THE opportunity I wanted presented itself in a curious way, and led,
unexpectedly enough, to some rather important consequences.
I have already stated, among the other branches of human attainment
which I acquired at the public school, that I learned to draw
caricatures of the masters who were so obliging as to educate me. I
had a natural faculty for this useful department of art. I improved it
greatly by practice in secret after I left school, and I ended by making
it a source of profit and pocket money to me when I entered the medical
profession. What was I to do? I could not expect for years to make a
halfpenny, as a physician. My genteel walk in life led me away from all
immediate sources of emolument, and my father could only afford to give
me an allowance which was too preposterously small to be mentioned. I
had helped myself surreptitiously to pocket-money at school, by selling
my caricatures, and I was obliged to repeat the process at home!
At the time of which I write, the Art of Caricature was just approaching
the close of its colored and most extravagant stage of development. The
subtlety and truth to Nature required for the pursuit of it now, had
hardly begun to be thought of then. Sheer farce and coarse burlesque,
with plenty of color for the money, still made up the sum of what the
public of those days wanted. I was first assured of my capacity for the
production of these requisites, by a medical friend of the ripe critical
age of nineteen. He knew a print-publisher, and enthusiastically showed
him a portfolio full of my sketches, taking care at my request not to
mention my name. Rather to my surprise (for I was too conceited to be
greatly amazed by the circumstance), the publisher picked out a few of
the best of my wares, and boldly bought them of me--of course, at his
own price. From that time I became, in an anonymous way, one of the
young buccaneers of British Caricature; cruising about here, there and
everywhere, at all my intervals of spare time, for any prize in the
shape of a subject which it was possible to pick up. Little did my
highly-connected mother think that, among the colored prints in the
shop-window, which disrespectfully illustrated the public and private
proceedings of distinguished individuals, certain specimens bearing
the classic signature of “Thersites Junior,” were produced from designs
furnished by her studious and medical son. Little did my respectable
father imagine when, with great difficulty and vexation, he succeeded in
getting me now and then smuggled, along with himself, inside the pale
of fashionable society--that he was helping me to study likenesses which
were destined under my reckless treatment to make the public laugh at
some of his most august patrons, and to fill the pockets of his son with
professional fees, never once dreamed of in his philosophy.
For more than a year I managed, unsuspected, to keep the Privy Purse
fairly supplied by the exercise of my caricaturing abilities. But the
day of detection was to come.
Whether my medical friend’s admiration of my satirical sketches led him
into talking about them in public with too little reserve; or whether
the servants at home found private means of watching me in my moments
of Art-study, I know not: but that some one betrayed me, and that
the discovery of my illicit manufacture of caricatures was actually
communicated even to the grandmotherly head and fount of the family
honor, is a most certain and lamentable matter of fact. One morning my
father received a letter from Lady Malkinshaw herself, informing him,
in a handwriting crooked with poignant grief, and blotted at every third
word by the violence of virtuous indignation, that “Thersites Junior”
was his own son, and that, in one of the last of the “ribald’s”
caricatures her own venerable features were unmistakably represented as
belonging to the body of a large owl!
Of course, I laid my hand on my heart and indignantly denied everything.
Useless. My original model for the owl had got proofs of my guilt that
were not to be resisted.
The doctor, ordinarily the most mellifluous and self-possessed of
men, flew into a violent, roaring, cursing passion, on this
occasion--declared that I was imperiling the honor and standing of the
family--insisted on my never drawing another caricature, either for
public or private purposes, as long as I lived; and ordered me to go
forthwith and ask pardon of Lady Malkinshaw in the humblest terms that
it was possible to select. I answered dutifully that I was quite ready
to obey, on the condition that he should reimburse me by a trebled
allowance for what I should lose by giving up the Art of Caricature,
or that Lady Malkinshaw should confer on me the appointment of
physician-in-waiting on her, with a handsome salary attached. These
extremely moderate stipulations so increased my father’s anger, that he
asserted, with an unmentionably vulgar oath, his resolution to turn me
out of doors if I did not do as he bid me, without daring to hint at
any conditions whatsoever. I bowed, and said that I would save him the
exertion of turning me out of doors, by going of my own accord. He shook
his fist at me; after which it obviously became my duty, as a member
of a gentlemanly and peaceful profession, to leave the room. The same
evening I left the house, and I have never once given the clumsy and
expensive footman the trouble of answering the door to me since that
time.
I have reason to believe that my exodus from home was, on the whole,
favorably viewed by my mother, as tending to remove any possibility of
my bad character and conduct interfering with my sister’s advancement in
life.
