CHAPTER XIII.

PERSONAL ANECDOTES.

The late Frederick Tayler, whose water-colour drawings are familiar to

all lovers of art, was a guest for some days at the mansion of the Duke

of Athole--an elderly gentleman thirty years ago, but how nearly

connected with the present Duke I am unable to say. According to Tayler,

the old Duke was a very eccentric person; one of his whims being an

insistence upon all the male guests at his castle wearing the Scottish

national dress. On my friend's pleading that he could not wear a costume

that he didn't possess, he was supplied with the kilt and the rest of

it, from a store kept for unprovided visitors--"and," said Tayler, "I

was immediately compelled to ride about eighteen miles in a condition of

discomfort that may be imagined." Another little peculiarity was

scarcely less distressing, for dinner was never served till near

midnight. Hungry guests were kept waiting till, folding-doors being

thrown open, the major-domo appeared, holding a wand, and in solemn

tones announced "His Grace!"

In 1850 this remarkable Duke "took it into his head" to close his

beautiful Glen Tilt to tourists. I was fortunate enough to have passed

through it before this decree was issued; but multitudes--noisy

multitudes, as they proved themselves--not having had my advantage,

became clamorous for their right, as they believed, of unobstructed

passage through the lovely glen. Many letters from indignant tourists

appeared in the press, which almost universally condemned the Duke's

action, _Punch's_ baton being brought into play in the tourists' cause;

and to this weapon was added Leech's pencil, which, in a vigorous

drawing, portrayed the old Duke as a dog in the manger, with a snarl on

his face that portended a bite if his position was assailed. The drawing

was entitled "A Scotch Dog in the Manger," and was immediately followed

by another blow, happily paraphrasing Scott's lines in the "Lady of the

Lake," and supposed to apply to "a scene from the burlesque recently

performed at Glen Tilt":

"These are Clan Athole's warriors true,

And, Saxons, I'm the regular Doo."

How far these drawings were the means of causing the Duke to reverse his

decision I know not; but it was reversed, and that he took Leech's

somewhat severe treatment good-humouredly is shown by his treatment of

the artist, whom he met near the glen soon after the drawings appeared.

Leech was alone, sketch-book in hand, no doubt noting, by pencil and

observation, for future use, some of the beauties around him, when a

horseman approached, attended by a groom. Leech was probably on

forbidden ground, for the rider, who was the Duke of Athole, immediately

asked his name and "what he was doing there." Under ordinary

circumstances Leech would have said, "What is _your_ name?" for the

matter of that, "and what do you want to do with mine if I give it to

you?"; but whether the manner of his questioner impressed him, or

conscious guilt shook him, I cannot say. It is certain, however, that he

replied he was an artist, and that his name was Leech.

"Not John Leech?" said the Duke.

"Yes, John," was the reply.

And Leech now, feeling sure that he was in the presence of the Duke, and

that he was about to hear some strong language about his daring to

caricature so august a personage for merely asserting his rights,

proceeded to explain that he would not intrude further, but return at

once to his inn, where he intended to pass the night.

The Duke turned to his groom, and told him to dismount, and called to

Leech to take the servant's place.

Leech obeyed, when the Duke said, "No, sir; no inn for you to-night: you

must dine and sleep at my house. I am the Duke of Athole." Further

hesitation on Leech's part was met by a warmer and more pressing

invitation.

Leech yielded, and the two rode off together. The road to the castle lay

through some rather perilous country, culminating in a narrow and broken

path, with cliff on one side and a precipice on the other. The artist

hesitated; the Duke called upon him to come on. "Has he brought me here

to revenge himself by breaking my neck?" thought Leech. He timidly

advanced, and reached the Duke, who had stopped for him at a point where

the path was most dangerous.

"Are you, sir, the man who has maligned me in _Punch_?" fiercely

demanded the Duke.

The fearful position in which Leech found himself, terrible to anyone,

but to a nervous man especially frightful, extorted from him an

apologetic confession, excusable under the circumstances.

"Your Grace," said he, "we--we--that is, nearly everyone--has done

something that he--he--regrets having done. I am very sorry I have---- I

regret very much that anything I have done should have given you any

annoyance."

The Duke's affected fierceness was exchanged for the jovial manner said

to be peculiar to him, and the pair rode off pleasantly together.

The castle was reached, and Leech was shown to a dressing-room, where he

made himself as presentable as he could under the circumstances, in

anticipation of the usual announcement that dinner was served. I can

imagine my friend's feelings as he waited in hungry expectation. "As he

could not manage to break my neck," thought Leech, as hour after hour

passed without a summons to dinner, "he means to starve me."

At last, thinking that perhaps his room was too far off for the sound of

the gong to reach him, he rang the bell. A servant appeared.

"I am afraid," said Leech, "that I did not hear the dinner-bell; is

dinner ready?"

"Not yet, sir; you will be informed when it is."

Another hour passed. Leech became desperate; starvation seemed to stare

him in the face. Again he rang the bell; again the servant answered it,

and the reply was again, "Not yet."

The clock had struck ten before the welcome sound of the gong reached

the famished man. If Mr. Frederick Tayler is to be believed, the Leech

dinner with the Duke was an _early_ one. No explanation was ever given

to Tayler of these abnormal dinner-hours, but Leech was told that "his

Grace" always took a nap after his rides, and his guests were fed when

he awoke.

Leech was fond of telling of this adventure with the Duke, whose

likeness can be seen in more than one of Landseer's pictures.

John Leech, His Life and Work, Vol. 2 [of 2] · 第 13 / 25 章