Storey A. R. A.
THE LIBRARY
OF
THE UNIVERSITY
OF CALIFORNIA
RIVERSIDE
Ex Libris
ISAAC FOOT
-^ - -^ -^ -^ -^ ^-
SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
MEMORV
KETCHES
^ROM MEMORY
BY G. A. STOREY, A.R.A.
WITH 93 ILLUSTRATIONS
BY THE AUTHOR
LONDON
CHATTO Gf WINDUS
1899
S76A3
Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson 6* Co.
At the Ballantyne Press
TO
EMILY y GLADYS
PREFACE
CUCH excuses as I have for writing this volume
are explained in the first chapter thereof.
Although to a certain extent it is biographical, it
is not an autobiography in the full meaning of the
word, but, as its title proclaims, a series of Sketches
from Memory — records of scenes I have passed
through and of individuals I have known. And if
there is any w^it in it, it is chiefiy that of others, and
not my own ; I having only the wit to remember,
and to present it to the reader with as much brevity
as I am master of I was once asked how long it
took me to paint a picture ; to which I answered,
"All my life." Perhaps if I were asked how long
it has taken me to write this book, I might give a
similar reply, for I have had to live it, as it were,
before setting it down. Indeed, is not every man's
life a book ? Now, since this one has been so long
in coming into existence, I sincerely hope that it
may be found to contain something solid, or at all
events something entertaining, although there is a
good deal in it about the everyday concerns of life
which may not be of a very thrilling character.
If I may interpret Horace's famous line —
" Difficile est proprie communia dicere,"
to my own purpose, T would say it is difficult to
treat such ordinary themes with sufficient art to
X PREFACE
make them of interest and of value. The great
Dutch painters have done this to perfection ; the
trite subject is forgiven for the beauty of the work-
manship, and — now, where am I ? — I am in an
awkward position — so we will not go into the ques-
tion — "qui s'excuse s'accuse:" so, whether the thing
is done well or not, there is always some interest
in the domestic life of different dates and different
countries. It may be amusing to read how we
passed our time at the breakfast-table in Paris in
1848; how I spent pleasant evenings with C. R.
Leslie about forty years ago ; how I made friends
and acquaintances in Spain, with an insight into
the life there ; or even a peep into the studio, while
the model is sitting, may have some recommenda-
tion for a reader who does not wish to be involved
in abstruse and difficult though clever arguments.
But there is no need for me to describe the work
that follows. In the Table of Contents can be seen
at a glance all the subjects, persons, and things that
it treats of, and also where to find them.
As to the illustrations, they are for the most part
also sketches, shorthand notes from nature, or care-
ful studies for backgrounds of pictures, portraits,
landscapes, figures, &c., which illustrate my story,
and give relief, I hope, to the printed pages.
And now, dear reader, I must leave my Sketches
in your hands, and as they are written without
malice, and, indeed, with the kindest motives, I
trust you also will treat them with kindness.
G. A. STOREY.
December 1898.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
Mnemosyne
PAGE
I
CHAPTER II
The Sculptor's Studio . . 3
Charles Dickens .... 3
Mr. Stultz 4
Behn^s the Sculptor ... 5
Little Adolphus is patted
on the Head 5
The Bust 7
Thomas Fowke .... 7
CHAPTER HI
Morden Hall 9
School Days 9
The Boots 10
T. N. White 1 1
H. P. Ashby 11
The Silver Palette .... 11
CHAPTER IV
Paris
12
M. Morand
12, 14
" Monsieur le Frotteur" .
• 13
Occasional Visitors . .
i;
L'Abbe de Lamennais .
15
Dr. Bonnet
. 16
M. Guyard the I'oet . .
• 15
M. Barratier and the Cats
•7
M. Cabet
17
CHAPTER V
PAGE
1848 19
Talking Politics .... 20
The Revolution 20
The Diary of little Adolphus 2 1
" Mourir pour la Patrie" . 23
Troops Unarmed .... 24
Barracks in Flames ... 25
Men in Blouses armed to
the teeth and very drunk 25
The Garde Municipale , . 25
The Tuileries invaded by
the Mob 26
The Mob revels in De-
struction 27
"A bas les Anglais" . . . 27
Mad Pranks 27
"Mort aux Voleurs" . . . 28
The General Du Bourg . . 29
Paris Fifty Years Ago . . 31
CHAPTER VI
Civil War
Ateliers Nationaux . .
Louis Napoleon . . .
Place de la Concorde
Troops Charge the Mob
Our Escape
The Diary again . . .
Beginning of the Fight .
" Sentinelle prenez garde
vous "
Fighting all Night . .
Heavy Casualties — 16,000
have Fallen
34
34
35
36
36
37
37
37
38
38
39
Xll
CONTENTS
The Archbishop of Paris
Shot
The Plight Ended ....
After the Battle ....
The Grand Funeral . . .
CHAPTER VII
The Arts of Peace ....
M. Jean Louis Dulong . .
What He Taught Me . .
40
40
40
41
43
43
43
CHAPTER VIII
The Artist at the Breakfast-
Table 47
Chelsea College .... 48
Mr. Wood 48
" Le Capitaine de Joseph" . 51
English Cooking versus
French 51
La Sauce A nglaise a Failure 5 2
Sketches on the Black
Board 53
CHAPTER IX
Home Again 54
The Cosmopolitan .... 54
CHAPTER X
Leslie
As a Teacher ....
As an Artist
My Introduction to him
His " Handbook for Youn
Painters" . . .
George Leslie . .
Mrs. Leslie's Advice
Miss Harriet Leslie
Her Witty Remarks
Her Advice to a Young Poet
An Evening with Leslie
56
56
57
59
61
62
62
63
64
64
65
65
66
67
His Remarks on Art . . .
Stories of Scott and Edwin
Landseer
Our Games at Chess . . .
Mary Leslie's Beautiful
Drawings 67
Taste with Faithfulness . . 68
CHAPTER XI
Sir Edwin Landseer ... 69
His Stories 70
"Is thy Servant a Dog ?" . 70
"A Fine Landseer on View
Within" 70
His Washerwoman's Re-
mark on two of his
Masterpieces . . .
Marked with "hell" .
He Impersonates a Pig
Miss Jessie Landseer
Pygmalion ....
72
72
72
73
1^
CHAPTER XII
Charles Landseer .... 74
His Serious Fun .... 74
Keeper of the Royal Aca-
demy 75
Mr. Boom 75
The Menagerie 75
The Blushing Student . . 76
CHAPTER XIII
Tom Landseer ']^
His Deafness 77
He Enacts the Shy Pupil . "]"]
His Manner of Speech . . 79
An Adventure with a Police-
man 80
His Good Nature .... 80
His Pupil, J. C. Webb . . 81
CONTENTS
Xlll
CHAPTER XIV
PAGE
People of Note 82
Mrs. Jameson 83
George Cruikshank ... 84
The Doyles 85
Millais and Hunt, Sec. . . 86
Albert Smith 87
CHAPTER XV
Leigh in Newman Street . 88
The Anatomical Room . . 89
The Life School .... 89
" I hope I don't interrupt
you " 90
His Pictures 91
Metaphysics and the Organ-
grinder 92
Last Evening with his Boys
— Affecting Scene ... 94
His Death 95
Some of the Students . . 95
H. S. Marks 95
Walter Thornbury — his " Life
of Turner" 96
Brereton 97
Wycherley 97
The Eccentric Student . . 98
Caledonian Brown ... 98
Spiritualism 99
Strange Gratitude .... 99
CHAPTER XVI
The Royal Academy in 1852 loi
My First Picture . . . . loi
Exhibitors and their Works
of that date . . 102, 103, 104
The Younger Men . . . 105
Millais 106
Holman Hunt 106
H. P. Ashby 107
F. Smallfield 107
W. W. Fenn, the Blind
Painter loS
CHAPTER XVII
PAGE
Early Works 1 1 1
The Polite Picture Dealer . 112
Youthful Hope 112
The Guidance of Leslie . . 112
Raphael 112
A Madonna and Child . . 112
From Lofty Themes to Pet
Dogs 113
Divided Affections . . . 113
Lessons of Love . . . . 115
A Madrigal by Michel
Angelo 115
The Remarks of Diotima . 115
Humiliation 118
The Bride's Burial ... 118
Kindly Critics 119
My Young Companions . . 119
Edward Cressy 120
CHAPTER XVIII
Spain
First Impressions . . .
Sehor Don Adolfo
The North of Spain . .
The Basque Girls . . .
The Diligence — my Fellow
Passengers ....
I Meet a Robinson . .
The Plateau of Castile .
121
122
122
124
124
125
126
127
CHAPTER XIX
Madrid 129
" The only Court on Earth " 1 29
The Museo on the Prado . 130
Titian, Paul Veronese, Ru-
bens, and Tintoret . . . 130
Velasquez . . . 130, 131, 132
The Meninas 131
John Philip i32
Long and Burgess . . . 132
Colonel Fitch . . • . . 132
The Cafe Europa .... 134
XIV
CONTENTS
General Don Josd de J.
Don Jose's little boy's
Portrait
Spanish Poverty Disguised
Paying for the Picture . .
Spanish Gamblers ....
The Play Interrupted . .
In the Name of Charity . .
CHAPTER XX
Spanish Interiors . . .
My Apartments . . .
My Reception . . .
Senora Maria and
Daughters . . .
Many Questions . .
Gregoria the Maid
How I was Taught Spanish
I Begin to Understand
The Story of Liseta .
134
135
136
138
139
139
140
her
141
141
142
142
142
143
144
145
146
CHAPTER XXI
El Casino del Principe . . 150
A Procession of Human Life 151
Dr. Checa 151
Sefior Moreno Benitez . . 152
The British Legation . . 152
Higgins and Higginson . . 152
The Old Bachelor and Dona
Susana 153
Golfo 155
The Curse of Play . . . 155
Our Little Demons . . . Ii6
The Theatres in Madrid . 158
Spanish Acting 160
The College Hornpipe at
the Zarzuela 161
Back to the Tables ; I Play
for Checa and Win . . 162
Moreno Benitez Visits Eng-
land 163
The Sereno 163, 164
CHAPTER XXII
PAGE
Doiia Emilia 166
Spanish Peculiarity . . . 166
The Duke of Alva . . . 166
The Doctor's Losses ; he is
Appointed Consul out in
China 168
His Advice to me about
Play 168
Romano 168
Don Federigo 169
The Finest Eyes in Madrid 169
Dona Leonor 169
Dona Emilia 170
Murillo 170
Spanish Interiors .... 171
Poverty 171
Painting the Picture . . . 172
" Woman, Begone " . . . 173
What Establishment is
this? 174,175
CHAPTER XXIII
The Portrait ....
176
The Gold Key ... .
176
Time for Sending in Pic
tures to the Exhibition
177
Interruptions ....
177
How the Picture Looked
178
"This Must Not Be" .
178
A Place of Honour . .
179
CHAPTER XXIV
The Novillos, or Comic Bull-
Fights ....... 180
Stuffy Madrid 181
Plaza de Toros 182
Men in Basket Armour . . 182
El Tato 183
Amateur Bull-fighters . . 183
The Espada 184
The Chapel 185
CONTENTS
XV
CHAPTER XXV
PAGE
Toledo i86
Fonda del Lino .... 187
The Letter of Introduction 187
Seiior Oje'da 188
La Casa de Huespedes . . 188
Senora Ojeda 190
Myso-called Dutch Pictures 191
The Padre 192
CHAPTER XXVI
La Casa Abad 193
The Patio 193
Don Manuel the Boots . . 195
Nicolassa, Cook and House-
maid 195
Their Duet 196
The Almuerzo 196
The Kitchen 197
Spanish Cooking . . . . 199
The Art of Eating and
Drinking 199
A Polite Custom .... 200
Don Ramon Tenes . . . 2Ci
CHAPTER XXVII
Don Ramon el Canonigo . 202
The Breviary 202
The Guitar out of Tune . . 203
The Forbidden Instrument 203
Sacred and Profane Music 204
The Padre sinj^s a Love Song 205
The Links of Friendship . 205
The Padre's Stockings want
Mending 206
Christmas was Coming . . 207
Christmas Eve 208
The Dance 208
The Padre Plays a Polka . 209
I Dance the Double Shuffle 209
CHAPTER XXVIII
The Cathedral 210
PAGE
The Labour of Centuries . 211
God's House 211
Beautiful and Mysterious
Art 212
The Sombre Cathedral . . 213
Holy Innocents' Day . . 213
The Midnight Mass . . . 2I3
CHAPTER XXIX
Don Manuel 215
He Studies Greekand Latin 215
The Wide Boots .... 216
My Wonderful Adventures 217
Manuel and Sancho Panza 218
I Propose we should Imitate
the famous Knight and
his Squire 218
Manuel Consents to Follow
me Round the World . . 219
CHAPTER XXX
The Sketch from the Rock 220
The Castillo de San Ser-
vando 221
The Alcazar 221
I Feel Giddy 221
The French Delight in De-
struction 222
We Mustn't Talk .... 222
The Depredations of Crom-
well 223
Recollections of a Scotch
Sermon 223
The Water- Wheel on the
Tagus 224
Water-Carriers 224
Donkeys 224
The Puente de Alcantara . 225
The Sketch and the Sen-
tinel 226
The Governor's Card. . . 227
The Wide Road— The Con-
vents 227
Bell-hnmnicring .... 228
XVI
CONTENTS
CHAPTER XXXI
PAGE
Social Evenings .... 229
Dona Concilia Carmen . . 229
The Old Mansion .... 230
The Vizconde de Sedilla . 230
England, a Province of
Spain ! 231
All Members of Parliament
Drunk after five o'clock . 231
The Three Great Sights in
England 232
The Tribuna 233
The Toledo Derby ... 234
Ancient History .... 234
Don Alvaro, the King's Fav-
ourite 234
Religious Questions . . . 235
The Beautiful Florinda and
King Roderic .... 237
The Battle of Guadalete . . 237
My Last Day in Toledo . . 238
The Dining Table bids me
Adieu 239
The whole Establishment
sees me off 240
CHAPTER XXXII
Madrid again 241
The Museo and the Old
Masters 242
The Carnival 242
The Bal Masque .... 243
The Lady in the Mask . . 244
CHAPTER XXXIII
Farewell, Checa I . . . . 246
The Doctor Fights a Duel . 246
His Return to Spain — and
Death 248
CHAPTER XXXIV
Historic Genre 249
Return to England . . . 249
My Young Companions . . 249
Historical Painting . . • 250
Guinette and the Lay-figure 251
The Audience 251
Studies for Henry VIII. . 252
CHAPTER XXXV
Gig 255
As Good as Gold .... 255
No Personal Vanity . . . 255
Taste 256
Dr. E. and his two Sons,
Henry and William . . 256
Prosperity 257
A Cloud Comes over the
Scene 257
At the Theatre 258
"Can it be?" 258
I am Introduced to Gig . . 260
The Little Dinner .... 261
Gig's " Masterpieces" . . 262
He Becomes a Patron . . 263
" Have you Thought of a
Subject?" 264
" Blow Euripides : " . . . 264
Gig's Reading 265
"The Bridge of Sighs" . . 265
" Don't say Toosday " . . 268
Gig and the Franco-Prus-
sian War 269
He Goes out as a Member
of the Ambulance Corps . 270
Is Arrested in Paris as a
Prussian Spy 270
He Faces Death, but Sends
his Card to Lord Lyons . 271
Farewell, Gig 271
CHAPTER XXXVI
Behind the Screen ....
Pictures on View — Henry
VIII. and Lady Godiva .
"A Real Girl?" . . . .
273
274
275
CONTENTS
XVll
Mistress Dorothy .... 277
Baron Rothschild .... 281
Miss S. married .... 284
Mrs. Charretie 284
A Happy Marriage through
Dorothy 285
Nora 286
An Irish Girl 286
Models 289
CHAPTER XXXVII
My Italian Model's Story . 290
Signor Fuoco 290
The Guardia Campestre . 293
The Escape 294
The Sindaco 298
The Grand Entertainment . 298
The Merchant and his Son 299
They are taken Prisoners . 300
The Supper in the Cave . 302
The Brigands Slain by the
Prisoners 304
CHAPTER XXXVIII
Mr. Gailey 309
" The Artist's Model" . . 311
CHAPTER XLI
CHAPTER XXXIX
A Country Walk ....
Leslie, Marks, Calderon,
and Hodgson ....
The "Old Spotted Dog" .
314
315
315
CHAPTER XL
Our River 318
George Leslie 3'^
His Book 319
M. Gambart
Gambart Pays us a Visit
His House Blown Up
The Dinner Party .
Punch and Judy .
Restorations . . .
The Fancy Ball .
The Missing Supper
J. R. Herbert . .
324
325
327
j>
CHAPTER XLII
Hever 332
Frank Burnand 333
The Children at Breakfast . 333
"After You" 334
Story Told by the Ghost of
a Gudgeon 335
CHAPTER XLIII
Success at Last ....
Dion Boucicaults Advice
Rev. J. M. Bellew
Bedford Chapel
The Altar-Piece
Bellew as St. John
"The Crucifixion"
The Picture given to the
Carmelites. .
Death of Bellew
"The Shy Pupil"
J. P. Knight . .
Sir John Pender
Sir William Agnew
Boys Going to School
CHAPTER XLIV
--■8
339
341
341
341
342
343
344
345
346
346
346
346
347
Portraits and Patrons
Visit from Lady \'.
Daughter . . . .
and
349
349
XVIU
CONTENTS
PAGE
A Disquisition on Noses . 350
As Regards Age .... 351
Pretty Mrs. Porter — "Then
and Now" 351
Lady and Captain G. . 354
General Hastings and Lord
S 355
Lord S. and the Young Mid-
shipman 355
Lord S. and the Hall Porter 357
Portraits, Half- a - Crown
Each 359
Generosity of the Manches-
ter Men 361
The Pleasures of Portrait
Painting 363
CHAPTER XLV
Debden 364
The Old Trap 365
Mr. and Mrs. Trevilian . . 366
The Hall 366
The Stables 367
" The Grey Lady "... 367
Mr. Chiswell 367
Bad News 368
The Messenger .... 368
The White Handkerchief . s6g
Death 369
The Runaway Marriage . 371
The Money Lenders . . . 371
The House Refurnished . 371
A Lively Party 371
PAGE
The Gipsy 372
Mrs. Houstoun 373
CHAPTER XLVI
My Mother 374
At Ramsgate 374
Miss Emily Fitch .... 376
Anxious for News .... 377
Frith, Matthew Arnold, and
Mr. Farrer of Harrow . 377
The Pipe 378
"The Old Soldier" ... 378
Robert Browning .... 378
Frith's Advice 380
To Meet John Parry . . . 382
Du Maurier 383
Picture of " Scandal " . . 384
Tom Agnew 384
The Picture half rubbed
out 385
Calderon to the Rescue . . 385
" Scandal " a Success . . 386
A Year of Sunshine . , . 387
Grand " Do " at Manchester 387
The Blue Girls of Canter-
bury 388
Nearly Elected an A.R.A. . 392
A Visit to Coleorton . . . 393
My Mother's Death . . . 398
Elected an A.R.A. ... 398
CHAPTER XLVI I
Many Years After .... 400
Grandmamma's Grave . . 401
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
Memory' .... Frontispiece
Initial Letter i
Tailpiece 2
A Study from the Elgin
Marbles 3
Old Weller the Coachman . 4
Pen Sketch 7
Morden Hall 9
The Schoolroom, Paris . . 12
M. Morand 14
Dr. Bonnet 16
Sentinels 19
Sketch taken of Paris by
Moonlight during the
Civil War of June 1848 . 34
The Widow 42
Mirth 43
M.J. L. Dulong .... 45
Bubbles 47
A Study 54
A Sketch 56
Sketch by C. R. Leslie . . 58
Kilbum Fields 61
A Portrait 69
Game 74
Tom Landseer, the Engraver 78
The Shy Pupil 79
CAGE
Initial Letter 82
A Study 86
Cassandra 88
Tailpiece 100
Initial Letter loi
G. A. Storey, aged 19 . . 109
The Widowed Bride {-painted
in 1858) Ill
Love's Folly 113
Lessons of Love . . . . 114
The Brides Burial {painted
in 1859) 117
Edward Cressy 119
Sketch from the Picture by
Velasquez in Madrid . . 121
Bridge at Toledo .... 127
Philip IV 129
Initial Letter 141
Liseta 148
Sketched from the Picture
by Velasquez 1 50
A Portrait 159
A Study 164
Dona Emilia 167
Lavinia 176
Mandoline Player . . . . 180
The Ferry — Toledo . . . 186
XX
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
Street in Toledo .... 189
Kitchen at Seiior Ojdda's . 191
Patio of the Casa Abad . . 194
Kitchen at the Casa Abad . 197
A Fair Musician .... 201
Listening 204
One of the Innocents . . 210
Idleness 215
Toledo 220
Street in Toledo .... 229
The Tribuna . . . . . 233
Door of My Room — Toledo 239
Bowed Down 247
Clarissa 249
A Gossip 253
Gladys ....... 255
Curiosity . 273
The Model behind the
Screen ....... 276
At the Studio Door . . . 278
Nora 287
The Brigand 290
The Apennine 295
Madalina 307
Mr. Gailey 309
Old Inn at Kilburn . . . 314
Near Hurley 318
PAGE
Near Hampton Court . . 320
Near Maidenhead . . . . 321
At the Fancy Ball .... 328
Hever Castle 332
"After You" {paititcd in
1867) 338
Pen Sketch for the Shy
Pupil . 340
The Crucifixion 343
Friends . 348
Mrs. Porter — Then . . . 353
Pamela 360
Mrs. Potter 362
The Park Gate 364
Ninety Years Ago .... 370
Miss Emily Fitch {Portrait
of my Mother before she
was married) .... 376
The Old Soldier {painted
in 1869) 379
Mrs. Allen and my Mother 381
Charlotte Bishop and Fanny
Tomalin 389
Mrs. Sandys 390
Amy White, Mary Goodhew,
and Matilda Harman . . 391
The Spirit 400
SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
MNEMOSYNE
T T is not to write about
^ myself that I take up
the pen, but I have met with
many people on my life jour-
ney who are worth writing
about, and I have seen and
heard many things that are
worth rememberinor. And
it is because of those I have
known and cared for, and
because they remain in my
memory, that I am prompted
to write about them, just as
I have often talked about them while sitting round
the fire with a cosy company smoking the friendly
pipe, and looking into those bright embers, those
burning cavities, which shape themselves into fairy
palaces, and lead us through dreamland into the
past — the past, which still exists in memory. And
it may not be without interest to others, as well
A
2 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
as myself, to recall some of those well-known
characters who have passed away ; to renew
acquaintance with them in their everyday guise,
and to listen to their very words uttered long
ago.
i)}"jSlL''' I_ '>ilLL
A STUDY FROM THE ELGIN MARBLES.
II
THE SCULPTOR'S STUDIO
NOW, the first name that occurs to me in this
recollective mood is one that is a household
word, one that is dear to every right-minded reader
of the English language — it is the name of Charles
Dickens. Not only was his " Cricket on the
Hearth " one of the first books that I became
possessed of, but its author was the first great
man whom I was introduced to, and this is how
it happened.
Some friend of the family had seen scribblings
of mine on half-sheets of note-paper which were
considered wonderful, both b\' him and the family.
This friend, Mr. Stultz, a rich, prosperous man,
who had made a fortune by tailoring, was building
some alms-houses in Kentish Town for the shelter-
4
SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
iriQf of a certain number of the less successful of his
calling, and it was only right and proper that a bust
of the kind founder should be put up as a memorial
of his charity. To this end, he was sitting to
Behnes, the sculptor, in Osnaburgh Street, and it
struck him that an introduction to that o-entleman
mic^ht be a means of bringino- out the latent talent
of little Adolphus, who was then nine years old.
I remember he took
me with him in his
carriage and intro-
duced me into that
strangest of strange
places, as it seemed
to me then, a sculp-
tor's studio. There
were strange men in
blouses, with shades
over their eyes, and
rows of busts with no
eyes at all ; gaunt fig-
ures without clothes,
and gaunt figures with cloaks and trousers and
boots and whiskers and rolls of parchment, all in
marble. And there were great blocks of marble
about, with busts and figures just coming out of
them ; the whole place being lighted in such a dim,
mysterious way, that it was enough to frighten a
nervous little boy who had already been startled
by a monkey that ran up and down a pillar just
outside and made faces at him.
THE SCULPTOR'S STUDIO 5
Mr, Behnes, the presiding genius of the place,
received me very kindly — said I could go there
whenever I liked to draw from the casts or make
models from them. He gave me buns to eat, and
a great lump of clay, which I was to fashion into
a horse's head, or, if I preferred, I could turn it into
the enormous toes of the Farnese Hercules,
One day, as I was engaged in the latter effort,
a bright, lively young man, good-looking, and with
dark flowing locks, entered the studio, accompanied
by Behnes, and took his seat in a comfortable arm-
chair on a revolving platform. He, too, seemed
amused at the scene — and very much so when he
caught sight of a small boy sitting in front of a
foot almost as big as himself, with a bun on one
side, and a large lump of clay on the other, which
he was trying to thumb into shape, I was the little
boy, and the lively young man with dark flowing
locks was Charles Dickens. He came and looked
over me, patted me on the head and said some
kind things, but I did not know who he was till
afterwards.
The sitting over, he took his departure, accom-
panied by Behnes ; but they were no sooner gone
than the men in blouses, with shades over their
eyes, came stealthily in to see the master's work
and to criticise the clay features and the clay curls
of the great novelist. And then they came up to
me and asked me all about him and what he had
talked about, and said, " Don't you know who he
is?" And then they told me that he was the
6 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
author of " Pickwick," and " Nicholas Nickleby,"
and "Oliver Twist," and "Sketches by Boz," and
" Master Humphrey's Clock," &c. ; and I was de-
lighted, for I had copied- the portrait of Mr. Pickwick,
and Mr. Weller with his pipe, and Sam, and others,
and it was through these very copies, which had
been considered so wonderful, that I found myself
in Behnes's studio, beginning almost in play an
art career, which I had no idea then would have
developed into a reality.
Although I cannot remember what Charles
Dickens said to me, I can remember that during
the sitting he was very animated and talkative,
and spoke of an accident he had been in, and that
a wheel was within two inches of his head as he
lay on the ground, but that he escaped uninjured.
Here, then, was the bust in embryo of Charles
Dickens, for it was all lumps and finger holes ; and
just behind it was the bust of Mr. Stultz, the
"Poole" of his day, with curls and whiskers and full
cheeks and a Roman toga, if I remember rightly ;
and the strange man, with a German name and of
German descent, who put on the lumps, but whose
features 1 cannot call to mind, was standing in front
of his work. He was a clever man, and invented
a means of drillincr the marble in order to make
an exact copy of the cast from the clay, which, I
believe, is now universally used. Of course, he
must have worn a cap — perhaps a paper cap. Alas
perhaps, a fool's cap, for he ended his days in
poverty, and died in Middlesex Hospital. I heard
THE SCULPTOR'S STUDIO
7
this and several other curious things about Behnes,
from Thomas Fowke, who was with him for some
time as assistant carver. Poor Fowke, who also
PEN SKETCH.
died in a hospital, made a bust of me in terra-cotta,
which stands on our landing.
And where are the other busts I have men-
tioned ? Does any one know anything about the
one of Dickens? As to that of Mr. Stultz, I had
8 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
the curiosity, a few months ago, to peep in at the
Alms-houses in Kentish Town to inquire about
it, but could get little information. The young
woman at the lodge said she had never seen it, but
she had heard there was one somewhere in a cellar.
"Sic transit o-loria mundi."
MORDEN HALL.
Ill
MORDEN HALL
pX'ENTS link themselves together so strangely
^ in our memories that the least important
seem to crop up unbidden and force themselves
upon us. I was debating whether to say anything
about my school-days, when the name of Sam
W'eller called to mind a character who w\as some-
what akin to him ; indeed, he might have been a
distant relation, for he had something of the same
kind of humour, and his occupation was a similar
one, only on a larger scale, for the individual I am
reminded of was the b(jots and oeneral serving-
man of the establishment at Morden I I all, in
lo SKETCHES FROM IMEMORY
Surrey, where I received the first rudhnents of my
education.
He was always at work, for he had to clean the
knives and forks used by seventy boys, wait at
their meals, carry in pails of water to the washing-
room, clean all the boots, and look after the horse
and trap kept by the headmaster. Still, he was
cheerful. I can just remember he had light curly
hair, a round, reddish, good-tempered face, and
invariably appeared to be in a hurry. When he
handed round the bread-and-scrape, great thick
hunks, which were piled in heaps on his wooden
tray, he ran down the tables as fast as he could,
telling the boys he had no time for them to pick
and choose. They made darts and grabs at the
hunks, and a sort of scramble for their daily bread
was the result. At dinner the boys were allowed
to choose their meat, either fat or lean, well-done or
under-done, and our humorous waiter would constantly
brinCT well-done fat to those who wanted under-done
lean, and under-done lean to those who wanted
well-done fat. He told me one day, with a very
serious countenance, that he was going to leave.
When I asked him the reason, he said it was
because he had no more "spit" left to clean the
boots with. Polly, as he called the housekeeper
or mistress, was, he said, so economical that she
wouldn't buy blacking, and the consequence was
that he was dried up. If the bell rang, he would
sing out to a kind of chant or hymn tune, " Coming,
skip over the forms, and dance out of the room
MORDEN HALL ii
To think, that out of all the inmates of Morden
Hall, my memory should only single out the boots,
whose very name I forget ; especially as the head-
master, Mr. T. N. White, was one of the kindest
of men. And I ought, certainly, to pay a tribute
to the memory of ?^Ir. H. P. Ashby, who was not
only a clever artist, but my first instructor in paint-
ing. It was he who, at the giving away of the
prizes at the end of a term, made me supremely
happy. After all had been distributed, and I was
lamenting that there was not one for me, he stepped
forward and asked to be allowed to say one or two
words. He had what appeared to be a little jewel-
case in his hand, and when he held it up I could
see it contained a silver palette. After a short
speech, which I forget, but which made my heart
beat violently, he called me by name and presented
the palette to me, amidst the deafening shouts and
hoorays of my schoolfellows, which still ring in
my ears.
THE SCHOOLROOM, PARIS.
IV
PARIS
T TAVING by no means completed my education
■'^ -'■ at my Surrey school, it was decided to send
me to Paris for a couple of years, to a French
professor, M. Morand, who kept a sort of mixed
establishment, half boarding-house and half school.
He prepared young gentlemen for the various exa-
minations they had to pass to enter the Ecole Poly-
technique, St. Cyr, &c., and took one or two English
pupils, who were partly instructed by himself, and
partly by Madame, who was an English lady; and
as we all lived together like one big family, the pro-
cess was described as " Education de famille."
PARIS 13
I started for Paris at the beginning of the year
1848, in company with a very Hvely party of ladies,
whose merriment prevented me from feeHng dull
at leaving my native land. Although I had been
taught at my Surrey school that everybody and
everything in France was very wicked, I was much
entertained with the novelty of the whole scene, for
in those days there was a greater contrast between
France and England than there is now. I shall
not attempt an account of a journey which I only
dimly remember. The greater part of it was by
diligence, the old lumbering coach of the past. We
arrived in Paris in the small hours of the morning,
and drove to a fine house in the Place Vendome,
where Miss Scott, the lady who stood god-mother
at my baptism, had some splendid apartments. I
slept on a sofa in one of the drawing-rooms, but
was roused from my slumbers by a strange sound,
and was rather alarmed to see a man, whom I took
for a lunatic, apparently dancing about the room.
He, however, set my mind at rest by informing me
that he was " Monsieur le frotteur," the floor polisher;
and, in fact, he made the floor so shining and
slippery that the first thing I did when I attempted
to walk across it was to tumble down. He ran to
my assistance, and smiled as though he took my
little mishap as a compliment to the perfect manner
in which he had done his work. 1 have often
thought of that frotleur, and have even buih uj) a
sort of theory upon him, which is, that the French,
as a rule, are so happy because they take a pride
14
SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
in all they do — or, in other words, because they
are artists.
I soon made the acquaintance of my new pro-
fessor and his wife, Monsieur and Madame Morand,
for I left Miss Scott and all her lively young ladies
soon after breakfast, and was
driven to a house in the Ave-
nue Marboeuf, in the Champs
Elysees, a large square build-
ing, with no architectural pre-
tensions, standing in its own
grounds, which were rather like
a small wilderness.
My new friends received me
very kindly. Monsieur Morand,
the professor, was a short, dark,
handsome man, with whiskers
and flowing curly locks. He
wore a long brown frock-coat,
with the cuffs turned back, and
occasionally paused in his con-
versation to take a pinch of
snuff. I understood very little
of what he said, but Madame
Morand acted as interpreter ;
and my eldest brother (William), who had been
with them for some few months and had quite
a Frenchified air, acted as cicerone, showed me
over the place and introduced me to the other
inmates of the schoolroom, two or three young
Frenchmen (Alfred, Edmond, and Patrice), who
M. MORAND.
PARIS 15
were cramming for their examinations, and a little
Spanish- American nanied Joseph Reynaud, who
spoke English like an English boy. Later on,
when all the household sat down to dinner, we
formed a rather large and pretty lively party.
Besides the pupils, there were some English
ladies, and an old General du Bourg, father of
Patrice. There were also occasional visitors, espe-
cially on Sundays, when our party was increased
and enlivened to a considerable extent : among
them were politicians and philosophers, such as
L'Abbe de Lamennais, author of Lcs Paroles
dun Croyant, Le Livre du Peiiple, &c., who
said that truth "was that which all men consented
to " ; Dr. Bonnet, doctor of the Conciergerie, who
told us many strange stories about the prison ; Dr.
Ducro, a portly man with a deep voice, a sort of
French Dr. Johnson ; M. Dubois, a young and
lively barrister who wanted to marry twenty thou-
sand a year; and a poet, M. Guyard, who after-
wards visited England, and was surprised at two
things about us — one, that we could on a fine nioht
see the Milky Way, which he had understood was
an impossibility in this land of fogs ; and the other,
that we had such a fine cathedral as Westminster
Abbey, which, he said, was a "poem in stone."
There was also a Monsieur Barratier, who lived
near, and amused us much by his droll speeches,
and by his account of a plague of cats that threat-
ened to turn him out of his house and home.
Madame Barratier and her sister had a passion for
i6
SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
these domestic animals. They began with one, then
added two more, all females. Their kittens soon
increased in number, as the ladies would not suffer
for a moment that even one should be destroyed.
Their meals not only added greatly to the house-
DR. BONNET.
hold expenses, but poor Barratier himself often had
to take his dinner on the staircase. Human nature,
he said, could stand it no longer, and he revolted.
He summoned up all his fortitude, and told his wife
and her sister that they must get rid of their cats.
" Impossible ! ! ! " they exclaimed.
PARIS 17
" I am determined," said he.
"No! no! no !!" said they.
"Or Barratier or the cats," said he. "I give
you half-an-hour to decide."
They asked to be allowed to keep two ; this
was denied them. One, then. " No, Madame, not
even one." Finally, the ladies had to give in, the
cats were sent away, and Barratier returned to his
home and to the bosom of Madame Barratier.
Later on, another visitor came to the house,
and passed under the name of Martin. He was
very mysterious, kept to his own room, and never
went out. He proved to be the celebrated Mon-
sieur Cabet who scandalised the well-to-do Parisians
by declaring that " property is theft." He was con-
sidered a dangerous character, a sort of cannibal,
but was in reality one of the most amiable and
gentle of men.
It may be imagined that, with such a company
of Frenchmen, the conversations at the dinner-table
were always animated, intelligent, and amusing.
Monsieur Morand was not only an excellent mathe-
matician, having been professor at the Athenee, but
was as full of fun as he was of learning ; indeed, so
impressed was I with what seemed to me, as a boy,
his wonderful talents, that I looked upon him as
the greatest man of the universe, to use a French
superlative ; nor did a kinder soul ever breathe,
although he was a red Republican and a friend of
M. Cabct. I lis conversation was always interest-
ing, and his language well chosen, for he spoke the
B
1 8 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
French of Voltaire. Pleasant, indeed, were our
many talks as we paced the Bois de Boulogne, then
quite a country wood. The works of the amiable
Bernardin de St. Pierre were put into my hands,
and formed a delicrhtful euide to the Iihide de la
Nattire. My schooling was no longer a difficult
task, a painful effort of memory, but an agreeable,
even a captivating pursuit.
But this is but a prefatory note which I make
here, because it is, as it were, the i7tise en scene, the
background of an event which was of enormous
importance to France, and was the first great
drama of real life that I had witnessed, namely,
the Revolution of 1848.
SENTINELS.
V
THE REVOLUTION, 1848
T HAD noticed that the conversation at the
-*- dinner- table had become more and more
animated, especially on Sundays, when our party
was increased by some of the visitors mentioned
in the last chapter. As I had not yet learnt enough
French to understand the ins and outs of the con-
versation, I could only catch a word here and there,
and from the tone and gesture of several of the
speakers I fancied they were quarrelling, and even
swearing at each other ; for now and th(;n a fist
would come down on the table to give emphasis to
19
20 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
the sentence. Among this babel of voices, such
expressions as the following caught my ear : " Nom
de Dieu!" "Que diable ! " " Saprlsti ! " " C'est la
canaille!" " Des voleurs!" " Le grand imbecile!"
" Le vieux poltron ! " " Ce Louis Philippe!"
"Mouchards!" "Traitres!" "Revolution!" and so on.
But in the midst of it there would be much laughter,
and there was evidently a contest between the lively
high-toned barrister, M. Dubois, and the grave,
deep-voiced, but humorous Dr. Ducro, as to which
should say the wittiest and most cutting things
about the Government. The names of Guizot,
Thiers, Lamartine, Cavaignac, Emile de Girardin,
Odillon Barrot, Ledru Rollin, Garnier Pages, Louis
Blanc, Barbez, and others, constantly recurred, and
when afterwards I asked for an explanation of what
it all meant, the answer was, " Oh, they were only
talking politics." But the old General du Bourg,
with his white hair and black moustache, evidently
said some unpleasant things, and demanded an ex-
' planation of the observations that had been made in
his presence. He particularly objected to the epithet
"mouchard" (spy) being used so often. This led
to an altercation between him and M. Morand, and
we heard high words between them after they had
gone from the table.
The great event which our friends in the Avenue
Marbceuf were discussing was the approaching
Revolution of 1848, when Louis Philippe abdicated
and made his escape from the Tuileries (as was
said at the time), disguised as a footman ; and a
THE REVOLUTION, 1848 21
Provisional Government was established, of which
many of the intimate friends of my professor
became members — notably Lamartine, the poet,
who was President.
In those days I looked upon politics as things
that grown-up people talked about as a kind of
amusement, but I had no idea what they were. I
heard that there was going to be a Revolution, but
so neglected had been my education that I did not
even know what that was ; it seemed to be asso-
ciated somehow with Catherine-wheels and squibs
and General du Bourof. The followinof extracts from
a diary I kept at the time will show how very fresh I
was to the subject ; indeed, the fact that one of my
brother William's pigeons had laid an egg seemed
to me of quite as much importance as the abdication
of Louis Philippe, the King of the French.
Diaries are apt to include chronicles of the very
smallest beer — even those of Pepys and Evelyn do
not escape this failing, nor is the "diary of little
Adolphus " any exception to the rule ; — and but for
the fact that it gives a glimpse of the Revolution of
February 1848, and the subsequent tragic events
of June, I should not have intruded it upon the
reader. But as it recalls to the writer very vividly
the moving drama enacted in Paris soon after he
set foot there, it may prove interesting.
I will begin with a short specimen of the more
domestic items included in its pages : —
Fed. 5///, 1848. — A row between General du
Bourg and M. Morand.
22 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
'jtli. — The General very insolent.
\2th. — M. Dulong gave me my first lesson in
painting.
1 6///. — Heard there was going to be a Revolu-
tion. William's pigeons had a young one.
• • « • • •
I////. — More high words between the General
and M. Morand. Patrice had a fight with the
cook ; he was walking off with something out of
the kitchen.
22nd. — Revolution commenced.
Patrice's fig:ht with the cook seems to have been
the beginning of hostilities, a sort of farce or lever
lie r ideate of the drama about to be enacted in
Paris. On the 22nd the air seemed heavy with
ominous sounds, and there was a great noise of
drums beating to arms, the rappel was heard in all
directions, which meant that the National Guards
were called out, that all the butchers and bakers
and candlestickmakers had to don their uniforms
and to assist in keeping the peace. On the other
hand, the working class, le peuple, otherwise the
mob, were beginning to break it in good earnest,
shouting vociferously, throwing stones, smashing
windows and lamps, turning over omnibuses, car-
riages, cabs, and carts, tearing up the pavements (or
rather the roads, which then were paved with stones
as big as quartern loaves) to make barricades with,
firing off guns, burning houses, bursting in doors
and roaring excitedly, "A bas Guizot ! " "A bas
les Anglais!" "Vive la Republique ! " "Vive la
THE REVOLUTION, 1848 23
reforme!" and I don't know what all. In fact, I
began to think they meant to kill us all, and I was
debating in my own mind where I could hide to be
out of danger.