By dint of angling with great dexterity and patience, under the
direction of both her parents, my handsome sister Annabella had
succeeded in catching an eligible husband, in the shape of a wizen,
miserly, mahogany-colored man, turned fifty, who had made a fortune in
the West Indies. His name was Batterbury; he had been dried up under
a tropical sun, so as to look as if he would keep for ages; he had two
subjects of conversation, the yellow-fever and the advantage of walking
exercise: and he was barbarian enough to take a violent dislike to me.
He had proved a very delicate fish to hook; and, even when Annabella
had caught him, my father and mother had great difficulty in landing
him--principally, they were good enough to say, in consequence of my
presence on the scene. Hence the decided advantage of my removal from
home. It is a very pleasant reflection to me, now, to remember how
disinterestedly I studied the good of my family in those early days.
Abandoned entirely to my own resources, I naturally returned to the
business of caricaturing with renewed ardor.
About this time Thersites Junior really began to make something like a
reputation, and to walk abroad habitually with a bank-note comfortably
lodged among the other papers in his pocketbook. For a year I lived a
gay and glorious life in some of the freest society in London; at the
end of that time, my tradesmen, without any provocation on my part, sent
in their bills. I found myself in the very absurd position of having no
money to pay them, and told them all so with the frankness which is one
of the best sides of my character. They received my advances toward
a better understanding with brutal incivility, and treated me soon
afterward with a want of confidence which I may forgive, but can never
forget. One day, a dirty stranger touched me on the shoulder, and showed
me a dirty slip of paper which I at first presumed to be his card.
Before I could tell him what a vulgar document it looked like, two more
dirty strangers put me into a hackney coach. Before I could prove to
them that this proceeding was a gross infringement on the liberties of
the British subject, I found myself lodged within the walls of a prison.
Well! and what of that? Who am I that I should object to being in
prison, when so many of the royal personages and illustrious characters
of history have been there before me? Can I not carry on my vocation
in greater comfort here than I could in my father’s house? Have I any
anxieties outside these walls? No: for my beloved sister is married--the
family net has landed Mr. Batterbury at last. No: for I read in the
paper the other day, that Doctor Softly (doubtless through
the interest of Lady Malkinshaw) has been appointed the
King’s-Barber-Surgeon’s-Deputy-Consulting Physician. My relatives are
comfortable in their sphere--let me proceed forthwith to make myself
comfortable in mine. Pen, ink, and paper, if you please, Mr. Jailer: I
wish to write to my esteemed publisher.
“DEAR SIR--Please advertise a series of twelve Racy Prints, from my
fertile pencil, entitled, ‘Scenes of Modern Prison Life,’ by Thersites
Junior. The two first designs will be ready by the end of the week, to
be paid for on delivery, according to the terms settled between us for
my previous publications of the same size.
“With great regard and esteem, faithfully yours,
“FRANK SOFTLY.”
Having thus provided for my support in prison, I was enabled to
introduce myself to my fellow-debtors, and to study character for the
new series of prints, on the very first day of my incarceration, with my
mind quite at ease.
If the reader desires to make acquaintance with the associates of
my captivity, I must refer him to “Scenes of Modern Prison Life,” by
Thersites Junior, now doubtless extremely scarce, but producible to the
demands of patience and perseverance, I should imagine, if anybody will
be so obliging as to pass a week or so over the catalogue of the British
Museum. My fertile pencil has delineated the characters I met with,
at that period of my life, with a force and distinctness which my pen
cannot hope to rival--has portrayed them all more or less prominently,
with the one solitary exception of a prisoner called Gentleman Jones.
The reasons why I excluded him from my portrait-gallery are so honorable
to both of us, that I must ask permission briefly to record them.
My fellow-captives soon discovered that I was studying their personal
peculiarities for my own advantage and for the public amusement. Some
thought the thing a good joke; some objected to it, and quarreled with
me. Liberality in the matter of liquor and small loans, reconciled a
large proportion of the objectors to their fate; the sulky minority I
treated with contempt, and scourged avengingly with the smart lash of
caricature. I was at that time probably the most impudent man of my age
in all England, and the common flock of jail-birds quailed before the
magnificence of my assurance. One prisoner only set me and my pencil
successfully at defiance. That prisoner was Gentleman Jones.
He had received his name from the suavity of his countenance, the
inveterate politeness of his language, and the unassailable composure of
his manner. He was in the prime of life, but very bald--had been in the
army and the coal trade--wore very stiff collars and prodigiously long
wristbands--seldom laughed, but talked with remarkable glibness, and was
never known to lose his temper under the most aggravating circumstances
of prison existence.
