foundation white laid on without discretion. Then
Millais astonished his coterie by painting "Chill October" in his best
manner.
I called upon him once on a matter of advice and discovered him
puzzling over his picture called "Cherry Ripe." Something was wrong,
and he could not place the fault, and he appealed to my "fresh eye" to
find it. It occurred to me that something in the drawing of the head,
which was covered with a mob-cap, was slightly out of drawing, and I
called his attention to it.
"You've hit it, my boy," he said. "That's just what I thought myself,
but I was not quite certain."
He paid me the great compliment of saying he had seen enough of my
work to know he could safely ask my opinion, and I felt extremely
flattered.
When Sir William Cunliffe Brooks commissioned him to paint the
portrait of his daughter (the Marchioness of Huntly), a considerable
stir was created in the art world when it became known that Millais
had received L1000 for the painting, for up till that time such a
figure was unheard of for a modern portrait. Sir William was delighted
with the picture, but when he saw the completed portrait he was
disappointed to find that his daughter's hands (which were most
beautiful) were covered with gloves. He accordingly returned the
picture, and expressed his desire that an alteration might be made and
the hands shown in all their beauty. Millais made a compromise by
repainting one of the hands ungloved.
Holl had discarded his pathetic subjects for portraits, and surprised
the art world with a vigorous canvas of the celebrated mezzotint
engraver, Samuel Cousins, which was followed by an equally strong
portrait of Piatti the violoncello player. Consequently, he became
quite the vogue and was until his death completely occupied with
commissions. I think that of his many successes the painting of Lord
Spencer was perhaps his finest portrait.
Holman Hunt (Ruskin's ideal painter) had no following as a portrait
painter; his portraits were hard, "tinny," and laboured, and became
singularly unpleasant on a large canvas, although his subject pictures
were conceived from a high standpoint, and for that reason will last.
Old George Richmond was a highly accomplished draughtsman; many of his
portraits in crayon were exquisite masterpieces,[5] and most of the
great men of the day (especially the clergy) were depicted at one time
or another by his refined pencil. William Richmond (now Sir William),
his son, inherited his father's talent but in a different manner;
foremost in my memory stands out a portrait of Lady Hood.
[Illustration: MRS GEORGE REYMOND MURRAY.]
[Illustration: A STUDY.]
[Illustration: THE HON. MRS ADRIAN POLLOCK.]
Ouless, the eminent portrait painter, like Millais, was a Jersey man,
and both were highly successful students in their respective days at
the R.A. Schools.
The painter of "The Doctor," now Sir Luke Fildes, exhibited a very
beautiful portrait of his wife, which established him as a portrait
painter at once, and it is unnecessary to say how many fine portraits
he has painted since.
Lord Leighton showed what refinement meant in his delineation of a
beautiful woman's head, and although his method of painting was
scarcely adapted to portraits, he showed great force in a head of
Richard Burton, the traveller.
When I was drawing Leighton for the _Graphic_ years ago, he amused me
by saying:--
"Every one has his prototype, and some people resemble animals. What
do I remind you of?"
When Lord Leighton compared his own head with that of a ram, I saw the
resemblance at once: his hair curled like horns upon his forehead, and
the general contour of his features was certainly reminiscent of that
animal.
I must not forget the late Sir L. Alma Tadema, another subject
painter, but one who did not often encroach upon the sphere of
portraiture. When he did, I often traced a certain resemblance in his
painting of the flesh to the marble he so perfectly expressed in his
subject pictures.
Seymour Lucas is, I consider, one of our few and consistent historical
painters who can mingle portraiture successfully with his own art.
Of course, Orchardson, Pettie, and Frank Dicksee are big examples of
aptitude in portrait painting by subject painters. Nowadays, however,
there is a new generation, and the average standard is in a marked way
higher, although _great men_ naturally only crop up once in a way. To
mention all the names of the good portrait painters would be a
hopeless task, for there are too many. Criticism would lead one into
so many long lanes without any turnings, and would also involve the
condemnation of some of the flights of the so-called art of the
present day.
Of artists who are no longer with us, I should like to mention the
late Sir George Reid, whose works are not sufficiently well known in
London, but who was undoubtedly a great portrait painter.
The late Charles Furse, who showed such power and who was gaining
ground every day, stood out as one of our strongest portrait painters;
unfortunately, death cut short his efforts.