Some of the older students went out to see the
"noise," but I, with other juveniles, looked at it
from an upstairs window, from whence we could see
to the end of the Avenue and on to the Champs
Elysees. We had plenty to look at, even in our
out-of-the-way street, and as night drew on the plot
seemed to thicken, the distant sound of drums and
musketry was increasing, a babel of voices rose on
the air, and we saw a cart pass at the end of the
road, full of dead bodies, their white faces lighted
by torches, followed by the crowd singing " Mourir
pour la Patrie."
Feb. 2^rd. — The troops had been passing up
and down our Avenue all night, and some attempt
had been made at a barricade, but it was thrown
down. The morning was comparatively quiet, and
M. Morand said it was all over, but still he would
not let us ofo to the Place Vendome to take our
dancing lesson. The fact was, the Revolution was
not over, and on the 24th, Thursday, the diary
states that the " Revolution was worse than ever."
There was a great noise of drums and bugles and
musketry, and even what sounded like the booming
of cannon. Later on, the statement in the diary is
brief but emphatic : — " Revolution finished. Louis
Philippe has abdicated and made his escape ; the
mob threaten to behead him if they catch him, and
24 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
Guizot too. The Palais Royal has been sacked and
burnt ; the National Guard have fraternised with
the workmen."
So far, my experience of the Revolution had
been limited to what I could see of it from an
upstairs window of our house, which was consider-
ably removed from the scene of action ; but in
the afternoon M. Morand seemed to think there
was no more danger, and took me, with several
others, for a walk down the Champs Elysees. The
day was gloomy, even foggy, and the first thing
that struck me was to see whole companies of the
regulars marching in solemn sadness, with scarcely
a musket or a side-arm between them, and just a
solitary drummer beating a sort of doleful measure
like the Dead March in Saul. They had given
up their weapons to the insurgents, with whom
they had fraternised, and were going home to their
barracks, to find them in flames. We met several
regiments, all equally chopfallen. They were even
without their cross-belts, and looked like a sombre
set of mourners going to a funeral. They had not
been victorious ; they perhaps didn't want to be,
and yet they might have been brooding over their
voluntary defeat.
As a contrast to them, we met hundreds of
workmen and men in blouses, belted and shakoed
and armed to the teeth, but so drunk and lively
that one did not apprehend much danger from
them. Whether they had been charging at stone
walls, or in their rollings and fallings had stabbed
THE REVOLUTION, 1848 25
their mother earth, I don't know, but many of their
bayonets were bent back and hook-shaped, and
there were scarcely any that had not some troph\'
on them ; in most cases, it was the round loaf, or
two or three or even four round loaves that are
served out to the troops, which they had no doubt
helped themselves to, when they bravely broke
into the undefended barracks and set them on fire.
The buildings that affected me most were those
small stations for the " Corps de Garde," standing
separately in the Champs Elysees and Tuileries
Gardens, that had been occupied by the Garde
Municipale, and had been surrounded by the mob
and their inmates shot to a man. They were
gutted and blackened, and still smouldering. The
Municipal Guards were a fine set of fellows, half
soldiers, half police, and for some reason were
hated by the populace, and were cut down merci-
lessly, their only chance of escape being to throw
away their uniforms and, if possible, put on a blouse
or some other disguise.
We had now arrived within a few hundred
yards of the Tuileries, and our professor, far
from being alarmed for our safety, seemed him-
self to partake of the excitement of the crowd.
In a few minutes more we were in front of one
of the large iron gates facing the Rue de Rivoli ;
it was closed, but I\I. Morand seemed to be in-
spired with command, and bade some of the men
climb o\-(:r it and undo the bolts, which was much
easier than bursting it in. Up went a couple of
26 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
young fellows like monkeys, and in a minute or
two more the gates opened and in rushed the mob
with a deafening shout, and our little party with
them.
The sight that presented itself was the strangest
I have ever seen, and has remained in my memory
almost as vividly as if it were yesterday — and yet
it is now fifty years ago. The magnificent apart-
ments of the Palace were soon filled with as strange
a set of ruffians as you could meet anywhere ; it
seemed as if they were all mad or drunk, and yet
they were as jolly as sandboys. They seemed
positively to revel in destruction, and to yell with
delight as they smashed and tore everything to
pieces that they came across. There was scarcely
a picture that was not cut into ribbons, and
ornaments, however costly, were thrown down and
broken to atoms. While I was standing- in one
of the grand apartments, looking on in wonder, a
little man, with a sword almost as big as himself,
stood in front of a magnificent mirror that reached
from the floor to the ceiling ; he surveyed it for
a moment, and then, as though he were about to
storm a town singlehanded, went deliberately up
to it, and with one blow of his great cavalry blade
shivered it to pieces. As they fell at his feet, he
put on a grand air and said " La ! " as if this was
one of the greatest deeds he had ever accomplished,
and the proudest moment of his life.
This inherent love of destruction seems to be
characteristic of the French ; wherever their armies
THE REVOLUTION, 1848 27
have passed through conquered countries they have
left this hateful mark behind them. I noticed it par-
ticularly in Spain, and in nine cases out of ten, when
I came upon the ruins of some fine old building, I
was told that the French were the destroyers.
But to return to our little lookinof-orjass breaker.
Whether we applauded his achievement or smiled
at him, I forget, but he approached us with a
menacing air and said, "A bas les Anglais!" We
received his threat good-temperedly, and sang out
in return, " Vive la Republique ! " That softened
his anger, especially as one of our party was quite
strong enough to have knocked him down, big
sword and all ; so he then bade us farewell, saying,
"C'est bien. Vive les Anglais ! "
We followed along from room to room, and
still the same mad scene of destruction was ofoine
on ; not a pane of glass in the windows was left
whole, and the handsome furniture, with its rich
embroidery and gilt framework, was thrown out
into the courtyard to make a bonfire.
When we came to the bedrooms we found grimy
black-bearded fellows dressed up in lace caps and
ladies' nightgowns. Some were in the beds, scream-
ing and laughing, and no doubt making coarse
jokes ; others, enveloped in counterpanes, paraded
the rooms ; and others, who had broken into the
chapel, had put on the richly embroidered priests'
robes and were dancing the " can-can " in them.
In fact, every outrage that could be thought of in
their monkey madness was resorted to. Even the
2 8 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
ladies' desks as well as their wardrobes were ran-
sacked, and their love-letters and other documents
private and confidential were mockingly read aloud
amid roars of laughter. Oh, the French are a
lively people !
After we had had enough of this pandemonium,
we made our way out of it without molestation, and
were not sorry to get into the open air again. I
heard, however, several shots fired in the courtyard
at the back of the Tuileries ; my brother looked out
of window and said he saw a man shot for thiev-
ing, and several others had shared the same fate.
" Mort aux Voleurs " was written up all over the
place. People might smash as much as they liked —
that was simply looked upon as evincing patriotic
feeling, a hatred of kings and princes and a love for
the Republic ; but to take anything away was quite
another thing, and the penalty was instant death.
While we were listeninof outside to a man who
was haranguing the crowd from the great balcony
in most heroic style, and requesting them to name
him the President of the Republic, we saw an
amusinof incident connected with this *' Mort aux
Voleurs." A half-drunken fellow was carrying an
enormous bundle of candles (I should say many
pounds of them), when another fellow accosted him
and asked him what business he had with them.
"These are the bougies from the Chateau," said he.
"Thou hast stolen them ! give them up at once or I
will have thee shot as a thief. Mort aux Voleurs!
n'est-ce-pas ? " and he pointed to the notice. The
THE REVOLUTION, 1848 29
possessor of the candles gave them up like a lamb
without saying a word, and the other quietly walked
off with them.
As we returned home, we saw more troops
marching sullenly along, unarmed as the others
were. All the guard-houses we passed were burnt
out, and several of the large barracks along the
quay on the other side of the river were on fire.
• •••••
Early on the morning after these events we
heard martial sounds in our Avenue, a clanking of
arms and beating of drums, accompanied by loud
shouts of " Vive la Republique ! " " Vive le General
du Bourg ! "
A small army of men in blouses stood without
the gates of our courtyard demanding admission.
Surely they have come to take us prisoners or to
order us all out to immediate execution. The gates
were flung open by the concierge, and in marched a
strange regiment, that might have matched that of
Sir John Falstaff. It drew up in tolerable order in
front of our house, and consisted of some hundred
or more men, variously accoutred but very un-
washed, who looked determined and as if they
meant business.
The General went out and haranofued them
from the front doorsteps, and his speech was re-
ceived with deafening applause.
I began to feel reassured, and looked on from an
upstairs window. The General's disputes with M.
Morand crossed my mind, but 1 must say I felt a
30 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
great sense of relief when I found that the motley
crowd below was simply a guard of honour that had
come to carry off our General in triumph to the
Hotel de Ville, whether to proclaim him President
of the Republic I did not know, but they soon took
their departure, headed by the General and his son.
1 he destinies of France, however, were not en-
trusted to these gendemen ; and there was an ill-
natured rumour that the General du Bouro- was
not a General at all, and that Patrice was the son
of a cook — not the one, let us hope, that he had the
fight with.
Although we could still hear the report of fire-
arms from time to time, we went out to see the
ruins of the barracks and other buildings that had
been burnt by the insurgents, expecting to come
across some terrible evidences of the fieht. But.
strange to say, Paris had resumed in a great mea-
sure its ordinary appearance ; most of the shops
were open, and the ladies were out walking as usual,
as though nothing had happened.
On the 26th M. Dulong came in the uniform of
the National Guard to give me my painting lesson ;
he had been in the thick of the battle and had seen
strange sights, but like the others had fraternised
with the people, although I don't think he had any
brotherly love for them. Another sign of the times
was the arrival of the flute-master, I forget whether
in uniform or not ; but he brought the music of the
"Marseillaise" and the "Girondins" for my brother
William. Everybody was singing the " Marseil-
THE REVOLUTION, 1848 31
laise," and we all sang or rather shouted it, from
M. Morand to " le petit Joseph," Madame playing
the accompaniment.
I am indebted to the diary for the above details,
and that they give touches of colour to my story
must be my excuse for introducing them. Indeed,
its brief notes bring vividly before me the scenes I
then witnessed.
I can see old Paris as it was half a century ago,
with its narrow and picturesque streets, many of
them without pavements for foot passengers, and
lighted at night by the dim glimmer of oil lamps
that swung on a rope suspended across the road ;
although the principal thoroughfares, such as the
Champs Elysees, the Rue de Rivoli, and the Boule-
vards had grand rows of gas lamps.
The gardens of the Tuileries, with their long
avenues of horse-chestnuts and limes, their orange
trees and beds of flowers, and their many statues,
were full of life and gaiety, the sun shining, foun-
tains playing, children romping, their nursemaids in
their pretty caps and aprons sitting at work chatting
and laughing, whilst the vendors of "pain d'epice,"
"orgeat," "la limonade " and " les plaisirs," plied
their trades with all their characteristic liveliness.
The Boulevards and the Palais Royal were full
of "flaneurs," folk who sauntered along with a sort
of lazy grace, smoking their cigarettes as though
they had nothing else to do and had no cares or
troubles ; for the well-to-do Frenchman generally
gets his work over early and devotes the rest of his
32 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
time to the enjoyment of life, sitting outside the
cafes sipping coffee and " le petit verre," chaffing his
neighbour and the passers-by, /(^z^r/'^^^^r le te^nps.
In fact, all the world seemed to live out of doors and
to be as sociable as if they were one big family
party. When your Frenchman is in a good humour
he is one of the most civilised and deliorhtful crea-
tures of the human race ; but when ground down
by poverty, when oppressed by injustice and bad
government, and when his angry passions rise, he
is like a lunatic out of Bedlam, to his own sorrow.
I could go on for many pages recalling the Paris
of fifty years ago, but the pleasure would probably
be more on my side than on that of the reader.
Modern Paris is much more magnificent, and the
French, if they are great destroyers, as I said just
now, have the faculty of replacing with interest the
buildings they destroy. Besides, my Paris of those
days was very much limited to the four walls of
the establishment of M. Morand, to the house in the
Avenue Marbceuf, which house has shared the fate
of the Tuileries, and disappeared from the scene ;
the Avenue Marbceuf, then almost a lane or back
street, is now quite Kensingtonian with its big
mansions.
In those days, too, narrow streets and tumble-
down houses encumbered the space between the
Tuileries and the Louvre, and there were print-
shops and bookstalls almost up to the very entrance
door of the Musee, or Picture Gallery. Many a
time did I admire some picture by Prud'hon or
THE REVOLUTION, 1848 33
Girodet, such as "La \^engeance Divine poursui-
vant le Crime " by the former, and the " Chactas et
Atala " by the latter, and looked with envious eyes
on eno-ravines of them in those very print-shops ;
and many a time have I gone both there and on the
quais, where I could pick up old volumes with red
edges and leather bindings at prices varying from
two to twenty sous, and carried home a trea-
sure for the aforesaid sum which was the nucleus of
a future library.
SKETCH TAKEN OF PARIS BY MOONLIGHT DURING THE
CIVIL WAR OF JUNE 1848.
VI
CIVIL WAR
SINCE the events narrated in the last chapter,
there have been fetes, illuminations, rejoicings,
and grand military displays ; there has been a pro-
cession of troops many miles long, that took from
eight in the morning till eleven at night to pass up
the Champs Elysees to the Barriere de I'Etoile,
where detachments from every regiment in France
received new flags. But still Paris is unsettled,
and the dogs of war are howling to be let loose.
The cry for labour and for bread is growing
louder and louder, the scheme of the "Ateliers
Nationaux" (the National Workshops) has not
succeeded, and a more terrible tragedy than the
Revolution of February is about to be enacted.
34
CIVIL WAR 35
We had left the house in the Avenue Marboeuf,
and had taken up our quarters in Beaujon, a quiet
locality on the opposite side of the Champs Elysees,
and not far from the old place. Its avenues were
enclosed by gates and named after the poets — one
was called Avenue Lord Byron. Here, besides
our other studies, we were taught military exercises,
were regularly drilled by a sergeant of the line, and
had to handle muskets quite out of proportion to
our small bodies, and very heavy to bring up to
the shoulder. I speak of little Joseph and myself,
as several of the older students had left. Later
on these exercises formed a subject of inquiry by
the authorities, who seemed to look upon us as
worthy of being suspected. It is quite true that
some of the gamins of Paris did a good deal of
mischief from behind the barricades, and even in
front of them, during the affair of June which was
now on the eve of commencino-.
Louis Napoleon had just come upon the scene ;
he had been elected a " Representant du peuple,"
and claimed admission to the Chamber of Deputies.
By some he was looked upon with suspicion, espe-
cially by M. Morand and his friends ; for, during
their conversations at the dinner-table, I often heard
the terms adventurer and charlatan applied to him.
I see by the diary, which I must again refer to, that
on the loth of June 1848, " tlicre is a fuss about
Napoleon;" and on the 13th, tliat we went to the
Place de la Concorde .md saw the cavalry charL''e
the mob, supported by the infantry, who charged
36 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
with fixed bayonets. " Heard that Louis Napoleon
had been received into the Chamber of Deputies."
This event is indelibly fixed on my memory,
for I made a sketch of it in my lesson book. It
was a hot sunny day in June. Monsieur and
Madame Morand, Joseph, and I went for a walk
as usual, little suspecting that anything out of the
way was going to happen. When we arrived at
the Place de la Concorde, rather inappropriately
named, we saw troops stationed round the Chambre
des Deputes and also on the Place ; but to look on
the scene no one would have suspected that any
mischief was brewing, one would rather have sup-
posed that some fair was going on, or that it was a
general holiday. There was a considerable crowd,
and the usual gaiety prevailed. The vendors of
cakes and lemonade, of orgeat and les plaisirs were
doing good business, and many workmen were
lying stretched their full length sleeping and bask-
ing in the sun. Presently, as if by magic, all
started to their feet and took to their heels, and I
have never seen so many legs up in the air all at
once either before or since. And then I noticed a
2'litterine of steel and helmets, and a shaking- of
plumes. The dragoons were charging the mob,
there was a rush, and a hue and cry, and a general
scampering to the right. I saw the infantry lower
their bayonets and clear all before them in another
direction.
Our little party took refuge under the colonnade
in front of the hotel of the Minister of Marine, and
CIVIL WAR 37
were almost the sole occupants of that long corri-
dor, which is enclosed by iron railings. Seeing us
there, a small body of lancers formed at the end of
it, and seemed to threaten us with a charge ; but
M. Morand stepped forward and appealed to the
officer, saying — " Vous voyez bien que ce ne sont
pas des combattants," pointing to little Joseph, and
myself, and Madame. The gallant troopers eyed
us for a moment, then turned their horses' heads
and galloped off in another direction.
We soon made our way home after this, though
we were not allowed to pass through the line of
troops that had formed up without a great deal of
explanation on the part of our professor. About
two days later, on June 22nd, was the beginning
of the Civil War.
"No fighting yet," says the diary; "but the
workmen (le peuple) are insulting the National
Guard (les bourgeois), and shouting ' A bas Lamar-
tine ! ' ' Vive Barbez ! ' "
June 23;'^, Thicrsday. — " Fighting began about
ten o'clock this morninor between the National
Guards and the workmen. Barricades have been
thrown up in the night by the latter, one near the
Porte St. Martin nearly as high as a house. The
National Guard tried to storm it, and twenty-five
of them were killed ; the rest made their escape,
leaving their muskets behind them."
In the evening the sound of cannon was heard
in the distance, guns firing rapidly one after another,
and a beating of drums in all directions.
38 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
June 2\tJi, Friday. — " Fighting has been going
on without ceasing, cannon firing all night ; besides
which there was a continuous sound of troops en-
terinof Paris, and draesfinof their g^uns alon^ with
them."
The moon, I remember, was shining brightly,
and as the weather was warm, I sat at the open
window and made a sketch of the effect/ Sentinels
were posted all along our avenue, and every now
and then I heard the call, " Sentinelle, prenez-garde
a vous." This call was taken up by the next, who
was some little way off, then by a third, and so on
till it died away in the distance ; but still it came
round again, and I fell asleep notwithstanding the
boom of cannon, and the faint call of " Sentinelle,
prenez-garde a vous."
Jtine 2^th, Saturday. — "Heard this morning
that the workmen — that is to say, the Red Republi-
cans—are in great force in the Quartier St. Jacques,
and have built a fortress by the Pantheon. A great
number have been killed on both sides, for there
has been some hard fighting. The people have
five or six cannon, but they lost St. Jacques in the
evening, and the combat ceased for a short time.
Paris is in a state of siege, and under military law.
Fighting has just begun again in the Rue St.
Antoine. . . . The fighting has been going on all
night, cannon roaring without ceasing."
June 26tk, Sunday. — " The National Guard have
taken up their quarters in Beaujon, close to our
^ See illustration, p. 34.
CIVIL WAR 39
house. They paid us a visit yesterday to see if
we had any firearms in the place. Little Joseph
and I beofin to feel we are dangerous characters.
I am not sure whether I am a Red Republican
or not.
"We have heard terrible accounts of the fight.
There has been great loss of life ; the 25th legion
of the Garde-Mobile has been nearly annihilated.
It consists chiefly of quite young men, ' les enfants
du peuple,' and they have been remorselessly
slaughtered by their own fathers, and their heads
exhibited by women. It is said that a number
were taken prisoners, and their captors cut their
throats in cold blood and left them lying in the
road.
"Out of 800 Garde-National, Garde-Mobile, and
Grenadiers, only 200 remained alive, and out of
700 others 550 were killed, and out of forty-six
officers of the Garde-Mobile only fourteen survived.
Three generals were killed. It is said that the
troops have taken the Faubourg St. Antoine, but
we cannot be sure, as no one is allowed to pass
to bring news. Twelve journalists have been
arrested."
These notes were jotted down from time to
time during the day, for we had little inclina-
tion to set to work while such excitement was
in the air and such terrible deeds were being
enacted.
June 27///, Monday. — " Fighting has ceased ;
the battle is over ; the people are vanquished.
40 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
We have heard that the Archbishop of Paris was
shot while ministering to the dying, and trying to
make peace. Some thousands have fallen on both
sides, including ten or twelve general officers."
That there was such terrible carnage, and that
the battle lasted so long, may perhaps be accounted
for partly by the fact that in February, when the
troops and the National Guards fraternised with
the people, they gave up their arms to them,
little thinking that they themselves would in a
few short months become the victims of those
very weapons. " It is said that about 16,000 have
fallen and about 8000 insurgents have been made
prisoners, many of whom were shot afterwards in
cold blood."
Some days after the fight I overheard two
soldiers of the line talking together at a lemonade
and ginger-beer stall, whither they and I had gone
for refreshment. The one had just told the other
how many he and his company had shot that
morning, and that there were so many hundred
more to be shot the next day. I must say that it
gave me a shudder when 1 heard of this murdering
in cold blood after the fiofht was over. One would
have thought there had been quite enough blood
spilt without this.
It is fortunate that the troops kept possession
of the Hotel de Ville, and so prevented the mob
from getting the reins of government into their
own hands, for they were driven to desperation ;
about I 20,000 had been receiving state wages, but
CIVIL WAR 41
the workshops were being closed, and the cry of
the people was " Le travail ou la mort." It was
the want of bread and the fear of starvation that
wrought them up to frenzy and made them fight
like demons. Had they got the upper hand a reign
of terror would probably have set in, and there
would have been no mercy shown to the hated
bourgeois, the respectable shopkeeper.
For some time after this the Champs Elysees
presented a curious sight ; the whole place was
one vast camp, covered with straw, where men and
horses were lying down together. Cavaignac and
Lamoriciere, determined not to be beaten, had
brought so many troops into Paris — I believe over
60,000 — that there was no room for them in the
barracks, and they had to bivouac in any of the open
spaces that were available. Some of the men were
cooking, some lolling about smoking, some brushing
up their uniforms, cleaning their arms, and making
themselves tidy. It was rather amusing to see the
dragoons blacking and polishing the leathern part
of each other's breeches, the one who was being
polished standing bent down and leaning on a stool ;
then when he was finished he performed the same
office for his friend.
On the 6th of July there was a grand funeral
of those who had fallen in this Civil War. It was,
of course, a grand show — quite a la fran^aise l
Mass for the dead was solemnised in a chapel
erected on the Place de la Concorde for that pur-
pose, and almost on the very spot where the first
42
SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
charge of cavalry took place, on the 1 3th of the
previous month, the charge that inaugurated this
terrible and miserable fi^ht between citizen and
citizen, between father and son, a fight in which
whoever conquered must regret even the victory.
THE WIDOW.
-^u.
MIRTH
VII
THE ARTS OF PEACE
TV yr Y painting master, Monsieur Jean Louis
^^ ^ Dulong, was a very modest man, for he
only charged twenty-five francs a month for two
lessons a week, or at the rate of half-a-crown a
lesson, and came all the way from the Rue des
Beaux Arts, or somewhere in that quarter, to give
43
44 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
them. He was an excellent painter, in the smooth
French manner, and the chief thing he taught me
was to take pains. When I showed him some
specimens of the work I had done in England,
among them a copy of a river piece by Richard
Wilson, with the paint dabbed on pretty thick and
the forms left almost entirely to the imagination, he
said it was an dbauche (only a sketch), that it led
to nothing, and that if I wanted to learn to paint
I must carefully copy the work before me, touch for
touch, line for line, and that in proceeding care-
fully, though slowly, I should accomplish my task
much more rapidly than by hurrying and making
a dash, and he impressed upon me the advice of
Boileau —
" Hatez vous lentement et sans perdre courage,
Vingt fois sur le metier remettez votre ouvrage."
Later on he gave me a letter of introduction to
the authorities at the Louvre, and in September
1848, to my great delight, I found myself perched
on a high stool, with a big canvas in front of
me, copying " La Vengeance Divine poursuivant
le Crime," by Prud'hon, which at that time I
admired much more than the masterpieces of
Titian, Rubens, and Paul Veronese. I also copied
the " Endymion " of Girodet, and his " Chactas and
Atala " ; I took especial pleasure in the subject, as
well as in the clean smooth workmanship of the
picture. As at that time I had no idea of ever
becoming an artist, I looked upon my task as a
THE ARTS OF PEACE
' 45
pleasant pastime, and thought it a very fine thing
to be painting in the Louvre.
Perhaps, after all, this was the best way to
M. J. L. DULONG.
begin — to start from the bottom of the ladder and
climb upwards, instead of starting at the top with
Titian, and tumbling downwards. Nor did 1 have
46 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
to go through that painful drudgery with a fine-
pointed piece of chalk, passing months and months
copying in meaningless stipple a cylinder or a cone,
or some other hideous art-school object, which,
though it may pass you into an upper class, lulls
and dulls the intellect, and wastes the most pre-
cious davs of a student's life.
As the tyro cannot appreciate the beauties of
the great masters, he cannot copy them, so let him
learn to take pains, and then he may dash away
and be as masterly as he likes.
Thank you, good Monsieur Dulong, for teach-
ing me this lesson. On the previous page is your
portrait, which I drew in my lesson-book while
you were patiently showing me how to paint a
shipwreck.
VIII
THE ARTIST AT THE BREAKFAST TABLE
M
V artistic talent, such as it
was, not infre-
quently helped to enliven the hour at the
breakfast table. " Le dejeuner a la fourchette " I
think an admirable institution. It is served at about
eleven o'clock, when one has already done three
good hours' work ; it is a
cross between our nine
o'clock English breakfast
and our half-past one o'clock
luncheon, or rather I should
say it combines the two,
and does not break up the
day so inconveniently.
At M. Morand's we used
to take coffee (cafe au lait)
and a roll and butter at
about seven or half-past,
and got well to work by
eight o'clock, only leaving off when the welcome
sound of the breakfast bell summoned us to my
favourite meal. After it was over we had our time
to ourselves to go out for a walk until one o'clock,
when we went to work a";ain till five, and after that
BUBBLES.
47
48 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
threw aside our algebra and our conic sections to
enjoy our dinner and our ease. If it was summer
time, we took long walks through the Bois or down
into Paris, and on Sundays frequently went as far
as St. Cloud, that delightful old palace (since de-
stroyed), with its charming views, its fountains, its
terraces, and all its other attractions.
" Le dejeuner a la fourchette" consisted of
several dishes, more or less light, but much to
my taste, with "pain a discretion" and " vin " in
"abondance," that is, with abundance of water. It
was on these occasions that M. Morand would get
a good deal of fun out of a simple observation. It
would gradually get elaborated Into a story, which I
was generally called upon to illustrate on the black-
board with white chalk, for the board on which we
worked out our problems stood over the stove in
the dining-room, which was also our class-room.
For instance : Mr. Wood, a closely-cropped, red-
haired bachelor, had lately arrived from London,
and M. Morand asked him, in the course of con-
versation, at what part he resided. He lived at
Barnes, he said, "a little above Chelsea."
"Oh, then you probably know Chelsea Col-
lege ? "
"Chelsea College?" said Mr. Wood, as though
he were thinking what place was meant. " Chelsea
College.'*" he repeated. "No, Monsieur, I don't
think I do."
M. Morand, with mock gravity, turned to his
wife and said, "How is this.'*"
AT THE BREAKFAST TABLE 49
Now, Madame Morand had for several years
before her marriage Hved with the family of Sir
John Wilson, who was formerly governor of Chelsea
Hospital, but which Madame always called Chel-
sea College, as though it were a seat of learning
instead of the home of old soldiers ; and whenever
her husband asked her where such and such a place
was, she always replied that it was so far from
Chelsea College. Thus, Westminster Abbey would
be about two miles from Chelsea Collegre.
" And where is Manchester ? "
"Manchester is about 186 miles from Chelsea
College," and so on.
At last M. Morand exclaimed, " Alors, Chelsea
College c'est le centre de I'univers, et le soleil doit
etre a peu pres trente-deux millions de lieux de
Chelsea College, n'est-ce-pas ? "
"But," said Madame M. to Mr. W^ood, "you
perhaps do not pass that way. Do you ever go
to the city ? "
"Oh yes, every day."
" And how do you go ? "
" By steamboat, and return by steamboat."
" Why, then," said she, "you must pass Chelsea
College twice every day."
"Comment!" said M. Morand. "How is this?
Is Chelsea College a myth ? Is it a creation of my
wife's fancy, this centre of the universe of which
I have heard so much ? since here is Monsieur
Vood, who has passed by the place twice a day for
the last twelve years, and has never yet seen it."
D
so SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
And turning to me he would say, "Voyons, Adolphe,
here is a problem ; how can you account for this
strange phenomenon ? "
We would then all of us set to work to discover
some reason for it. Did Mr. Wood always have his
back to the place when he passed it, or was he so
busy reading the Times that he never remarked it ?
No, he could not always take up the same position
for twelve years. These and several other theories
were started, but we reminded the Professor that
Madame had frequently referred to the cabbages
at Chelsea College. " True," said he, and a light
seemed to dawn upon him. " I remember now that
whenever we have cabbages for dinner Madame
always says they are not so fine as those that grow
at Chelsea College."
At last we had solved the riddle ! Those cab-
bages have no doubt been orrowing- and increasing^
to such an extent that at last they are no longer
mere vegetables but have become shrubs, and from
shrubs have grown into trees, and in fact are now
so large that the pensioners can sit under them
— and these cabbages quite conceal the College
from view, especially from any one passing on the
river. So Adolphe had to take the chalk and de-
lineate the Chelsea cabbages with the pensioners
sitting under them, and only the chimney-pots
of the famous centre of the universe seen above
them.
This was the sort of playful nonsense we in-
dulged in at the breakfast-table, sometimes at the
AT THE BREAKFAST TABLE 51
expense of one, sometimes of another. " Le petit
Joseph," as he was called, used to brag a good deal
about Spanish America, and an uncle of his who
was the captain of a ship. Of course this captain
became as great a hero as Chelsea College had
become a mystery, and was represented as a giant
with an enormous cocked hat and feathers, a big
sword, and a circular telescope with which he could
see all round the world. He was called " le
capitaine de Joseph," and was of such wonderful
proportions that he could carry any ordinary ship
under his arm ; indeed, to relate half the exploits
and extraordinary adventures of this great hero
would take a volume.
Among countless other subjects for the pencil,
or rather for the white chalk, was a little incident
a propos of mint sauce. A discussion had recently
taken place as to the relative virtues of French and
English cooking, in which M. Dubois, le Docteur
Ducro, M. Barratier, and others, maintained the
superiority of "la cuisine fran^aise," and Madame
Morand, Mr. Wood, and the English boys stuck
up for the roast beef of their native land. There-
upon Madame said that she would treat them all
next Sunday to a thoroughly British dish, and as
lamb was in season, we were to have a leg of lamb
with mint sauce, " une veritable sauce anglaise."
This was to be a test experiment, and she felt
confident that they would all acknowledge its
excellence.
Sunday arrived, and with it the several guests,
52 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
full of curiosity to try the English sauce. The lamb
was put upon the table, accompanied by a tureen
of vinegar sweetened with sugar and flavoured with
mint. Each one helped himself to it very plenti-
fully, especially M. Dubois, who soaked his meat in
it so thoroughly that you would have thought he
had a plate of soup in front of him instead of a
cut off the joint. I shall never forget the various
expressions of the guests after they had taken the
first mouthful of "la sauce anglaise." M. Morand
said nothing, but quietly tilted his plate and put a
piece of bread under it to separate the sauce from
the meat ; the Doctor sat back in his chair and
looked round at the others, aghast ; another tried to
empty the sauce into his neighbour's plate. But
Dubois, the avocat, literally screamed, and said in a
high voice, as though he were addressing the court,
" Madame, votre sauce est execrable ! " Another
called it " originale " ; another apologised for not
beinpf able to aeree with Madame that it was excel-
lent. Fortunately there were other dishes to follow,
and the catastrophe of the "sauce anglaise" was
soon followed by merriment. During dessert I was
called upon to depict the scene on the blackboard,
but I am afraid that only a Hogarth could have
done it justice. However, the wry faces, the
mouths drawn down and the eyebrows drawn up,
the attitude of M. Dubois, and the English sauce
bowl dancing a sort of Highland fling in the middle
of the table, made a very amusing picture. I need
hardly add that this was the first and last time that
AT THE BREAKFAST TABLE 53
"la sauce anglaise " made its appearance at the
table of Madame Morand.
Now and then a political subject would be
suggested, such as " Liberte, Egalite, Fraternite."
This was represented, first by some poor devils who
were at Liberty to go to prison ; second, Equality
by a number of dead men lying on the ground ; and
Fraternity by a figure of a war goddess and people
engaged in a desperate fight, cannon firing, heads
flying off, and so on.
But I have said quite enough to explain the
functions of the Artist at the Breakfast-table.
A STUDY.
IX
HOME AGAIN
A HOLIDAY at Fontainebleau in the autumn;
strolls through the palace gardens, reminding
me of Hampton Court ; and long and delightful
walks through the forest accompanied by M.
Morand and Mr. Wood, who, notwithstanding his
maps and his guides, generally lost his way ; our
return to Paris by the river, and the many pictur-
esque places we passed, which made me long to be
54
HOME AGAIN SS
an artist ; these bring back pleasant recollections,
but in too dreamy and sketchy a shape for me to
say more about them.
I stayed for another year in Paris with my
good friends the Morands, studying the various
branches of polite learning considered necessary to
the education of youth, and continued my paint-
ing lessons and copying in the Louvre under the
guidance of M. Dulong. I returned to England
at the end of December 1849 in time to spend
Christmas at home, but not without sincere regret
at parting with my French friends. I had not
only been happy with them, but I had added
almost a new existence to my former one. ^
I had become a Frenchman as well as an
Englishman. I could enjoy their thoughts, their
tastes, their art, and their literature as well as our
own ; and I had learned the great lesson, which I
had not learned at my school in Surrey, that the
cultivation of the reasoning faculty is the basis of
education, and that a broad and unprejudiced view
of all things is not only good for the'' heart, but
the most certain guide for a citizen of the world ;
in fact, I had learned to be a cosmopolitan.
A SKETCH.
X
LESLIE
' I 'HE author of a " Handbook for Young
^ Painters," had he not been so modest, would
perhaps have given a more suitable title to one
of the soundest and most useful works on art that
we possess.
As the title of his book stands it is a little mis-
leading, for any one advanced in years will, if he
dips into its charming pages, find that, contrary
to his expectation, they contain not food for mere
babes and sucklings, but for the mature thinker
and the true lover of art. But such was the grentle
and retiring disposition of the man who wrote it,
that he thought as much too little of himself as
others greatly his inferiors think too much. In
56
LESLIE 57
studying that book side by side with the pictorial
work of its author, one cannot resist the conviction
that the artist's modesty was not a mere sentiment,
but that he was more aware of his own deficiencies
than he was of his ereat excellences.
It is often painfully evident to a man who has
all the acute perception of a connoisseur that how-
ever much he may admire the work of others, he is
not always capable of arriving at a like perfection,
just as we may admire the strength of an athlete
who can lift an enormous weight — and be fully con-
scious that we could not lift it ourselves. But in the
case of Leslie such defects as he had were made up
for by a perfect knowledge of his craft, a broad
expressive touch, an elegant refinement, and a keen
sense of character and humour.
Those for whom he painted were, as a rule,
noblemen and gentlemen, who found in his pictures
the same refinement that they lived amongst ; nor
did they look for art for art's sake, but for some
story that interested them told tastefully and plea-
santly on canvas. In fact, Leslie was an illustrator
- — a charming illustrator of the literature of the
eighteenth century, of Addison, Pope, Swift, Field-
ing, Sterne, Goldsmith, and Smollett, and also of
Cervantes, Shakespeare, Moliere, Milton, and Scott.
It was perhaps his destiny to be so. It was the
fashion c)f his time, for he seldom invented a sub-
ject ; yet when he did, he gave to the world such ex-
quisite designs as "the Mother nursing her Infant."
But it is not as a painter that I write of Leslie, but
58
SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
as a sweet character ; and not with the pen of a
critic, but of a sketcher from memory.
Time approves or disapproves the work of an
SKETCH BY C. R. LESLIE.
artist. Its commercial value is often shifting, de-
pending in a great measure on the current of feeling
that characterises a generation ; and the present loud,
bustling, bragging, advertising community looks
LESLIE 59
coldly on the productions of the painters of the
middle of the nineteenth century. But still, me-
thinks that the name of the painter of " Sancho
and the Duchess," of " Uncle Toby and Widow
Wadman," and that perfect " Mother and Child,"
will live long and honourably in the history of
British art.
It was my good fortune to become acquainted
with Charles Robert Leslie, R.A., soon after my
return from France, and at the momentous period
wheji I was entering on the career of an artist. I
remember it was with a beating heart and a trem-
blinof hand that I knocked at his door in Abercorn
Place, one morning in the year 1851. I was shown
into a drawing-room so tastefully arranged that it
would have been difficult to match it even in Paris,
and almost for the first time in my life I looked
upon engravings after the great masters of the
English school of painting, namely. Sir Joshua
Reynolds, Constable, Gainsborough, and others ;
for these, including prints from Watteau, were the
chief ornaments on the walls. I was the more
astonished at their beauty, because I had been told
in Paris that we Eno-lish knew nothincj- about art,
in fact, we did not even know how to draw, and the
reason given was the dreadful climate of " I'lle
Britannique " ; that the fogs not only prevented us
from seeing the Milky Way, but concealed even the
beauties of nature from our phlegmatic vision.
While these things were passing in my mind
the door opened, and a sort of electric shock passed
6o SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
through me, a momentary dread of what I know
not ; but it was at once dispelled when I saw the
kind face of the gentleman who advanced to shake
hands with me. After a few preliminary words I
ventured to undo the parcel of "things" I had
brought from Paris, which he looked at very quiedy,
and without the least emotion, while I looked down
at the carpet.
It was now the turn of the Enorlish artist to
have a shot at the French ; my copies of " The
Burial of Atala," " La Vengeance Divine poursuivant
le Crime," and " The Sleep of Endymion," after
Prud'hon and Girodet, were, he said, very well
painted for a lad of fifteen, but the style of these
French painters was greatly inferior to that of the
Italian and Dutch schools, and he recommended
me, if I went to Paris again, to make studies from
Titian and Veronese, who were fine colourists, and
from Terburg and Metzu, who were perfect masters
of their craft, although their subjects were not of a
very elevated character,
Mr. Leslie was then Professor of Painting- at
the Royal Academy, and invited me to his lectures,
which were certainly the most delightful I ever
attended ; not only for their interest and the sound
principles they enunciated, but from the manner in
which they were illustrated by pictures and engrav-
ings, borrowed for the occasion ; so that if he spoke
of Reynolds, or Raphael, or other masters, he would
be able to point to some painting by him or print
from his work to corroborate his teaching.
LESLIE
6i
I need perhaps hardly remind the reader that
his " Handbook for Youn^ Painters " is to a orreat
extent the outcome of tliese lectures, and, as already
KILBURN FIELDS— NOW liUILT OVER,
Stated, it is one of the soundest guides the student
can have, either as artist or critic. It only requires
illustrating as the lectures were, to make it a still
62 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
more valuable companion, not only to students, but
to all lovers of art.
After this first interview I spent many pleasant
days and evenings with Leslie and his family, and
when I look back to them I seem to enjoy them
all over again. There was something quite unique
in this charming English home — full of sunshine
and laughter, full of originality, refinement, humour,
and kindliness.
George Leslie, the present R.A., became my
daily companion. We took long walks together in
the fields, which in those days were not far off; we
had long talks, full of enthusiasm, about art, and
looked forward to doing great things. A world of
beauty opened out before us, which we were to help
to adorn, and we sallied forth with our sketch-books
to cull from nature the materials for future pictures.
We were full of youth, and mirth, and hope, with
few misgivings as to our ultimate success.
I remember, when I first knew the Leslies,
coming in one day just as they were at lunch, and
how quaint and pretty Mrs. Leslie looked as she
sat at the head of the table with her snow-white
napkin tucked under her chin ; and how she advised
me to paint nothing but life-size portraits for the
next four years: "for," said she, "it teaches you
to paint with boldness and vigour ; nothing but
life-size portraits for the next four years, Mr.
Storey." " Very good advice," said Mr. Leslie ;
and when I said something about the difficulty of
getting people to sit to a beginner, she offered to
LESLIE 63
lend me her three daughters. " Oh ! " said one ;
"No!" said another; but Miss LesHe (Harriet)
consented at once, provided I painted her at
six o'clock in the morning. It was then suggested
that Mrs. Leslie should sit first of all, where-
upon the same witty young lady remarked, "If
you can paint a portrait of her, Mr. Storey, it
will be more than any one else can do ; for how
can you draw her features when she hasn't any ?