He abstained from interfering with me and my studies, until it was
reported in our society, that in the sixth print of my series, Gentleman
Jones, highly caricatured, was to form one of the principal figures. He
then appealed to me personally and publicly, on the racket-ground, in
the following terms:
“Sir,” said he, with his usual politeness and his unwavering smile, “you
will greatly oblige me by not caricaturing my personal peculiarities. I
am so unfortunate as not to possess a sense of humor; and if you did my
likeness, I am afraid I should not see the joke of it.”
“Sir,” I returned, with my customary impudence, “it is not of the
slightest importance whether _you_ see the joke of it or not. The public
will--and that is enough for me.”
With that civil speech, I turned on my heel; and the prisoners near
all burst out laughing. Gentleman Jones, not in the least altered or
ruffled, smoothed down his wristbands, smiled, and walked away.
The same evening I was in my room alone, designing the new print, when
there came a knock at the door, and Gentleman Jones walked in. I got up,
and asked what the devil he wanted. He smiled, and turned up his long
wristbands.
“Only to give you a lesson in politeness,” said Gentleman Jones.
“What do you mean, sir? How dare you--?”
The answer was a smart slap on the face. I instantly struck out in a
state of fury--was stopped with great neatness--and received in return a
blow on the head, which sent me down on the carpet half stunned, and too
giddy to know the difference between the floor and the ceiling.
“Sir,” said Gentleman Jones, smoothing down his wristbands again, and
addressing me blandly as I lay on the floor, “I have the honor to inform
you that you have now received your first lesson in politeness. Always
be civil to those who are civil to you. The little matter of
the caricature we will settle on a future occasion. I wish you
good-evening.”
The noise of my fall had been heard by the other occupants of rooms on
my landing. Most fortunately for my dignity, they did not come in to see
what was the matter until I had been able to get into my chair again.
When they entered, I felt that the impression of the slap was red on my
face still, but the mark of the blow was hidden by my hair. Under these
fortunate circumstances, I was able to keep up my character among my
friends, when they inquired about the scuffle, by informing them that
Gentleman Jones had audaciously slapped my face, and that I had been
obliged to retaliate by knocking him down. My word in the prison was as
good as his; and if my version of the story got fairly the start of his,
I had the better chance of the two of being believed.
I was rather anxious, the next day, to know what course my polite and
pugilistic instructor would take. To my utter amazement, he bowed to me
as civilly as usual when we met in the yard; he never denied my version
of the story; and when my friends laughed at him as a thrashed man, he
took not the slightest notice of their agreeable merriment. Antiquity,
I think, furnishes us with few more remarkable characters than Gentleman
Jones.
That evening I thought it desirable to invite a friend to pass the time
with me. As long as my liquor lasted he stopped; when it was gone, he
went away. I was just locking the door after him, when it was pushed
open gently, but very firmly, and Gentleman Jones walked in.
My pride, which had not allowed me to apply for protection to the prison
authorities, would not allow me now to call for help. I tried to get to
the fireplace and arm myself with the poker, but Gentleman Jones was
too quick for me. “I have come, sir, to give you a lesson in morality
to-night,” he said; and up went his right hand.
I stopped the preliminary slap, but before I could hit him, his terrible
left fist reached my head again; and down I fell once more--upon the
hearth-rug this time--not over-heavily.
“Sir,” said Gentleman Jones, making me a bow, “you have now received
your first lesson in morality. Always speak the truth; and never say
what is false of another man behind his back. To-morrow, with your
kind permission, we will finally settle the adjourned question of the
caricature. Good-night.”
I was far too sensible a man to leave the settling of that question to
him. The first thing in the morning I sent a polite note to Gentleman
Jones, informing him that I had abandoned all idea of exhibiting his
likeness to the public in my series of prints, and giving him full
permission to inspect every design I made before it went out of the
prison. I received a most civil answer, thanking me for my courtesy, and
complimenting me on the extraordinary aptitude with which I profited by
the most incomplete and elementary instruction. I thought I deserved
the compliment, and I think so still. Our conduct, as I have already
intimated, was honorable to us, on either side. It was honorable
attention on the part of Gentleman Jones to correct me when I was in
error; it was honorable common sense in me to profit by the correction.
I have never seen this great man since he compounded with his creditors
and got out of prison; but my feelings toward him are still those of
profound gratitude and respect. He gave me the only useful teaching I
ever had; and if this should meet the eye of Gentleman Jones I hereby
thank him for beginning and ending my education in two evenings, without
costing me or my family a single farthing.