The late Robert Brough was fast becoming (if he had not already
attained that position) another painter who deserves a place amongst
our ablest men.
But I must not forget to mention the President of the Royal Academy,
Sir E. Poynter, who exhibits many portraits.
When I was first beginning to paint, Mr. Peter Graham very kindly lent
me his studio, where I made my earliest studies in oil. One of my
first sitters was the uncle of my old friend, Edward Nash, of Rugby
and 'Varsity fame, who made the stipulation that I should arrange a
looking-glass in a position to allow of his watching me paint and to
prevent him falling asleep. I found the demand rather embarrassing,
for I was not accustomed to attentions of this kind, being new to
portraiture, and consequently feeling considerable restraint at being
watched at my work.
Another early victim of my brush, thinking he had given me a
sufficient number of sittings, suggested that I should promptly finish
it, as his doctor had warned him that he was in danger of lead
poisoning from the constant contact with oil colours; but when he was
reassured on this point he allowed me to continue.
During a visit to Crewe, I painted more portraits. I remember my host,
when a visitor called one day, said quite seriously:--
"Mr. Ward is getting on nicely with my picture. He is putting on the
second coat of paint."
Another time I was staying at a country house in Staffordshire,
painting my host in hunting-dress. I came down early one morning to
look at it, preparatory to a last sitting, when I discovered to my
astonishment my host's dog sitting up begging before his master's
picture. I think this one of the sincerest compliments I was ever
paid.
This was at the time when the Oxford and Cambridge Boat Race was about
to be rowed. I am always interested in the chances of the rival crews;
still, my interest was nothing out of the common, and there was no
particular reason why one night I should have had a most vivid dream,
in which I saw the two crews racing ... until the Cambridge boat
filled with water and swamped. The dream was most distinct, and I
remembered it when I awoke, and related it at breakfast. My host's
house was in a rather remote part of the country; and the London
papers did not arrive until late. When they came, the first thing that
struck my eye on opening the _Daily Telegraph_ was, "_Swamping of the
Cambridge Crew at practice._"
When I became the owner of a studio myself, I was fortunate in my
choice of a landlord. Mr. Augustus Savile Lumley had built the very
fine studios in William Street, Lowndes Square, on his return from a
military and diplomatic career in Europe. He was an artist, and was
gifted in many ways, especially with great social abilities. For some
time he was equerry to the Duchess of Teck, and he had been connected
with the Royal Household for an indefinite period. During my
acquaintance with him he became Marshal of the Ceremonies. He was
considered a great authority on costume, and as such was continually
in request when the Prince of Wales (and other notable hosts)
contemplated entertaining on a large scale. In person he was
fashionable and correct, a _beau_ of the old school, who affected a
waist! After he was appointed Marshal of the Ceremonies, I recollect
his tailor sent in an exorbitant bill for his uniform, which he very
rightly refused to pay; and when his tailor sued him for the money, he
brought an action and won his case.
After Mr. Henry Savile and Lord Savile had died, he inherited Rufford
Abbey, and at his death Mr. Herman Herkomer, the portrait painter,
took his handsome studio in William Street, where he had painted
several portraits of the Prince of Wales, whose friendship he had
enjoyed.
During his travels and vicissitudes abroad, Mr. Augustus Savile Lumley
had met many foreign artists of note, and when his studios were
unoccupied, quite a coterie of foreigners gathered there.
Consequently, I had some interesting neighbours.
John Varley, McClure Hamilton, Archibald Stuart Wortley, and John
Collier were amongst the artists who then occupied studios in the same
building.
Archibald Stuart Wortley was accomplished in many ways. I made his
acquaintance at the Slade Schools when we were both studying drawing,
and when we met again at William Street we soon became friends. I
found him excellent company. It was just after his picture of
"Wharncliffe Chase" had come back from exhibition at the Royal
Academy, and he had completed a portrait of his sister (afterwards
Lady Talbot) and one of Lady Wharncliffe, his aunt, that he started on
his shooting pictures, which for some time he made a speciality of,
and with which he succeeded so well. "The Big Pack," and "Partridge
Shooting" were enormously popular, especially with sportsmen, who were
delighted to find that one of the best shots in England could show
equal dexterity with the brush in suggesting birds actually in flight.
But eventually, anxiety to succeed as a portrait painter led him to
give most of his time to this branch of art. Amongst his best-known
portraits were perhaps those of King Edward VII., Purdy, the
gun-maker, and his own mother. He founded the Society of Portrait
Painters, consisting of fifty members, among whom were and now are
some of the most eminent artists of the day. He was the first
President of that institution, which two years ago became a Royal one.