You look for her nose, for instance, and you say,
' Where is it ? ' "
As I was then living at home in Marlborough
Place, I often used to drop in at Abercorn Place,
and remember many a cosy chat round the fire
before the lamp was lighted. It was then that
Leslie would tell many of those stories about Scott
and Wilkie, Sydney Smith, Washington Irving,
Charles Lamb, Turner, and other interesting
characters, that make his " Autobiographical Re-
collections " such delightful reading; and it was
then, too, that Harriet Leslie would come out with
those quaint sayings which were so humorously
cruel. Among others, a certain military R.A. came
in for some sharp taps. For instance, one evening
she was asked what she was thinkino- about. "Well,"
she said, " I was thinking of going to the Lowther
Arcade and buying little Jones a new box of
soldiers. He has painted the old ones so often that
I am quite tired of them. I think, now, some tin
ones on horseback would be just the thing." At
another time, referring to his supposed wonderful
64 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
likeness to the old Duke of Wellington, she said,
"You know, he was afraid to go out on the day of
the Duke's funeral for fear they should bury him."
We were one night speaking of Lady E.,
and saying what a fine handsome woman she was
— she was nearly a head taller than her husband.
"Yes," said Miss Harriet, "but she is quite out of
perspective ; don't you think," addressing her father,
"that little Knight could do somethingr for her?"
Little Knight, as he was called, was then Professor
of Perspective at the Royal Academy.
I remember that one evening a mild young man
came in, who required drawing out, so Miss H.
asked him what he had been doing ? " Well," he
said, rather shyly, " I've been writing a poem."
" Oh! have you indeed? I see you have been
growing a moustache too."
" Yes," he said, still more shyly, and putting his
hand over it as if he were ashamed of it ; "but I'm
thinking of cutting it off."
" Oh, don't do that ! " said she ; " I think It is
very becoming. If I were you, I should cut off
my poem and leave my moustache."
Speaking of another young man who has since
become famous, who was then very pale, with hair
almost white, eyebrows scarcely visible, and light
grey eyes, she said, " What a pity they ever washed
him ! you see, he wasn't fast colours."
It must not be supposed that this witty young
lady was as cruel as some of her remarks would
make her appear ; indeed, she was kindness itself,
LESLIE 6^
but with an irresistible flow of fun and an original
way of looking at things and of expressing her
thoughts. Indeed, she was not unlike the Duchess
in " Don Quixote," and might perhaps almost have
assisted at the adventure of the peerless knight and
his squire on the wooden horse Clavileno. And
she certainly might have sat for the Duchess in her
father's beautiful picture in the National Gallery.
The following notes from an old diary, written
three years before Leslie's death — that is, in 1856
— recall a pleasant evening spent in his company.
"When I arrived, Leslie and Watkiss Lloyd
were sitting in the garden discussing art.
"Mr. Leslie said, 'If you paint a fruit piece it
must be beautifully coloured and quite perfect in
the painting or it is worthless, because the subject
itself is nothing.'
" ' You speak, then, of the technicalities of art ? '
said Mr. Lloyd.
" ' When I speak of art I only speak of the tech-
nical part, of that part which is peculiar to itself,
belonging to it alone ; I don't speak of the story
or idea, for these may belong to other things, which
colour and dexterous handling of the brush cannot ;
and indeed a story may often be better conveyed
by words than by painting.'
"Speaking of Raphael, he said: 'His pictures
are beautiful for their expression, their grace, their
elegant composition, as well as for their subjects.'
He then added, ' Finely drawn lines combining
harmoniously are like fine music'
E
66 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
" Speaking of a small picture by De Hooghe, he
said : ' Now that picture is to me like a fine air
in music, for it is full of harmony of colour, with
a beautiful glow of sunshine in it, although the sub-
ject is an ugly old woman, an ugly man smoking
a pipe, and a still more ugly child looking on ; and
yet the sunshine, the clear air, the composition, all
are beautiful.'
"He told us several amusing stories, one of
when he was first introduced to Scott at Abbots-
ford. They were sitting in the hall when a bell
rang. ' What bell is that ? ' said Scott ; ' can it
be a visitor ? I don't expect one.' Some one
suggested that it might be the dinner-bell.
"'Oh no,' said Sir Walter, 'for I've a very
quick ear for the dinner-bell ; it strikes upon it
' Like the sweet South
That breathes upon a bank of violets
SteaHng and giving odour.'
" He told us that he went to Scotland with Sir
Edwin Landseer by sea. The latter, a very bad
sailor, went at once to his berth and lay down.
Terry the actor, who was also on board, took a
plate of ham-sandwiches down to him, which he
advised him to eat to keep off sea-sickness. Land-
seer groaned and told him to leave them, so he
placed them by his side. The next morning, when
they went to see how he was, they saw he had
passed a restless night, for he was covered all
over with ham-sandwiches ; ham here, bread and
LESLIE 67
mustard there ; in fact, he had been rolHng in them
all the time, but had not eaten one. He was so
ill that he could not continue the journey by sea,
and went ashore at Scarborough."
Leslie dearly loved a game of chess, and his
fondness for it often made him call to ask me to
go in and spend the evening with him, and, as if
he thought it rather a tax on me, he would after
tea bring down several portfolios of prints from
Rembrandt, Stothard, Hogarth, and others, the
beauties of which he took great pleasure in point-
ing out, and I learnt many a valuable lesson from
him in that way.
I remember his merry daughters used to call
this "pa's artfulness," for after we had looked
through them, he would say in a half-hesitating
voice, " Shall we have a game ? " to which, of
course, I readily assented. Our games of chess,
however, were rather singular, and often lasted a
long time, because, what with talking and listening
to the pleasant music played by Miss Leslie (she
was a delightful pianist), I used quite to forget it
was my move until my patient adversary reminded
me. Then again, if I moved in a hurry and per-
haps rashly, he would say, " You see your Queen's
in danger," or " You will lose your Knight if
you do that ; " so that it was a very friendly fight,
and anything but scientific ; yet Leslie enjoyed it,
for it occupied him and rested his eyes at the
same time.
On that particular evening mentioned in the
68 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
diary we had played several games, when Mrs.
Leslie brought down a portfolio of drawings by
her youngest daughter Mary, who was away ;
and I think I never saw so sweet a collection, so
refined, so elegant, so full of taste and delicacy. I
felt that one of them was worth all that I had ever
done. Mrs. Leslie described these sketches as
"taste with faithfulness." Surely no Ruskin, no
anybody, could put more art teaching into three
words than that — "taste with faithfulness." Taste!
that, Mr. Leslie used to say, " if not the greatest,
is at all events the rarest quality in art." Under
the heading" "Taste" miorht come all its distinc-
tive and beautiful qualities ; taste, that selects and
arranges, that rejects the bad, the vulgar. And yet
taste, without faithfulness, without industry, without
truth, becomes superficial ornament. Faithfulness
without taste is like industry without thought, and
often results in labour thrown away. Taste comes
from the mind, and directs the industry of the
faithful hand and eye. Yes, Mrs. Leslie, this is an
excellent lesson.
/
*-'.
A PORTRAIT.
XI
SIR EDWIN LANDSEER
THAT quiet game of chess at Leslie's, of which
I spoke in the last chapter, would sometimes
be interrupted by visitors dropping in, and then
it had to be considered a drawn battle, although,
perhaps, my opponent was just upon the point
of winning.
69
70 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
Among those welcome guests who dropped in
was Sir Edwin Landseer, then at the zenith of his
career. His stories were almost as good as his
pictures, and the witty young ladies who listened
to them remarked that they were equally well
composed.
A tale, invented by some ingenious wag, had
got about that Landseer had asked Sydney Smith
to sit to him for his portrait, and the latter had
replied, "Is thy servant a dog that he should do
this thing ? " A day or two afterwards Landseer
was riding in Regent's Park, when he met Sydney
Smith, who was taking the air in an open carriage,
so they stopped to say "How d'ye do ? "
" Have you heard our little joke?" said Smith.
" I have," said Landseer.
" I think it very good," said Smith. " Shall we
acknowledge it ? "
On another occasion Landseer was riding down
Bond Street, and saw the following notice in a
picture -dealer's shop window — ''A fine Landseer
on view zvithiny He said to himself, " I should
like to see a ' fine Landseer.' " So he got a boy to
hold his horse, and went into the shop and asked
to see the "fine Landseer." The dealer, who
did not recognise him, but thought he was some
rich customer, ushered him into a back room and
proudly pointed out the work. It was rather
an early one. The dealer was of course loud
in its praise, which was very satisfactory to the
artist.
SIR EDWIN LANDSEER 71
" And how much do you want for it ? " said
Landseer.
"Two thousand guineas, sir," was the reply.
" Two thousand guineas ? that seems a long
price for an early work."
"I could not take a shilling less," said the
dealer. " He's gone, sir," touching his forehead
significantly ; " he's out of his mind ; he'll never
paint another."
"Is he indeed.^" said Landseer. "I'm very
sorry to hear that."
And as he was coming away he noticed a large
picture by Stanfield.
" May I ask what you want for this Stanfield ? "
"That, sir, is also two thousand guineas."
" What ! " said Landseer, touching his forehead
and imitating the dealer's gesture, "has Stanfield
gone too ? "
Once started, Sir Edwin would go on with story
after story, making each one more laughable than
the other. He told us that his laundress, whom
he described as a sort of Mrs. Gamp, asked to
see the pictures he had just finished for the Royal
Academy, which, of course, she was allowed to do ;
and after lookinof for some time at "Niorht" and
"Morning" — "Night" showing two stags, their
antlers locked together in deadly confiict, " Morn-
ing " the battle over and both combatants lying
dead — said, " I hope, sir, you ain't going to ask
me to take anything; l)ut if you should, let it be
the least drop of brandy and vvaKn", if you j)lcasC)
72 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
sir." That was her only remark on these two
magnificent works.
He had a man-servant who evidently looked
upon his master as the greatest man in the world,
and even when Prince Albert called, which he did
occasionally when riding up to St. John's Wood,
he would be told that " Sir Hedwin was hout,"
because the faithful "Cerberus," as he was called,
thought his master did not want to be disturbed.
There were other amusino^ stories about this same
valet. On one occasion, when travelling to the
North with Sir Edwin, he was very anxious about
the luggage, and kept getting out whenever the
train stopped to see if it was all right.
" What do you want ? " said the guard.
" How about them luggage ? " said Cerberus.
"What luggage?"
"Why, two trunks as black as hink and marked
with hell."
"Marked with what?"
"Why, hell for Landseer, of course."
As I heard these stories about forty years ago,
they must have been told over and over again, and
I only repeat them here because I heard Landseer
himself tell them.
But his fun was not only anecdotal. On one
occasion, also at Leslie's, I saw him impersonate a
pig. Some acting charades were got up for the
amusement of a goodly company there assembled,
in which I also took part. One of the words to be
dramatised was "Pygmalion"; hence the/?^, which
SIR EDWIN LANDSEER 73
came in on all fours, and was a very good repre-
sentation of the animal, as the performer was en-
cased in brown paper, with a fine head, and snout
and curly tail. The grunt also was perfect, as it
expressed satisfaction at the meal provided for him.
Some one in the audience, who was in the secret,
exclaimed, "Why, that's Sir Edwin !" and Charles
Landseer, who came into the room just at that
moment, replied in his usual grave way, " I thought
I recognised one of the family."
I remember that "May" was represented by a
Jack in the Green, and I took the part of the
dancing- maiden who hands round a lar^e ladle to
collect coppers from the audience ; and I also re-
member that Miss Jessy Landseer, who was quite
as witty as her brothers, put a macaroon into it.
As, just at that time, everybody was reading
" Uncle Tom's Cabin," which had a sort of Trilbyan
run. Uncle Tom was considered the lion of the
day, and this character Leslie himself impersonated.
The last scene, the whole word " Pygmalion," was
enacted by George Leslie and one of his sisters,
and was charmingly graceful, especially when the
fair statue descended from her pedestal and em-
braced the young sculptor.
XII
CHARLES LANDSEER
C
HARLES LAND-
SEER'S fun was
more serious, if I may-
use the term, but none
the less amusing, as
shown by his well-
known comment on a
tough steak served him
at his club — "They say
there is nothing like
leather — this steak is."
When I was a stu-
dent at the Academy in
1854 Charles Landseer
was Keeper, and always
preserved a very grave
aspect. The students
in those days were, per-
haps, even more rollick-
ing than they are now,
and were wont to play
tricks ; but their jokes
were received with a bland expression, and allowed
to pass unnoticed.
74
GAME.
CHARLES LANDSEER 75
Among the students in the Antique School
was one Boom, whose name, as well as his good-
nature, made him popular. While all were quietly at
work from an antique figure, some one would break
silence by calling " Boom" in a low voice, another
would repeat "Boom" in a higher tone, and with
a different expression, until by degrees all the
students took up the cry, and a general chorus en-
sued of Boom, Boom, Boom, mingled with cat-calls,
grunting, cock-crowing, bleating of sheep, lowing
of cattle, dogs barking, and so forth. In the midst
of it all the door would open slowly, and the grave
face of Charles Landseer would appear. A dead
silence immediately followed, and perhaps no re-
mark would have been made but for Boom, who,
owing to his position, did not see the Keeper enter,
and wondering why such a sudden stop had come
to their mirth, flapped his arms like wings, and at
the very top of his voice sang out, " Cock-a-doodle-
do ! " the Keeper being just at his elbow. Poor
Boom, as soon as he saw his mistake, turned crim-
son, and would no doubt have apologised, but was
speechless. All Charles Landseer said was, " It
seems I am the keeper of a menagerie," and then
went quietly round and corrected the drawings.
The amiable Boom was several times made the
victim of mild practical jokes, which in some way
were connected with the Keeper, who always took
them good-naturedly, as in the following case. In
my student days the Royal Academy occupied part
of the building in Trafalgar Square, now entirely
76 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
devoted to the National Collection ; and in the
" Antique " school, which was a sombre room, with
a semicircular arrangement for the students' easels,
&c., we had but one statue at a time to draw from,
and the one then placed for our practice and study
was the " Apollo Belvedere," which we began
to get rather tired of; so one morning we dele-
gated Mr, Boom to ask the Keeper if we might
have Apollo changed for either the " Dancing
Faun" or the "Dying Gladiator." We explained
to Boom that, as he was the best dressed and most
gentlemanly student among us, we thought him
the most fitting person to carry our message.
During this conversation another student, now a
full R.A., pinned to his back a large label, with
the word " Boom " written in big letters. Boom
said he felt a little nervous, but braced himself up
for the occasion, and went and tapped at the
Keeper's private -room door. He explained the
object of his visit, and Landseer, taking it seriously
at first, said it was rather an unusual request for
the students to make, but he would name it to the
Council. Boom, retreating, bowed his thanks, and
as he turned to open the door, displayed the placard
pinned to his back. Charles Landseer, with a
sort of cough, said —
" Er — vour name's Boom, is it not? "
"Yes, sir," said the blushing student.
" Yes, I see it is," said the Keeper.
XIII
TOM LANDSEER
TOM LANDSEER, the engraver, was the
exact opposite of Charles ; instead of looking
grave, his face was always beaming ; it was, if
anything, wider than it was long, and the very
picture of good-nature ; his figure, too, was almost
as broad as he was tall. Being stone deaf, you had
to write down what you wished to say to him, or
make signs, and go through a sort of pantomime,
or dumb show, which he, too, would sometimes
resort to with the most amusing effect. I had
painted a picture called " The Shy Pupil," in which
a young girl was taking a dancing lesson, and en-
deavouring, rather timidly, to do the step as shown
her by her dancing-master. It had been seen at
the Academy by Tom Landseer, whom I shortly
afterwards met in Maida Vale. He no sooner
caught sight of me than he took his coat-tails in
his fingers, as though he were holding a skirt,
turned his head skittishly on one side, pointed his
toe, and, in fact, imitated the attitude of the girl
in the picture ; then, looking up with his usual
radiance, he exclaimed, in a stentorian \oice,
" Veery preety ! " — took a slight turn, executed a
77
78 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
pas sail, and then stood still, smiling and nodding,
TOM LANDSEER, THE ENGRAVER.
in token of approbation, much to the astonishment
and amusement of the passers-by. I must add
TOM LANDSEER
79
that, although Tom Landseer was deaf, he was by
no means dumb ; he talked so loud, in fact, that
you could hear him all over a room or gallery,
even when crowded with people. Sometimes he
would think aloud, of course very loud. I remem-
ber his standing in front of a pretty girl at an
evening party, and exclaiming at
the top of his voice, " Veery beeau-
teeful indeed ! " The young lady
blushed and smiled at her stout
admirer, who kissed his hand to her
in the most gallant fashion. It is
almost impossible to give an idea
of the manner of his speech except
by imitating it. His words were so
drawn out, that you would have to
spell " very," for instance, with about
five e's — thus, veeeree ! and they
were always intoned in a kind of
wave of sound, which at one moment
was very high up, and at another
very low down.
Although those who did not
know him would set him down for
a sort of overgrown baby, a kind of comical lunatic ;
those who did, were well aware that all this merri-
ment came from the kindness of his heart, which
seemed to spread to every one, so that he could
not believe that any one could be offended or angry
with Tom Landseer, not even a policeman.
He came home late one night, and although
THE SHY PUPIL.
8o SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
he had the latch-key of the house, he had forgotten
the key of the gate, which he found locked. He
therefore, with some difficulty for so corpulent an in-
dividual, tried to climb over it, and was just landed
on the top when a constable passed that way.
" Hallo!" said he, "what are you doing here?" to
which Tom replied that it was a " veeree beautee-
ful night." Bobby, naturally offended at such an
answer, told him he was after no good, and he
should arrest him as a burglar, and laid hold of
his legs ; but Tom only thanked him for his assist-
ance, and said he thought he could manage to get
down by himself, and asked him to ring the bell.
Bobby, not liking to be chaffed by a burglar, would
perhaps have proceeded to stronger measures, had
not the inmates of the house, aroused by the alter-
cation, opened the door. The burglarious pro-
ceeding was then explained, and likewise that —
the gentleman being stone deaf, he had not heard
a word of the constable's abuse — which the latter,
probably, was not sorry for.
I cannot conclude my brief allusion to this
genial man without mentioning the kind thought
he had for his young friend and pupil, J. C. Webb,
now a well-known engraver. Mr. Webb had for
some years been his constant companion, and
indeed was almost like a son to him. It so
happened, as it will happen to young men, that he
met with a young lady whom he fain would make
his wife, and Tom Landseer thought this a good
opportunity to carry out a wish he had long enter-
TOM LANDSEER 8i
tained ; so he said to his young friend, " I have left
you something- in my will " (mentioning a certain
sum), " but I don't see any reason why you should
wait for it till poor old Tom is dead." So he there
and then gave it to him as a wedding-present.
F
XIV
PEOPLE OF NOTE
W
ERE I to
sketch all the
interesting charac-
ters I met at Leslie's,
I should have to in-
clude many of the
most distinguished
men in art and litera-
ture who flourished
some forty years ago,
and should require a
much larsfer canvas
than I have at my
disposal. I may,
however, mention
one or two others,
who, besides the
Landseers, used to "drop in."
Among them was Mrs. Jameson, one of our
best lady writers on art, who indeed is beaten
by few men. She was very different from the
stately lady I had imagined the authoress of
"The Legends of the Madonna" and " Sacred and
82
PEOPLE OF NOTE 83
Legendary Art " would be. She was not very tall,
rather stout, and with a face beaming with good-
nature. I was much amused at the clever way in
which she Qrot the better of an aro-ument with
Mr. Leslie by simply asking questions or saying,
"Why not?"
They were talking of the advisability of admit-
ting lady students to the Royal Academy schools.
Leslie seemed to think there were certain objections
to the proposal.
" What objections, Mr. Leslie ? "
" I don't think it advisable for young men and
women to study together."
"Why not.?"
" I don't think it would be convenient; besides,
the parents of the girls might object."
" Why should they ? "
" It is difficult to explain."
"Where is the difficulty?"
" The girls, for instance, could not draw from
the life model."
"Why not?"
And so on ; Mrs. Jameson getting the better of
the argument with her constantly-recurring " Why
not ? " and with not a little merriment at Leslie's
expense. I remember, when she prepared to go, that
she carried one of those old-fashioned chessboard-
pattern straw baskets on her arm which held her cap,
and that George Leslie and I saw her into a bus as
though she had been some dear old aunt from the
country instead of the talented writer on Christian art.
84 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
Mr. and Mrs. Cruikshank were also occasional
visitors, and were exceedingly quaint. The great
Georee himself was rather like some of the eccen-
trie individuals he drew in his pictures ; his " Fagin
the Jew in Prison," for instance, is what might
be called awfully like him. He was quick in his
movements, with a sharp intelligent eye, a good-
sized nose, but very little hair, which however was
dark and long, and collected and tied in a sort of
curl on his forehead, which otherwise would have
been bald.
I happened to be lunching one day at Leslie's
when Cruikshank was of the party. Leslie, know-
ing that his friend had become a staunch tee-
totaller, said, with a sly look, " Mr. Cruikshank, may
I have the pleasure of a glass of wine with you } "
raising his own and passing the decanter.
" No, my dear Leslie," said Cruikshank ; " I
don't drink wine, you know, but I shall be very
happy to take a potato with you." Whereupon he
held one up on the end of his fork, nodded to
Leslie, bit a piece off, and wished him a very good
health, Leslie laughing and sipping his sherry at
the same time.
It was at Leslie's that I met the Doyles — the
father, H.B., who, under that monogram, used to
draw political cartoons for M'Lean of the Hay-
market in the early part of the century, and his
three sons, James, Henry, and Richard (or " Dicky"
Doyle, as he was called) ; the latter was one of the
most original, or, shall I say, individual of illustrators.
PEOPLE OF NOTE 85
His sweet little refined drawings were full of ima-
gination and playfulness, and I loved them because
I suppose they were among the first artistic pro-
ductions that gave me real pleasure ; and they are
still on the outside cover of our old friend Punch,
which I look upon as the Royal Academy of
humorous art.
At that time he was not only doing " Bird's-
eye Views of Society" and "Brown, Jones, and
Robinson," but was also illustrating some of
Thackeray's novels, and I used to hear about
them as they progressed, but I never became inti-
mate with Dicky. I have always been very shy
in the presence of the men I most admired, and yet
I have played at Blind Man's Buff with Dicky
Doyle, or rather Post Towns, a more amusing
version of the old game. Henry and James Doyle
I could get on better with — they were charming
men and very sympathetic ; they also played at Post
Towns and took part in charades at Leslie's.
Besides these there were the Constables, sons
and daughters of Leslie's old and admired friend,
our great landscape painter; John Forster, author
of " The Life and Times of Oliver Goldsmith,"
" The Life of Charles Dickens," &c. ; Sir Charles
and Lady Eastlake, John Leech, Mr. and Mrs.
E. M. Ward, the Tom Taylors, and R. W. Mackay,
the learned author of "The Progress of the Intel-
lect," " The Rise and Progress of Christianity," &c.,
and one of my most delightful friends. Millais, too,
was there, then a handsome young fellow, in the first
86
SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
tlush of his brilliant career ; and his friend Holman
Hunt, the staunchest of the Pre-Raphaelites.
Before closing this very imperfect list I will
A STUDY.
mention one other individual whom I met at Leslie's,
and that was Albert Smith, the most amusing of
entertainers, who in his "Mont Blanc" made me
PEOPLE OF NOTE 87
laugh till I ached ; and although he and his fun are
now things of the past and scarcely known to the
present generation, he was nevertheless one of the
drollest men of his time.
I remember he came to a dance at the Leslies',
and was looking so grave and serious, that one of
the young ladies asked him what was the matter.
He said he had heard, on very good authority,
that he was too loud and vulgar in society, and was
trying to turn over a new leaf; he was, in fact,
trying to drop his familiar style and to become
serious and dignified.
" But I suppose you are not above dancing a
quadrille ? "
" I should be very pleased to do anything to
please you. Miss Leslie."
So there and then she introduced him to a
very pretty girl. Now, whether it was the lively
music, or the beauty of his partner, which caused
him to relax for a moment his assumed dignity, I
cannot say, but in a very few minutes you could
hear his well-known laugh above everything, and
Miss Harriet remarked with a twinkle, " He's off!"
The young lady by his side had alluded to the
beauty of the flower he wore in his button-hole.
" Do you like it ? " said he. " I raised it myself
in a blacking-bottle on the roof"
CASSANDRA.
XV
LEIGH IN NEWMAN STREET
A MONG the familiar figures and faces that I see
-^^^ in looking back some forty years is a strange,
clever, witty, kind man in a black cap and long
black velvet gown or cassock, who lived in dreary
Newman Street and kept an Art School there. He
was fond of his boys, as he used to call his pupils,
and his boys were fond of him. He not only drew
well, but talked well, and one man, long past the
age of studentship, went to him under the pretence
of studying art, but really, as he told me in con-
fidence, for the sake of hearing his conversation.
This strange man's name was James Mathews
Leigh. He was related to Mathews the actor, and
might himself have donned the buskin ; or he might
have been a great anatomist, for the walls of the
school were covered with his drawings of dissections,
LEIGH IN NEWMAN STREET 89
of bones and muscles and skinned men writhing in
agonies, and skulls with great sockets and grinning
rows of teeth, and notably one that was twice the
size of life, with a dreadful blue eye with red veins
that seemed to follow you all round the place.
Besides these were countless studies of men in all
sorts of attitudes, showing their muscles and their
sinews and their variously toned skins, all very
cleverly painted by the master ; and to complete it,
there was a larofe enoravingf of Michael An^elo's
" Last Judgment," which, being situated amongst
anatomical drawings, looked like the apotheosis of
all the dissections and diagrams and arms and legs
and heads and tails of humanity collected together
into one tremendous composition — one of the con-
spicuous figures being Saint Bartholomew — who
was flayed alive — holding his own skin in one
hand.
On leaving this chamber of anatomy we went
into a long gallery with rows of antique statues in
plaster, and more arms and legs and headless trunks
and hands and feet and faces and busts were hanging
about ; and at the end, a still more mysterious-look-
ing place, with dull red curtains and big screens,
where the livin"" model was standino^ on a dull oreen
platform, with a dull red cloth behind him, and in
front of him rows of students, some with shades
over their eyes, occupied in drawing more muscles
and trunks and legs and arms and hands and heads,
and this same strange man in the black velvet cap
and cassock was walking about among them and
90 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
talking to them, sometimes earnestly, sometimes
kindly, and sometimes sarcastically.
I had been one of those students, and was one
of the boys who liked the strange man, but I had
finished my studentship and was beginning to paint
pictures, yet every now and then I went to see my
old master, who always gave me a pleasant welcome,
except perhaps on one evening when I called upon
him and found him reading, and with that shyness
which sometimes makes me use the wrong words,
I said —
" I hope I don't interrupt you ?"
To which he answered, " You can't help inter-
rupting me if you come in."
"Then I will go out again," said I.
"That is quite a different thing," said he; "I
don't want you to go out again, but society is full of
these unmeaning phrases."
There was something of the Dr. Johnson about
Leigh ; he hated these weak remarks, but they
drew him out, and gave him an opportunity for a
curt reply, or some smart sarcasm which, although
it might sound cruel, was nothing of the sort — very
often it was just, and was more humorous than
serious. And if such jests earned him the name of
" Dagger Leigh," the dagger was a theatrical one,
that slid up into the hilt and did not inflict a mortal
wound ; as, for instance, in criticising Holman Hunt's
over-fastidiousness in detail, he said, " If Holman
Hunt had to paint Everton toffee he would go to
Everton to paint it." One laughs at the quaint
LEIGH IN NEWMAN STREET 91
conceit without admiring Hunt's earnestness any
the less.
I remember he showed me some hundreds of
sketches of figures supposed to be saying something
or acting some passage from Shakespeare, Shelley,
Keats, Longfellow, &c. They were touched in with
sharpness and precision, well drawn, and slightly
tinted, and I dare say if I saw them now I might
think more of them than I did then. I wonder what
has become of them all ! Occasionally a happy
composition or a study from nature turned up like
an unexpected beam of sunshine.
In some larger designs he had given free reins
to his fancy. One I remember was an allegory of
"Youthful Hope," Hope seated in a white balloon
going up into a blue and yellow sky with pink Amo-
rini flying around, their wings all sorts of colours,
and hundreds of other figures looking on — some
ugly demons among them — the whole presenting a
vast scene more extraordinary perhaps than beau-
tiful.
After supper, as it was a fine evening, we leant
out of window smoking, and the talk somehow
veered round to philosophy.
He said that the stumbling-block to young men
was the difficulty they had in realising the non-
existence of existence, or the immateriality of mate-
rial, the conception only being the true thing or true
existence, the perception being the lower capacity of
the bodily senses to see things or become conscious
of things that d(j nut exist.
92 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
I was not versed in Kant's "Critique of Pure
Reason," and metaphysics were to me simple be-
wilderment. It so happened that during our con-
versation an organ-grinder was turning out tunes,
horrible tunes, just under the window, and almost
put a stop to our conversation, so I ventured to ask
if that organ-grinder was an existence or not. I
certainly did not wish to conceive him at that
moment ; but did the fact that my bodily senses
perceived him (both saw him and heard him) prove
that he did not exist .^ "Now, if I threw him a
copper, and he picked it up and bowed and wished
us ' good-night ' and went away, then no doubt he
would cease to exist to our senses."
"True, and you would still have the conception
of the organ-grinder."
That is quite true, for I still remember the
grinning tormentor of my ears.
But how about the organ-grinder's conception
of us .-^ He perceived us, and got a copper from
us ; but does that prove our non-existence, and
does our existence depend on our being a concep-
tion of that organ-grinder's brain or otherwise ? I
think we both agreed that we were not conceived
by the organ-grinder.
After he had passed on, and "Pop goes the
Weasel" was no longer heard, Leigh pointed to a star.
"That star," said he, "does not exist in fact. I
conceive only that it exists, therefore it exists simply
because I conceive it, not because I perceive it."
"I suppose, then," said I, "it is only a coinci-
LEIGH IN NEWMAN STREET 93
dence that you and I both conceive and perceive
that star at the same time ; or are there two stars,
since I conceive it as well as you ? "
Now, the best way out of the argument was to
turn it into a joke ; and he said something about
seeing double, or I star one and you star two. So
either he saw that I was incapable of following him
into the regions of the unconditioned, or his philo-
sophy was only his fun after all, for I said, referring
to his remark —
" What is a pun in metaphysics ? "
"Jets," said he, "mere jets of superfluous gas."
And, like Mrs. Jameson with her "why not?"
Leigh had a ready wit for summing up an argu-
ment with a pun. However, he discoursed very
learnedly on Plato, Socrates, Pythagoras, and the
Epicureans ; and after that he dilated on the force
of will. He said he caused a porte-crayon to fall
out of a man's hand simply by willing it. He was
at some distance off, and whether the young man
heard him say what he was going to do, I don't
know ; but gradually that young man's fingers re-
laxed their hold, and the porte-crayon fell to the
ground. If that student's name was Brown, the
mystery could be easily solved, as I shall have
occasion to explain later on.
Speaking of town and country, he said he hated
the country, "pigs live in the country ;" nor did he
care for painting, or for music, or for theatres, nor
many more things.
"What, then, do you care for.'*" said I.
94 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
" Thought," was his reply. "Cogito, ergo sum."
The last time I saw Leiofh was one niofht when
the gallery in Newman Street was lighted up for
a festive meeting of his boys, old and new ; and
where, on a goodly row of easels, were displayed
the pictures that those boys had painted for the
Academy and other exhibitions, and had brought
there for the master's inspection before sending
them to pass the ordeal of the selecting com-
mittees. Leiorh was then sufferinsf from a mortal
disease — cancer in the tongue, brought on, it
was said, by constant smoking. And although
he knew that his days, nay, even his hours were
numbered, and he was unable to speak, still there
he was in his best black velvet cap and his best
black velvet cassock shaking hands with his pupils,
and at the same time holding- a white silk hand-
kerchief over his mouth. He went round to each
work, examined it, pointed to the parts he liked,
and nodded approval or patted the young painter
on the back with a significant smile that yet was
full of sadness, now and then endeavouring to say
something, but the words were inarticulate. After
staying as long with us as his illness would allow,
he wished us all "good-night," and beckoned to
his son Harry, to whom he whispered, " If I
should die to-night say nothing to the boys, for I
should not like their evening to be spoilt."
We sat down to a simple supper, smoked and
chatted over our glasses ; and, not knowing the end
was so near, were merry as usual. A day or two
LEIGH IN NEWMAN STREET 95
after this our eood friend and master breathed his
last. He died on the 20th of April i860, aged
fifty-two. He was buried in Highgate Cemetery,
and a long train of his sorrowing pupils followed
him to the grave.
It was under Leigh's roof that I first met Henry
Stacy Marks, R.A., who, in his "Pen and Pencil
Sketches," has given an excellent description of
our kind friend and his art school, so that it is
not necessary for me to go further over the ground.
Yet I must say a few words about some of my
fellow- students.
Among them was Walter Thornbury, who began
a literary career by studying art — no better begin-
ning. We often sat side by side making drawings
from the antique to send up to the Royal Academy,
with a view to becoming students there.
Thornbury — always chatty, impetuous, and in a
hurry — made haste, not slowly, but with so little
consideration that on one occasion he found, when
he had drawn in the figure, and nearly finished the
upper part of it, he had no room on his paper for
the feet. W'hat was to be done ? There was no
time to begin it over again. We consulted to-
gether, and I must plead guilty to the advice I
gave him, which was to put a cross at the bottom
of the paper where the legs left off, then another at
the top, and there draw the feet which he could
not get in down below. This he did, sent in the
drawing to the Royal Academy, and had it back
not very long afterwards.
96 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
He soon threw aside the pencil for the pen,
and I have no doubt picl-ied up a good deal of the
knowledge of art, which he afterwards made use
of, from the conversation of Leigh ; perhaps also
from the discussions of the students as they sat
round the stove while resting from work, and in
which Marks used to distinguish himself by his apt
quotations from Shakespeare and the discourses of
Sir Joshua Reynolds. Thornbury read a good deal
too, for instead of passing his time in the Royal
Academy schools, copying more Apollos, Dancing
Fauns, and Discoboli, he spent from morning till
night in the British Museum racing through books
and making notes.
His first volume appeared while he was still at
Leigh's ; and of course was in verse, and very good
verse I thought it. It was entitled " Lays and
Legends, or Ballads of the New World."
Other volumes soon followed, such as " Art and
Nature," "Life in Spain," "British Artists from
Hogarth to Turner," and notably the " Life of
Turner," a much used and much abused book, full
of material, crowded with anecdote, and just the
sort of hunting- oround that is valuable to those
biographers who have to get their information
second-hand. You cannot open the book without
coming upon something interesting. As I do not
profess to be a judge of literature, I can only say
that the writings of Thornbury give me much plea-
sure. He is never dull, and always bright and
picturesque. As an art critic he was amusing.
LEIGH IN NEWMAN STREET 97
if nothing else. It was not in his nature to be
sneerful, or ill-mannered, or conceited ; he talked
of pictures as he would talk of anything else, racily
and cheerily, and, if he could not refrain from a
joke at the expense of the artist, it was not of a
character to do injury either to the painter or his
picture. As an instance, I remember he said of
Millais' beautiful "Autumn Leaves," where some
rather Pre-Raphaelite young girls, with reddish
hair, are making a bonfire, that the artist had evi-
dently selected his models from " Sweet Auburn,
loveliest village of the plai7i!'
There was another lively student at Leigh's,
whose name was Brereton, but it has not descended
to posterity. He was handsome and witty, and
would sing at his work the old songs, such as
" The woodpecker tapping at the hollow beech-
tree." He would draw in the outline of an antique
with the greatest facility, put a few specimen dots
on it, and say he would take it home for his sisters
to finish, as they had more patience, and could
do the stipple much better than he.
Poor Wycherley was another student there,
but his face was always concealed (with the ex-
ception of his eyes) by a coloured handkerchief
He toiled away patiently at a large picture of the
gallery, with all its casts and easels, and other
details ; was amiable and intelligent ; but his short
life was but a lingering death, and I think he only
lived just long enough to finish his first picture.
A student of rather an eccentric sort was an
G
98 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
elderly gentleman, who seemed to have suddenly
taken it into his head to begin life over again, and
to start as an art-student at the age of fifty. We
thought he must be very well off, for he not only
looked so in his dress, but furnished himself with
artists' materials of the newest, quite regardless
of expense — a mahogany easel, a very spick-and-
span drawing-board, and an unlimited supply of
Whatman's best drawing-paper. Of this he took
a clean sheet every morning, pinned it to his
drawing-board, worked away quietly and steadily,
till his eold watch told him it was time to leave
off for the day ; then, in emulation of faithful Pene-
lope, he would tear up his work, pack up his traps,
and retire. This was the individual referred to
at the beginning of this chapter, who, under the
pretence of studying art, went to the school for
the sake of hearing Leigh's conversation.
I must not forget an amusing character who
formed one of our group at that time, namely,
Brown, or Scotch Brown, or Caledonian Brown, as
we sometimes called him. As he was not well
off, and found it difficult to pay even the small fee
that was fixed for admission and instruction at the
Academy in Newman Street, the kind master
would, without speaking a word, push back the
proffered amount with a nod of the head, as much
as to say, " Wait for better times." Our Scotch
friend, whose heart was much bigger than his purse,
was not ungrateful, and showed his appreciation
in a rather original way.
LEIGH IN NEWMAN STREET 99
Leigh, among other pecuHarities, got suddenly
bitten with spiritualism, and imagined himself a
powerful medium. Now and then, in the after-
noon, he would hold a seance, and lecture to the
students very learnedly on the subject, entering
into the strange phenomena of animal magnetism,
clairvoyance, mesmerism, psychology, &c. This
would be followed by a turning of tables, and a
series of other demonstrations, such as seating some
one in a chair, then making a few passes with the
hands, and telling him he could not get up. If the
individual did get up, he was said not to be a good
subject, and Brown would take his place. After
he had been well mesmerised, Leigh would tell him
he could not rise ; bade him try to do so. Brown
twisted and struggled, contorted his features, and
appeared to be almost exhausted with the effort,
and would at last exclaim, "Eh! 1 cannot!" He
would then be subjected to further experiments,
and proved to be a wonderfully good subject, and
entirely under the control of the medium. When
I met him some years afterwards, he confessed that
he had only been shamming, but excused himself
on the ground that Leigh let him be at the school
for nothing, and even helped him sometimes besides.
"So, my deear Stoorie," said he, "what could I
doc? It was the only way I could repay him for
his kindness."
It must not be supposed that there was the
slightest collusion on the part of Leigh, who
thoroughly believed that Brown was under his
lOO
SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
mesmeric influence. Nor do I think the reader
will have much difficulty in guessing which student
it was whose fingers gradually relaxed and let fall
the porte-crayon, when Leigh willed that he should
do so. And I trust, also, that he will think more
of the kindness of the master who frequently re-
mitted the fees of his poorer pupils, than of the
credulity which was thus imposed upon out of
gratitude.
XVI
THE ROYAL ACADEMY IN 1852
CZ,
ONE of the things I would
rather not recollect is the
first picture I sent to the Royal
Academy. The can-
vas was a large one,
and contained eight
portraits in the cos-
tume of the Crinoline
period, which is per-
haps the ugliest we have ever
gone through. The Academy
was then located in Trafalgar
Square, and my "first" picture
was hung at the top of the north
room. It so happened that I
looked in on the very day when the whole family
who sat for it went to see it. As there were
eight of them, and several friends besides, all look-
ing up at the same time, other visitors, as they
came in, looked up too, until quite a little crowd
was collected. One individual referred to his
catalogue, then to the picture, and exclaimed, very
audibly, "What an ugly group!" This was un-
102 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
fortunate, as some of the friends had just been
saying what good likenesses they were. I did
not wait to be congratulated on my success.
This was in the year 1852. I find, in looking
at the list of Academicians and Associates in the
catalogue for that date, that not one of the R.A.s,
and only four of the A. R.A.s, are now living.
The latter have, of course, become full members,
but two of them have retired. Turner died the
year before, having been a member for fifty-two
years. Sir Charles Eastlake was the accomplished
President ; Stanfield, David Roberts, Leslie, Web-
ster, Sir Edwin Landseer, Creswick, Herbert,
Maclise, Mulready, Redgrave, and F. R. Lee were
at the height of their popularity ; and among the
Associates were Thomas Sidney Cooper, E. M.
Ward, W. P. Frith, J. C. Hook, J. H. Foley,
Alfred Elmore, E. W. Cooke, and F. R. Pickersgill.
These names, some of which sound like those of
old English masters, give us a pretty good idea
of the sort of exhibition then in vogue.
The critic then, as now, scarcely found the
show up to the average, but that it owed its ad-
vantages mainly to the efforts of the younger men
in art ; and yet the chief of these younger men
came in for a pretty good share of abuse. It is
regretted that Sir Charles Eastlake and Sir Edwin
Landseer do not exhibit, but then the latter had
sent in the previous year his magnificent picture
"The Monarch of the Glen," and "A Midsummer
Night's Dream."
THE ROYAL ACADEMY IN 1852 103
In looking down the catalogue one is surprised
at the number of interesting subject pictures and
"historic genre," that must have given a popular
character to the Exhibition.
For instance, there was " The Parting of Lord
and Lady Russell, 1683," by Charles Lucy; "Alfred
the Saxon Kino- disguised as a Minstrel in the Tent
of Guthrun the Dane," by Daniel Maclise, R.A. ;
" The Three Inventors of Printing," Guttenberg,
Faust, and Scheffer, examining and discussing the
merits of Scheffer's invention of movable types,
by S. A. Hart, R.A. ; " A Subject from Pepys'
Diary, 1665," by Alfred Elmore; "Pope making
love to Lady Mary Wortley Montagu," by W. P.
Frith, A. R.A. ; and " Charlotte Corday going to
Execution," by E. M. Ward, A. R.A. This must
have been a very sensational picture ; it is well
known by engravings. "Corday is conducted from
her prison by a file of Republican guards, followed
by a priest, and flanked by one of the furies of
the Faubourgs. Robespierre, Danton, and Camille
Desmoulins have placed themselves in her path in
order to study in her features the expression of
that fanaticism which might threaten them on the
morrow."
Among the landscapes are — " An Avenue at
Althorp," by F. R. Lee; "The Woodland River,"
by Redgrave; "The Stream at Ivy Bridge," by
Jutsum ; " Venice," by David Roberts ; " The Sere
Leaf," and " The Timber Waggon," by Linnell ;
"The Bay of Baia^," by Stanfield ; "Effect after
104 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
Rain, Venice," by J. Holland; and many others
that had a local interest, as well as the charm of
colour and composition.
Besides these were those domestic pieces always
pleasing, such as "A School Playground," by T.
Webster ; " A Cottage Fireside," by George Smith;
and other works so characteristic of their painters
that we can almost fancy we see them ; such as
" A Grey Horse," by Abraham Cooper ; " The
Christian Pilgrims," by W. C. T. Dobson ; " Juliet,"
by C. R. Leslie; "Cows," by T. S. Cooper; "The
Bird's Nest in Danger," by W. T. Witherington ;
"Going to Market," by J. Stark; "Othello's De-
scription of Desdemona," by J. C. Hook (quite
different from what he does now, but good in colour) ;
"Master Slender," and "The Madrigal," by J. C.
Horsley ; and a large fruit piece, " The Seneschal,"
by George Lance ; " Burns and Highland Mary,"
by Thomas Faed ; " The Foundling," by G. B.
O'Neill; "The Novice," by Elmore; " Hagar,"
life size, by Armitage. Nor was an exhibition in
those days ever complete without a battle-piece by
Jones, R.A. ; " An Evening Effect," by Danby ;
portraits by J. P. Knight and Watson Gordon ;
and fruit and flower pieces by the Misses Mutrie.
The above short list shows that the display of
pictures contained much to interest the general
public, whether they were connoisseurs in art or
not, and much to admire even if they were. I
cannot pretend to remember many of them, and
only vaguely recall them by looking over the cata-
THE ROYAL ACADEMY IN 1852 105
logue. But there are still two or three that were
also at that same show which I have not yet men-
tioned, and which I cannot forget. These were the
pictures of the young men who gave strength, nay, a
new life, to English art, although they were almost
frantically abused at the time. John Everett Millais
had in 1850 startled the art public of England by
his picture called " The Carpenter's Shop," a work
which now everybody knows ; but it then seemed
to have the peculiar property of making dull people
witty, good-tempered people angry, and quite proper
people use bad language. But many others saw in
it the advent of a great artist. It was followed,
as my readers well know, by works as strong and
as fascinating, such as " Mariana in the Moated
Grange," and the quaint but delightful " Wood-
man's Daughter ; " the first made me read Tennyson,
and the second showed me how to paint sunlight.
In the year we are now recalling, 1852, he turned
many of his critics into admirers by his pathetic
" Huguenot," and his beautiful " Ophelia." Not-
withstanding much fault-finding these works sent
all the younger men to nature, and had they done
nothing else, they would have done more than all
the lecturers, art-masters, art-critics, and the rest
of our guides put together. But they did more than
this, so it seems to me ; they woke a new interest
in art, showing that it is a living thing continually
growing and throwing out new forms and fashions
and ideas, new interpretations of nature, new com-
binations of colour, and new methods of workman-
io6 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
ship. For this reason I think we should be careful
how we laugh to scorn the latest eccentric novelty ;
there may be, there generally is, something in it
which leads to greater achievements, as in the case
of Millais. But, on the other hand, it is not ad-
visable to do as is now too much the fashion,
namely, to worship and copy an individual. Millais'
admirers did not copy Millais' pictures, they only
tried to copy nature as he did.
At all events, I can speak for myself. Some
three or four years after my " ugly group," and
after seeing Millais' most poetical " Autumn Leaves,"
I painted " The Bride's Burial," or " The Burial
of Juliet," a picture that was lately exhibited at
Messrs. Shepherd's gallery, and of which several
critics said some kind things.
Holman Hunt is another remarkable painter
who exhibited a strange and fascinating picture at
this Exhibition. It was called " The Hireling Shep-
herd," was wonderfully strong in colour, and looked
like the work of a man intensely earnest, who
seemed to labour almost like a martyr at a craft
which he looked upon as somewhat akin to a
religious duty. "The shepherd, having caught
a death's-head moth, is showing it to a maiden ;
both figures are seated on the grass ; the scene
is a meadow with trees, bounded on one side by a
field of ripe corn, and on the other by a field just
reaped."
Although this and other pictures by this unique
master were not appreciated at first, " The Light
THE ROYAL ACADEMY IN 1852 107
of the World," produced a few years later, became
one of the most widely known and popular of
modern pictures. There must be something almost
magic in the art that can penetrate into our minds
and thoughts as this does. It seems to me hardly
possible to forget a picture by Holman Hunt when
once we have looked at it carefully. I never yet
saw one of his important works that I felt 1 could
take less than half-an-hour to look at, and often a
great deal longer ; nor is this to be wondered at
when we know the years it takes him to paint
them, and the extraordinary pains he bestows upon
them.
There are a few names in this year's catalogue
that I will here make a note of, because they have
for me a personal interest. One is Behnes the
sculptor, at whose studio in Osnaburg Street I first
modelled in clay, as mentioned in the early part of
this book ; another is H. P. Ashby, who presented
me with a silver palette when I was a schoolboy.
He has a view of Hastings, sketched on the spot.
I wonder whether it was such an unusual thine in
those days to work directly from nature that it was
worthy of note in the catalogue when such was the
case. Then there is my old friend F. Smallficld, the
painter of " Colonel Newcome in the Charterhouse "
and other conscientious works, who exhibits "A
Knitter." J. Archer, another old friend, who from
minute richly coloured Pre-Raphaelite work branched
off into life-size full-length portraits. And W. W.
Fenn, "the blind painter," who still paints beautiful
io8 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
pictures in words, which he dictates to an amanu-
ensis. His two drawings are " EHzabeth Castle,
Jersey, from the Rocks," and " Botham Mill, near
Retford." They were exhibited in the Water-Colour
room.
Fenn, who became an author because he was
deprived of the power of expressing his ideas with
the pencil, not only wrote the charming stories em-
bodied in his "Blind Man's Holiday," and "'Twixt
the Lights," &c., but also several pleasant biog-
raphies of his brother artists ; among them one of
myself He has made such a flattering picture of
me that I cannot help feeling it is less like what I
am than what I should like to be, which I can only
account for by the fact that my dear Fenn has never
seen me ; or if he has, it was when the light was
fading. Many a time have I sat by his side at the
Arts Club, and as many a time have had pleasant
chat ; and consequently his good heart has no
doubt conjured up a more agreeable picture than
it would have been had his pen been guided by
his eyesight.
G. A. STOREY, BY HIMSELF.
XVII
EARLY WORKS
IN the previous chapter I alluded to two of my
pictures painted in the fifties, which were ex-
hibited in a well-known gallery in King Street, St.
James's, namely, "The Bride's Burial," and "The
Annunciation." I called there with a friend to see
109
no SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
them, but was informed by the poHte dealer that
they were both sold. Thinking to improve the
golden opportunity, I asked that polite dealer if he
would like to have any more of my pictures, since
he had been so successful with these.
"Yes," said he, with a little hesitation, "but
they must be early works''
Is there, then, a particular charm about our
"early works" that our later performances do not
possess } Or has time mellowed them down just
as it does a good vintage of port ? Or are there
certain conditions connected with "early works"
which cause them to be interesting? The painter
is in the spring-time of life, with few cares and
anxieties, full of hope and ambition, and most pro-
bably in love, and if he paints from his heart, as
true painters do, he must needs put sentiment and
even love into his work ; and unless blinded by
vanity, he looks with reverence and delight at the
achievements of those who have gfone before him,
and whose names seem like magic words that fire
him with enthusiasm, and with the hope that one
day his name too may be written in history. Now,
whether my name will ever be written in history or
whether it will be rubbed out from the scroll of
painters, I must leave an open question — I would
rather not inquire too much. But that I was, when
I painted my "early works," full of hope and am-
bition, I will not deny, and also that I painted from
my heart and took the greatest delight in the
achievements of those whose names have come
down to us surrounded by a nimbus.
EARLY WORKS in
I attribute much of the pleasure 1 took in the
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THE WIDOWED BRIDE — AN EARLY WORK.
works of the great masters to the guidance of Leshe.
A devoted admirer of them himself, he made me
112 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
share his enthusiasm, although it was an enthusiasm
so quietly and gently expressed. The charm of
colour and composition held me spell-bound, and I
have often said to myself, if I could only produce
a beautiful piece of colour, and a perfect composition
of lines and masses, I should be satisfied. The works
of Raphael had a strange fascination for me, for, at
all events, here was the perfect composition of line
if not the finest note of colour, and a certain purity
and even divinity of expression that I have seldom
seen in other painters. Hence my first picture, if
we leave out of account the "ugly group," was
"A Madonna and Child," certainly a fitting subject
for any artist's first picture, whether we consider it
as an offering to the Church, which in the old days
was the great patron of art, or whether as a tribute
to nature herself, the fair mother of art.
This was followed in the next year by another
devotional subject, "The Holy Family," and also
by a most ambitious composition in pen and ink of
" The Creed," beginning with God the Father and
the Creation, and finishing with the Last Judgment,
all included in one design in which were many
hundreds of figures. But unfortunately these lofty
themes were not attractive to ordinary purchasers,
and I had to consider that I had taken up art as a
business, and not as an accomplishment or pastime,
nor was I a well-to-do amateur who could afford to
paint for the honour and glory of the thing only.
So I modestly descended from these flights and
depicted "A Fair Musician," "The Maid of the
EARLY WORKS
1 1
\^
Mill," " Pet Dogs," and portraits of mammas and
babies and such things, that brought in a little
return, though not much.
But still I longed to paint poetical things and
beautiful things, and hence many of my early works
may have that tendency, though there was generally
a sadness about the subjects, and perhaps too many
shortcomings in their execution, which prevented
their success. I am afraid also that my years of
studentship were ^^
not sufficiently de-
voted to study in
the schools, but
rather to the more
agreeable occupa-
tion of painting
pictures under the
paternal roof,
where I had not
to think where my
daily bread was to
come from, or to
fear sleeping out in the cold for want of a lodging.
I must confess, also, to being somewhat divided
in my affections between painting and the Muse, and
my dear mother has often reproved me for sitting
up late at night writing poetry, not only tiring
my eyes and my brain, but wasting her candles.
Perhaps I had certain private and personal reasons
for writino- love sonnets and woeful ballads, since
"every one becomes a poet as soon as he is touched
}i
love's follv.
114 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
by love," and there may have been a certain con-
solation in imagining myself " as a nightingale who
t
T \V
1 /
M ■
Z;-s^
■^^*^^^Sf0^^Jr-
!J^^
'^'^
LKSSONS OF LOVE.
sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude
with sweet sounds,"
EARLY WORKS 115
But speaking more generally, it must surely be
to the advantage of the painter to have an ideal,
which he fosters and flatters and shapes into a per-
fect imaofe that he strives to realise in his work.
The teachings of art schools are as nothing com-
pared to the lessons of love. The soft expression,
the endearing forms that the artist depicts, come
from that mistress alone, and all that resembles,
harmonises with, and glorifies his ideal, is eagerly
seized upon and portrayed with earnestness and
truth. Thus love leads him to contemplate and
desire the beautiful, and to seek it not only in art
but in nature. Michael Angelo tells us in one of
his madrigals —
" Per fido essempio alia mia vocazione
Nascendo mi fu data la bellezza."
" I have a faithful guide in my loved labour,
One that is born in me, a sentiment
Which never errs, but knows the Beautiful,
And is both lamp and mirror to my art.
'Tis by this gift that I uprise in thought,
And view the grand ideal that I strive
In Painting and in Sculpture to depict."
I could quote many more passages from Michael
Angelo's poems in the same vein, for it has been
my great pleasure at quiet times to turn many of his
sonnets and madrigals into English ; but I will only
add the remarks of the prophetess Diotima, who, in
her discourse to Socrates on love, says —
" He who aspires to love rightly ought from his earliest
youth to seek an intercourse with beautiful forms, and first
ii6 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
to make a single form the object of his love, and therein to
generate intellectual excellencies. He ought then to consider
that beauty, in whatever form it resides, is the brother of that
beauty which subsists in another form ; and if he ought to
pursue that which is beautiful in form, it would be absurd
to imagine that beauty is not one and the same thing in all
forms, and would therefore remit much of his ardent prefer-
ence towards one, through his perception of the multitude of
claims upon his love."
And she further goes on to say —
" Such a life as this, my dear Socrates, spent in the con-
templation of the beautiful, is the life for men to live." —
Shelley's Translation of ^* The Banquet. ^^
With such ideas as these budding in the young
painter's mind, he is apt to look forward to achieve-
ments for which he is not fully equipped, and to
attempt that which only the great ones before him
have mastered. He is not thinking of the practical
picture-buyer, but is lost in a dream of ambition, of
hope crowned with success, and of the delight of
generating beauty ; so that it is not unlikely that
there is a charm from these causes in the early work
of a true artist, which is absent when, in after years,
he finds that the world takes a very different view of
his productions to that which fascinated his mind's
eye when he thought himself on the threshold of
fame. He sees that that same world is not at all
startled or astonished by his efforts, and that his
dream of fame has dissolved into a mist, his castles
in the air have come tumbling down one after an-
EARLY WORKS
117
other, and oh ! humiHating thought ! that perhaps
his early works were chiefly prized by that polite
THE BRIDE'S BURIAL.
picture-dealer on account of the extremely low price
at which he purchased them, and the decent profit
he made upon them.
ii8 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
It is, however, but fair, both to the critics and
myself, to quote here certain press opinions of these
"early works," which were published at the time
of their exhibition a year or two ago ; because they
are at the same time a sequence to and perhaps a
corroboration of the foregoing remarks on a young
man's work, especially as they help my story in a
way that I could not do myself One paper. Public
Opinion, says —
" Two Pre-Raphaelite pictures by Storey when he was
in his twenty-first year come as revelations. They are
delightful in colour, rich and voluptuous, and excellent in
sentiment."
The Daily News says—
" But more interesting are some very early works by
G. A. Storey, A.R.A., which show that this artist was once
amongst the disciples of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood.
The pictures here resemble somewhat in strength and bril-
liancy of colour some of the first works of Millais. One
called " hispiration " (The Annunciation), a devotional
subject, has remarkable touches of beauty of a quaintly
archaic kind."
And the Morning Post says —
" Among the modern pictures are two by Mr. G. A.
Storey, probably the best he has ever painted, 'Juliet' and
' Inspiration,' works remarkable for beauty of colour, poetic
grace of design, and general deftness of execution."
However, these works did not sell till years
afterwards, at very reduced prices, and for a long
time I was most unsuccessful, so much so that I
EARLY WORKS 119
again wept in words, and, like Shelley's nightingale,
sat and sang in darkness —
" My young companions run before me fast,
Full of success they turn their faces back,
And seem to wonder that I should be last
To follow in their track."
EDWARD CRESSY.
These "young companions" were "the St.
John's Wood C\\([uc," as it was called, and consisted
of Caldcron, Marks, George Leslie, Hodgson,
I20 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
Yeames, and Wynfield, besides myself; and ot these
I shall have occasion to speak by-and-by. They
took a more practical view of art than I did, and no
doubt deplored that I should give way to melancholy
and conceive such subjects as the "Closed House,"
an incident in the Great Plague of London, "A
Song of the Past," "The Widowed Bride,"and "The
Bride's Burial." But in addition to these I painted
a good many portraits, over a hundred, among them
one of myself at the age of nineteen, which is at
the beginning of this chapter, and one of Edward
Cressy, a learned man and delightful companion,
which is on page 119. He was an architect by
profession, nor was there any subject in science,
art, or literature that he was not conversant with ;
and yet his chief occupation was to inspect and to
report upon the main drainage of London to the
Board of Works, which made him say that he lived
in the bowels of the earth. He was the first to
advise Sir Henry Doulton to introduce the art
element into his pottery, who, more out of friend-
ship than with any expectation of business arising
from it, had a mediaeval salt-cellar, lent by H. S.
Marks, R.A., reproduced. This was followed by
other experiments, more or less successful, until at
length they developed into the magnificent art
pottery works of Doulton & Co., which in a certain
sense may be said to be the outcome of Edward
Cressy's suggestion.
SKETCH FROM THE PICTURE BY VELASQUEZ IN MADRID.
XVIII
SPAIN
IT used to be said some thirty or forty years ago
that every one who went to Spain wrote a
book about it. And there is something so strange,
122 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
so novel, and so romantic in this old country, that
there really seems every excuse for doing so.
When I went there in 1862, it seemed to me
that I had not only entered a land that was totally
different from anything I had seen before, but that
I had gone back in time some two hundred years,
and that the ways of the people with whom I was
living were not as our ways, but belonged rather
to some remote period, when it was a common
thinor to see the oxen treading^ out the corn, a
sight I actually witnessed in my journey from
Bayonne to Madrid.
Most of the books on Spain that I have read
are either descriptive of its scenery, its buildings,
or the outer aspect of its people, with notes on its
history, its art, its romance, &c., which are in many
cases excellent guide-books, and among them none
more excellent than that by Mr. Richard Ford
(1847). B^it they do not, like " Don Quixote" or the
" History of Gil Bias," make you intimate with the
people themselves, with their thoughts, their friend-
ships, their virtues and their follies, their strength
and their weakness, and, I may add, the delightful
side of their character, which you can only find
out by living with them and being in sympathy
with them.
As soon as I entered Spain, and long before
I could understand many words of its language, I
was dubbed " Seiior Don Adolfo," and I felt I
had come amone friends whom I could trust, whose
society I could enjoy, whose hearts certainly were
SPAIN 123
good, whatever may have been the deficiencies
about their heads.
Although, of course, I met with many clever
and intelligent Spaniards, true descendants of Cer-
vantes and Velasquez, still, perhaps, on the whole,
the description which my little friend Ramoncito
gave me of his countrymen, as contrasted with the
French, seems to be pretty correct. " Los Fran-
ceses," said he, " tienen mucho cabeza pero muy
poco corazon : los Espafioles tienen poco cabeza
pero mucho corazon." (The French have much
brain but little heart : the Spaniards, not much
brain, but very much heart.)
It may be imagined, then, that my visit to Spain
was one of those pleasant episodes in my life which
I cannot forget, and which I am only too glad to
recall, and to pass through again in these " Sketches
from Memory."
As I had an uncle living in Madrid who had
made it his home, his mtmdo, as he called it, for
more than thirty years, and was acquainted with
all the Dons of the capital, from royalty down-
wards, I was soon introduced by him to many dis-
tinguished caballeros. I was also made a member
of the one club there, " II Casino del Principe,"
where I made many other friends, both English
and Spanish. So that, instead of being a mere
sightseer or tourist, a stranger in the land, passing
through it with my " Murray's Guide" for my only
friend, I was at once introduced to the people
themselves ; and being, as 1 have already stated,
124 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
a cosmopolitan, I was soon almost as much at
home in Spain as in England, and felt it quite as
natural to be called " Seiior Adolfo " as Mr. Storey.
I regret much that instead of hurrying on to
Madrid, as I was obliged to do, I did not have
more time to linger over the grand scenery of the
Pyrenees, and to make acquaintance with the brave
Basques.
As I passed through the north of Spain by
diligence (the railway to Madrid was not com-
pleted), I was much struck by the beauty of the
country, which seemed to have as many shrubs
and wild flowers about it as we find in England.
Groups of picturesque villagers sat in the shade of
the trees, laughing and playing the guitar, whilst
others danced in the evening sun. The Basque
girls, with long plaits down their backs, their rich-
coloured dresses, and their glowing faces, are parti-
cularly charming ; and I felt that I had come to
a land where hundreds of pictures were already
composed for me, and all I had to do was to
copy them, expecting that the farther I went the
more rich would be the supply. But, alas ! the
expected seldom comes to pass.
The first thing that struck me about the Spaniards
was a mixture of dignity and simplicity, and about
the young women an almost childishness, which,
however, was very agreeable. In the interior of
the diligence, among my fellow-travellers, were two
pretty young ladies, about seventeen and nineteen
respectively, who amused themselves during the
SPAIN 125
journey by spinning a small spring humming-top
in their hands. When one got tired of the toy
her sister took it up and went on spinning it, even
without looking at it, as though she were doing
some fancy work, and seemed to have an idea that
it passed the time more pleasantly than sitting still
doine nothinor. But it amused me to see them
taking their turns. So did their beautiful language,
which I did not understand, but which I could
imagine had been invented for the purpose of pro-
ducing rich and musical sounds, and for making
their mouths form themselves into lovely shapes.
Now and then they laughed heartily, and their
father, a military-looking man, appeared to upbraid
them for their childishness. But they laughed all
the more, and handed him the top, as much as to
say he was jealous, and wanted to play with it
himself; but he put it back with a dignified air and
lighted a fresh cigar. He was extremely polite to
me, so also was another passenger, who had wrapped
his head up in several red pocket-handkerchiefs,
and looked very like a brown old mummy. Our
conversation, if I may call it so, was carried on by
signs and nods, with a little French here, a little
Spanish there, and a few English words mixed in ;
the most fatiguing part of it was keeping up a smile.
When we arrived at San Sebastian I tried to
make them understand that I appreciated their con-
sideration for a stranger in an unknown land.
I was to have come out with an English Iriend,
whose business as an engineer on the Spanish
126 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
irrigation works made him well acquainted with
the country and the language. But he had been
prevented at the last moment from accompanying
me, and I was wondering how I should get on,
and longing to meet with either a Brown, a Jones,
or a Robinson, when a thorough Englishman, with
rosy face and sandy whiskers, got down from the
co7ipd of the diligence and asked if he could be
of any assistance to me, as he could see I was
a fellow-countryman. Of course I was delighted,
and still more tickled when one of the porters of
the inn addressed him as " Senor Robinson." I
really had then met one of the immortal trio.
Of San Sebastian, the scene of many a desperate
fight between the French and English during the
Peninsular War, I can say but little. It is at the
foot of the Pyrenees, and surrounded by fine scenery.
Here we dined, my first Spanish dinner, which I
did not at all dislike, notwithstanding the abuse of
Spanish cooking that I had heard so much of from
the believers in roast beef pure and simple. We
were waited on by pretty Basque girls ; so what
with the novelty, and the fact that I had met a
" Robinson," and being very hungry, I much enjoyed
my Spanish dinner cooked in oil. The two pretty
girls, and my other travelling companions, also dined
at the table-dltSte, and then I discovered that the
individual whose head was wrapped up in red
pocket-handkerchiefs and looked very brown, and
whom I took for a man, was their mother !
Thirteen hours' more travelling by diligence
SPAIN
127
brought us to the railway station at Burgos, but, as
it was three o'clock in the morning and quite dark,
I have no recollection of it. The rest of the night,
and nearly all the next day, we passed in the slow
railway train, traversing the dreary plateau of Cas-
tile. As I looked out of window, for hour after
hour I saw nothing but the same dead flat of dried-
BRIDGE AT TOLEDO.
up country, with here and there a bare granite rock
rising out of it. It was like being at sea on dry
land, except that it was very dusty. Now and then
we came upon a village of dazzling whiteness, the
houses with square black holes in them for windows,
but no glass, sometimes just a mat hung over them
to keep out the sun or the wind. But not a flower
128 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
nor a leaf, not a tree nor a blade of grass, for nearly
three hundred miles. Where were my pictures?
where was the rich colour and the joyousness that I
had seen near San Sebastian ? And I could scarcely
refrain from saying with Touchstone : " Ay, now
am I " (in Spain) ; " the more fool I ; when I was
at home I was in a better place, but travellers must
be content."
PHILIP IV. (AFTER VELASQUEZ)
XIX
MADRID
TV /r Y recollections of Madrid are not altogether
^^ ^ flattering to the capital (jf Spain, "the only-
Court on earth." A dull still atmosphere pervaded
the place ; there was a laziness about the people,
I
129
ijo SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
both mental and physical, which was marked in the
slowness of their walk. No one seemed inclined to
do anything except smoke cigarettes — all business
was put off till to-morrow, manana. Intrigue and
place-hunting were the occupations of the better (?)
classes ; the bull-ring was the delight of the mob.
The women, though graceful, were not beautiful,
and I was surprised to see so many who had rather
a fair German type than the rich dark eyes and
complexions of the girls of Andalusia, though the
fact of their wearing veils, instead of the ugly bonnets
then in vogue in England and France, added greatly
to their charm, and their usino- fans to shield their
faces from the sun, instead of parasols, was another
addition to their fascinations. The city itself did
not strike me as particularly beautiful, nor even
quaint ; but still there was one thing which made
amends for all its other shortcomings, and that
was, and is, the magnificent picture-gallery, which
is second to none in the world.
I had not been many hours in Madrid before I
visited it. The Museo on the Prado is not a very
prepossessing structure, and like everything Spanish,
requires to be known a little and understood very
much before you can thoroughly appreciate and
enjoy it. But whatever the outside of this Museo
may be, the inside is full of treasures. The splendid
array of pictures by Titian, Paul Veronese, Rubens,
Tintoret, and others, is enough to satisfy the most
greedy eye for colour ; and the grand works by
Velasquez are alone worth a pilgrimage to the city
MADRID 131
in the desert. And yet, strange to say, when I first
saw the latter I felt a disappointment that I can
hardly describe, and that I should have been ashamed
perhaps to confess, were it not that it was quite
natural. They appeared cold and severe by the
side of the glowing and voluptuous colouring of the
masters just named, and it was only by degrees that
I got to understand and admire them. And then each
day I learnt to understand and admire them more,
especially as I sat in front of them trying to translate
them into water-colour sketches, of which I made
a good number. Besides, I had just come from
England with certain Pre-Raphaelite tendencies and
the new school more or less on the brain, and was
not prepared at once to appreciate the grand sweep
of the brush which expressed in a touch all that the
" minutists" expressed in laborious stippling.
I passed many a day in the Museo sketching
from the pictures. I began with the "Bacchanal"
by Titian, attracted to it by its beautiful colour.
It is a companion picture to the " Bacchus and
Ariadne " in our National Gallery. While at work
on it I kept looking at the " Meninas," or Maids of
Honour, in the same room, Velasquez' celebrated
picture that Luca Giordano called " the gospel of art,"
and that Sir David Wilkie said was like a Dutch
picture on a large scale. It is so well known that
I need not describe it more than to say it represents
thfi Infanta Margarita, with her maids of honour,
two dwarfs, a large dog, and the portrait of Velas-
quez himself standing at his easel, with the Red
132 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
Cross of Santiago on his breast, that was painted
by the King, who was himself an amateur artist.
John PhiHp was then at work on a portion of the
central group, the little Infanta, and a fine piece of
work it is, quite in the spirit of the master. It now
belongs to the Royal Academy. Strange to say, we
did not know each other then and didn't speak,
because there was no one to introduce us!! How
I regret it! I met him afterwards in London. He
said it was a question of which should speak first,
but I did not like to approach a Royal Academician.
Our modern critics may perhaps smile at the idea of
having so much respect for one of the body. He,
however, did not remain long in Madrid after my
arrival; but Edwin Long and J. B. Burgess appeared
upon the scene, and we spent many a pleasant even-
ing together. Long had wonderful facility in copying
the works of Velasquez, and his rapidity was extra-
ordinary, sometimes taking only three or four days to
a full-length portrait. These copies, and his sketches
of Spanish life, were among the best bits of painting
that he ever did, for he worked with a surprising
freedom which astonished the natives, who seemed
to go to sleep over their copying or to live in a
prolonged siesta.
Lieutenant-Colonel George Fitch, my mother's
only brother, had long been a resident in Madrid.
He had fought in the Seven Years' Civil War in
Spain and Portugal, and had many a story to tell of
his exploits and adventures. He knew every inch
of the "Puerto del Sol," the " Alcala," and the
MADRID 133
" Prado" ; had been in many an engagement in the
streets of the capital, as well as on the slopes of San
Sebastian and other places. He showed me several
marks on the walls and trees of Madrid which were
made by shots from cannon which he had directed,
one especially on a large old tree near the Prado,
which he called " Fitch's Mark." He was also one
of the chief movers in getting the English Govern-
ment to buy the acre of ground, about a mile outside
the town, which is now the British cemetery. So
bigoted were the Spaniards that formerly decent
burial was denied to Englishmen, whose "heretic
carcases " were supposed to pollute the soil of Spain ;
and even those English soldiers who, under Wel-
lington, fell in this country's cause, were allowed
no resting-place in it save in the sands of the sea-
shore.
It was many years since I had seen this thorough
old soldier, who, in aspect, was not altogether unlike
Von Moltke, nor did he seem to have any fear in
his composition. I somehow missed seeing him on
my arrival in the morning, but found him at the
club, the "Casino del Principe," in the evening.
Here he introduced me to several of his friends,
both Spanish and English, and afterwards we sat in
a corner of one of the gilded saloons and naturally
talked of family matters until it was time to go to
bed. He had taken some apartments for me in the
Calle de Leon, not far off, and eventually I was
made a temporary member of the Casino for the
three or four months that I remained in Madrid.
134 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
Here I learnt somewhat of the curious manners
and customs, morals and otherwise, of this strange
country, and formed some agreeable acquaintance-
ships that were useful to me. The colonel and I,
or Don Juan (pronounced Don Guon), as he was
frequently called, used to dine together at the Cafe
Europoea, partly for economy's sake, and partly
because we got a very good dinner there, and then
finished the evening at the club. A few days after
my arrival we were taking our accustomed meal at
the above-named restaurant, when we were hailed
from a far corner by a merry little Basque gentle-
man, an old general, who, like most Spaniards, was
full of heart — mucJio corazon. He invited us to dine
with him, and kept up a brief conversation right
across the dining-room, oblivious of the many people
present, who took not the slightest notice, as is their
polite custom. He wanted to know who I was, and
was informed that I was " un gran ritratista " ; just
arrived from " Inglaterra" ; the nephew of the
"Coronel"; that we would not intrude upon his
hospitality, as our own dinner was being served.
Eventually he came and took dessert at our table.
He was very animated, talking partly in English,
partly in French, and the rest in Spanish, so that I
managed to understand at least the drift of his con-
versation. Hearing that I was an artist, he said
that I must paint a picture of his little boy, and after
that a picture of his big boy, and after that his two
daughters, and then his wife and himself in a group.
Nor were my performances to end there. He would
MADRID 135
introduce me to the great Dons in Madrid, who
would all wish to be painted by me, and I was to
finish up with the Queen herself and the rest of the
royal family. Here indeed was fortune smiling at
last ; my mournful pictures of brides' burials and
incidents in the Plague of London were to be suc-
ceeded by hidalgos of Spain and personages of the
royal blood ; the career of Velasquez and Vandyke
was opened up before me ; I had only to work
and be happy. The General Don Jose de J. told
me to call upon him the next day, wrote down his
address, and then took leave of us.
When he had gone the Colonel shook his head
and smiled. He said Don Jose, whom he called
" Old Jack of Trumps," was a very old friend of his
and quite sincere, but I need not build castles in the
air from what he had said, and added, "As the
Duke of Wellington remarked — ' Two and two
make four in every other country but Spain.'"
The next morning I started off rather early to
call on Don Jose, thinking that the sooner business
was attended to the better. I went up to the second
floor, to the tlat indicated by the concierge, and
knocked several times without effect ; at length a
little wicket or grating about six inches square was
opened by a cross-looking old woman, with her head
tied up in a silk pocket-handkerchief. I inquired
for "General Don Jose de J." "Who.'^" said
she. I repeated the name. She said she did not
know him, he did not live there, and then closed
the little shutter, but not before 1 had noted two
136 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
other domestics, with their heads also tied up, sweep-
ing and dusting the apartments.
I went away rather disconcerted, and when I
told my uncle of my adventure he at first said I
must have mistaken the house or the flat, and
advised me to go back in the afternoon. " Besides,"
said he, "no one ever calls in the morning in
Madrid." So back I went, knocked at the same
door, which was immediately opened by a tidy little
maid. I asked for the General Don Jose de J.
"Oh yes, Sefior, he is at home," and I was ushered
into the drawing-room. I began to wonder how the
mistake of the morning had arisen, when in came
Don Jose leading a stately lady in black silk, whom
he introduced to me as Seilora de J., his wife.
They were followed by two pretty girls, young and
elegant, who bowed and smiled, and said a few
words of welcome ; but the General did most of the
talking. These were the daughters whose portraits
I was to paint by-and-by. But strange to say, 1
felt a slight confusion when I discovered that the
stately lady in black, now all smiles and affability,
was no other than the cross old woman who had
opened the wicket to me in the morning, and the
two elegant young ladies were the two supposed
domestics whom I had seen dusting the furniture.
And why should they not, and still be as pretty
and sweet, nay, sweeter.^ But in Spain, though
poverty is everywhere and in every class, it must
not stand confessed, it must be hidden under a cloak
or a mantilla. Often as you pass along the streets
MADRID 137
in the evening, ladies, judging from their voices and
their elegance, come up to you and beg for some
assistance in their sorrow. They do not make a
long story like our professional beggars, but the
little hand, sometimes gloved, is held out, and more
often than not a small coin is dropped into it.
Don Jose's little boy, with whom I was to begin
my long list of portraits, was a pale-faced unin-
teresting child, and I am glad to say that I entirely
forget what my picture was like. I painted it at
the house, and soon got on friendly terms with the
" cross old woman," who turned out to be very
amiable, and also the two young ladies, whose
portraits, however, I did not paint, for they told
their papa that they were sure they would never
be able to sit still enough. As to the young man,
he had no time to spare, nor any patience, and
Senora was not inclined to have herself portrayed
now the bloom of youth was no longer upon her.
As to Don Jose himself, he confessed he would
have sat had the others consented, indeed, he would
not have minded forming part of a group ; but alone
he did not consider himself good enough to be
made a picture of. All that I could say was that
I felt the various objections were unanswerable.
The fact is, that in Spain " the text is not
always to be taken as it says " ; many fair promises
are made out of mere politeness, which, on the
other hand, it is polite not to expect to be fulfilled.
An Englishman does not understand this at first,
and often makes amusing mistakes in consequence.
138 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
Perhaps, and it only struck me afterwards, Don
Jose did not really want a portrait of his little
boy even, and that out of politeness I ought to
have said that my engagements at the Museum
in copying Velasquez would prevent me doing it
at present. And this was rather forced upon my
mind by the strange way in which the General set
about paying for it. The price was ^10, not much,
one would think, for a General living in Madrid,
with a large estate in Bilbao. However, nothing
was said about payment, of course, and as I went
to the club every evening, I saw Don Jose con-
stantly, but he never saw me. He went straight
to the tables where they were playing " Trente et
quarante," staked a goodly pile of duros, which
were regularly swept up by the croupier night after
night, and then he hurried out of the place. I
watched this proceeding for several evenings, and
saw piles of silver coin swept away that would more
than have paid his small debt to me. Of course I
guessed his object, and had half a mind to go up
to him and tell him that if he were risking all this
for me not to do so any more ; but the Colonel
shook his head, and told me I did not understand
the Spaniards. At the end of four or five even-
ings the little General came up to me in the most
amiable humour, and said he had been looking
for me to say how delighted he was with his
boy's portrait, and put ^10 into my hand, adding
that for several nights he had been trying to win
the money to pay for it, but that fate would not
MADRID 139
have it so, luck went against him, and he felt it
would continue to do so until he had paid his
debt.
No doubt there is a good deal of superstition
among the Spanish gamblers, some even going so
far as to think the Almiorhtv takes an interest in
the play of those who call in His assistance. I
remember one elderly gentleman, of a staid and
serious countenance, who used always, on entering
the card-room, to go up to a corner and say a short
prayer in his hat before he risked his duros and his
ofold onzas.
Upon another occasion the play was in full
swing, the table covered with silver and gold, the
banker just exclaiming, " Couleur gagne," when a
little tinkling bell was heard in the street below ;
a procession of priests and acolytes was passing on
its way to administer the last sacrament to a dying
man. In an instant every voice was hushed, and
every one in the room was on his knees. The
sound of a dull chant, mingled with the fumes of
incense, rose amid the dead silence that for a
minute or two reigned round the gambling table,
and not until it had entirely died away did any
one rise or attempt to resume the game. I was
naturally impressed by this scene, although an
English friend kneeling by my side scoffed at it.
I said, " Why do you kneel ? "
"Because," said he, "I should have a dagger
into me if I did n<jt."
At what stage faith becomes superstition I do
I40 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
not know, nor how far a forgetfulness of religious
and Christian duties goes against the luck of the
player at the tables ; but certain it is that these
thines have a sort of connection in the minds of
some of the Spanish gentlemen who frequent the
Casino del Principe. My uncle and I were leaving
the club one night in company with a man who had
won a considerable sum, when a beggar woman
accosted him at the door. He was for a long time
diving into his pockets among the onzas, duros, and
pesetas, to find the smallest coin of all, namely, a
real, worth twopence-halfpenny, which he gave her,
ostensibly in the name of charity, but in reality
because he believed it to be unlucky for a winner
to pass a beggar without giving something.
XX
SPANISH INTERIORS
M
ANY things, even in Madrid,
" the only Court," made me feel
that I was living about two hundred
years ago instead of in the nine-
teenth century. There was much
that was primitive, very primitive, in
the domestic arrangements of the
house where my uncle and I had
taken up our abode ; but since they
were of that nature which English
reticence bids us ignore, I leave them
only thus dimly suggested as part of
the background to my picture.
My apartments consisted of a
small drawinsf-room with marble
floor of the old chessboard-pattern,
walls and ceiling of what appeared
to be white china highly glazed,
and a little bedroom or alcove shut
off from it by glass doors hung with
gauze curtains. The furniture was
dainty, a white sofa covered with
red silk and
chairs to match, the table, sideboard, curtains, &c.,
142 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
in keeping with the rest. There was a window
with a balcony looking on to the street, which was
in a good situation, for just opposite was the house
in which the oreat Cervantes is said to have been
born, although his real birthplace is Alcala de Her-
nares. I had a little entrance-passage with an outer
leather door to keep out the noise of the house,
and altogether, as my uncle said, I was lodged like
a gentleman, and need have no compunction in
inviting any of the Dons of Madrid to visit me.
On my arrival I was received by the old lady of
the house, Seiiora Maria, and her two daughters, one
a very young, fat, fair, and rather pretty girl, and
the other dark, rather older, and rather prettier ;
they were both graceful, easy in their manners, and
very cheerful. Besides these were Gregoria, the
servant, and one or two lodgers, who all crowded
into my small room, all talking at once. I could not
understand a word, but I could see by their looks
and gestures that I was the subject of their conver-
sation. When I asked my uncle for an explanation,
he said, "They are all anxious to make you happy
and comfortable, and are squabbling as to the part
that each is to take in doing so. They also want to
know all about you, how old you are, whether you
are rich like most Englishmen, how long you are
going to stay ? Am I glad to see you .'* When did
I see you last ? Do you like Spain ? Have you
come a long way, and are all Englishmen like you?
Are you well or an invalid ? Are you a doctor ?