Under the Presidency of J. J. Shannon, R.A., I am glad to say it now
thrives, and I had recently the honour to be on the Hanging Committee
at the Grafton Galleries when the last annual exhibition was held.
Archie Wortley was very versatile in his tastes, and probably too much
so for the pursuance of a profession. Outside that he was a social
success, for he played the piano and sang, danced on the stage as a
rival to Vokes, was a clever mimic and _raconteur_, made an excellent
after-dinner speech, and shot pigeons so well that in his match with
Carver (the champion) he tied. He was a keen fisherman and a good
all-round sportsman. There were two things he could not and would not
do, and they were, to get astride a horse or to walk for the sake of
walking. Two of my happiest holidays were spent with him and with his
charming wife (formerly the beautiful Miss Nelly Bromley) in an old
Manor House on the north coast of Jersey, where he occupied his time
painting or shooting geese at night on the Ecrehon Rocks, improving
his garden, and felling trees. On the occasion of my first visit, he
welcomed me with the remark:--
"You will get no frost or snow here, old chap--none of that weather
that I know you left in London!"
A morning or two after I was certainly amused to find his small son
busily engaged in building up a snow man in the garden after
breakfast, and when I jokingly reproached my friend for his former
reassuring remarks upon the weather, he said:--
"Well, I'm astounded. Snow hasn't been seen on the island since Heaven
knows when!"
His son, Jack, who strongly resembles his father in features, and who
was then a jolly little chap, distinguished himself in later life as a
soldier, and comparatively recently married the daughter of Mr. Lionel
Phillips.
"Archie" came of a remarkable family; his younger brother is the Right
Honourable Charles Stuart Wortley, and General Sir Edward Montagu
Stuart Wortley was his cousin. The same relationship existed between
him and the present Lord Montagu of Beaulieu. In later years he was
suddenly bitten with the idea that he had business abilities, and
might make money. Accordingly, he gave up his painting and spent all
his time in the pursuit of business in the city, thinking he saw a way
to make his fortune at the period of the "boom" following the South
African war. Unfortunately, the tide turned, and many speculators
found themselves in a tight place--poor Archie among them. He had by
this time lost his connection as a portrait painter; everything seemed
to go wrong; and over anxiety affected his nerves and health to such
an extent that it gave way, and he never recovered from the shock. In
a very short time, he succumbed to a fatal illness, deeply regretted
by a large number of friends and acquaintances, for he was, to those
who knew him, the best and the most loyal of friends.
[Illustration: "A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM." _Drawn in 1886_.]
[Illustration: 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 title, if I remember rightly, was "The Model."
Sir Robert afterwards became the possessor of the picture.
When the latter was created a peer, under the title of Lord Monkswell,
he found more time for his pet occupation, viz., painting Alpine
scenery, of which he had such consummate knowledge.
There is one amusing story that his wife used to tell of him, and
that was her great difficulty in preventing him from using his best
cambric handkerchiefs as painting rags; when she thought to prevent
this extravagant habit by buying him common ones for that purpose, he
invariably produced the latter (when at a dinner-party)--of course by
mistake.
John Varley, a remarkably clever water-colour draughtsman and son of
the eminent member of the "Old Water Colour Society" of that name,
occupied a studio opposite mine, but, sadly enough, he contracted an
illness at the time, from which he died. Many of his pictures were
painted in Egypt, and were mostly of Eastern scenery.
The next occupant of this room was Mr. McClure Hamilton, whose
well-known portrait of Mr. Gladstone in his study was not only a fine
piece of work, but a wonderful likeness.
In addition to my fellow artists I had some very agreeable and
interesting neighbours in the vicinity of William Street, for General
Sir Keith and Lady Fraser lived close by, while just opposite was the
house of General Sir Charles Fraser. All three were charming people
and most hospitable.
Sir Charles, the elder brother of Sir Keith, was not only a
distinguished soldier and a V.C., but was very popular with the
ladies; and, being a bachelor, he delighted in giving luncheon parties
for them. On several occasions I was privileged to be invited. I never
refused such invitations if I could help it, for it was delightful to
meet the beautiful women who were always sure to be present.
It was so characteristic of him to be constantly raising his hat in
the Park that I drew him (as I knew him) in this very act, for _Vanity
Fair_.