Are you married ? "
SPANISH INTERIORS 143
I made some sort of answer to each of these
questions, which my uncle translated to them, with
no doubt some little additions of his own, for every
now and then there was a round of laughter. Then
it was : " He must see the Prado, and the Puerta
del Sol, and the Museo, and the Retiro, and the
Palace, and the bull-fight, and the senoritas, and
learn Spanish, and go to the dance, and be de-
lighted."
When my uncle informed them that I was not
a doctor but an artist, tin retratista, they all ex-
claimed, "Oh, he must take my portrait;" and "I
will sit," said the old lady, "if Senor Adolfo wants
an old woman."
"And I," said IManuela, "if he wants a young
one."
"And I," said Gregoria, "if he wants a ser-
vant."
Gregoria was a pretty girl, as neat and clean as
could be desired, but she must have been in the
middle of her domestic duties when I rang the bell,
for without waiting to deposit a certain article which
she was carrying back to one of the rooms, she
opened the door to me with it in her hand. Of
course I was surprised, but I had been told that in
Spain I must expect to be surprised. However,
when she offered to sit to me for her portrait, I
could not help saying to Don Juan, "Would she
like me to sketch her just as she is?" At this
question all eyes were turned towards her, and
she too, looking down to survey herself, suddenly
144 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
became conscious of her forgetfulness, and rushed
screaming out of the room.
I was questioned very artfully by Senora as to
what sort of beauty I admired the most, to which I
could only reply that the Spanish type, especially
the dark-eyed Andaluce, had a particular fascination
for me. At the termination of this interview I
thanked them for all their kindness, and said I
hoped I should soon be able to speak to them in
their own beautiful language, without the aid of an
interpreter. At this they clapped their hands and
said they would teach me, and furthermore, I should
make as many pictures of them as I liked.
For several days after this I was amused and
instructed at the same time. Either the mother or
one of the daughters would come into my apartment
with a feather broom to dust and arrange the furni-
ture, making signs, pointing to the various objects,
and trying to make me understand her ; teaching
me the Spanish name of each thing as she came to
it, which I had to repeat. Pointing to the chairs,
she would say "las sillas," to the window, "la ven-
tana," to the door, "la puerta," and so on all round
the room. So great was their desire for me to learn,
that for several days I was never free from one or
the other, including the brother and the servant-
maid. If I wanted to write home, one of them
would pull the paper away and say "papel," or
move the ink-bottle to the other side of the table,
saying "tinta," or take my pen out of my hand and
say " pluma." All very instructive, no doubt, and
SPANISH INTERIORS 145
perhaps the easiest way of picking up a language ;
still, now and then a little embarrassing.
But with all this naivete and apparent simplicity
there was a certain cunning and duplicity that rather
astonished me. I soon picked up enough Spanish
to understand the drift of a conversation, and while
lying on my sofa I sometimes found myself an eaves-
dropper without intending it. Old Maria and the
people of the house, thinking that I did not under-
stand a word, would sometimes talk upon the most
private matters in my presence, and thus make me
acquainted with many more phases of life and char-
acter than I should have learnt by knowing the
language thoroughly. Not that they would have
minded, for I told them one day, with as much
Spanish as I could muster, that I was now begin-
ning to know enough of their language to understand
what they were talking about, and that if they had
any secrets they did not wish Seiior Adolfo to know
they had better not tell them before him — not that
he would for a moment betray them. They were
not displeased with this avowal ; but, on the con-
trary, seemed delighted that I was beginning to
understand and to talk so well, and for anything
that might seem strange to English ears they
excused themselves by saying that it was human
nature. I had several conversations with the old
lady, especially when I was kept a prisoner in the
house by my enemy, the ague. The ingenious
manner in which nearly every vice was palliated
showed that however strong the faith, the moral
K
146 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
training was elastic. Poverty had to bear the blame
of much doubtful proceeding, and the great question
often lay between the choice of two evils, a "fat
sorrow and a lean one"!
THE STORY OF LISETA.
She told me a very affecting story about a poor
girl named Liseta, who had been deceived by a
caballero who passed himself off as having great
wealth, and professed great love for her. As she
was very pretty, there may have been a certain
amount of truth about his passing affection, which
could not have been real love. She, on the other
hand, was very poor ; so was her mother. Her
father, who had been an officer in the army, was
dead, and these two had to battle with the world,
and though ladies born, had to live in the meanest
apartment and on the scantiest pittance. I need
not enter into the arguments, for and against, that
were made use of before the fatal step was taken ;
suffice it to say that the fat sorrow was chosen
rather than the lean one, and that for a short time
these ladies lived in a beautiful house and on the
best of everything. Suddenly the caballero disap-
peared from the scene ; for days nothing was seen or
heard of him. Had he been assassinated by some
jealous rival } Impossible ! the sweet Liseta had no
other lover, all her affection was given to this one.
Oh, how cruel is fate ! And he, what was he .-* A
mere adventurer, a prodigal son who had been
SPANISH INTERIORS 147
entrusted with certain sums with which to transact
business for his father, and had spent it all in plea-
sure ; and not only that, but had incurred debts on
all sides, and had escaped from Madrid with the
officers of justice in pursuit. The fine house the
unfortunate women were living in was not paid for,
and they were turned out into the street worse
beggars than they were before. The mother soon
died of grief and remorse, bitterly reproaching her-
self for listening to the voice of the tempter and the
pernicious arguments in favour of a fat sorrow.
" God," said she, " will never forgive me ; but do
you, Liseta, forgive your wicked mother ! "
Liseta beofgred of her mother not to add to her
grief by such speeches, and as she knelt by her bed-
side she said, " If God can listen to the prayers of
such a tainted wretch as I, He will forgive us both."
The mother died soon after this, and poor Liseta
was left entirely alone, and what she did I do not
know. She had been seen occasionally on the
Prado in the company of an old duenna, and well
dressed ; but suddenly she, too, disappeared. One
of her acquaintances, anxious to know what had
become of her, went to her lodorino- and found her
almost in rags. She was in the poorest dress
imaginable.
"How is this?" said her friend. The girl
pointed to a number of candles and a wreath of
immortelles that she had just made, and said —
" Oh ! what a kind Providence to send you to
me now ! r(j-morrow, you know, is All Saints' Day,
148
SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
when we visit the graves of those we love and pray
for their souls. To-morrow, then, come and fetch
these candles and this wreath, go to my mother's
grave, light all the candles, and place this wreath
LISETA.
on it ; pray there, and do not leave till the candles
are burnt out. I know you will do this for me."
"Poor Liseta ! " said the other, "I will do as
you wish. But first you must tell me why you do
not go yourself on this errand of love."
"Oh that I could!" said Liseta; "but look at
these rags— how can I disgrace my mother by going
SPANISH INTERIORS 149
to her grave in this phght ? " and she buried her
face in her hands as she knelt on the floor, the true
picture of a Magdalen.
" But where is your fine dress and your veil, that
you were wearing not many days ago ? "
"There," said she, pointing to the candles and
the wreath, " I sold them to buy these things for
my mother, that she may know I do not forget her.
To die and to rest by her side is all that is now left
in this cruel world for me to wish for."
^1
m
^1
SKETCHED FROM THE PICTURE BY VELASQUEZ.
XXI
EL CASINO DEL PRINCIPE
np H E casino was a fine club occupying a suite
■^ of handsome saloons extending half-way down
the Carrera San Jeronimo, one of the principal
'5°
EL CASINO DEL PRINCIPE 151
streets in Madrid. It was furnished most luxuriously,
and decorated in the florid French style, with chan-
deliers, mirrors, and all the extravagance of velvet
and silk, marble and gold.
It was the one club where you met all the
dons, dukes, marquises, ministers, ambassadors,
members of the different foreign legations, &c.,
&c., &c. To be in Madrid and not to belongf to the
Casino del Principe was to be out of it, out of the
world, out of everything, for this was the centre
of its life, its juntas, its plots, its intellect, nay, even
its passions.
As you sat on one of its velvet couches smoking
your breva you saw pass before you a procession
of human life, and if you had a knowing friend by
your side, he would perhaps tell you many a secret
history that would surprise you. Here is a little
gentleman, good-looking, young, well-dressed, but
apparently empty-headed. He comes to the club
regularly at a certain hour, goes straight to the
billiard-table, loses every game he plays, and leaves
precisely as the clock strikes twelve. Why does
he always lose .-^ Why are his hours so regular.-^
And why may I not answer these questions ? My
friend tells me he is a place-hunter with a pretty
wife.
Here is Checa, the jovial doctor, jovial when
he is not thinking of play, with his hat at the back
of his head, his body thrown back in his chair,
discoursing in his splendid language and with great
animation on " el situacion." And there is friend
152 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
Moreno Beiiitez pacing the carpeted floor in earnest
conversation with a Minister or with a member of
a secret junta. Over yonder is Mr. Brackenbury,
of the British Legation, talking to Higginson, an
Irish encrineer who is enofaofed with Hiesfins on
some important irrigation works very necessary to
dried-up Spain. There is old Jack of Trumps and
the Colonel, being bored by a man with a martin-
gale, with which he expects to win all the money
on the tables if he can only get sufficient capital
to start with ; and over in that corner, sitting close
to a marble column, is an old gentleman telling some
pitiful tale to the bystanders. Let us go and listen
to him for a minute or two.
" Yes, sir, I always thought her the most honest
woman in the world, and could have trusted her
with all my belongings — in fact, I did. Never was
any one more attentive. I am an old bachelor, and
depended entirely upon her for all my little comforts.
When I went home from the Casino — rather late,
as you know, gentlemen — there was my lamp burn-
ing, my slippers and dressing-gown placed ready
for me, and perhaps a bunch of grapes to cool my
palate with ; everything thought of and attended
to. And when I awoke in the morning I had but
to put out my hand, and there was my cup of
chocolate, my bizcoches and vaso de agtia, which I
took, and then dozed off again till I felt inclined
to get up. I rang for hot water, and everything
appeared like magic. My toilet over, I had but to
open the door of my room leading into the dining-
EL CASINO DEL PRINCIPE 153
room, and I found a sumptuous breakfast ready for
me ; never was anything more perfect. Her kind-
ness was beyond everything, her faithfulness un-
doubted. She had been with me for four or five
years, and I had learnt to look upon her as almost
part of my existence. She was, though not very
young, a decent-looking woman, with no vices that
I could ever discern.
" Well, gentlemen, the other morning, on awak-
ing I put out my hand as usual ; there was my choco-
late, my bizcoches, my vaso de agica, everything as
usual. I struck my bell for hot water — no answer.
I struck it aofain — no answer. She is out on some
errand, thought 1. I waited, rang again — still no
answer. So unusual a circumstance made me feel
anxious ; I went into the breakfast-room, and —
imagine my surprise, when I discovered it was
empty ! denuded of everything ! not a stick, not a
chair, nor a table, nor a curtain, nor a rug ! Nothing !
I went into the drawing-room — it was as empty as
the other ; not a carpet on the tloor, not a picture
on the wall, the whole place cleared as completely
as a swarm of locusts clears the plain. I went
through the house even to the kitchen — every pot
and pan, plate and dish, spoon and fork, — gone!
What did it mean ? I went down to the porter's
lodge, and I said to the concierge, without betray-
ing my emotion —
" ' At what time was my furniture moved away } '
"' Oh, quite early,' said he; 'between five and
seven o'clock, seiior. The seiiora had three or
154 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
four porters, who were enjoined to do their work as
quietly as possible so as not to disturb el senor,
who, when he woke up, would find that all his things
had been moved to his new house, where he would
follow at eleven o'clock and find his breakfast ready
for him, and then while breakfasting, the contents
of his alcova would be removed without any trouble.
You see, seiior, she has managed the whole business
very cleverly, as she does everything.'
" 'You did not follow the direction of the vans,
or ask where the new house was ? ' said I.
" ' I did, sefior. I asked, but was told that you
would inform me yourself.'
" I was thunderstruck, I could say nothing. I
would wait ; perhaps Dona Susana would come
back and explain. She could not have so suddenly
changed her nature ; she could not all at once have
become a thief; she could not have robbed me! I
who had been her benefactor ! I will wait. Eleven
o'clock — no Susana. Twelve — no Susana. She
did not come back to fetch the rest of my furni-
ture out of the alcova. And from that day to this,
now nearly a week, I have neither seen nor heard
anything of her. She may have gone to Valladolid,
or to Burgos, or to the devil, I know not."
I just now mentioned my friend Dr. Checa, who
was as fine and warm-hearted a fellow as ever lived.
He had been doctor on board an English ship, so
spoke a " leetel Eengleesh," though not so well as
his own magnificent language.
He had left the group of talkers and was playing
EL CASINO DEL PRINCIPE 155
at " golfo," a sort of whist, at one of the side-tables.
I sat looking on, but without understanding why so
many duros were lost at the turn of a single card ;
and I supposed that "golfo" meant a gulf that swal-
lowed up all your money. The doctor was in grand
spirits, for he kept winning, and had taken about
^30 from his opponent, when the latter said- —
" My dear Checa, I must leave off playing, for
you have entirely cleared me out."
The Doctor, without a moment's hesitation,
threw a ^10 note over to him, saying, "You can
pay me back another time." They went to work
again, luck turned, I suppose the cards were offended.
Checa not only lost all he had won, but all he had
besides ; so he threw up his hands and said —
"You see, my dear Adolfo, I am always un-
lucky."
" Yes, Doctor," said I ; "it is because you are
too good to be a gambler. It seems you did not
want your friend to lose, so you lent him ^10 to
win his money back with."
" No, no," said he ; "I felt so sure I should soon
win that too that it was for mv own sake, not for
his, that I did it. I am not so good as you think ;
you are only a Icetle boy, Adolfo, you do not under-
.stand the/Zrtj'. Come and let us take the coffee."
As we sat there in that magnificent saloon, with
all the luxury around that wealth and taste could
supply, I noticed that my friend, generally so lively,
had got into a melancholy mood. I tried my best
to divert him, told him he should play like that
156 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
" Yankee " over there, who guessed how much his
adversaries had in their pockets and left off when he
had cleared them out ; his own stock being small, he
never stood to lose very much.
'' Yes, but nobody will play with him now ; he is
too clever."
Checa, although one of the liveliest and kindest
of men, with a face as open and honest as any
Englishman's, moving in the best society, and with
considerable property, still was made miserable by
this wretched gambling. He said he tried to get
away from it, he went into the country to hunt, to
shoot, to change the scene ; but all the time he was
longing to be at the cards again, that he might win
back what he had lost ; not only for the money, but
for the honour, "the satisfaction of conquering."
"I go to the opera, 1 don't hear the music ; I go
to the comedy, I see a farce at the ' Zarzuela,' but
I can't laugh at the performance, I am thinking all
the time of getting back here (to the club). Wher-
ever I go, I am as it were haunted by this demon."
" There, Doctor," said I, " you have hit it exactly!
This demon ! I believe we all have our demons, our
little demons. Perhaps both you and I have one
sitting on our shoulders at this very moment. I
should say they were about the size of monkeys and
as nimble. We sometimes think we will catch them
and strangle them, but they are too cunning and
coaxing for that ; the more we curse them and strike
at them the more do they dodge and laugh at us,
and as they are invisible we can't actually lay hold
EL CASINO DEL PRINCIPE 157
of them. Perhaps if we said the Lord's Prayer or
told our beads they might go away for a time, but
then we want them back again. They are stronger
than we are although they are so little ; and not
only that, but we are too fond of them. We say at
one moment, ' Hence ! vile poisoner of my peace !
destroyer of my immortal soul ! Back to the great
fiend whose minister thou art ! ' And then the next
moment we look for them, fancy we have them on
our knees, stroke them down and caress them, and
say, ' My dear little demon, I did not mean to offend
thee, or to hurt thee ; ' and then perhaps he whispers,
'You shall have luck,' or, if he is another kind of
demon, he tells you to ' look on the Prado for that
pretty damsel who will be sauntering there this
evening with her friends,' and at the same time he
winks at the other little demons who are all around
us engaged in the same sport, some making capital
out of one weakness, some out of another. Besides
this demon of play and this love demon, there are
hundreds of others ready to gratify any wish or
fancy we may have, provided it will lead to our
destruction. Although we may not always be aware
of what our own little demons are doing for our-
selves, we can often see the mischief they are doing
to others. And I could tell you, as no doubt, doctor,
you could tell me, many stories of how good fellows
we have known have come to grief through these
enemies. With some it is indolence, some vanity,
some avarice, some wine, and some temper, and
so on through all the list of man's vices and follies.
158 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
Perhaps the httle demon on Moreno's shoulder is
ambition ; on that Httle fellow's who plays billiards
so badly it may be indolence ; but you know as well
as I that there are many others besides these, who,
while they seem to be ministering to our pleasures,
are luring us on to our ruin. But I begin to feel as
if I were preaching a sermon, so no more of it."
The Doctor, who seemed amused and yet per-
plexed at this speech, said he believed it was quite
correct, and that I had described his own state like
an artist.
" Let us get away," said he ; "let us go to the
theatre or to the opera — somewhere for distraction,
for I am restless here."
In Madrid, you can go the round of the theatres
in an evening. You have but to pay the entrada
or entrance fee, either two reales (sd.), or, as in the
case of the opera, a peseta (lod.), and you are ad-
mitted to a promenade at the back, where you can
see what sort of entertainment is going on ; and if
you are pleased with it and wish to see it comfort-
ably, you pay for your stall or your box and walk in.
In the case of the opera, as so many of the senores
take stalls, they are pleased to let you occupy them
when not there themselves, and you have but to
ask for one or the other, they, of course, having told
you to do so. The stall-keeper soon gets to know
you, and will say at once if you ask for such and
such a seat, "That is occupied, senor, but" — some
other which he knows belongs to a friend of yours —
" is vacant." Of course the prices of stalls in Madrid
A PORTRAIT.
i6o SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
are not, as in England, almost prohibitive to any
but the rich.
The Spanish acting is admirable, but it would
take too long to speak of it here. I will only
mention one actor, whose name I now forget, but
who performed the character of "Sullivan" in a
play of that name, which I have since seen in Eng-
land under the title of " David Garrick." The play
was practically the same, only the name of Sullivan,
probably the original one, was replaced by that of
David Garrick when acted in London by Sothern.
However, the Spaniard's acting was magnificent,
and the English men and women of the time were
very comic, and made me laugh much. But the
surprising part of this story is that the same actor
who had played Sullivan, again appeared as a modern
Englishman, in a farce, after the serious piece was
over. He had the red whiskers, the jolly face, the
rather awkward or shy manner of a stranger, and
was got up to perfection as a British tourist. He
was being taken round to see the sights by a cicerone,
and, among others, he had been brought to see some
Spanish dancers. The way in which he expressed
his admiration for their performances was irresistible.
So also was the shy way in which he tried to refuse
the invitation of one of the pretty girls to dance
with her. However, he at last consented ; and here
again was a capital piece of acting, for he did the
slow, stiff English waltz that was then in vogue,
and formed a complete contrast to the grace of his
Spanish partner. This over and duly applauded,
EL CASINO DEL PRINCIPE i6i
he was then approached by all the dancers, who
begged him to give them an EngHsh dance, " un
baile Ingles." He put up his hands as if shocked,
laughed, blushed, shook his head, but at last, amid
great applause, went to the end of the stage and
stood with his arms folded. I was not a little
tickled and surprised to hear the orchestra strike
up the well-known " College hornpipe," with all
the vivacity peculiar to it, and to see our friend
from the back of the stage suddenly start off, like
a jolly British tar, and go through all the figures
to perfection. T. P. Cooke, in his best days, never
danced it better, and yet this performance was by
a Spanish tragic actor. The piece concluded with
a supper for the ballet, provided by the generous
Englishman.
I mention this as one only of the many capital
performances that I witnessed. But on that par-
ticular evening, when we invented the " Little
Demons of Madrid," the Doctor and I went to
the opera to see " Martha." I remember Queen
Isabella was present in the royal box, but Checa
said " Don't look at her," and frowned and shook
his head. As we came out every one was singing
or humming the air of " The last rose of summer,"
which is introduced into Flotow's opera, and had
evidently caught on.
We sauntered along for some time talking and
laughing about many things, and then went back
to the club like moths to the candle. It was past
eleven, and the tables were in full swing.
L
1 62 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
"Adolfo," said Checa, "my 'little demon' is
worrying me to play."
He took a five-pound note out of his pocket
and was going to put it on the table, but I said, "If
you must play, let me play for you ; " so, taking the
note, I threw it down anywhere, taking no time to
consider.
" Adolfo," said he, " you play the wrong game."
" What does it matter ? " said I. " It is a game
of chance. ( 'I'rente et qiiaj'ante^i Perhaps the
wrong game may win, since you, who always play
the right one, always lose ; " and, while we were
talking, another ^5 had been added to our stake.
So taking up one and leaving the other, I said,
" Put this back into your purse, Doctor, it will do
to play with to-morrow night."
He laughed at me, and said it was the '' leetel
boy who played like that." Again the roulette had
stopped, again £^ fell to our share. This I left,
and as I did not care whether we won more or lost
what we had gained, I left it there till it mounted
up to some £%o or ;^ioo. Then I took it up and
handed it to my friend; he was very pleased, but
asked why I did not leave it longer, as I was in
such luck? "We should have won more, Adolfo."
" No ; that is what your ' little demon ' tells you."
Just then the game was announced " Couleur
perd." The game had turned, we should have lost
our ;^8o. But the gambler is never satisfied, and
he said if I had left the other ^5 on the table we
should have won £\^o instead of ^80.
EL CASINO DEL PRINCIPE 163
" It is quite true, Checa ; and then you would
have lost that."
" You are rieht, Adolfo."
But here comes the Colonel and Moreno, another
Spanish friend who was " muy sympatico," a tall
handsome man, who also spoke English a "leetel."
He was a Member of the Cortes, Gold Key of the
Bed Chamber, and eventually became Governor of
Madrid.
Among my Spanish friends none were more
amiable and sympathetic than Sefior Moreno Ben-
itez, at whose house I was a constant guest. He
afterwards came to England on a visit, and was
much delighted with everything he saw, especially
the beauty of some of our English ladies. The
opera-house was, he said, "like heaven, full of
angels," but his greatest pleasure was to take a
seat in Hyde Park, near Rotten Row, and watch
the passers-by both on foot and on horseback. He
said he never saw anything equal to it in the whole
of his travels.
I generally left the Casino between two and
three in the morning, and on getting to my street,
the " Calle de Leon," not very far off, I had to sing
out at the top of my voice for the watchman, the
sereno. He would answer, perhaps, from another
street, or from the end of this one, asking what house
I wanted. Presently, he would appear with his spear,
and lanthorn fastened nearly at the end of it, which
he could unhook ; under his coat or jerkin was a
belt with keys hanging all round it. He had the
i6
4
SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
keys of every house on his beat, and in some cases
of each flat. He first opened the large street door,
then came up with me to my floor, and let me
A STUDY.
in with a " Buenas noches, Senor." I was forcibly
reminded of " Dogberry and the watch," but these
men were no Dogberrys, being strong fellows who
EL CASINO DEL PRINCIPE 165
knew how to handle their spears and to dazzle the
eyes of any opponent with their light, and more like
our British bobby in pluck, for it was said that no
thief was ever known to pass them. They came
round at different times of the night and early
morning, and intoned the hour in the good old style.
My particular man got to know me — his name was
Antonio, a good name to sing out — and many a tale
could he tell of the doings of Madrid in the small
hours, though all seemed as still as the grave, and
on a moonlight night nothing could be more calm
and beautiful.
XXII
DONA EMILIA
I NOT ICED a peculiarity about my Spanish
friends which at length I got accustomed to.
In the warmth of their hearts they made promises
which upon cool reflection they found they were
unable to carry out ; and there never was a country
where it is so necessary to apply the old adage and
to "Strike the iron while 'tis hot."
The portrait of Moreno was to be followed by
that of my friend Dr. Checa and of Sefior Romano
(the son of a marquis), who had been educated in
England.
Both of these I began. The Duke of Alva, also,
had asked me to paint a picture for him, but it would
be two or three months before I could begin it, as
his people were away. On their return I was to go
to his palace, and probably into the royal presence.
But in Spain nothing is positive except onzas, duros,
and pesetas, actual cash ; this, and this only, do they
call the "positivo." The Doctor, notwithstanding
the lucky chance of my winning ^80 for him, had
managed, in endeavouring to redeem his honour and
his fortune, to lose a thousand. His "little demon" had
fooled him to some purpose, and he was thoroughly
166
DONA KM 1 1. 1, \.
1 68 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
cast down. I was very sorry for him and said I
would paint his portrait for nothing, but he was in
no mood for sitting. He did not keep his engage-
ments ; when I called he was out, and at last his
friends got him an appointment as consul in China
or some far-away place to get him away from the
cursed tables. Yes, they were cursed to him ! I
shall never forget when one ni^ht at the club he
saw me stake two duros at " trente et quarante,"
he rushed up to me and dragged me away.
" Oh, Adolfo, my dear ! Oh, do not play ! never,
never !
"I have only risked two five -franc pieces.
Doctor."
" Never mind — I beofan with two five-franc
pieces, just as you ; now I am nearly ruined, not
only in purse but in mind. I have no peace,
Adolfo, I am miserable ; I can enjoy nothing.
Once I was happy just like the little boy. I am
fond of you, Adolfo, and I do not want to see you
as wretched as I am."
" My dear good Doctor," said I, " if only to
show you that I have the same feeling for you as
you have for me, if for nothing else, I promise you
I will never play again. You see, while we have
been talking, my two duros have disappeared ; let
us come away and think about other things."
As to Romano, a jolly little chap, as dark as
Othello, who lived in comfortable quarters at his
father's expense, he had no money for pictures. He
would probably try to win it at the club, as Don
DONA EMILIA 169
Jose had done ; but still it struck me that the busi-
ness of portrait-painting could hardly flourish under
such conditions, and I had better spend my time in
the Museo in front of Velasquez and Titian, and
learn from them how to paint portraits instead of
wasting day after day in waiting for sitters who did
not keep their appointments. Or, if some dark-
eyed Morisca from Andalusia could be found for
a model, had I not better paint her than these
ephemeral dukes and dons and hidalgos of Castile ?
Strolline alone one afternoon with a friend who
knew every nook and corner of Madrid we spied
up in a balcony, almost hidden behind the striped
awning hanging over it, the very face and the very
figure I was in search of.
"What a lovely girl!" said I. "What think
you of those eyes, Don Federigo ? "
" The finest in Madrid, sir."
"How I should like to paint them ! "
" Perhaps you may," said he. " I know the
Senora who lives here ; let us try our luck."
We went up to the flat where we had seen
the young lady, and asked if Uona Leonor was
at home.
" Si, senores," said the little maid who opened
the door.
We were shown into a very elegantly furnished
drawing-room, and were received by an elderly
lady who was sitting at work to pass the time.
Don h'ederiL^o introduced me, t(jld her I was an
artist visiting Spain in search of the picturesque.
I70 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
and that I particularly admired the Spanish type
of beauty, such as a young lady we had caught
sight of on the balcony.
" She is my niece from Seville," said Doiia
Leonor, "and is paying me a visit ; I will ask her
to come in."
Dona Emilia, for that was her name, soon made
her appearance, and certainly she was a very beau-
tiful girl, about nineteen or twenty. Hearing I was
an artist, she immediately began to talk about the
pictures at the " Museo " and the " Academia."
She thought nothing could be more lovely than
the pictures of Murillo. "The expression of his
Virgins," she said, " was truly divine."
It seemed to me that the Spaniards thought
much more of this painter than of Velasquez. She
then asked me what I was painting. I told her I
had been doing some portraits of men — los senores
— but that I longed to paint a Spanish girl of the
Andalusian type, in fact, like herself. Had she ever
sat for her portrait ?
" Oh no, sefior, who would paint me ?" she said,
blushing and laughing at the same time.
" I will, seiiorita, if you will sit to me."
" If my aunt consents," said she, looking very
pleased.
" Oh ! Dofia Leonor will be glad if Sefior Adolfo
will make a picture of her."
So I said I would paint two pictures if I might
be allowed.
" Two ! " said Emilia. " Why two, seizor } "
DONA EMILIA 171
" One for you and one for me," I said.
She seemed very pleased at this arrangement,
her eyes brightened, and I quite agreed with
Don Federigo that they were the finest eyes in
Madrid.
Dona Leonor entered into the scheme of the por-
trait with evident satisfaction, showed me through
her apartments that I might choose a room with a
favourable light to paint in, and asked me what
hour would be most convenient ? I chose the morn-
ing, which she said would also suit her and Emilia
the best. A momentary flush passed across the
face of the young lady as she smiled and nodded
in acquiescence.
In writing of Spanish interiors I may be tread-
ing- on delicate around, for it must be understood
that they are much the same as they were when
Asmodeus took Don Cleofas to the top of the
steeple of San Salvador, and showed him the hidden
life of Madrid by taking off the roofs of the houses,
so that he could see all that was going on in the
different apartments at different hours of the day
and night.
There is much apparent simplicity and a kindly
courteousness among the Spaniards, which proceeds,
no doubt, from their hearts, that for the moment
seem full ; yet the outward appearance is but too
often a cloak thrown over the reality, to keep the
sorrow, the poverty, and {)erhaps the shame, from
public gaze.
My success in meeting thus easily with such a
172 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
beautiful model was so satisfactory that it did not
occur to me to trouble myself about her private
history. To me she was a picture, a pure type,
a dark-eyed beauty from Seville. I lost no time
in beginning work, and was soon installed in my
new studio. Emilia seemed born to be looked at,
and therefore made a perfect model. She took
almost a childlike interest in the progress of the
work, and was pleased with herself in the ritrato,
sometimes expressing surprise at its rapid pro-
gress. We talked partly in signs, which helped
out my limited vocabulary and led to laughter, and
by her expression she appeared one of the most
amiable of girls. We soon became very friendly,
and indeed she seemed to look forward to the
sittings. She said one day —
" Why did you want to paint my portrait, Sefior
Adolfo .? "
" What a question for a pretty girl to ask an
artist ! " said I.
" Do you think me pretty, then ? "
" I think you beautiful, 7nuy hermosa ; the
moment I saw you half-hidden behind the awning
on your balcony, I said, ' That is the face I am
looking for ! ' "
" Are you not flatterin^,^ me ?" said she, laughing.
" Why should I flatter you, Doiia Emilia, when
the greatest compliment I can pay you is to speak
the truth ; besides, you have consented to sit to me,
what more should I gain by flattering you } You
are helping me to make what I hope will be a
DONA EMILIA " 173
beautiful picture ; it may not be, but we always
hope when we begin a work to excel in it."
" And why do you hope that? Is it that you
will get a large price for it ? "
" No, that, perhaps, would prove that I had
succeeded, but it is an afterthought. I believe
it is the artist's nature to wish to do beautiful
work, quite regardless of any other considera-
tion. I know when he fails it is a great sorrow
to him."
" If I am helping you to paint a beautiful picture
I am satisfied. I am doing some good with my
face, although it has not done good for me."
Her look changed from brightness to sadness
as she made this short speech, nor did I like to
inquire the cause. In Spain one does not ask
questions ; it is a kind of impertinence, for it may
require the one questioned to give an evasive
answer or to tell an untruth. This feelinof has
always clung to me, but whether it was engendered
in Spain or not I cannot say. In a country where
things are not always what they seem, it is better
to accept them as they appear than to assume the
office of a father confessor.
One of P>milia's friends, who may have over-
heard our conversation, just then came into the
room to have a " peep," as she said, and made
some silly observation which I did not catch. In
a moment Emilia's eyes dilated, her colour rose, she
drew herself up to all her height, and in a voice
full of passion, though not loud, and with the
174 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
most disdainful expression, exclaimed, " Muger ! " as
much as to say, "Woman, begone!" The other
withdrew, and Emilia soon after resumed her accus-
tomed calm, and then smiled.
" I wish, Dona Emilia, you would do that
again," said I.
" Oh, why, senor ? "
" Because I should like to put it on canvas."
" Oh, no, no ! uiuy feo (very ugly) ; I thought
you said you liked to paint beautiful things .'* " said
she, laughing.
" But this was beautiful ; it was like a thunder-
cloud succeeded by sunshine."
She laughed again, and soon forgot all about
her friend's observation.
And so the picture, or rather pictures, went on
day by day until their completion. I worked alter-
nately from the finest art in the Museo, and from
the most beautiful nature in the person of Dofia
Emilia.
I arrived one day rather earlier than usual at
the house of Dona Leonor, when I saw Emilia and
several other senoritas doffing their mantillas. I
asked if they had been for a walk.
" No, senor, we have been to church ; we
always go to mass in the morning."
Was, then, the establishment of my kind friend
a seminary for young ladies finishing their educa-
tion ? "What return can I make, senora, for the
privilege of using your apartment as a painting-
room :
DOIv:A EMILIA 175
" Oh, none, senor," said Dona Leonor.
•' But for your kindness, senora ? "
" Nada, seiior. "
However, I made a sketch of the old lady,
which she wanted to pay me for, but I said she
had already done so, and as I took leave of her
and of my pretty model, she said, as is the Spanish
custom —
" A Dios, Senor Adolfo ; se recordar que mi
casa esta a la disposicion de usted."
Perhaps, if Asmodeus had taken me on his
cloak to the top of the steeple of San Salvador that
evening and unroofed the house of Dona Leonor,
I might have been quite as astonished as was Don
Cleofas.
XXIII
THE PORTRAIT
AMONG other
^ *■ important
events, political
and social, that
were initiated at
the Casino del
Principe, one was
that I should
paint the portrait
of Don Juan
Moreno Benitez,
Gold Key of the
Bed Chamber,
for the forth-
coming Exhibi-
tion. It was not
only to make
my fortune but
to establish my
fame. A fine
figure of a Spanish gentleman with his cloak
thrown over his shoulder!- — could anything be
176
LAVINIA.
THE PORTRAIT 177
more promising ? especially if I could introduce the
Gold Key !
The time for sending in the pictures to the
Madrid Exhibition was Monday the 15th of Sep-
tember, but the portrait of my "Seizor" was not
begun till the iSth. How could I hope to exhibit
it, knowinof that in Enorland even the President
of the Academy must send his work to the day and
hour, or keep it for the next year. Not so in Spain.
Through my friend the Doctor, who knew the
Minister of Public Works, I had a fortnight allowed
me to finish my picture in. The Exhibition would
take a month to arrange, and a place would be
reserved for my work. I naturally felt a little
nervous about having a place reserved for a picture
that was not even begun, but set to work, and in
two or three days covered a large canvas with a
life-size figure.
I was getting on very well, but visitors began
to drop in during the sittings ; and what with their
cigars, and talk, and laughter, and flattery, I was
a little put off; for painting a portrait is anxious
work. Among the visitors was the Duke of Alva,
who said I should paint a picture of his children ,
but in the midst of it all I had a feeling of the ague
coming on. I got weaker and weaker, and could
not work for four or five days. My fortnight's
grace was up — certainly the picture could not be
finished for the Exhibition. Another application
was made to the authorities, another fortnight
allowed, the picture need not be sent till the day
M
1 78 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
before the opening, a place was reserved for it.
Was ever such indulgence ? They must have been
told of the fine quality of the work, and that it
would raise the whole tone of the show, for how
otherwise could they allow such latitude ? The
picture was sent at last, and on the next day the
Exhibition opened to the public.
I suppose I must have overslept myself, for
the next morning, at about eleven, my uncle came
and woke me up. He had already been down to
see after the picture.
" Get up," said he. " I have been to the Exhi-
bition, and your picture looks beastly! It is hung
right at the top of one of the rooms, and the light
shines down upon it, so that you can't see it at all."
I felt privately that, considering all things, how
could I have expected anything different, and also
that there was a certain humour in my reserved
place being at the top of the room. However, I
was soon up, and went round to my friend the
Doctor and explained the matter.
"This must not be, Adolfo," said he. "We
will go to the ' Ministro ' ; " but first we drove to
the Prado and saw the picture. The Colonel was
right, it did look " beastly." Next we went to the
"Ministro de Fomento " (of Public Works), with
whom we had a cigar and explained the serious
nature of the case. He quite agreed in our views,
wrote at once to Sefior Madrazo, the Director
of the Exhibition, which had an immediate
effect. The picture was taken down from its ele-
THE PORTRAIT 179
vated position, and put in a centre on the line, a
place of honour. Nor, I am glad to say, did any
unfortunate artist have his picture removed to
make place for mine ; another room was thrown
open, which gave the hangers the opportunity of
not only placing mine, but several other works, to
advantage.
Although the result of all this was to a certain
extent pleasing, I did not feel quite flattered by it ;
but what did flatter me and give me much pleasure
was the remark made by two brother artists. I
happened to meet Long and Burgess at the Exhi-
bition, and as we passed through the room where
the portrait was placed, one of them pointed to it,
and, without knowing it was my work, made some
very complimentary observations about it.
XXIV
THE NOVILLOS, OR COMIC BULL-FIGHTS
HTHERE is
something
about this Madrid
that likes me not.
Much as my heart
warms to certain
individuals, such
as my friends
Moreno, Checa,
and several others,
as a whole I love
not this " only
Court," this capi-
tal of Spain. Its
promenades are
dusty and hot ;
its trees have to
be watered two
or three times
a day to keep them alive ; its atmosphere is still
and stuffy, and one feels one would like to open a
window in the heavens to let in some fresh and
pure air, for its winds are still and treacherous,
i8o
MANDOLINE PLAYER.
THE NOVILLOS i8i
coming like a stiletto to their unsuspecting victim.
There is neither that gaiety which one finds in
Paris, nor the industry and intelligence which makes
France rise like a phoenix from the flames of revo-
lution and of anarchy ; from bad government and
disastrous wars. All in Madrid seemed like torpor.
Even its amusements were often brutal, and the
bull-ring had few charms for me. It did not seem
like wholesome enjoyment, not like our cricket
matches at Lord's, or our boat races at Putney and
Henley. It was stained with blood, and the risk
of death to the glittering Espada, the booted
Picador, and the nimble Bandillero, added an
unwholesome excitement to a people whose in-
dolence required much pricking to rouse it from
its lethargy. I speak of over thirty years ago ;
perhaps things have changed since then ?
There was, however, one entertainment in the
Plaza de Toros which was really amusing, and not
bloodthirsty, though even there accidents might
happen. "Los Novillos" were young bulls that were
trotted into the arena with cushions on their horns
merely for a game. They were not killed, nor were
there any poor, blindfolded horses to be ripped
open. A high mast was placed in the centre of
the arena, gaily decorated with flags and ribbons,
and near it a fine bedstead in which was an invalid,
in night-ca[) and gown, receiving the condolences
of his friends, and the terrible attentions of the
doctors. Just as one (^f the faculty was af)proach-
ing with an enormous syringe or stomacii-piimp,
1 82 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
the bull was heard behind the gate of the ring.
This was the signal for all the sympathising friends,
including the doctors, to take to their heels, leaving
the poor invalid waving his arms in an agony of
despair. Presently the gates were thrown open,
and in rushed the bull and made straight for the
bedstead ; but just as he got his horns under it on
one side, the invalid very nimbly slipped out on the
other, and ran for his life amid roars of laughter.
The bedstead and all its paraphernalia was in the
meantime tossed up into the air by the infuriated
animal, that only caught sight of the runaway when
he was nearing the fence. The bull, however, gave
chase, but was too late.
A number of men in baskets then attacked him
with their harmless spears, and the bull rolled them
over without hurting them, that is, without piercing
them with his horns. A good deal of fun was got
out of these men in baskets, which encased them
like a very awkward sort of armour, for when down
they could not get up without assistance, and had
to roll out of the way, and no sooner were they up
than they were down again like so many ninepins.
Many other pranks were played by the profes-
sionals, who seemed to be perfectly at home with
Sefior Toro, one running up the mast like a monkey,
making faces at him, the animal trying in vain to
get at him. And as to playing with the bull, I
remember seeing a celebrated Espada, II Tato,
perform the most extraordinary and elegant feats,
which showed that there was something in bull-
THE NOVILLOS 1S3
fighting when perfect art was brought into play.
Having despatched one animal with a single thrust
of his sword, which is the great achievement of the
arena, he lighted a cio^arette, calmlv waiting for a
second bull that could be heard bellowing just out-
side the barrier. The gates were flung open and
in he rushed, making straight for II Tato, who, with
the little red flag on his sword, stood ready to re-
ceive him. But just as the bull lowered his horns
to toss or pierce his opponent, the latter, with a
slight movement or half turn, stepped just clear of
him. This movement was repeated several times,
and the effect was very much as if the Espada
was waltzing round the arena with the bull ; at
lensfth the creature became bewildered and made
one more run at his enemy. This time the nimble
Torero, with the quickness of lightning, put one
foot on the bull's neck, stepped along his back, and
leapt off at his tail, coolly taking off his sombrero
to him and then vaulting over the barrier.