At a party given by Mrs. Millais, I saw a lady whom I thought one of
the most beautiful women I had ever seen. I had the temerity to follow
her from room to room to catch another glimpse of her exquisite
features. I had heard of Mrs. Cornwallis West, but her beauty was even
greater than I had imagined. I promptly gained an introduction, and
found her, in addition, to be most fascinating and amusing. She sat to
me for her portrait, during which time she kept me in fits of
laughter.
"Professional beauty" was at this period a term commonly used,
although frequently inappropriate to the ladies to whom it was
applied, and photographers must have made a fortune by the exhibition
of the photographs of these society ladies then in their windows.
Frank Miles, a popular young artist of the day, whose drawings were
published in the form of photographs of pretty heads of girls, which
were to be seen then on the walls of every undergraduate's rooms, once
said to me, "Leslie, I know you like to see lovely faces. I have one
of the most wonderful creatures I have ever seen coming to my studio.
Come, and I'll introduce you."
At Miles's studio in Adelphi Terrace the next day, I met Mrs. Langtry,
who was then at the height of her beauty. To me her principal charm
was that of expression, and the wonderful blue eyes which contrasted
so strangely with her rich dark hair. Her neck and shoulders were
perfect, and I remember her extreme fascination of manner.
Another beauty who hailed from the island of Jersey was Mrs. Rousby,
whom I met first at Sir James Ferguson's (the surgeon). She came over
to England with her husband, who was manager of the theatre at Jersey.
She acted in Tom Taylor's play _'Twixt Axe and Crown_ in which she
made a great success, chiefly through her attractive appearance. Mr.
Frith (who was a relation of her husband, I believe) painted her
portrait as she appeared in the play. Her popularity was unbounded;
one could hardly pass a tobacconist's shop without noticing the
familiar features carved upon a meerschaum pipe; and her photographs
were everywhere.
I was constantly drawing her from memory and trying to represent her
as truthfully as I could.
During the completion of my oil painting of Miss Chappell (Mrs. Tom
Caley), the Prince of Wales visited Mr. Augustus Lumley, to whom his
Royal Highness was sitting, and Mr. Lumley, in the course of
conversation, mentioned my name. The Prince, with the tactful
remembrance that distinguished him, recollected my name at once and
expressed a wish to see my work. Unfortunately, I was not in, and Mr.
Lumley showed the Prince round my studio. On the easel stood my
portrait of Miss Chappell (who was then a very beautiful girl of about
sixteen, and was afterwards just as handsome in her womanhood), and on
the wall was pinned a decided caricature of H.R.H. The portrait, I was
pleased to hear, was admired, the Prince exclaiming, "What a pretty
girl!" Then he caught sight of the caricature of himself, and said,
"What a beast of a thing!"
Accompanying their father were the young Princes, who were amused by
the various properties of the studio, which included an old-fashioned
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 Shipley, where I spent many pleasant days. Both these
portraits were hung in the Royal Academy.
Some of my young subjects have revealed the most astonishing
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 snatched 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 Dickens), 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 associated with
her--Mr. Henry Leslie, M. Riviere, 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 L1000 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 L500 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. Riviere 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 Middlesex Sessions Court to assess damages, a verdict of
L10,000 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 identity 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 negligee_, and to spend her time tearing up an
accumulation 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.
When Mrs. Weldon went to Brighton, she sent me a charming letter
asking me to go down there, but at the moment I was a little
disconcerted by the extreme publicity surrounding her movements, and
did not take advantage of her kind invitation. I remember her saying
to me, "They call me mad, and I suppose everybody is mad on some
point. My mania is vanity--I love compliments--as long as you flatter
me I shall be your best friend."
Miss Christabel Pankhurst, whom (as another lady looming largely in
the eye of the public) I drew for _Vanity Fair_, made quite an
attractive cartoon for that paper. She was a very good model, with
most agreeable manners. I studied her first at the Queen's Hall, where
her windmill-like gestures attracted my notice first. Her brilliant
colouring and clear voice were also characteristic.
I did not discuss the subject in which she was so absorbed, but
limited my conversations to generalities, lest by adverse criticism I
might disturb the charm of expression I found in her face.
[Illustration: ADMIRAL SIR COMPTON DOMVILLE, 1906.]
[Illustration: MISS CHRISTABEL PANKHURST, 1908.]