To show what a national sport this bull-fighting
is, on the occasion of the comic bull-fights, or the
Novillos, at certain signals the occupants of the
seats are admitted to the arena to play what pranks
they like. They rush in in crowds, and no doubt
many an incipient Toreador tries his skill for the
first time ; but though there is some fun, there is
also danger, and I remember on one occasion the
bull, finding his horns were useless, knelt on one of
his tormentors and crushed him to death.
When the bull that was not to be killed had
1 84 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
finished his performance, a number of bullocks,
called the nurses, were sent into the arena, and
surrounding him, he became as tame as they were,
and went out as quietly as a lamb. Even a furious
creature that for some reason is judged not fit to
continue the combat is taken out in this way, and I
have seen the very Torero, who a minute before
was within a few inches of his horns, go up to him
and pat him on the back as he went out.
I sometimes discussed these bull-fights with
Moreno. He said the art of a real bull-fight was
for the Toreador to defend his horse and not allow
the bull to get near it, but in that case he was armed
with a real spear and not the blunt pole with a kind
of nail at the end of it, which is used at these shows,
and only serves to pierce the skin and irritate the
bull ; and the triumph of the whole thing lay in the
skill and courage of the Espada, who faced the bull
and planted his sword in a particular part of his
neck and plunged it into his heart, so that death
was instantaneous. And again, when the same
performer would be alone with the bull, and, as
already described, elude all the animal's thrusts by
making a half-turn on his heel, apparently without
the least exertion. I remember seeing one of these
celebrated bull-fighters sitting calmly in the middle
of the arena smoking a cigar just before the bull
was let in. As the latter rushed towards him, he
very quietly got up in the nick of time. The chair
went high into the air, but the Espada stood there
smiling and bowing. As to the wretched horses
THE NOVILLOS 185
with a bandage over one eye, their bones almost
protruding from their skin, they were half-dead
before they entered the arena, and finished their
days gloriously in the bull-ring instead of going
to the knacker's, and their butchery was more to
please the mob than the better class. My friend
admitted that that part of the performance was
not artistic.
I peeped into the chapel just outside the Plaza
de Toros, where the bull-fighters hear mass and
make confession before entering the rino-, never
knowing whether they may come out of it alive
or dead. This struck me as characteristic of the
people, whose Church is not a mere Sunday busi-
ness, but spreads her wings over her children, from
the highest to the lowest, and at all times and in all
places ; whether they are at their devotions or at
their pastimes. In a former chapter I have noted
how, at the Casino, the play at the roulette tables
was instantly stopped at the sound of the passing
bell, that a gambler would say a short prayer in
his hat before risking his duros, and that even the
doncellas at Seiiora Leonor's went to mass everv
morning.
THE FERRY — TOLEDO.
XXV
TOLEDO
T HAD passed three or four months in Madrid,
had seen some of its strange ways and doings,
and began to long for a change of scene. I had
heard much of Toledo, the ancient capital, " the
Crown of Spain," and thought that two or three
months might be profitably spent in sketching some
of its picturesque buildings, with their Moorish
arches and famous Patios.
I started on my new exploration at the begin-
ning of December 1862, arriving at Toledo rather
late in the evening. There was a coach to bring
TOLEDO 187
the passengers up to the town by a road cut in the
rock, and ascending in zigzag. There was a splendid
moon shining, and the old place looked very pictu-
resque, and dreamy, and solemn.
I went to the Fonda del Lino, expecting to
be heartily welcomed and to get some refreshment
after my journey ; but cooking was over for the day,
and nothing was to be had for love or money. As
I knew no one, and was left by the porter to shift
as best I could, I said, " Travellers must be content,"
ate my last stale biscuit, took a pipe and a glass of
water, and then went to bed. The town, as well as
the inmates of the house, was fast asleep, though ten
o'clock had only just struck. What a change from
Madrid, thought I, and being tired I soon dozed off
The next morning I sallied forth in quest of
better quarters, taking with me a letter of introduc-
tion from my Madrid friend, Romano, to Senor
Ojeda, his brother-in-law, who was " Ministro de
Fomento," and also an amateur artist. This letter
of introduction was in an enormous envelope about
the size of a page of Punch, with a seal as large
as a five-shilling piece, and as it was addressed to a
Spanish Minister I thought I could not do better
than walk about with it till I met with some one
who would direct me where to deliver it.
Presently I saw coming towards me a very
gentlemanly individual, and handsome withal. I
held up the great letter, at which he smiled, then
politely taking off his hat, said in French, " Monsieur
Storey, n'est-ce pas ? "
1 88 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
" Qui, Monsieur," said I, "est-ce que par hazard
cette lettre est pour vous ? "
" It is," said he, in English, "and I am quite at
your service. I heard of your coming from Moreno
and Romano, and was on the look-out for you."
I told him of my comfortless hotel, and he
recommended me to go to some rooms in a casa de
hiiespedes, or boarding-house, kept by Senora Abad.
For a fine apartment thirty-five feet long, eighteen
feet high, furnished with old picturesque chairs and
tables, the floor covered with a handsome matting,
two windows looking on to separate courtyards,
with massive grey-green shutters composed of about
a dozen small panels each, a great door six inches
thick, with twenty or thirty of these panels, and a
bolt nearly half a yard long, all made to last ; and
leading out of this room, an alcova, or bed-room,
with a bright steel bedstead — the charge, including
all my meals, which were excellent, a brasero or
fire-dish containing smouldering charcoal, and a
bottle of good wine, Vmo del Pais, was one duro
(four and twopence) per day. No extras. And
I not only had a kind hostess but excellent
company. There were several Spanish officers
living in the house, gentlemanly fellows, and not
unlike Englishmen in that respect ; a priest, Don
Ramon, Canon of the cathedral ; Ramoncito, or
little Don Ramon, a very amiable young gentleman,
besides several ladies. As the drawing-room and
dining-room were open to all, we frequently met,
and never without some fun or entertainment.
TOLEDO
189
w
■#'
/
/
1
There seemed a purer atmosphere, both physical
and moral, about this place than about Madrid,
besides which, I could see at a glance that there
was ample material everywhere for the pencil.
In coming from
Madrid, which only
takes three hours,
I seemed to have
travelled six or
seven hundred
years into the past.
In Madrid all is
modern ; here all is
so old that I be-
lieve some histor-
ians trace it back to
the days of Adam,
who was said to be
the first king. At
least half of the
city is the work
of Moorish hands,
and the rest, per-
haps, might be
attributed to the
Goths. But it is
slowly falling into ruin, and splendid palaces are
now inhabited by mules and muleteers. There is
only one level street in the whole town, the others
are all uphill and down-dale, and some so narrow
that there is only room for one donkey with his
fw
l^
.?...;;
c:
STREET IN TOLEDO.
I90 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
pack to pass at a time. There are no cabs or
carts, for they could not pass through most of
the thorouo-hfares. There were, I believe, some
small vehicles, but even for these grooves are cut
in the walls to admit the axletrees, and then again
the streets turn and twist about in all directions, so
that one never knows exactly where one is.
But to return to my lodgings. Having settled
with Seiiora Abad, and given directions about my
baggage, Senor Ojeda (pronounced O'Heda, with
a sort of guttural on the j) took me to his own
house to lunch and introduced me to Senora Ojeda,
who came forward most gracefully, as all Spanish
ladies do, and, addressing me in perfect English,
said, " You need not speak Spanish to me, Mr.
Storey, for I was brought up in England, and was
for some time at school in Hamilton Terrace, St.
John's Wood!" mentioning her schoolmistress's
name. I remembered then that she was the sister
of Senor Romano, who had also been at school in
England.
On the table in the drawing-room, which was
furnished a I'angiaise, were Ptmc/i, the J llustrated
London News, and several English books — and
these, in what seemed to me the most ancient,
ruinous, and outlandish place in the world ; although
this Corona dc Espagna was said to be the light
thereof.
My new friends were very amiable, invited me
frequently to their house, where I made sketches
of some of the apartments, which have since been
TOLEDO
191
useful to me as backgrounds to my so-called
" Dutch pictures." Here is a kitchen, for instance,
drawn tile for tile, pan for pan, thoroughly Spanish,
' ■ '■"J" !^ ' I H5Jk"'J ' it-"--t' i J iB MjmL ii ij
KITCHEN AT SEIZOR OJ^DA's.
and yet not unlike some of De Hooghe's effects.
I have used this, and others taken in my own
192 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
apartments at the Casa de Abaci, for my "Shy
Pupil," "Double Dummy," " The Duet," and others
which have been looked upon as inspired by the
Hollanders, but notably in my picture called " No
Wife," or " The Padre," which is almost a portrait
of my apartment, whilst the priest is a reminiscence
of my friend Don Ramon el Canonigo.
So what with my comfortable home at the Casa
de xA.bad. and my kind friends Sefior and Sefiora
Ojeda. besides others that I was soon introduced
to, I felt I was in anything but a strange land and
among strangers.
The old walls and the tumbledown palaces soon
became familiar. I only wished that I had more
knowledge of the past history of this venerable city,
that I might reconstruct in imagination its glories
and its beautv. But I must take it as I find it and
make the best of it. Here 1 enter, as it were, a
family circle of warm-hearted people, as well as a
city full of strange dwellings and solid stone records.
These are the backgrounds sketched on the spot,
the others are the figures that I shall sketch from
memory.
XXVI
LA CASA ABAD
I HAD no sooner settled down at the Casa Abad
than I beofan to look about to see how I should
employ my pencil. I had had a good deal of en-
forced idleness at Madrid, although I had worked
pretty regularly at the Museo, but I found nothing
in the city itself to inspire me ; this could not be
said of ruinous old Toledo, this monument of the
past which dates back to the Deluge.
After Manuel (the boots) had brought in my
frugal breakfast, which consisted of a cup of thick
chocolate, a biscuit and a glass of water, 1 dressed,
and from the window in my room, which looked
on to a courtyard, I saw plenty of material without
going out for it. There was nothing particularly
grand about it, but there was useful detail in the
way of pavement, a fountain, or what had been a
fountain, but was now filled with mould and rubbish,
an old well, old brick and stone walls, a picturesque
doorway, a row of old chairs, besides sundry articles
of clothing hung out to dry. These were nothing
in themselves, but the variety of tints in grey and
red, and touches of green and yellow, all pervaded
by the warm glow of sunshine, were nevertheless
•93 N
194 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
a good study, and might be useful hereafter (which
PATIO OF THE CASA ABAD.
they were) for foregrounds and backgrounds. True
LA CAS A ABAD 195
colour is only to be obtained by getting it direct
from objects in the pure light of day, and this
sketch, ungainly as it may appear, is a dictionary
of varied tints.
But there was another advantage in starting the
work. It interested the inmates of the house ; and
Seiior Adolfo working at a craft of which they were
all ignorant, and for which they were full of admira-
tion, made him a much more important personage
in their eyes than were he but an idle tourist. It
formed a sort of bond of union with them and set
them at their ease, seeing that their English visitor
had come there with a purpose; a purpose flattering
to them, and not to be a sort of spy upon them,
or to turn up his nose at them, as so many of my
countrymen are unfortunately given to do.
While I was busy at my sketch, Don Manuel was
performing certain duties in the courtyard. He
was cleaning the boots, attending to the braseros —
that had to burn for a certain time in the air to get
rid of the noxious vapours of the charcoal before
it was safe to place them in the apartments, clean-
ing knives, drawincr water from the well, and so forth.
Nicolassa, a good-looking girl, a combination of
cook and housemaid, was sweeping out the gallery
above and doing the various rooms that opened
into it, and as both she and Manuel lightened their
labour by singing, it was not a little amusing to
hear how they improvised the words of their song,
which was sung to a droning kind of chant ox joia.
Manuel began by singing something about the
196 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
Estanquera or tobacco-girl, but thought he pre-
ferred " La hija del Zapatero," the daughter of the
shoemaker, as it gave him pleasure to polish the
boots that had passed through her beautiful hands.
Nicolassa, feeling, I suppose, slighted by his not
referring to "la cocinara," the cook, on whom our
whole existence depends, sang out from the balcony
to the same tune, "What creature is that below,
whose groans are like those of a dying cow ? " To
which Manuel replies, " I did not know there were
cats in the place, but I hear one now for certain ;
what is she mewling about ? "
Then the subject of their lyrics was changed,
Manuel beginning, " I thought I loved Nicolassa."
To which she replies, " Don Manuel is a donkey."
" Yes, that's what the women say when you love
them, and they are right." This sort of badinage
went on as long as the duties of the duettists lasted,
the performers pausing now and then to collect
fresh ideas.
"Bravo!" said I, from my window. "Bravo,
Don Manuel! bravo, Nicolassa! sing away, there's
nothing like music to make you work," and they
both laughed like good-tempered children.
After my morning's painting I was summoned to
breakfast, to the al?nuerzo, which was a big repast
like a luncheon or mid-day dinner, consisting of
many dishes, with wine instead of coffee. At this
meal I generally met a good many of the other
inmates of the house, and it was not long before
I began to feel like one of the members of a large
LA CASA ABAD
197
happy family. My hostess was anxious to please
" El Seiior Ingles," and when she found out the
different dishes that I had a preference for, she
would say, as I went out to my sketching, "If
Sefior Adolfo likes stewed eels and roast partridges,
there will be stewed eels and partridges at half-past
eleven to-day ; " and Sefior Adolfo took care to be
at the table at that hour.
KITCHEN AT THF. CASA AliAI).
The kitchen, often the most interesting and
picturesque apartment in an old house, was, I
thought, worthy of being depicted, but my sketch
is rather a vnew of the stove than the apartment
itself, which was lofty, with whitewashed walls and
pale red tiles. The various pots and pans here
displayed are all ])ortr;iits, and the Moorish tiles
198 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
that decorate the face of the stove are faithfully
copied. The stove itself is like a French one, with
a number of small open grates for the different
sauce-pans, frying-pans, &c., to be placed thereon,
so that a great variety of dishes can be cooked at
the same time ; these were served up as they were
done, the lodgers taking what happened to be ready
at the time of their sitting down ; but the usual
thing was to give some notice of it, or to have a
fixed hour.
Seiiora Abad superintended this department,
but had numerous assistants, and one of them was
Nicolassa, whom we heard singing in the balcony
just now ; she is here represented in the act of
plucking a fowl. She stood very patiently, and
was amused at being portrayed, but the fowl was
plucked and cooked long before I had time to finish
its picture. I had to hurry over the girl's dress
and figure too, because it was the busy time of
day, and to have an artist in the kitchen just then,
was no doubt rather a nuisance ; only that he is
such a quiet passive creature.
Although the almuerzo was a pretty substantial
meal, consisting sometimes of eight or ten dishes,
we had a dinner at five or six o'clock, which was
also on a generous scale, and, as far as the meats
were concerned, did not differ very much from the
breakfast. We had fish, game, entrees of various
kinds, and sweets in perfection ; but the standing
dish was the ptickero or universal stew, into which
an odd mixture of beef, mutton, pork, beans, carrots,
LA CASA ABAD 199
onions, and I don't know what besides, were all
cooked together, and which was, I thought, very
good. Of course, from a great earthen vessel full
of this combination of soup, meat, and vegetables,
many different plates could be extracted, first the
rich liquid, with bread, then the pork, then the
beef, then the garbanzos, or round Spanish beans —
not bad — and haricots — blancs, &c. No doubt
many English people would not care for this
sort of hotch-potch, but I can assure them that it
was fifty times preferable to our underdone cold
mutton and plain-boiled potatoes, neither of which
abominations did I ever see in Spain.
These may seem trivial details, and yet what
we eat and drink is of importance to our well-being;
nay, even to our happiness. I must confess there
is a certain pleasure in looking forward to a good
dinner, and a three weeks' invitation gives us, at
all events, three weeks of pleasurable anticipation,
in addition to the feast itself. Nor do I think there
is anything derogatory in such a confession. Does
not Brillat-Savarin. the great Professor of the Art
of Dining, of " La Physiologie du Gout," tell us
that the destinies of nations depend upon how they
eat and drink, and that the discoverer of a new
dish confers more happiness on the human race
than the discoverer of a new planet .'* Surely this
is not to be denied, and, furthermore, he says, " Tell
me how you dine and I will tell you what sort of
man you are." Some might say it is .1 (juestion
of money. I think it is a question of cooking, for
200 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
this olla podrida can, by careful and dainty manage-
ment, be made a very palatable affair, and is certainly
inexpensive since there is no waste.
It is the custom with the Spaniards, when they
sit down to a meal, to first offer it to whoever else
may happen to be present, and it is also the custom
for the other individual to politely refuse it with
many thanks, and the hope that it may do his friend
good, with other compliments. On one occasion I
was at table waiting for my dinner, when Ramon-
cito, who happened to be sitting opposite, was first
served. He immediately, according to custom,
offered his dish to me, but instead of refusing it,
I said I would accept it with pleasure, and, looking
at me with some astonishment, he passed it over,
perhaps thinking I should pass it back again, in-
stead of which I beoran eatinor it. He then sat
back in his chair, and stared at me for a minute
as if he were at a loss to know what to do. In the
meantime Manuel appeared, carrying in a cover for
Senor Adolfo ; but before he put it down I asked
Don Ramoncito if he would do me the kindness
to accept my dinner, since I had done him a similar
favour in accepting his. He burst out laughing, said
it would give him much pleasure to do so, adding
that he could see I had been mocking at one of their
foolish customs, which was to say things they did
not mean and then call it politeness. But I told
him it was with no view of correcting him or the
custom, which I thought a pretty one, but simply
for a bit of fun, which I hoped he would forgive.
LA CASA ABAD
201
Don Ramon Tenes was a most obliging com-
panion ; he was ready to take me anywhere, to show
me all the nooks and corners of the ancient city,
to go for walks with me into the country, and on
several occasions we rode out on hired steeds that
miofht have been the descendants of the famed
Rosinante. But we shall meet with Ramoncito
aorain.
A lAIK MUSICIAN.
XXVII
DON RAMON EL CANONIGO
"TNON RAMON was a fine good-looking man, who
^^ came from the south of Spain, where he had
some little property (I forget the name of the town),
had taken holy orders, and was, when I met him,
one of the canons of the Cathedral of Toledo. He
had a rich voice, and a vein of humour and good-
nature that made me take to him. I had now been
in my new home for two or three weeks, and was
tolerably acquainted with most of the inmates of the
" Casa de Abad." I had got on with my Spanish,
too, and, although I could never speak it very
fluently or correctly, I could make myself under-
stood, and could understand a good deal.
I was sitting in the dining-room one evening with
an old guitar on my knee, when Don Ramon came
in and sat down to his dinner. After the usual com-
pliments, he took his repast, and at the same time
read his breviary, so that as each mouthful of the
one helped to sustain him in this life, each sentence
of the other prepared him for that which is to come.
Seeing how he was engaged, I kept silent, and
quite inadvertently sounded a few notes and passed
my fingers lightly over the strings of the guitar.
DON RAMON EL CANONIGO 203
"I beg your pardon, Don Ramon," said I. "I
was not thinking that you were engaged with your
breviary."
"Oh, that is nothing, Don Adolfo ; you do not
interrupt me. I am accustomed to read my prayers
at all times and in all places. I shall soon have
finished, so please do not mind me." A minute or
two afterwards he closed his book with what seemed
a slight bano-.
o o
" Why do you not play, seiior .-^ " said he.
"In the first place, because I am ignorant, and
in the second because this instrument is so out of
tune that even if I were a musician I could not play
it. Do you play it, Don Ramon ? "
He raised his hands, put on a very grave look,
shook his head, and said —
" You know, seiior, that the guitar is not the
instrument of the Padre."
"Why is that.? "said I. "Is it that it is not
solemn enough, and that you cannot play sacred
music on it ? "
" Not altogether that," said he.
" Perhaps, then, it is because it is the instrument
of the Amantd, the vehicle of profane and not of
sacred love ? "
" Si, sefior, that is why it is forbidden."
" But you were not always a priest, Don Ramon.
Perhaps, when you were a student y(ju did as
students do, and could play a bolero or a fandango,
or ' La J Ota Aragonesa.' "
" Es posible," said he.
204
SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
" Surely, then, you must know how to tune the
guitar if you do not play it. You see how dis-
LISTENING.
cordant this is." 1 then handed it over to my
DON RAMON EL CANONIGO 205
friend, asking him if he would, at all events, put it
into better form. He looked all round the room, then
at the door, and then taking the wicked toy in his
hand, as though he were half afraid of it, he began
screwing up the strings and touching a few chords.
"Can you not remember some of those student
songs ?" said I. " I wish I could play, I would sing
you a pretty old English ballad, which begins —
" Will you hear a Spanish lady
How she wooed an Englishman ? "
And I hummed part of the tune, which he thought
" muy bonita." Then going towards the door and
looking up and down the passage to see that no
one was about, he said there was really no wicked-
ness in music, and he wished he might never commit
a orreater sin than sinorinof a love-sone. So he
struck up a lively romance, which I wish I could
remember, and sang it with all the spirit of a
Leporello. One of the lodgers, attracted, I sup-
pose, by so unusual a sound, was heard coming
towards the door. Don Ramon passed the guitar
over to me, saying, " Bravo, Seflor Adolfo, muy
bien, muy bien."
The new-comer wished me to continue, but 1
said I was tired, and it would be for another time.
The lodger who had just entered was Ramoncito,
and I could tell by his look and a little wink he
gave me that he understood the situation, and
accepted my lame excuse. The links of friend-
ship are not, perhaps, always confined to the pure
2o6 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
virtues of the saints of the calendar. Sometimes
even our weaknesses may teach us to sympathise
with each other, and estabHsh a confidence which
those more difficult attributes might occasionally
interfere with. I do not mean that we should con-
done offences that are positively vicious, but there
are many little disobediences of the strict rules of
orthodoxy which may be attributed more to kindly,
though perhaps weak natures, than to the actual
temptations of Satan, and which, I think, are in-
finitely more pardonable than the cruel deeds and
heartless zeal of some religious enthusiasts and of
those terrible bigots who would commit murder for
the love of God ! Why then should not Don
Ramon play the guitar, and Ramoncito wink his
eye, and Don Adolfo pretend to be a musician ?
I intended to have painted a portrait of Don
Ramon, and I much regret that I did not. He had
promised to sit to me in his splendid robes, all silk
and gold lace and embroidery. When dressed in these
and walking in procession during High Mass at the
Cathedral he looked grand ; there was the priest in all
the pomp and pride of the Church ; but in the " Casa
de Abad " he was the orenial eood-natured man.
As I passed one morning through the suite of
rooms that were open to all the household I saw
him appealing to a pretty girl, a niece of the
Senora's, who was sitting at work in one of the
windows. He held a pair of black silk stockings in
his hand which were in sore need of darning, and
addressed her in a half-plaintive voice.
DON RAMON EL CANONIGO 207
"The poor Padre," said he, "must appeal to
your goodness to mend this Httle rent for him, for,
alas ! he has no wife to help him in these diffi-
culties."
"Ah, Don Ramon," said she, "there is the mis-
take you have made. A fine man like you should
have gone into the army ; then you could have
had a wife to cheer you and make you happy, and
do these mendings for you."
" Yes, that is true, senorita, but we cannot fight
against our destiny, and must learn to be content in
whatever path in life it has pleased God to call us."
This little incident remained in my mind, and I
painted a picture of it, which I called " No Wife,"
or "The Padre," and exhibited it in the Academy
in 1888, just twenty-five years afterwards.
Christmas was coming, and I had not expected
that away in Toledo it would be at all like our
festival in England. Much then was my astonish-
ment when I found it resembled it in all respects, if
we leave out the roast beef and plum pudding, which
I suppose is quite British; foreign "ros-bif" being
as inferior in nature as in name to the home article.
But in the " Casa de Abad " we had a famous roast
turkey, and the table positively groaned, with a loud
voice, beneath the weight of good things which our
Spanish hostess placed upon it ; and all honour and
glory to her, entirely at her own expense.
1 was sketching one of the courtyards out of my
window when I saw a fine turkey strutting about as
proud as a peacock, neither he nor I thinking that
2o8 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
he would be served up a few hours afterwards as
the piece de resistance of our Christmas dinner ; but
so it was. Christmas Eve, however, was the occa-
sion of the great merry-making of the season. We
were all invited to assemble in the large hall, where
we were called upon to enjoy ourselves with song
and dance and any games that might be improvised.
The servants sat in a row on one side of the room,
with Don Manuel at their head, and the old guitar
already mentioned in his hand. These were the
orchestra ; they sang, or rather intoned, a sort of
ta-ra-ra, beating time with their hands and feet as
accompaniment to the "Jota Aragonesa," for the
Spanish dancing is somewhat Oriental, and consists
rather in graceful movements and turns of the body
and throws of the head than in jumping about, and
for this xh^jota is very well suited. But there was
a desire on the part of the young people for a waltz,
a polka, or a quadrille, and our orchestra was not up
to the music for these dances. So Ramoncito, who
had overheard our Padre's performance when he
interrupted us a day or two previously, took the
guitar from Don Manuel, and, with a very graceful
bow, presented it to Don Ramon, and begged him
in the name of the whole company to play for us.
Don Ramon, in his rich voice, at first excused
himself on account of his cloth. " No, seiior," said
he, "impossible, I must not play to you," and would
have handed back the instrument, but the rest of
the company came round him, all saying, " Yes'
yes, we know you can play, Don Ramon, and it is
DON RAMON EL CANONIGO 209
Christmas Eve." At length his scruples were over-
come, and he played dance after dance for us with
all the spirit that it was possible to put into the
instrument, nor do I suppose there were any bad
marks recorded against the kind Padre for thus
assisting the merriment of the evening.
I endeavoured to do my part towards the enter-
tainment by singing some English songs and per-
forming an English dance, namely, the "double
shuffle," with which they were highly amused, and
which took on, for the next few days all the
young people in the house, servants included, were
trying to dance the " baile- Ingles " ; and when
Nicolassa and Manuel brought in my breakfast,
one carrying the dishes and the other the plates,
they entered the dining-room dancing the double
shuffle, and singing to the tune of the jot a " El
Almuerzo de Sefior Adolfo."
o
ONE OF THE INNOCENTS.
XXVIII
THE CATHEDRAL
' I 'HE Cathedral of Toledo is a vast and mag-
-*- nificent structure, over 400 feet long and 200
feet wide, with five naves, the centre one being 160
feet high, with a very forest of pillars and piers,
splendid stained glass, a great number of chapels,
THE CATHEDRAL 211
about seven organs placed in different parts of the
building, many of their pipes, like gigantic trumpets,
spreading out in all directions, sending their notes
into every corner of the place, the effect of which,
when they are given their full force, is tremendous,
and all very characteristic of Spain, which is a
country of strong light and shade, with no twilight
and few half-tints. In addition to this, there are
countless works of art of all descriptions ; the labour
of centuries of the finest craftsmen is here to be
seen. But it would take months to see it, and a
thick volume to describe it all.
It seems to me that there is no work of man that
can compare in grandeur and in lofty conception to
a fine cathedral. Like the ancient temples of Egypt
and Greece, they are monuments of faith, and are
the highest form of art ; since it is art dedicated to
the service of God, to the building of God's house,
in the days of belief and devotion, by faithful hands
and loving hearts. In the days when the workman
and the artist considered it sufficient for his name
to be known and remembered by Him whom he
served, and had no thought of his own glorification,
he did not sign his name to his work, nor was it
even recorded in history. The worthy dean, or
bishop, or saint, as the case might be, took all the
honour to himself, and was no doubt the presiding
genius for the time being.
I)Ut when I look at these sacred edifices, or
rather soar into them in thought, I feel that they
are inspired, and therefore it is that the workman.
2 12 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
if he put any name to his labour, would put that
of the Eternal Being he worshipped and believed
in. It seems to me that these relics of an aee
long past — and I am now thinking of our English
cathedrals — still bring us sacred messages, and
teach us reverence.
But apart from all this, they teach us what a
strange, and beautiful, and mysterious thing is art.
How did it enter into the minds of men to conceive,
and mould, and build these forms ? It was not one
man's talent, it was not then as at the present day,
when some clever individual is held up for our
admiration as the only one worthy of praise ; but
it was one great purpose with many willing hands
and hearts to carry it out, each taking his place in
a well-ordered freemasonry. It may have been one
of their secrets not to divulge this or that maker of
a design, for it was made for the honour and glory
of all.
And again, let us note how these sacred walls
grew on from age to age, from century to century,
their styles of architecture altering with the times of
their construction. A Norman arch is perhaps sur-
mounted by an Early English, and this, perhaps, is
finished by a later style ; yet all seems in harmony.
And this is part of the strange phenomenon of a
cathedral ; it seems to me that this house of God
is built as no other house is built, but rather as the
mountains are built.
It must indeed be a joy to a true artist, one who
has the glory of his craft at his heart, to see its
THE CATHEDRAL 213
noblest and most beautiful efforts devoted to the
highest of all human ideals, all human aspirations,
and that it is associated, not only with our life here,
but with that which is hereafter. Human, in that in
these edifices we seek consolation for our sorrows,
and forgiveness of our sins. Divine, in that they
raise our thoughts beyond our mortal existence.
This, I think, is the real meaning of that often used
and seldom understood term. High Art.
But I have allowed my enthusiasm to run away
with me, my thoughts are wandering among the
lofty arches of Canterbury, of Gloucester, and of
Lincoln, and I have got far away from where I set
out, namely, the sombre Cathedral of Toledo.
The sombre Cathedral (I speak advisedly), for
it was here that I heard a midnight mass, when the
vast building was almost in darkness ; this was
the most extraordinarv. if not the most beautiful,
service I ever attended. It was Holy Innocents'
Day, and a great crowd had assembled in the nave.
Many of us from the Casa Abad were present, and,
as Don Ramon attended in his clerical capacity,
Ramoncito accompanied me in that o^ cicerone.
The service began with a solemn chant, and, if
one kept the story in mind, one might imagine the
voices of the shepherds and of the angel announc-
ing the birth of the Saviour, the adoration of the
Wise Men of tlie East — the old king, the middle-
aged king, and the young king — and thcnr returning
bv a different way Into their own land. I'Vom
another part of the Cathedral came the sound of
214 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
distant voices. Then might be imagined the voice
of Herod commandinsf the murder of all the babes
under two years, the meeting of the mothers, and
then a babel of sounds, followed by the most
heartrending screams, and angry voices of men.
So startline was the sudden burst of rao^e and
despair, the hideous groans and infant cries, that
for the moment I supposed some fearful catastrophe
had happened, that the Cathedral was on fire or
falling in. But they ceased, and far-off sounds,
which might have been intended to denote the flight
into Egypt, gradually died away, and for a minute
or two all was silent, a death-like stillness prevailed.
Then ao-ain came voices as of children sino;inor
from heaven, the Innocents themselves, the eleven
thousand martyrs were rejoicing far above our
heads. These sounds mingled with the lamenta-
tions of the mothers on earth and the consoling
voices of the angels. And then a burst of joy from
all parts of the Cathedral concluded the service,
which was intensely dramatic and realistic.
IDLENESS.
XXIX
DON MANUEL
DON MANUEL was one of those simple-
minded characters of whom Sancho Panza
is a type. He was the boots and general man-
servant of the establishment of Senora Abad, and
when his various menial employments were over,
which began early and ended late, he sat up for an
hour or two studying Greek and Latin. I asked
him why he did this ; he then told me he was
studying for the Church, and, since it was not his
destiny to be drawn for the army, he intended
to be a priest, and was beginning by learning the
first duty of a Christian, namely, humility, by
cleaning people's boots.
I was sitting with my feet on the fender in the
dining-room, for, it being winter, we had a coal
fire there, when Don Manuel came in to attend
2i6 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
to it. He then sat down to keep me company, as
I was all alone, and thus our conversation began.
It seemed odd to me that Manuel should be study-
ing for the Church, but I found that its ministers
were recruited from all classes of society from the
highest to the lowest, and perhaps each was allotted
a duty suitable to his station. I did not pursue
the subject, as Manuel's eyes were evidently fixed
on a pair of boots I had just purchased, and was
wearing for the first time. The toes were quite
square, and over four inches wide.
"You have very wide boots, Seiior Adolfo,"
said he.
"Yes," said I. " I bought them to-day in one
of the shops here, where I was told they were the
best for the streets of Toledo, which are so steep
that when you are going up them you want all
the grip that you can get, and when you are coming
down, these boots enable you to resist the tendency
to too rapid a descent ; nor do they get in between
the big stones with which the roads are paved, as
those pointed toes would be likely to do, and send
you tumbling down, like Jack and Jill. Then there
is another reason. They do not cramp the feet,
but let the toes expand, so that you do not get
corns or bunions, and you can walk in them with
ease and comfort."
"All that is very true," said Manuel, who
seemed interested in this subject of boots.
" But there is yet another reason, Don Manuel,
for having them so wide."
DON MANUEL 217
"Another reason, senor?"
" Yes ; it is well to have many reasons. Can
you not guess the third reason ? "
Manuel shook his head.
"Well," said I ; "it is this. If I should happen
to lose one of these boots. I can put both my feet
into the other."
This made Manuel laugh. It was another story
for him to tell about the " Senor Indies."
Those individuals who do not worry their brains
over abstruse problems of science and philosophy
are the more likely to have them free to revel in
the pictures of the imagination, and to receive as
gospel anything which amuses without taxing their
intellect. So I sat there for some time entertain-
ing my companion with the wonderful things I
had done, and those I intended to do if I could
only find a faithful squire who would accompany
me in my adventures.
Although these adventures consisted chiefly of
feats performed with the pencil and not with the
lance, it was not difficult to make them appear like
daring exploits of knight-errantry, such as Don
Quixote, attended by his faithful Sancho, was in the
habit of performing whenever he went abroad. I
had carried off from Madrid not onlv some of its
finest pictures, but one of its most beautiful maidens,
in the person of DoRa Emilia. I had taken pos-
session, by stratagem, of the Castillo dc San Ser-
vando, a mere ruin, but which commanded Toledo,
and I was about to invest the city from that j)<)Iiit.
21 8 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
" But what will you do with it, sefior, when
vou have taken it ? "
" I shall carry it with me to London."
" And the senorita ? "
" I shall take her also."
I could see there was a good deal of the same
kind of simplicity in Manuel that makes Sancho
Panza immortal, and it was pleasant to study this
phase of Spanish character. I had little or no
experience of the darker side of it, of the dagger
Spaniard, ever ready to revenge an insult, or to
provoke a quarrel, or to draw the sword and enter
into a midnight brawl on some affair of jealousy,
as is so often met with in the novels and plays of
popular authors. I was mixed up unexpectedly in
a veiled lady and jealous husband affair, but that
was a mere farce, and scarcely worth mentioning,
especially as one of the actors was French, another
Italian, a third German, and only one Spanish ;
but it does not come in here.
While sittino- over the fire with Don Manuel
and smoking a quiet pipe, I allowed my fancy to
run on, and talked of the many things I could
undertake if I had but a faithful squire. I knew
where there was a suit of armour. I had used it
once or twice (to paint from) ; and I might get one
of those horses cheap that I rode out on occasion-
ally with Don Ramon Tenes, and Manuel could
provide himself with one of those fine jackasses
that carried the waterpots about the town ; and if
he took his Q-uitar with him, we miofht do a little
DON MANUEL 219
serenading, and perhaps turn an honest copper that
way, or even earn a dinner now and then ; for we
might occasionally be hard put to it for food both
for ourselves and our animals. I then told him of
all the adventures I had gone through and intended
to eo through, and of the treasures that I was
confident I should find if I could only go about
where I pleased, and be entertained at the various
palaces, mansions, farmhouses, and inns that we
came to without any expense ; and about twenty
more chapters of the same sort of thing, until
Manuel became so interested that he said he was
quite willing to throw up his situation, and even his
Greek and Latin, and follow me round the world.
It may be imagined that the wildest stories were
circulated in the Casa Abad about Seiior Adolfo,
and his boots, and his captive maiden, and his pro-
jected adventures with his faithful squire Manuel
in search of treasure, besides his projected capture
of the Castillo San Servando, and his taking of
Toledo.
TOLEDO.
XXX
THE SKETCH FROM THE ROCK
OENORA ABAD wondered whether I always
^ painted old walls, and could not understand
why I had selected such a subject as the />a/zo,
which was so untidy. I said it was only a begin-
ning — old walls made very good backgrounds for
figures ; besides, there was a great deal of beauty of
colour in them which only artists could see ; but I
intended to make a much more interesting sketch
of Toledo itself, and I was starting that very morn-
ing for the Castillo de San Servando, from which
a magnificent view of the whole city could be ob-
THE SKETCH FROM THE ROCK 221
tained. " But should the weather prove too cold (it
was then January) I shall stay at home and paint
my own room, and if your niece will sit I will put
her into the picture," all of which was arranged,
and both works started.
The Castillo de San Servando is a very dila-
pidated ruin standing on a rock on the opposite
bank of the Tagus and just outside Toledo. Al-
though not a particularly interesting object itself,
it is a good place to sketch from. The ruins in
Spain are not so picturesque as those in England,
the mantling ivy, the rich vegetation, and the over-
shadowing trees being wanting. But from this point
can be seen much that is of the greatest interest ;
and the first thing that strikes one, as it dominates
everything, is the Alcazar, a great square building
three or four times the height of any other near it.
It is the principal feature of my sketch, which I
shall ask the reader to examine. One day, accom-
panied by a young capitan who was staying at
the Casa Abad, I went half-way round the top walls
from tower to tower ; note on the right side of it,
which is in shadow, that daylight is seen through
the windows ; it was on a narrow ridge just inside
these that we walked along, and at each of the open
spaces we looked out upon the city and the distant
mountains, and then proceeded round the other
side to a farther tower. But it made me feel giddy,
especially when I had to turn back and walk along
a ledge about two feet wide, with a wall on one side
of me. with the open spaces just referred to. and a
222 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
depth of about two hundred feet on the other. I
ahnost shudder to think of it even now. My friend,
who was in front, kept looking round with rather
an anxious expression ; I said I was all right, but I
did not feel so, and I did not want to get frightened
then, so I went down on all-fours and crept slowly
along, trying to keep my head steady ; and never
did I feel such a sense of relief as when I landed
at the tower, with the winding stairs, by which we
had ascended. It seems curious that I should have
felt so nervous in coming back when I felt nothing
in going.
Still, I was well repaid for my journey, for the
panorama was grand, and one felt the immen-
sity of the Alcazar. The wretched French under
Soult had gutted the place. This peculiar infa-
tuation for destroying beautiful buildings (some of
their own included), is difficult to understand, but
wherever one turns in Toledo there is the trace of
their malice. It almost makes one hate them for
the time being, and one wonders whether it is an
idea of cheap bravery which actuates them, or is it
a passion — a peculiar delight — which Foy calls the
" sublimity of destruction." I had seen the same
thing in Paris in 1848, and have already mentioned
a dirty little creature with a big sword, who smashed
an enormous looking-glass in the Tuileries, and
seemed as proud of his valorous deed as though
he had won the battle of Waterloo with his single
arm. Perhaps if nothing was destroyed there would
be no incentive to produce new work, new forms of
THE SKETCH FROM THE ROCK 223
beauty ; and in this iconoclasm, even Nature herself
sets the example. And while we blame the French,
we must in all fairness blame ourselves, not only for
destroying the most beautiful work of our fore-
fathers, but for not endeavouring to replace it.
The PVench, at all events, if they destroy, can and
do build up again, and in most cases more mag-
nificently ; but we too often destroy beautiful art
because we are indifferent to it, or even because
it is hateful to us, that is, to those among us who
are still puritanical. The depredations of Crom-
well and his soldiery surpassed even the vandalism
of the French. Their excuse, no doubt, was what
is called religious zeal, that is, religious hatred of
any other creed but their own, and especially the
old Catholic faith, which they replaced by one which
looks upon all that is beautiful, not only in art but
even in Nature itself, as the work of the devil, and
sets up all that is hideous, cruel, miserable, and un-
canny, as pleasing to the Lord. I hope those who
disagree with these observations will excuse them
on the ground that they are inspired by my recollec-
tions of a Scotch sermon.
This wonderful Alcazar was once the palace and
fortress of Toledo ; now it is a gigantic empty shell,
or was when I saw it. But that is more than thirty
years ago, and I believe it has since been converted
into a military college.
If Liie reader will examine this sketch made on
the spot, in fact the one 1 started upon at the be-
ginning of this chapter, he will see down below on
2 24 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
the brink of the river, another ruin, with no roof,
and empty window holes. This is where the water-
works used to be. An enormous noria or water-
wheel, ninety cubits in diameter, forced up sufficient
water to supply the whole of the town, about 600,000
buckets daily. The current here is tremendous,
and this grand engine was constructed by the
Jews of Toledo long long ago. But the Christian
Spaniards turned out the Jew and the Moslem, and
with them the industry, and, in a great measure, the
intellect of their country, only retaining as much of
their gold as they could lay their hands on. Now
when this water-wheel got out of order and ceased
working, as there were no Jews to mend it, and the
Spaniards could not do so even with the assistance
of the saints, it fell into ruin. And as I sat there
sketching the place, I saw donkeys laden with
water-pots, descending and ascending the twisting
road, and the water-carriers dipping each jar sepa-
rately into the stream in the most primitive manner,
which made me say one day at dinner, that I
thought there were more donkeys in Toledo than
in any other place I had ever been to. This re-
mark (not a very judicious one perhaps) elicited a
volley of outcries from my neighbours.
" What! Seizor Adolfo, do you mean to say we
are all donkeys ? "
"You do not go about with six water- pots
fastened on to your backs, do you ? " said I.
" Oh no, indeed ! "
" But do you ever go out, do you ever go any-
THE SKETCH FROM THE ROCK 225
where in this city without meeting certain animals
that do ? "
" No, they are everywhere, these borricosT
" Very well, then, is not Toledo full of donkeys,
as I said ? "
At which they all laughed. But these donkeys
are very fine animals, and not at all like the little
creatures one sees on Hampstead Heath, and they
must be very strong, for not only do they carry
water-pots, but one sometimes sees haystacks
moving along in a mysterious manner, and even a
great pile of furniture and other goods, that seem
progressing by magic, or of their own accord ;
until one discovers four sturdy little legs under-
neath the weight, and perceives, as I used to say
to Ramoncito, "some more of the inhabitants of
Toledo."
And now please look at this sketch again, and
note in the foreground a bridge with its tcte-du-pout
and portcullis, and at the other end the battle-
mented towers. This is the Puente de Alcantara,
the " bridge of bridges." The Castillo de San Ser-
vando commands this bridge, and guards thus the
principal entrance to Toledo. After I had placed
my camp-stool on the height above, and had
advanced considerably with my sketch, a young
soldier, who was posted there as sentinel, came
and told me very civilly that I must not continue
it. So I asked him his name and who was his
captain. He could not understand why 1 asked
this ; but I told him as I knew all tht; captains in
r
2 26 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
Toledo, and as many of them lodged in the same
house that I did, perhaps if I knew his name I
might ask his captain to let me sketch.
"You must have the permission of the Governor
of Toledo," said he.
"Oh, very well then, I will ask the Governor,"
said I ; leaving him to suppose that the Governor
too was a friend of mine. I explained to the sen-
tinel that I was making a picture, not a plan, of the
fortifications, that I cultivated the arts of peace and
not of war, and that I had no intention of taking
the city by storm ; but still I had no doubt he was
quite right, and was only obeying orders in pre-
venting me from sketching.
As I went home to breakfast I met Senor Ojeda
walking with another gentleman, and told them my
adventure with the soldier, and said I had promised
to see the Governor and to obtain his permission to
sketch, which had much impressed the young fellow,
who evidently thought I must be somebody if I
knew the Governor of Toledo. At this they laughed,
for the other gentleman happened to be the Gover-
nor himself, to whom Ojeda formally introduced me.
He was a tall, refined-looking man, quiet in his
manner, and kindly withal, for he at once gave me
his card, and with it permission to sketch anywhere
I pleased, making a note to that effect. He said
the sentinel was quite right, and that he was only
obeying orders, which were very strict on that
point.
When I went back to my work in the afternoon
THE SKETCH FROM THE ROCK 227
I showed the Governor's card to my sentinel, which
considerably increased his respect for me. He was
another Don Manuel, quite as simple and quite as
good-natured, only his destiny had been to go into
the army instead of into the Church. He was
especially pleased when I told him that the Gover-
nor had said he was only doing his duty in not
allowing me to sketch, and I said what a pity it
was he had not told me his name, as I mieht have
recommended him for promotion. After this we
became great friends ; he took the keenest interest
in watching me at work, and I could not help
noticing how different this Spanish private was
to a French officious soldier of the same orrade,
who would probably have marched me off to the
" Corps-de-Garde," under the impression that he
had captured a spy.
If the reader will now cross the " bridee of
bridges," as shown in the sketch, he will see a wide
road, the only wide road in Toledo, running to the
right and left, and, in fact, all round the city with
a double wall, one of which was built by good King
Wamba — who is almost as fabulous and remote an
individual as our good King Arthur — and the lower
one by Alfonso VI. Note also the many elegant
buildings to the right and left, mostly convents and
churches, the former almost tenantless and the latter
much despoiled of their treasures, with few wor-
shippers at their shrines, but whose bells still ring
out with such a hammering, that to hear them you
would think it was an alarm of fire, so loud and
22 8 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
rapid are the strokes ; and I sometimes wondered,
when I heard them early in the morning, whether
they were intended to wake up the faithful, or to
frighten away the devil and all his angels.
There is perhaps too much in this sketch, nor
is it a pretty subject, and yet I was so fascinated
with it that I started a large oil-painting of it, which
I worked at in my room in the Casa Abad, paying
constant visits to the rock to get fresh material, but
all resultingr in a failure. I ofot wronp^ somehow in
the proportions, and the work when finished looked
black, dull, and uninteresting ; but it taught me a
paradoxical lesson, which is, that "it is more difficult
to paint a bad picture than a good one." I could
write a discourse on that theme, but not now. This
sketch, moreover, is much better than the picture.
XXXI
SOCIAL EVENINGS
pvON RAMON, who knew
^^ many of the best fami-
Hes in Toledo, and was every-
where welcomed for his kind,
genial character, asked me if
I would like to accompany
him in some of his visits,
which he generally paid in
the evening. I was, of course,
only too pleased at such a
proposal, and the first call we
made was on Dona Conchia
Carmen.
After wending our way
through many narrow and
tortuous streets, we arrived
in front of a craunt wall in
which was a grand entrance ; but the old gate
swung on its hinges, nor was there any porter to
open it, so we entered unchallenged, crossed the
patio, and mounted a grand staircase ; each step
inlaid with rich Moorish tiles. We then found our-
selves ill a large hall, that had once been glorious,
STREET IN TOLEDO.
230 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
but from which the glories had departed, for it
seemed more like a vast tomb, silent and gloomy,
and in semi-darkness. Our footsteps reverberated
as we followed on from one fine apartment to
another, but in which no vestige of furniture was
to be seen, and from whose walls the gorgeous
tapestries had been torn down, leaving only a few
ragged hangings here and there. Still we went
on ascending and descending till we reached a
retired part of this gaunt mansion, and saw a light
and heard voices.
We soon found ourselves in the midst of a
small family circle, and were graciously welcomed
by Dofia Conchia and her two daughters, the little
party being afterwards increased by the entrance
of the Vizconde de Sedilla and another gentleman.
The ladies sat at the table working and chatting,
and the men entertained them with bits of news,
amusing stories, and now and then a song. Indeed,
it was very like some of those quiet evenings at
home in England which are so enjoyable because
they are without ceremony, and bring out the
sociable qualities of all assembled.
I remember we had plenty of fun and laughter,
as the Vizconde was very lively and amusing. He
talked about the English, of whom he knew but
little, and would not believe that I was one, because
I was so cheerful, and he seemed to think that all
my countrymen went about as if they had bilious
attacks.
" But are not the vSpaniards a very grave race,
SOCIAL EVENINGS 231
senor?" said I. "Indeed I think they are more
so than we English." But, considering that every
one was laughing, our gravity was not fairly illus-
trated on that occasion.
It was sometimes amusing to hear the strange
notions of this country and its inhabitants that
seemed to have become fixed in the minds of the
good Toledans, and of which I had frequent ex-
amples as we sat round the dining-table at the
Casa Abad,
One stranger informed the company that Eng-
land was only a province of Spain ! He then went
on to say that no law passed in it after five o'clock
in the afternoon was valid, because by that time
all the members of Parliament were so drunk that
they did not know what they were doing ; indeed,
this failing was so prevalent in the "province," that
not only members of Parliament, but every man,
woman, and child was intoxicated at that hour.
" What have you to say to this, Seiior Adolfo ? "
said Ramoncito.
"Has the orentleman ever been to Enoland?"
said I. The answer was "No!" so I pointed to
a nut which was on the table, and then to an
enormous melon that was close to it. "Now this
nut," said I, " represents the size of my brain ; that
is my capacity for seeing and understanding the
things around me, as compared to this merlon, which
represents the size of the brain of the sefior who
has just spoken."
"Why?" .said they all.
232 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
" Because he is acquainted with facts about
England, although he has never been there, that I
am quite ignorant of, though I was born there and
have lived there nearly all my life. And I should
be glad if he will further inform me in which part
of Spain England is situated, as I see he is a great
traveller?"
Here the company all laughed.
"Of course," I said, "the seiior has only said
this for fun."
It was the best way of settling him, and we
heard no more of him, for he left after the meal. I
found out afterwards that my allusion to his being
a great traveller was a nearer hit than I intended
it to be — he was a commercial traveller.
I remember on another occasion being sent for
by three students belonging to the Military College
who lived in the house, to settle a disputed point
about the Thames Tunnel. Two of them said it
was an impossibility, the third declared it was a
fact. " What says Seiior Adolfo .'* " I told them
it was a fact, and that I had been through it. The
two were astonished. One of them told me that
he should like to go to England, because there were
three things there he should like to see before
he died, namely, the Crystal Palace, the Thames
Tunnel, and Madame Tussaud's Waxworks.
But I am forgetting that I am spending the
evening with Doiia Carmen and her fair daughters.
I often visited them after this, and made sketches
of the young ladies and of parts of the old house,
SOCIAL EVENINGS
233
amono- others a tribuna, a window looking into the
church from one of the rooms. Dona Carmen told
me that instead of going out to church they could
kneel at that window (which was railed) and say their
prayers, listen to the Mass, and hear the sermon.
THE TRIIiUNA.
I also paid many visits to Senora and Senor
Ojeda, dining and passing the evening with ihcm
frequently. These were always sociaJjlc parties,
234 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
but no grandeur, no display of wealth, although I
often met members of the old aristocracy of Spain.
I believe that in the whole town there were scarcely
any doctors, and I never even heard of a lawyer.
Nothing, I suppose, could prove the poverty of
the place more than this last melancholy fact.
Seilor Ojeda was my constant companion in
my walks and in my sketching expeditions, and
he showed me many of the places of interest of the
old city. To tell of a tithe of the things that struck
me would fill many pages. But every day I saw
something to note, such as beggars living in a
palace, a posada covered with ancient Moorish
tracery thickly whitewashed. It had once been a
mansion. At another time I saw a race, "The
Toledo Derby," which consisted of a number of
horses, mules, and donkeys, decorated with ribbons,
running after each other round a tavern, amidst the
shouts of the populace, with other such-like trifles.
Toledo, once the capital of Spain, is so full
of historic and archaeoloQ^ical interest, that to de-
scribe it all would be quite out of the question.
Besides, it cannot be included in my Sketches from
Memory. Had I gone there with the intention
of writing a history or a guide-book, I should have
been better prepared to talk of the Cid Cam-
peador, of Pedro the Cruel, of the Black Prince
and John of Gaunt, of Don Alvaro the King's
favourite, who began his career as page in the
service of the Queen Catherine, was the chosen
companion of the young King Juan, who could not
SOCIAL EVENINGS 235
bear him out of his sight, became in time Constable
of Castile, and was beheaded at last by order of
his former playmate. Not a bad subject for a
tragedy. One can hardly realise, in looking at the
present state of Toledo, that great kings and pre-
lates, brave knights and fair princesses, paraded its
streets, and splendid processions passed along them.
Nor can one imagine, from the gentle and homely
nature of the people, how they could tolerate for a
moment such a monster as Pedro the Cruel, or take
delight in an aitto-da-fd, and the merciless deeds
of the Holy Inquisition. But I never saw them
roused to anger, and I am glad of it, nor did I have
any difficulties with them on the religious question.
One day, when we were all sitting down to
dinner together, which was generally the case on
Sundays, Ramoncito was opposite to me and Don
Ramon the cure was by my side. The former,
leaning over in a mock threatening attitude, said
across the table —
" Soi su enemigo de usted, Seiior Adolfo." (I
am your enemy.)
"Why?" said I. •
" On account of religion," said he.
" That should not be," said I. "The Christian
religion teaches us to be friends and not enemies.
amigos e non cneniigos. What say you, Don
Ramon .'* "
To which our good Padre rcj)licd, 'It is very
well said, Don Adolfo."
Another who was at table and had seen me at
236 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
church in the morning during mass, said he should
have thought el Senor was a Catholic, for "he knelt
when we knelt, and rose up when we rose up, but
whether he is or not he is a Christian."
I said I was born and brought up a Protestant,
but I liked eoino- to their churches, and when I
did go I considered it but right that I should do
as they did, otherwise I ought to stay away ; for
to stand up and gape about whilst they were at
their prayers would be simply to insult them on
the most tender point, and for no other reason than
to show them how ignorant, rude, and uncharitable
I was. This speech was much applauded, especi-
ally by the Padre.
"And did you take the holy water, seiior.^"
said Ramoncito.
"No! because that would have been either a
mockery or an acted falsehood ; I do not pretend
to be a Catholic, and I should only have been a
hypocrite to take it ! "
But it is time for me to close this chapter, and
to bid farewell to Toledo, and to my friends Ojeda,
and Don Ramon, and Ramoncito, and Seiiora Abad,
and Dofia Carmen, and Manuel, and Nicolassa, and
the Capitan, with his Toledo blade, which he
could bend up to the hilt to frighten me ; and many
others. I should have liked to linger on in the old
city, and to have sketched more patios and pala-
cios, to have brought away more reminiscences of
the Puerto del Sol and its Moorish arches, of the
cathedral and its richly wrought cloisters, of the
SOCIAL EVENINGS 237
church of San Juan de los Reyes, with its votive
chains, built by Ferdinand and Isabella, of some
of the convents, with their silent corridors and
empty cells, of Santa Maria la Blanca, that was
once a synagogue, and Los Baiios de la Cava,
where the beautiful Florinda and her maids, whilst
bathing, were espied by the amorous King Roderic,
with dire consequences to Florinda and to Spain.
For it led to Count Julian, the father of this Gothic
Bathsheba, betraying his country to the Moors,
and to the disastrous battle of Guadalete, in which
King Roderic lost his kingdom and his life, and
which resulted in Spain doing battle with the Moor
for nearly eight hundred years to recover her lost
territory. But all these things are matters of his-
tory, or of romance, and can be read elsewhere.
My departure from Toledo was much regretted
by my kind-hearted friends. I had received a
letter from my mother asking me to return home
as soon as possible, and I had to tell Senora Abad
that I must leave her and all my friends at Toledo,
where I had been so happy. She was "so sorry.
When must you go, seizor ? " I told her I must
leave the next day, and apologised for so sudden
a departure.
"Oh! that is not your fault," said she. "At
what time do you leave ? "
"Soon after mid-day."
"Then you will miss your dinner, hut you must
make a good dejeuner."
After this I walked to the river meadows with
238 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
Don Ramon Tenes (Ramoncito), who had helped
me to pack. I gave him a sketch to keep in re-
membrance of me. I also gave a portrait (a draw-
ing) to Dona Carmen of one of her daughters, and
paid several other farewell visits.
Wednesday the 4th of February was my last
day in Toledo, I found time in the morning to
sketch the doorway of my room, which led into
the hall, and was opposite another doorway leading
into a suite of apartments occupied by my hostess.
I have made use of this sketch in the background
of my picture of the " Padre."
As I could not stay to dinner, Senora Abad was
determined I should make a good breakfast, and
she filled the whole dining-room table with every
dish that she had found out I had a liking for.
Stewed eels, chicken, partridges, puchero, with
ham and vegetables, garbanzos, chorizo, &c., a
bottle of Val de Penas, asparagus, artichokes,
grapes, and sweets — the table groaned under the
weight of dishes, and there was no room for any
more.
"For whom is this repast?" said I. "Are any
guests expected ? "
" None, senor ; it is all for Senor Adolfo ! "
I tried to do justice to it, but I was not in a
mood for eating ; I was sorry to leave my kind
friends, but this generosity touched me. No doubt
nothing was wasted ; still, it was so pretty, and so
different to what one sometimes experiences at
lodgings. Ojeda called to see me off, and laughed
SOCIAL EVENINGS
239
at my sitting down to a repast sufficient for an
ogre.
UOOR OF MY ROOM — TULKUO.
"The table is bidding you farewell," said he.
And it was so indeed.
240 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
It was time to start, I must go by the omnibus
to the train ; Manuel carried my portmanteau, others
carried sundry of my belongings, every one wanted
to help. The whole establishment came to see me
off. Most of them hugged me ; Don Ramon gave
me his blessing, and I felt the tears coming into my
eyes. I said as I drove off that I should always
remember my good friends with affection, for like
them I have "mucho corazon," and these pages are
proof that I have kept my word.
XXXIl
MADRID AGAI N
THE CARNIVAL
AFTER passing two happy months in Toledo, I
''*■ returned to Madrid for a short time before
shaping my course homewards. There were still
several pictures at the Museo that I wanted to
copy, and a hundred others besides if I had only
the time, for there is infinite pleasure in sitting
and sketching before a beautiful work, whether
it be of Art or Nature. Nor is it to be de-
scribed ; it is only to be felt by those who really
love Art for its own dear beautiful self, forgiving
even its faults for the sake of its goodness. Then
besides the pleasure there is the profit, the teaching.
It is only by studying the finest works of the great
masters, scrutinising, finding out, noting their colour
arrangements, effects of light and dark, their com-
position, drawing, manipulation, and so forth, that
we can truly learn our craft. This apart from the
sentiment, the conception, the poetry, &c., which
are additional sources of enjoyment and instruction.
And then again, when we do know our craft, we
^4- Q
242 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
can carry away, as I told Don Manuel, very many
treasures, not only pictures, but lands and cities,
and even beautiful maidens.
It must not be supposed that while in Toledo
I passed all my time in visiting, and in dancing
the "double shuffle," nor that in Madrid I dozed
away my time or lounged on the velvet cushions
of the Casino with a breva cigar in my mouth ;
for I find that during my stay in Spain, which
was between five and six months, I painted forty-
four pictures in oil and water colour, that is, count-
ing my copies in the Museo and my outdoor -
studies.
The last scene I witnessed in Madrid was the
Carnival and the Bal Masque at the Opera. At
the former the men are disguised in all sorts of
costumes, grave and gay, and wear masks beauti-
fully made of fine wire gauze, and further, to
preserve their incognito they skip along instead
of walking, and squeak or talk in high falsetto
instead of their own natural voices. The effect
is very comic, but gives great latitude. The ladies
are not disguised, but sit in their balconies or their
carriages looking on, and receiving compliments
and sugar-plums from the gay maskers.
Of course, Seiior Adolfo must join in the fun
with his friend the Doctor. We both went out as
Pierrots, each with a large silk bag filled with
sweets, sometimes climbing into the balconies to
say a few words in the ears of the laughing don-
cellas, making imaginary appointments, uttering
MADRID AGAIN 243
sentences of eternal devotion, and any other non-
sense that came into our heads. How very brave
and devoted one can be when disguised !
Friend Romano was got up Hke John Bull,
dressed very neatly like an old English gentle-
man, but with an enormous bull's head on his
shoulders. It was amusing to see him standino-
on the step of an open carriage occupied by four
laughing girls, and this enormous bull's head with
great horns in their midst, turning first to one
and then another, giving expression to his admira-
tion by bellowing like the animal he impersonated,
and twitching his ears.
Among the very pretty sights were whole regi-
ments of students daintily dressed in the old Spanish
style, with breeches and stockings, &c., each with a
guitar ; they came dancing along the Prado, singing
a jota or some fandango, and seemed as perfect in
their performances as a trained chorus at the Opera.
By-the-bye, what a scene this would make at Drury
Lane if properly done !
To describe it would be interminable. I have
seldom seen anything so gay and pretty. There
were blots here and there, and vulgarities somewhat
in the French taste, but (as far as I saw), everything
was orderly ; my astonishment was that the grave
Spaniard could be so lively.
As the men had it all their own way in the
morning, so it was to be the ladies' turn in thd even-
ing, or rather the night, when the Bal Masque at
the Opera took place. Here all the men were in
244 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
ordinary evening dress, and the ladies in their be-
witching black masks. A great deal of the fun
consisted in proving to the fair one, or the dark one,
that you had discovered her identity. I asked one
young incognita to dance —
"Oh, why do you ask me, senor, who am a
perfect stranger ? "
" Because you do not seem to me to be a
stranger ; and as I am soon returning to England, I
should like to carry away with me the remembrance
that I have danced with the fair Manuela."
"Oh, I am not Manuela, seiior."
" Then this is very strange — you must be a very
dear friend of hers."
" No, indeed ; you are mistaken."
" Then I have every reason to be so ; for you
are, I am sure, as much like her as that pretty
bracelet on your arm is like the one she showed me
only the other day."
" Senor Adolfo," said she, laughing and raising
her mask, " I had forgotten about my bracelet."
Many such adventures, no doubt, took place that
night. The ball at the Opera, like the Carnival on
the Prado, was orderly and select. It was not given
over to the demi-monde as in Paris, for even the
Queen and royal family attended it. Dancing went
on till about six o'clock in the morning ; and I came
out just as the watchmen were going off duty. So
it was in vain to call Antonio to let me in to
my lodgings ; 1 must wait now till the household
wakes up, or go to one of the cafes on the Puerto
MADRID AGAIN 245
del Sol. This last I did ; and after refreshincr
myself with a cup of coffee I fell into an armchair
and dozed off
Two days after I was on my way to Alicante,
where I took my passage on board the steamer
bound for Marseilles, and so home again.
XXXIII
FAREWELL, CHECA!
I HAVE often alluded to my friend the Doctor.
Soon after I left Spain he went out to Hong-
Kong as Consul. The appointment was probably-
given him to get him away from his old haunts in
Madrid, and especially the roulette tables, which
were ruining him both in pocket and in mind.
He had not been out there very long before he
fouofht a duel, and behaved with his characteristic
pluck and generosity. His adversary was the ex-
consul of the place ; but I do not know for what
cause he sent Checa a challenge ; some said it was
out of jealousy at being superseded ; some, that it
was " une affaire de femme." As the Doctor was the
one challenged he had the choice of weapons, and
selected swords, at which he was a good hand ;
but his opponent, who was an excellent shot, pre-
tended that he had hurt his arm, and could not,
therefore, use the sword, so suggested pistols. The
Doctor said, " Let it be pistols then." Lots were
drawn for which should fire first, and it fell to his
adversary. The latter, on the signal being given,
walked up to Checa, and when within the stipulated
number of paces fired straight at him, the bullet just
246
FAREWELL, CHECA !
247
grazing his nose. The doctor then said to the
seconds, " You see, gentlemen, my opponent has
tried to take my hfe, and would inevitably do so if
I gave him another chance. I would willingly fire
in the air ; but, under the circumstances, I must stop
his pistol practice for the future ; " so saying, he
BOWED DOWN.
walked towards him, and, when within the allotted
distance, lodged a bullet in his right shoulder, and
he was carried from the field with his arm helplessly
hanging down.
I am sorry to ha\-(! to add, that the kind, brave,
merry, but unhappy Doctor, only returned to his
248 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
native country to die. Whether the climate of
Hong-Kong did not agree with him, or whether he
pined for home again and the roulette tables, I cannot
say, but he was seized with typhoid, and died a
few days after he got back, truly regretted by all
who knew him. And no doubt many of his troubles
and misfortunes, and all his unhappiness, could be
traced to that little demon who used to sit upon his
shoulder and lure him to the gambling-table.
Farewell, my dear Checa. If I could have three
wishes as in the old fairy tale, one of them would
be that we could again see the pleasant faces of our
departed friends, and listen once more to the voices
that are silent for ever. And yours, my dear Doctor,
would be amone the first I would recall. But am I
not doing so now ? For I can still see you smiling,
and can still hear you calling me "the leetel boy,"
though only in far-off memory. And this, though
part of the pleasure in writing these pages, is still
a sorrow. For it makes the past seem like a dream,
and my dearest friends like passing shadows.
'^■^ \l'
CLARISSA.
XXXIV
HISTORIC GENRE
ON my return from Spain I found my young
companions going fast ahead. One is close
on being elected an A.R.A., and all have pictures
on the line at the Royal Academy Exhibition.
Historical and semi-historical pictures are the
staple of their performances ; Queen Elizabeth,
Anne Boleyn, Henry VIII., Henrietta Maria, John
Hampden, Arabella Stuart, James I., and several
other royal notabilities, make their appearance on
canvases that hail from St. John's Wood.
I could not quite l)elieve in this so-called
i^y
250 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
"Historical Art," although I joined the ranks of
its adherents and followed for a time the fashion
of the day. But what did I know about Arabella
Stuart and James I., except what Miss Lucy Aikin
had told me in her two volumes, and what I could
pick up from prints of the period? I got up my
accessories just as a stage manager would do for a
new piece, borrowed costumes from Nathan & Co.,
and dressed up my model like a pantaloon, to sig-
nify the canny King of Scots who was afraid of a
drawn sword, but could sit calmly by and see a
poor wretch burnt for witchcraft. I tried to imagine
William Seymour as a sentimental lover, and to
make Arabella pretty, despite her bald forehead
and her dreadful farthingale ; but with the Madrid
pictures still fresh in my memory, the real big
historical pictures of the " Surrender of Breda," of
the " Meninas," and others by Velasquez, I could
not feel enthusiastic about the modern " Genre
Historique," however well it was done.
In the work of Velasquez I knew that not
only were the costumes correct, but the actual
men of the time were there before me, the period
stamped, not only on the dress, but on every face,
in the very attitudes even of the figures ; the whole
belonging so completely to its own day, even as
the hand that wrought it, that I felt I had a true
page of history before me, and not a theatrical
make-up of a scene only dimly realised in the
pages of some book written many years after the
event. I could not help laughing to myself at the
HISTORIC GENRE 251
absurdity of making old Guinette (my principal
model), sit one day for James I. and the next for
William Seymour. In the latter character he stood
close to the window of my studio (which was over
a baker's shop), squeezing the hands of a lay figure
and looking lovingly into its face, notwithstanding
that its nose was bashed in, and that it had no hair
on its head. As the costume of the period con-
sisted of trunk-hose, &c., and a peculiar collar that
looked something like the square sail of a ship,
the appearance to me was droll enough, but what
must it have been to those outside ! I remember
Guinette, who was a most polite and obliging old
man, after saying what a remarkably beautiful lay
figure I possessed, told me that they had an
"audience." As I was busy with my work I
took no notice, and asked him if he minded
being looked at.
"Oh dear no, Mr. Storey, sir ; an actor likes an
audience, you know, sir."
Still working on, I asked from time to time,
"Well, how's the audience? "
" It's increasing, sir."
" How many are there?" said I, thinking there
might be two or three little boys.
" I couldn't count them, sir."
1 then went to the window, The street was
one dense mass of heads, gazing up with wonder
and awe at what they supposed to be a lunatic
making love to a dummy, but from which I was
painting the meeting of Wilh'am .Seymour and
252 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
the Lady Arabella Stuart. Decidedly I was work-
ing at a disadvantage.
Still, as it was the sort of thing the public and
buyers wanted at that time, and as many others
were gaining fame and fortune thereby, I went in
for yet another " historical work," which I called
"A Royal Challenge" — Henry VHI. in his young
days challenging a sturdy yokel to a bout of cudgel
playing.
For this work I made many studies of costume
and other details. I have a book now before me
containing nearly a hundred sketches of dresses
of the period, of models in various attitudes, and
several notes made at a real fair and merry-making
to which I went for the purpose of studying the
groups, the games, the tents, the booths, and the
characters, and I wonder now why I did not paint
the real scene before me instead of putting it back
to the time of Henry VHI. Was it, in the first
place, because the hideous and tasteless costumes
of the crinoline days deterred me from representing
it, or was it that in painting my own time I thought
I should not be painting an " historical picture" ?
There can be no doubt that want of taste
in dress and other surroundings often obliges the
artist to present his fancies in the costumes of
periods when articles of clothing were in themselves
works of art, instead of in the shifting fashions of
the day that in a year or two not only look out of
date, but stand forth in all their native ugliness and
vulgarity, which was condoned on account of their
HISTORIC GENRE
253
novelty, but, becoming stale, make us wonder how
we ever could have tolerated them. However,
A GOSSIP.
flesh and blood and character are what an artist
should look to; the dress may aid in this, .iiul I
2 54 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
hold It as quite legitimate, and even a duty, for him
to alter the dress of his own time wherever he can
improve upon it. In portraiture this was done by
Sir Joshua Reynolds and Gainsborough, whose
pictures remain as valuable works of art, though
the sitters have long ago been dead, buried, and
many forgotten.
XXXV
GIG
AMONG my many kind friends
and patrons was one who went
by the name of Gig, pronounced Jig,
the short for one much more imposing.
He was as good as gold, of which
metal he possessed a plentiful share,
and which, as a very shrewd com-
panion of mine remarks, makes it
comparatively easy to be good and
kind and even o-enerous. Giof was
all of these, and I believe he was
thankful to Providence, as I should
be myself, for having put it in his
power to exercise these three amiable qualities.
But, besides this, he was an educated gentleman
of super-refined ideas and manners, and withal, as
he informed me on my first introduction to him, he
had no personal vanity.
Although his wealth was in a i^reat measure
accumulated on the Stock Exchange, he frcc|ucntly
hinted that he meant to give up business aiul take
to poetry. He had often exercised his pen in the
GLADYS.
256 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
columns of the Daily Blank, and had crushed out
impostors by his powerful leaders, but otherwise he
was a mute inglorious Milton, and he would greatly
have preferred that the printers had set up his
blank verse instead of his articles for the Daily
Blank. He told me that he loved art and artists,
for art beautified] life and taught us how to enjoy
it, whilst the artists themselves were, as a rule,
right down good fellows, and he believed that the
reason they were so often abused was because their
critics had no taste.
" Taste was such a rare quality : and although
I have no personal vanity," said he, "I have so
much taste, anything vulgar positively hurts me ;
it grates upon my nerves. I have highly strung
nerves, my dear Dolly, and do you know that I am
so sympathetic that everybody loves me ; in fact, it
is one of the curses of my life to be loved."
Gig was a character — a good character and a
good friend. In early days he was acquainted with
a Doctor E., and took a liking to his two sons,
Henry and William. The former he knew at Eton,
and the latter, a dashing young fellow, was then at
Sandhurst preparing for his examination for the
army. He was his mother's pet, nor was she
satisfied till she saw him in the elegant uniform
of a subaltern in the Guards, although I am sorry
to say that his military achievements soon came
to an end. I also knew them in those days, and,
as a boy, I can remember feeling very proud at
being driven round Regent's Park in their splendid
GIG 257
carriage, and I still possess a book on drawing
which the Doctor presented to me when I was
extremely juvenile, but, as it would seem, had
shown some artistic proclivities. I merely mention
this en passa7it as a guarantee of the genuineness
of my story and of Gig.
And now a cloud comes over the scene ; the
curtain falls and many years elapse, and when it
rises aeain all is chano-ed. Instead of wealth, in-
stead of a house in the Park, instead of carriages
and coachmen and footmen and grand dinner-
parties and all that, there is poverty in a little
lodging. The young officer, no longer in the
Guards, has to pawn even to his shirt to get a
meal for his old mother ; she, once the reigning
queen of loud assemblies, handsome, extravagant,
and bedecked with jewellery, is now a poor old
woman, who miofht almost have come out of an
almshouse. The learned Doctor — Doctor of Law
— had died, leaving between eighty and a hundred
thousand pounds to his magnificent widow ; but she,
not satisfied with this, must needs speculate, gamble
in fact, and lose all in bogus railway shares at the
time when Hudson was the Railway King.
Gig had, by his contributions to the Daily
Blank, helped in a great measure to dethrone this
monarch, and had, by some means or other, become
estranged from his early friends. It was many
years since he had either seen or heard of them,
but he was prosperous, and although possessed of
no personal vanil) , lived in clover, and having the
258 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
purse of Fortunatus, was, as he said, loved by
everybody.
He happened to be passing by one of the minor
theatres — the name I suppress — when, attracted by
the poster outside, he entered and went to the Httle
pigeon-hole behind which sat the man who sold the
tickets ; he asked for a stall, and as he paid for it,
the face of the ticket-man brought certain recol-
lections to his mind, but in so vague a way that
he passed on to his seat, and for a time the sug-
gested thought faded away. But when the curtain
rose, the first performer who made his appearance
was a sort of young dandy, who played a minor
part, and whose face and voice also brought back
certain recollections of old times.
"Can it be?" said Gig. "Is it possible?"
He sat out the first act, but his heart was beating,
his interest was engrossed, not with the piece but
with a deeper drama of human life that seemed to
him to be enacting behind the scenes and behind
the little pigeon-hole of the ticket-office. He must
settle the question. He strolled out into the cor-
ridor, he strolled round to the ticket-office, he stood
and looked inquiringly at the man there. The
latter glanced at him for a moment, then looking
intently down, began counting his takings.
"Are you not Henry E. ?" said Gig.
After a moment's hesitation, Henry E. looked
up and said, with an expression impossible to de-
scribe, "Yes."
" And do you recognise me ? "
GIG 259
" I do."
" How is this, Henry ? "
" I cannot tell you now. Why do you ask ? "
" Thank God I have found you again. This
must not be. I will wait for you when the play is
over, and for William, too ; you must both come
home with me, and we must see if somethinor can
be done."
The two men shook hands, squeezed hands,
through that little pigeon-hole, and I am not sure
that tears did not stand in both those men's eyes.
Gig, although he had no personal vanity, had
much sentiment, and a kind heart. He was both a
man of the world and a man of feeling ; he saw the
situation in which his friends were placed, through
no fault of their own. He admired their pluck in
their humiliation, and he longed to reinstate them
in their former position.
The evening they passed together after so long
an estrangement can be imagined. Henry, the
ticket-man, had been educated at Eton, and was a
gentleman every inch of him — quiet, modest, and
sterling ; and not long after this meeting he was
installed in a well-known city bank, to which he
eventually became secretary, at the same time con-
tributing many articles to the Daily Blank, all
through the kind offices of Gig. William, having
passed from the army to the stage, became a mem-
ber of the Stock Exchange, and junior j)artncr in
the firm of his friend Gig. Yes, Gig was a good
fellow and no mistake, whether he had any personal
26o SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
vanity or not ; and if I mention some of his peculi-
arities it is not to hold him up to ridicule, but simply
because he appears to me to be a character well
worth sketching from memory — pleasant memory.
My first introduction to George S., of No. X.,
not far from Eaton Square, and of a sumptuous
palatial hall near Windsor, and also of an elegant
suite of apartments in the Champs Elysees, Paris,
Esquire, otherwise Gig, was at the first-mentioned
residence. Mrs. and Miss Gig were away at some
chateau, and so Mr. Gig gave a little bachelor's
dinner to Henry, William, and me. Of course
everything was served in the best of taste, for taste,
as Gig frequently told me, was \(\'s> forte : he was
proud of his taste, and considered, with Brillat-Sava-
rin, that eating and drinking should be, in its way,
as much a fine art as painting and sculpture.
"That may be," said William; "at the same
time, if I am hungry, I like a good cut off the
rump."
" Yes, William ; but you are too coarse. I hate
coarseness. I have no personal vanity, as you
know, but I am most refined ; coarseness grates
upon my nerves."
" Quite so ; but at the same time I can't see
what connection there is between eating and drink-
ing and painting and sculpture."
The quiet Henry ventured to suggest that, as
painting had to do with the palette and sculpture
with carving, there might be some relation. At
this Gig put up his hands and looked sad, and I
GIG 261
must confess that the joke gave me an opportunity
of lauofhino- at Gior.
And so the little dinner went on very plea-
santly, the dainty dishes being interspersed with
badi7iaze.
William, who was full of fun and spirits, winked
at me every now and then, as much as to say,
"I'm only drawing him out;" and it was not a
little amusing to note the contrast, either real or
assumed, between the two greatest friends, — Gig all
sentiment, dreaming only of poetry and art, — and
William, practical and prosaic, looking upon poetry
and art as all bosh.
I glanced from time to time at the pictures
hanging round the room, which were very imper-
fectly lighted by the shaded candles that stood on
the dinner-table ; but I could distinguish a De
Hooghe, the "Pink Boy" by Gainsborough, a
Panini, a \'andyke, and a Dutch battle-piece painted
on copper.
" You seem to have some good pictures, Mr. S. ? "
" Indeed I have ; but don't call me Mr. S., call
ig.
" I will, by-and-by, I can't do it at first, you
know."
" How nice of you, Dolly."
In the course of the evening I oot as far as
calling him not only Gig, but even Gig dear, for
he was truly, as he said, very sympathetic, and it
did not take long to feel perfectly at ea.sc and at
home with him.
262 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
He was anxious that I should see his collection,
although he had a strange way of showing it ; for
after telling me that they were all signed pictures,
he took a candle from the table and dashed it from
one to the other before I had time to see whether
it was a landscape or a figure subject.
"This," said he, "is a fine sea-piece by Bak-
huizen ; but come and look at my Claude," and
before I had time to see either of them the light
was wafted away to his Hoogstraten, his Lingel-
bach, and his Paul Potter, "all signed pictures,"
more importance being attached to that, than even
to the works themselves.
I was interested in a De Hooghe. " Oh, don't
look at that ; but tell me what you think of my
' Pink Boy ' ^ by Gainsborough, the companion to
his ' Blue Boy.' " I could not, in the dim light, see
what that picture was like ; but I examined the
Dutch battle-piece painted on copper, and could
not resist giving it a gentle tap. I was then called
off to look at some monks by Van Somer, painted
expressly for Gig.
"You have modern pictures as well, then.'*"
said 1.
" Oh yes ; and I must have one of yours. What
are you painting } "
1 The "Pink Boy," exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1879 (No.
39), is a portrait of Master Nicholls, grandson of Dr. Mead. It is
described in the catalogue as : "A full length, standing, in a land-
scape, in a red and white fancy costume, holding a red hat with
ostrich feather in left hand ; long, fair hair. Canvas 65 by 445 inches.
Lent by John Xaylor, Esq."
GIG 263
"Some children at breakfast, sitting under an
oriel window, at Hever Castle."
'' I must have that picture ; it must be lovely ;
consider it mine."
For the moment I did, but a minute or two
afterwards I did not. I recollected mv enthusiastic
Spanish friend, the little General, who gave me a
commission to paint himself, his wife, his sons, his
daughters, the aristocracy of Spain generally, and
all the royal family, which ended in a little boy ;
and even he was not intended.
In a somewhat similar manner, Gig bought
nearly every picture I painted for several years.
True, the transactions never came to a final settle-
ment, because he said that if anybody else wanted
the work he would waive his claim to • it and take
the next. So, although Gig was one of my greatest
patrons, he never succeeded in obtaining a picture
of mine for himself, but generously and invariably
let some one else have it.
It was time to adjourn to the smoking-room,
so the further contemplation of Gig's masterpieces
was postponed to another occasion. I may note,
however, that although he never succeeded in
obtaining one of my productions, he sent me as a
present a beautiful sketch by Vandyke, which I still
have and value, not only for its intrinsic merit,
but for the sake of and in remembrance of the
kind giver.
"How about that picture )<)u arc lo paint for
me ? " said William, as soon as we were settled
264 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
down in the smoking-room. For William, the
bluff, although he had seen the ups and downs of
life, had again come to the ups, since he was in a
position to give orders for pictures ; and, notwith-
standing that he looked upon poetry and art as
bosh, he was not averse to having pretty things
about him in the way of furniture, china, and
paintings. " Have you thought of a subject,
Dolly ? " said he. " You know I should like it to
be something spicy."
" Spicy ! " said Gig with a sigh. " The idea of
a spicy picture ! as if it were something to eat.
You are too fond of eating, William. You allow
your animal nature to preponderate. You should
feed your mind as well as your body."
"Why don't you say carcass, Gig? I only go
by the book. Let us eat, drink, and be merry, for
to-morrow we die ! and you haven't a bad twist,
old boy."
" Oh, William, you are incorrigible ! "
" I stand corrected, Gig. But let us come back
to the picture."
I said I had thought of a subject.
" Let's have it then," said William.
" Well — it's from Euripides."
" Blow Euripides ! Who the devil cares for
Euripides ? " said William.
" William," said Gig reprovingly, " you shouldn't
speak of a great poet like Euripides in that manner.
You know, Aristotle says he was the most tragic
of all the poets."
GIG 265
William. "Oh, was he? I beg his pardon."
Gig. '' Let me read one of his tragedies to you.
Let me read ' Hecuba.' "
William. " Not now, Gig. Thank you all the
same. I'm afraid it would tire you."
Of course Henry couldn't help joining in with —
"What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba? "
Gig was a very good reader, and was especially
great in pathetic scenes. He was anxious to do
the parting of Hecuba with Polyxene : "Woe is
me, I faint and my limbs are loosed," &c., but
William still thought that the effort would be too
much for him. So Euripides was set aside, and
the subject I eventually painted was, "The Lost
Labour of the Danaides," who pass mournfully to
and fro in Hades, with their broken pitchers, which
was intended as a poetical representation of Human
Life, Time for ever running out.
But to continue the account of our little evening,
I must tell you that, although Gig was not allowed
to read the tragedy of Hecuba, William thought
he would make up for it by asking him to read the
" Bridge of Sisfhs," as he said he could understand
that better, and, after a great deal of pressing. Gig
began : —
"THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS"
(with emphasis, and as though he were intoning).
" One more unfortunate "
William. "Ah, yes, read that, Gig."
266 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
Gig {in a plaintive voice). "Why do you inter-
rupt, William, just as I am beginning ?
' One more unfortunate,
Weary of breath ' "
William. " I was only going to say that I should
like Dolly to hear you read ; that's all."
Gig. " But how can I read if you interrupt like
that?"
William. " I beg your pardon, Gig."
Gig. " Then I will go on —
' One ' "
Williafn. "You must listen to this, Dolly. It's
the best thing he does."
D. "Oh yes."
Gig. "Shall I go on, or shall I not.'*"
D. " Oh yes, do, please ! "
William. " There, we are quiet now. Just let
me light my pipe. Now then, Gig."
Gig. "Yes, but if you would rather not
listen "
William. "No, no, Gig! We want to hear
it. {Aside to D.) I've heard it fifty times, but it
pleases him."
Gig. "You are quite sure it will not bore you,
Dolly ? "
D. " Oh, quite the contrary ! I am very fond
of poetry, especially Tom Hood's, and I should
so m,uch like to \\^:^x you read."
GIG 267
Gig. "Thank you."
William {mcdgi7ig D., aside). "That'll please
him."
Gig. " One more unfortunate,
Weary of breath,
Rashly importunate
Gone to her death.
Take her up tenderly,
Lift her with care
William. " I always liked that bit."
Gig. " Fashioned so slenderly,
Young and so fair.
Where the lamps quiver
So far in the river.
With many a light
From window and casement,
From garret to basement,
Houseless by night."
Willia77i. " Stunning ! "
Gig. " The bleak wind of March "
William. " I beg pardon, Gig, but why do you
say wind? Why don't you say ^c^/W.^"
Gig. " Really, William, you surely know that
they always say wind in poetry."
William. "Oh, all right! only it sounds nun.
that's all."
268 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
Gig. " You are so prosaic, William " {con-
tinuing) —
" Take her up tenderly,
Lift her with care.
Fashioned so slenderly.
Young and so fair."
William. "Bravo, Gig! thank you, thank you!
Beautifully read, isn't it, 'Dolfo?"
Gig. " But I haven't finished yet."
William. "Oh, I beg pardon! I thought you
had, and were beginning it all over again."
Gig. " There, I see it bores you. Besides, I'm
tired."
Among other little touches that are necessary
to complete the portrait of my friend Gig, I must
not forget his particular aversion to any one pro-
nouncing their words badly ; and if Holmes, the
butler, had not been an exceptionally good servant,
he would have had to leave at once, because his
education in this respect was certainly deficient.
Soon after the reading of " The Bridge of Sighs "
he made his appearance with the glasses and grogs,
and, on Gig's inquiry as to his next week's engage-
ments, Holmes informed him that he was not
engaged for "Toosdy." Poor Gig besought him
to say Tuesday, pronouncing each letter of the word
distinctly.
"Don't say 'Toosdy,' Holmes. If you only
knew how it grated on my nerves to hear you say
' Toosdy,' I'm sure you would never do it. In the
future, please, say ' Tuesday.' "
GIG 269
" I will, sir."
" Thank you."
Scarcely was this little compact made when
Holmes asked if we would like some "corfey,"but
Gior shook his head, his nerves were arain beine
grated upon ; he was silent.
A little later on, the name of Ruskin came up,
and Gig, who had a beautiful copy of " Modern
Painters," bound in white and gold, rang for Holmes
to bring it down. But never shall I forget that
serious domestic's bewildered expression when Gig
informed him that he wanted to show his " Ruskin"
to Mr. Storey and then asked him to fetch it.
Holmes blushed and begged pardon, and said he
did not know what a " Ruskin" was. Upon being
informed it was a book in five volumes, he dis-
appeared and soon returned with the treasures, his
face, in the meantime, havino- resumed its calm,
and although he seldom smiled, the corners of his
mouth on this occasion had a slight tendency to
turn up.
After this first introduction, I saw Gig many
times, and generally found him deeply engrossed in
some new and impracticable project. The Franco-
Prussian War was then raging with all its disastrous
fury. News of its horrors and suffering were con-
tinually pouring in, and Gig was busy preparing
to go out and nurse the sick and the wounded and
to assuage their agonies, which, he said, he felt
most acutely in imagination ; all nighl he heard
their groans, and l(;nged to be of comfort to ihcm,
270 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
And notwithstandinor the efforts of his friends to
dissuade him from his purpose, owing to his own
delicate state of health, Gig would go. He en-
rolled himself as one of the ambulance corps, and
had a red cross sewn on to the sleeve of his coat
in a very conspicuous place to denote his errand of
charity and of self-sacrifice. But no sooner had he
arrived in Paris than he was arrested as a Prussian
spy. The zealous gendarmes suspected him, and
immediately surrounded him with drawn swords
and fixed bayonets, and marched him off to prison
without ceremony.
" Je le connais bien .'* " said one. "II ne nous
echappera pas cette fois," said a second ; and a
third, addressing him with a malicious smile, said,
"Nous allons te fusilier demain " ("You will be
shot to-morrow morning ").
Gig resigned himself patiently to the situation,
and addressing his captors in his usual gentle
manner, told them that he did not fear death, and
that they might shoot him if they pleased. He had
sacrificed all the comforts of his home in England
to come out to the seat of war, in the hope of being
some comfort and help to those who fell wounded
in battle ; and in doing so he might be sacrificing
his life. If they chose to take that life before he
had the opportunity of doing the good he proposed,
not only by his own personal efforts, but by the
money he intended to disburse, it was a pity. But
still if they shot him he felt the satisfaction that he
would die in a good cause. "But," said he, "in
GIG
271
order that you may not place yourselves in an
awkward and regretable position, I beg of your
officer to take my card to the British ambas-
sador, who is a personal friend of mine, and will
certify that I am an English gentleman, and not a
Prussian spy."
The officer took the card, although at the same
time he felt it was only a ruse on the part of the
crafty spy, and sent it on to the British Embassy.
Perhaps, too, he was a little surprised at the quiet
way in which Gig took the affair. However, a
note soon came from Lord Lyons informing the
military of their mistake ; that the gentleman in
question was an Englishman, and a personal friend
of his, a frequent resident in Paris, and well known
for his many acts of kindness to the distressed. Of
course the release of Gig followed immediately, and
the officer and his men not only tendered him their
most profound apologies, but wanted to embrace
him into the bargain.
He then pursued his journey, and carried out, as
far as his strength would permit, the good mission
he was bent upon.
• • • • •
And now, my dear Gig, farewell ! Among the
many unfulfilled wishes of your kind heart was the
wish that I should paint your portrait. Appoint-
ments for sittinofs were made, but fate willed that
other pressing engagements should cause those
sittings to be deferred until y(ju departed this life,
and the picture was never painted.
272 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
Perhaps that absence of personal vanity to which
you so frequently alluded, may have been at the
bottom of this matter. At any rate, my dear Gig,
if you could only look on these pages, you might
feel a satisfaction, mingled with reproof, that after
more than twenty years I have made a sketch of
you from memory.
CURIOSITY.
XXXVI
BEHIND THE SCREEN
I HAVE often noticed people when they enter a
studio look rather suspiciously at the screen,
especially if a picture of "Andromeda," or " i.a
Cigale," or " Lady Godiva " happens to be on tiie
easel. I was busily engaged putting the fniishing
s
273
274 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
touches to a picture of the latter subject, which I had
to send to the Royal Academy the next day, when
a knock came at the door. My model ran behind
the screen, and a large party of visitors then entered,
so I wheeled my easel with the Lady of Coventry
out of the way. The other picture "on view" was
the historical-incident picture of Henry VHI. at a
merrymaking, having a bout at singlestick with a
yokel, surrounded by court ladies and country folk,
with all the fun of the fair in the distance. But
somehow or other I could not get my visitors to
be interested in this bygone gone-to-sleep world,
notwithstanding all the expense I had been at to
secure appropriate costumes, and the time I had
spent poring over books and other authorities to get
my details correct. Curiosity prevailed over a love
of art and archaeology ; every one wanted to see
the picture that was turned away because it was
turned away ; and when eventually it was wheeled
round for their inspection some of the lady visitors
also turned away, whispered to each other, looked
up, then down, and then had a sudden desire to
examine the historical work more closely and criti-
cally. A slight cough and movement behind the
screen gave rise to more whispering. One gentle-
man of the party was lost in admiration of Godiva.
" Lovely, Mr. Storey, — most beautiful ! " Then
with a kind of sad, heartbroken tone, he said,
" Really I never saw anything so lovely in all my
life ;" and then, after another sigh, " Now, did you
paint that from a real girl ? "
BEHIND THE SCREEN 275
" From a real girl," said I ; and then one of the
young ladies wanted to call pa's attention to the
portrait of Katharine of Aragon in the Henry VHI.
picture. But pa still harped upon Godiva, and espe-
cially on the "real girl"; so I told him how pleased
I was that he liked the picture, because Fred
Walker, whom we all looked upon as one of our
greatest artists, had just been to see it, and said
it was "awfully stunning ! in fact, devilish good ! "
Ma, in the meantime, havinof noticed the move-
ment behind the screen, took the opportunity of just
peeping quietly, in the hope, or fear, of discovering
the "real girl"; and whether to her disappoint-
ment, or whether to her satisfaction, I do not know,
but all she saw was a simple maiden completely
dressed, eating an apple and reading the FauiiLy
Herald. The party then wished me a good morn-
ing, with apologies for disturbing me, and thanking
me for showing them my beautiful pictures ; but
probably feeling in their minds that an artist's studio
was rather a dreadful place, with its real girls, and
its young men who talked about pictures being
"awfully stunning and devilish good."
It seems that others besides the lady above-
mentioned are somewhat curious on the subject ol
models. There is an impression abroad thai they
are not like other people. One young lady — yes,
young lady — who sat to me many times, was at a
ball in Mayfair, when her partner began talking
about the Royal Academy and the jiirtnrcs. and
those who sal for llicm.
276
SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
" Queer people these models," said he ; "a rum
lot, I should say."
" He little thought," said my fair sitter, "that I
was one of them."
This young lady was related to a judge — had
lived in affluence — but on the death of her father
THE MODEL BEHIND THE SCREEN.
she and her sisters had to get their own living. She
was recommended to me by a lady artist, our
mutual friend, and thus she became my model.
She described some of the means she and her
sisters had employed to earn a living, one of them
beinsf to make ladies' underclothinsf for a
large
BEHIND THE SCREEN 277
West-End firm, and she assured me that the most
they could earn by working hard all day, getting
up early and going to bed late, was four shillings
a week each ! Old friends invited them to stay in
their houses, and possibly helped them in other
ways, and thus it was that pretty Miss E. appeared
occasionally at a ball ; but, like poor Cinderella, she
knew that when the hour for departure rang out.
she must escape from the brilliant company or be
seen m raors.
Another instance was the beautiful orioinal of
my picture called " Mistress Dorothy " (1873). She
was sent to me with a note of introduction by the
same kind lady who had sent Miss E., who was
Charretie by name and Charity by nature.
Miss S., the dausfhter of a lieutenant in the
navy, was very lovely and very shy. It was with
an almost tremblinor hand that she or^ve me the
note she had brousfht from our friend. I asked her
to take a seat while I read the letter. She sat
down with her hands in her lap, and her face half-
turned away.
" Now, please, stay just as you are," said I, and
I at once got to work and painted a picture of her,
with no alteration except in the hat and dress. As
she sat, we chatted. We talked of our friend. Mrs.
Charretie, who had also seen the ups and downs ol
life, and my fair model soon became (juite at her
ease, and found that sitting to an artist was not
such a dreadful thing after all, and had none of the
terrors she had imagined. After this she paid me
278 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
many visits, and sat for some of the figures in a
picture I was engaged upon at the time, called
" Scandal."
AT THE STUDIO DOOR.
She had been to me once or twice a week for
over a year, and at last felt quite as much at home
in the studio as in her own little room. Now and
then, when I became engrossed in my work, and
BEHIND THE SCREEN 279
we sat in silence, I noticed a sad look on her face,
as if her thoughts were far away, and I would ask
her where she had gone to, which would bring
her back with a laugh. The picture of " Scandal "
was still going on, when one morning — a sunny
morning — she entered the studio with a bright,
happy expression, which greatly enhanced her
beauty, and as she came forward to shake hands,
she said —
" I have some news for you, Mr. Storey."
" Indeed ! " said I, laughing ; " I know all about
it ; you are going to be married."
" Who could have told you ? " said she.
"Why, yourself, of course; I saw it written on
your face as soon as you came into the room. Am
I not right ? "
"You are indeed," said she, laughing.
" Why, my dear young lady, everybody must
have seen it as you came along ; surely the rude
boys must have been calling after you, ' There
goes a girl that's going to be married.' "
I congfratulated her sincerely, and said that the
only drawback to it was that I should lose her.
She sat down as at our first interview, with her
hands in her lap, and did not turn her face away
this time, but looked at me as if she wished inc
to share her happiness, and again I said. " Stay
as you are." I then took a fresh canvas and began
my picture of " Mistress Dorothy," and whether it
was a good or a bad picture, at all event.s il was
an inspiration. As some of the events arising
2 8o SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
from it were curious and unexpected, I will con-
tinue the story.
The first sitting was scarcely over when a kind
old friend of pleasant memory — Tom Agnew —
made his appearance. He was struck with the
rub-in — the sketch on the canvas.
"What's that?" said he.
" It is a picture I am painting for you," said I.
" I was told the other day that you said I could
paint children, but couldn't paint a woman, so I am
painting this to show you whether I can or not."
Of course this was said half in fun, and I am
afraid that saying things half in fun or wholly in
fun is not very wise. The world does not always
take a joke as it is meant. But in this case it was
taken kindly.
" What is the price ? " said he.
"One hundred pounds," said I.
" But it is only a portrait," said my friend. And
the matter dropped.
He came about a fortnight after, and saw a
great advance in " Mistress Dorothy."
"You are going to make a good thing of that,"
said he, and again asked the price.
" Two hundred pounds," I replied.
He smiled and said, "You told me it was one
hundred."
"Yes; but that was a fortnight ago," said I.
And again the matter dropped.
He paid me a third visit, accompanied by
Mr. Morgan, who eventually became the owner of
BEHIND THE SCREEN 281
"Scandal," to which work his attention was called;
but his eyes would wander from the big picture
and fix themselves on "Dorothy." As they were
leaving, Tom Agnew took me aside and said, " Seri-
ously, now, how much do you really want for her ? "
"Three hundred guineas," was my reply, and
then he and his friend drove off.
I do not think I quite liked saying that, although
it was half in fun, but the fact was that I was not
anxious to part with the picture, and therefore I
asked a good price for it, although it made me
seem a bit conceited and not perhaps quite kindly
to my old friend. Still I had no reason to repent
the folly of it. The picture was sent to the Aca-
demy. Sir Francis Grant was then President, and
he too was taken with " Dorothy." When she
came up before the Council of Ten, over which he
presided, he exclaimed —
" My God ! what a fine woman ! what a splendid
creature ! Who's the painter ? " and on being in-
formed, said, "Bravo! Storey."
It so happened that that same evening Sir
Francis Grant dined with Baron Rothschild, and,
still impressed with " Dorothy," he spoke of her in
high terms. And to show how curiously events
interlace themselves, and how by apparcntK ilu'
merest accidents other events come about ihai
are most unexpected, on the very next day after
that dinner in Piccadilly, a splendid (Mjiiip-igf, uiih
a pair of prancing and snorliiig steeds, drove up
to niv modest dwellinir in St. Mary's Terrace,
2 82 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
Paddington, and a handsome young gentleman pre-
sented himself to the modest artist to ask if his pic-
ture of " Mistress Dorothy" was for sale, and for how
much ? I named the same price that I had asked
Tom Agnew, namely, three hundred guineas, sent
a small sketch of the work, and the next day re-
ceived a cheque for the amount. And, furthermore,
after "Dorothy" returned from the Academy, the
Baron sent me an invitation to call and see him in
Piccadilly, where I found him and " Dorothy " en
tHe-a-tete ; he was on the sofa and she on a chair
not far off.
" There she is," said he. " I like her to keep
me company, and you must come and see her and
me whenever you feel inclined. I am always at
home on Saturday afternoon." He showed me
many lovely pictures in his drawing-room by
Reynolds, Vandyke, Gainsborough, and others ; he
sitting in a chair on wheels which went up and down
from floor to floor in a lift. I paid many visits to
the great rich Baron de Rothschild, and was always
amiably received — and all through " Dorothy."
But I have still more to say about her. At the
Academy she was a pendant to one of Millais'
pictures (Vanessa) and Millais said of her in his
jovial-hearted way, "If I hadn't a wife already I
would have married that girl." Fred Walker was
quite angry with me for not letting him know about
her ; he bit his nails and said she was just the sort
of wife he was looking for, and when I told him
she was another's he stamped his foot and said —
BEHIND THE SCREEN 283
never mind what he said. I do not remember the
exact words.
But this is not all. I trust the reader will not
suppose I am inventing this story for my own
glorification, or even telling it for that reason. It
is only because it is a curious phenomenon, a kind
of boom or unaccountable current of feeling for a
certain something, whether in art, literature, or what
not, that does not depend on the artistic or literary
merit of it but upon some novelty, some note of
sympathy or some passing whim, whatever we may
like to call it, that makes these runs upon certain
books, pictures, and fashions. Nearly every day
after this picture was seen at the Royal Academy I
had letters from ladies asking me about the hat worn
by Mistress Dorothy. Large hats were not then in
vogue ; the pork-pie was all the rage, so I suppose
there was a novelty in this one, which, after all, was
only an old Chelsea pensioner's head-gear twisted
into a different shape, and ornamented with a ribbon
and a big bow. The name of Dorothy, too, was a
revival of an old name that had then gone out of
fashion.
The ladies, for the most part, went for Dorothy's
hat, the men for Dorothy. One of my sisters, on
going to her milliner's to choose a costume for the
Ascot week, was shown the last new thing in hats,
taken from a picture in the Royal Academy, namely,
"Dorothy." And yet there seems nothing to me
now so very wonderful about the work ; I do not
feel very proud of it.
284 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
And now I daresay you think 1 have done with
the subject ; but the most remarkable circumstance
connected with it remains to be told.
Let us suppose that seven years have elapsed.
Miss S. has \oncr ao-o been married. Mrs. Char-
retie and I have been there to tea. The husband
is a business man well-to-do, and the little home
seems to be a very happy one. But it has all passed
on like a picture in a diorama. Mrs. Charretie has
passed away too, and I have not seen the rich Baron
for some long time, and even Dorothy has almost
faded from my recollection. I have moved into a
new studio. I have painted portraits of other lovely
women, mostly in society, and have even got into
society myself, and visited in Mayfair, and Ken-
sington, and all about there ; and am invited to fine
old English country houses, to shooting parties,
and dinner parties, and garden parties, and fancy
dress parties, &c. &c. &c., and partake of all the
pleasures and luxuries, and, shall I add, vanities, of
the rich and titled portion of the community, and
this, in a great measure, owing to the fair Dorothy
and her bior hat.
One morning I received a letter from a lady
quite unknown to me, beginning : —
" Sir,- — I am indirectly indebted to you for a very
happy marriage" ("How on earth can this be .'^ "
thought I. " What next, I wonder ! " and continuing
the letter), "for your charming picture of 'Mistress
Dorothy ' in the Academy six years ago was inci-
dentally the cause of it." (To think that a picture
BEHIND THE SCREEN 285
by me should be the cause of a happy marriao-e !
This, I must confess, gave me great pleasure, as well
as amusement.) The letter then goes on to say:
" And our first little daughter " (a daughter, too !)
''we called ' Dorothy' in memory of it. I beo^ to
enclose you a photograph of our little ' Mistress
Dorothy,' now four and a half years old." (Was I
then incidentally in some way the cause of this other
little " Dorothy " .'^) However, the letter concludes
with the request, a very modest favour, namely, to
inform the writer if it is possible for her to obtain
an engraving or photo of the picture, which she has
long wished to possess, in memory of her good
fortune.
Of course my reply to that letter was to send
the photograph, and to say that I was always
pleased to hear that any work of mine had given
pleasure to others ; but that it should bring about
a happy marriage far surpassed the wildest dreams
of ambition that I had ever entertained. I added,
that I hoped I should one day have the pleasure
of making the acquaintance of my kind correspon-
dent, her husband, and their " Mistress Dorothy,"
which all came about in due course. The mystery
was not difficult to explain. Mr. C. saw the picture
and was taken with it. A friend said she knew a
young lady very like Dorothy, and introduced him
to her ; then he was taken with the young lady, and
no wonder! and she was taken with him, and so all
ended happily; and I hope if th(;y or thcii- liule
Dorothy — who must now be about iwcntN-oiK-
286 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
should read this, they will not be angry at my
writing it, and will let me hear from them to that
effect ; for like many other pictures in this diorama
of my memory, they, too, have passed on, and are
lost to view.
It would not be difficult to add many more
stories to this chapter ; and there is one about little
Nora that I should much like to tell, but it is too
long and too intricate, and so wrapped up in mystery
that I could not tell it here. I can only say that
she was the sweetest and prettiest little girl I had
ever seen ; and I wondered how she could belong-
to such poor people as those she was with ; and that
eventually it turned out that she did not belong to
them, but was the daughter of parents living not a
hundred miles from Park Lane ; that her mother
was very beautiful, and in society, and eventually
bought little Nora's picture to hang in her drawing-
room.
Pretty girls connected with the stage have been
among my best models. Among these was a sweet
Irish girl named Nelly M., who sat to me many
times. Sir John Millais has painted a very true
likeness of her in "A Good Resolve"; a girl stand-
ing with an open Bible before her, and her finger
pointing to some passage of Scripture. In my pic-
ture of a girl "Going to Church" I have painted
another view of her pretty face, which was as kind
as it was pretty ; and we all know that when an
Irish girl is kind and pretty there are few other girls
in the world that can beat her. She spoke with
BEHIND THE SCREEN 287
just that tone and accent which is so Irish, and yet
NORA,
SO soft and musical, and was delightfully unconscious
of it. She said to me one day, with a most unmis-
288 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
takable pronunciation, " You'd never think I was
Irish by my accent now, would you?"
And another time, when she appeared in a new
ulster coat, I compHmented her upon it, saying how
becomino; it was as well as comfortable and useful.
"Yes," she said, "it is, and you know I don't
care how wet I get as long as I've got my ulster
on."
I repeated to her what she had said.
"Did I now } The fact is, I talk without
thinking."
She was in a great state of mind one day
because of a dreadful mistake that her sister Jenny
had made the night before at the theatre. They
had been noticed by Royalty, and were introduced
by the manager to the Prince. " And," said she,
" we were so nervous that we didn't know what
we were doing or saying. The Prince was very
pleasant, and said, 'You are Irish, are you not.'*'
and Jenny said, ' No, sir, we come from Dublin ! ! ! '
She saw at once what a mistake she had made, and
we both coloured up, and didn't know what to do,
and poor Jenny will never forgive herself. I'd have
given anything rather than she should have said it,
because you know the Prince must have thought we
were laughing at him."
A beautiful portrait of her was painted by Cal-
deron in his " Gloire de Dijon," a girl holding a
basket of roses in front of her. The picture is now
in the Gallery at Hamburg, in the collection pre-
sented by Mr. G. C. Schwabe to that city.
BEHIND THE SCREEN 289
Models, then, it will be seen, are just like other
people, only they have to sit still, and to be able
to take an interest in their work ; to wear their
various dresses and costumes naturally ; to have
good features, and well-shaped limbs : and especially
to be strong. All the fine models, male or female,
are to a certain extent athletes, the firm muscle
giving the beautiful form.
THE BRIGAND.
XXXVII
MY ITALIAN MODEL'S STORY
CARAVAGGIO, one of my Italian models, was
not only an excellent sitter, and shaped like
an antique statue, but was also an intelligent com-
panion. He told me some ghastly and wonderful
stories about brigands that were enough to make
one's blood creep, and one's hair stand on end, and
would probably have interrupted my work had they
not sounded almost like fiction, and were narrated
in a quiet tone, as though he were reading to amuse
290
MY ITALIAN MODEL'S STORY 291
me rather than to distract my attention. The facts,
horrible as they are, I am sorry to say, are only
too true ; but that they happened some thirty or
forty years ago gives a certain distance to them
which is the only thing in their favour.
It is one of those strange things I never could
account for that some of the most horrible crimes
are committed in the most beautiful places. The
fearful doings of the Holy Inquisition were enacted
in lovely Venice, and the haunts of the brigands,
whose deeds I am about to narrate, were in the rich
and romantic country of the Abruzzi.
Near the village of Nisco, the birthplace of
my Italian model, were many of these splendid land-
scapes — dense woods and mountain defiles— that
afforded shelter and a home to a band of some twelve
desperadoes. Their chief was a young man named
Fuoco, who won his way to distinction by commit-
ting the most villainous act that a mortal can be
guilty of, one which is too revolting to set down in
these pages. We can only hope that it is not true.
He was handsome and strong, and his horrible
crime was looked upon as such a masterpiece that
he was at once and unanimously elected to be their
captain.
There is surely plenty of scope here for cheap
moralising, but I went on painting and Caravaggio
went on talking.
This " Diavolo," strange to say, was a clfncr
and fascinating young man, and in one of his early
adventures captured a young lady who was exceed-
292 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
ingly handsome. He took her to his cave, bound
her hand and foot, then went out with his merry men
and despatched the rest of the party. He stabbed
her father and her mother, and I beheve no one
escaped that terrible adventure but the coachman,
who jumped down and hid himself behind a rock.
This splendid "Diavolo" lost no time in acquainting
his fair captive that he had sent her father and her
mother to a better world, where she should at once
follow them if she did not consent to be his bride.
Whether it was this sudden disaster which changed
her nature and drove her mad, or whether the
handsome villain really captivated her heart, I do
not know, but she consented without demur to
share his love and his dangers, and became in a
short time as cruel and wicked a fiend as her
spouse.
I have not the time nor the talent to work up
these sensational materials into a thrilling novel ; I
am going on painting my picture for the Royal
Academy, and I have to get the expression of a
certain " Hungry Messenger," who is one of the
principal characters in it, so I say, " Go on, Cara-
vaggio ; this Signor Diavolo is a masterpiece of
human wickedness."
The above are mere trifles to what remains to
be told ; they are the overture to the opera of "The
Bloodthirsty Brigands " who infested the romantic
defiles of the Abruzzi. The joy of plunder was but
the first degree, the spilling of blood the second,
but torture was the superlative. That seems to
MY ITALIAN MODEL'S STORY 293
have been the exquisite pleasure of these con-
noisseurs in the pecuHar happiness of making their
fellow-creatures writhe in misery and aeonv.
One fine day these bold adventurers, twelve in
number, captured a single individual, a guard of the
forest, whom they suspected of giving information
of their movements and their whereabouts to the
authorities, which if he did he was but doing his
duty. However, they intended to make an example
of him, and to thoroughly enjoy themselves at the
same time. The manner of their proceeding was
slow but deliberate, in order to make it the more
painful. They began by breaking his shin-bones,
then his feet and his thighs, leaving him sufficient
time to realise the agony of each operation ; they
then broke his arms, and not until every bone they
could smash was smashed were thev content to let
the poor wretch die in lingering torture, his captors
mocking him the whole time and laughing at his
groans. Brigands ! and no mistake ! there is no
beast so cruel as the human beast.
Lest this horrible story should deter the reader
from perusing this account any further, I will tell
another in which the intended victim was more
fortunate ; he not only lived to icll the tale, but
sat for one of my early pictures. He too was a
"Guardia Campestre, ' and had given offence to this
band of brothers by rcpurliug iheir muxtinents to
the authorities.
One fine morning he and a young Iriend look
their Lfuns and went for a stroll in the woods in
294 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
search of game. They had shot a hare, and were
following up another when they suddenly found
themselves surrounded by Signor Diavolo's band.
They told the young friend that, as they had no
grudge against him, he might go free ; but as to the
other, they intended to wreak the most terrible ven-
geance upon him, and to kill him piecemeal — he
was an old enemy, and they had long looked out
for him, but his doom had come at last. The young
man, the fair Antonio, who was both brave and
honourable, refused their clemency, and said he
was bound to stick by his friend, who had only
done his duty as a Guardia Campestre, and he would
stay by him to the end to comfort if he could not
save him.
As to Stefano, he was partially stripped, and
stood with his back to a precipice, the bravos
glaring and gloating over their prey as they shar-
pened their knives for the execution. The Sposa
del Diavolo, Signora Fuoco, then approached him
with a long- daororer in one hand and a o-lass of wine
in the other, which she bade him drink, she taking
another glass. " Now," said she, "we are about to
part in this world, and I am to have the pleasure of
despatching you after my friends here have cut your
execrable body to pieces. Drink," said she. But
the glass fell from his hand, which was trembling.
" How is this ? " said she.
" It is because I am cold," he replied, not wish-
insf her to think it was throuofh fear. She was
about to hand him another glass, when suddenly
\isL: ^%d^t.£::^M
THK Al'ENNINE.
296 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
two of the savage but useful dogs belonging to the
band flew at each other, and set up such a growling
and barking that the attention of the whole com-
pany was taken up by them, and Stefano for the
moment was left unguarded. He looked at the
precipice on one side and at the brigands on the
other ; death was almost certain in any case ; escape
was just possible by a desperate leap, escape, at all
events, from torture. In an instant he took the
leap, and catching at some bushes and branches as
he fell, he came to the bottom, an enormous depth,
uninjured, for he was enabled to make use of his
legs and run for it. When the brigands returned,
after separating the fighting dogs, finding their
prisoner had escaped, they sent shot after shot at
him, but he was not to be hit nor to be caught ;
he disappeared like a rabbit down a warren, and
although all the men were enraged at seeing their
prize escape, Satanella was mad with fury, and in
her desperate rage she plunged her long knife into
the young Antonio, inflicting a mortal wound. An
instant after she was sorry for what she had done.
The poor fellow was succoured by the brigands
in a rough way ; they tied him up as well as
they could, and he finally dragged himself to
his village, was carried home, and died a few
hours afterwards. His death brought tears into
every honest eye, and maledictions were poured
forth on the murderess from every honest heart.
For Antonio was a favourite of the village ; he was
handsome, brave, and good ; his goodness to his
MY ITALIAN MODEL'S STORY 297
friend was proof of this, proof sealed by his own
death.
The reason that the brigands were so unflinchincr
in their cruelties to these " Guardia Campestri "
was that through their vigilance they were not only
baulked of many prizes, but their companions were
shot down by the military led on by these men.
Their ranks were gradually being thinned, and they
were held in such detestation by the villagers that
thev could o-et but few recruits. The horrors I
have narrated are mere specimens of what must
have been of constant occurrence. There was,
however, another evidence of their fiendish cruelty
almost too horrible to relate, for it was inflicted on
a woman. They had reason to suspect that she
had given information about their movements, so
they entrapped her when she was working in the
plains or looking after the flocks with a number ol
other country girls. The latter they formed into a
ring in order that they might witness the agonies
of the poor victim, and were kept there till the most
revolting excesses of cruelty were gone through :
mutilation in its worst form and slow death. 'I his,
they were told, was meant as a lesson to them, and
that if one of them or any of them ever uttered a
word of what they had seen, they would sutler a
similar punishment. They were then sent away.
However, vengeance was near, nay, ii had been
gradually coming on ; for the band ol twelve was
now reduced to four, not counting Satandhi, who
had disappeared from the ranks.
298 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
A singular feature about this weird story is, that
the Mayor or Podesta of the Httle town of Nisco
was said to be in league with these desperadoes.
He may have been obliged to pay them blackmail,
and to send them presents, and also to help them in
other ways, as I am about to tell, or rather as my
model Caravaggio is about to relate to the artist,
who all this time is working at his Academy picture,
thinking sometimes of handsome devils in pictur-
esque costumes, amid rocks and forests and the
grandest of scenery, under a pure blue sky ; and
sometimes of flesh tints, and tones, and squeezing
out more paint, and of the ultimate fate of his work
at the forthcoming Exhibition.
" Go on, Caravaggio."
Things had got to such a pass, and such misery
was caused to the whole country round, that the
government were determined to clear the place
of these scourges of humanity. A detachment of
troops was sent down and quartered in the town.
The Mayor received both officers and men with
open arms. He invited the former to his house, in
whose honour he gave a ball and a sumptuous
entertainment, to which all the best people of the
neighbourhood were welcomed, including travellers
who were passing through, and Signor Diavolo
himself, the very man on whose head a price was
set, the very wretch who had instigated all these
atrocities. He was there in the most elegant even-
ing dress, and he might have been taken for a
leader of fashion in Rome or Naples, so fastidiously
MY ITALIAN MODEL'S STORY 299
was he got up, and so charmingly did he play his
part. He chummed with the officers, and broke
the hearts of several of the fair o-uests, including
the three daughters of the Mayor, who, like their
father, were all very handsome. He danced de-
lightfully ; he even sang, and sang divinely, — all
were taken with Signor Diavolo. At the same
time he did not neglect business. He made friends
quite casually with Signor Buonamico, a certain
rich merchant, and his son Luciano, who were, so
they told him, journeying towards Spoleto, and
were starting next day in the direction of Campo-
tosto, and hoped they should escape the brigands
of whom they heard so much lately.
"Ah!" said Diavolo, "I wish I could catch
some of these villains ; they have brutally murdered
one of my dearest friends, and I long to be revenged
on them ; but what is a single arm like mine against
a band of some forty of the most desperate men
that ever infested the country. But the military, as
you see, are here in force, and are determined to
exterminate them, so I expect they are far enough
off by this time, for they soon get scent of any
news of the kind, and I hardlv think vou run much
risk at present. Unfortunately I have to go in the
opposite direction to which you arc travelling, or I
should have been glad of your society ; but of course
you will be well guarded.^" "No," said the nu-i-
chant, "the Sindaco, our friend here, tells \wv. it
is not necessary, for there are patrols out niglu and
day, and we have nothing to fear, so I shall trust
300 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
to God to protect us, if need be, and to our swift
horses."
Of course Sisfnor Diavolo now felt sure of his
prey, and his spirits rose in consequence. He
joined every group in turn, and seemed to be the
Hfe and soul of that goodly gathering. No one
knew who he was — everybody was asking, "Who
is that charming man.'*" His appearance among
them seemed like a mysterious enchantment.
It is not difficult to surmise what happened next
day to the trustful merchant and his son. They
were taken prisoners by Signor Diavolo and his
three merry men, which the others in their fright
and surprise imagined to be about thirty banditti
armed to the teeth ; nor did they recognise in the
captain of the band the elegant dandy they had met
at the Mayor's.
The usual business — brigands' business — was
gone through ; an enormous sum in the way of ran-
som was put on the heads of the prisoners ; they
must write to their friends for money, amounting
to many thousands of pounds, to be forwarded in
three days, or their lives would be forfeited. In
the meantime they were thrust to the end of a long
and winding cavern, where they were bound with
ropes, but were not otherwise ill-treated, except that
their food was not of the choicest, nor had they
much appetite.
I wondered how a correspondence with friends
in such a case could be carried on ; but it appears
that the shepherds and other country folk were
MY ITALIAN MODEL'S STORY 301
exempted from the depredations of the brigands, on
condition that they carried letters and messages
for them, and at the same time revealed nothino-.
Should they ever be found betraying this sacred
trust, they were subjected to the most horrible tor-
tures, and then despatched as in the cases I have
already narrated.
The three days passed, but there came no answer
to the appeals of the poor merchant and his son.
A day's grace was given — they begged for another,
but it was not granted. The captain suspected
that the delay was caused by a meditated attack on
their stronghold, and told his prisoners to prepare
for instant death, as he had to decamp that night.
It was then that the merchant recognised the lively
and charming acquaintance he had made at the
Mayor's reception. At first he said it was im-
possible he would slay them ; they promised, if set
free, to send as large a ransom as he demanded, or
as they could afford ; they applied every means of
persuasion to deter him from his purpose, and even
used endearing and flattering terms for dear life's
sake. But seeing that this only excited the fiendish
nature of their captor, they cursed him as dying
men, and told him that his own end was approach-
ing ; that never again would he see the sun rise,
but that that very night he would be engulfed in
the flames of the Inferno, and would suffer all the
torments of hell, and the frightful pangs of an
evil conscience. Indeed, so dreadful were the
words of the merchant that even this bold ruffian
302 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
cringed before him, and would have despatched
him there and then had not one of the band rushed
in and said that some mules were approaching laden
with good things from their friend the Mayor.
This diverted Diavolo's attention. He left his
victims to finish their prayers, and mockingly told
them to ask God to protect them, as they had
boasted He would. The prisoners were left to
themselves, and the elder bade his son pluck up
heart, for he believed there was still a chance of their
escape, although it was now evident to both that
their pretended friend the Mayor was in league with
the bandits, and was not likely to send the troops
to their assistance. " At all events, if we could but
loosen these cords we might have a better oppor-
tunity of defending ourselves should these assassins
attack us." So with their teeth and fingers they
managed to loosen each other's bonds, while they
kept up the appearance of being helpless.
The brigands, in the meantime, were busy un-
loading the mules, and bringing in the crumbs that
had fallen from the Mayor's table, in the shape of
delicacies that these rough mountaineers were not
accustomed to, as well as other more substantial
viands, besides hams, tongues, fowls, and game, and
added to all this was a good supply of wine, which,
all taken together, promised a festive evening.
The table was soon spread, and the dingy cave,
the cave of blood, was lighted by a lamp, which
cast a glorious lustre on the good fare provided for
our villains, whilst it threw into deeper shade the
MY ITALIAN MODEL'S STORY 303
poor merchant and his son, who seemed almost to
have been forgotten, although the captain of the
band every now and then cast a malicious eye in
their direction.
It would, perhaps, have been well for him if
he had resumed for a time the character he had
played at the Podesta's entertainment, and had
invited his prisoners to sit down as his guests, but
the old merchant's curses were not yet forgotten,
and he sent one man to see that they were secure
and another to stand as sentinel at the mouth of
the cave. The former returned to say that their
prizes were safe enough, for they scarcely seemed
to have strength to hold up their heads, and after
partaking of a goodly meal he was sent to relieve
the outer guard, who came in and feasted in his
turn. And feast they did ; they ate like ogres and
drank like fish, and after they had taken their fill of
the meats and the fruits and the liquors they began
playing cards, still replenishing their glasses, till
all but the sentinel outside were hopelessly drunk,
including the gallant Captain Signor Diavolo Fuoco.
For a time they indulged in obscene and blasphe-
mous talk, and made merry over their ghastly
recollections of the inhuman crimes they had com-
mitted, as though they were making confession
before departing this life, in the mock h()j)e of
forgiveness in the next. At length all three were
so sound in their drunken sleep thai their loud
snoring echoed through the cave.
Now was the opportunity fnr mir prisomrb lo
304 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
pay their hosts in their own coin. They lost no
time in freeing themselves from their cords, and as
though the weapons for their deliverance had been
placed there on purpose, it happened that a rifle
was standing against the wall on one side near the
son, and a hatchet was within reach of the father.
The latter o-ave the word.
"I," whispered he, "will despatch Signor Dia-
volo, and leave the other two to you. Use the
butt-end of your gun and reserve your fire ; you
are younger than I, use all your strength."
The captain had laid his head on the table,
and was snoring profoundly, whilst the other two,
in the same attitude, were joining lustily in the
chorus. With one blow of the hatchet the mer-
chant cleft the skull of Signor Diavolo, and
prevented him effectually from seeing the rising
sun any more. With two blows the younger man
literally smashed in the heads of the two other
sleepers. The sentinel made his escape, but not
before being badly wounded in the thigh by the
merchant's hatchet.
The prisoners were now free, and having re-
freshed themselves with some of the good things
sent by the Mayor, having supped, in fact, with
the three dead men, they made their way to the
little town they had left a few days previously,
following the track of the mules, which was clearly
marked in the snow. The morning was breaking,
and day dawned upon the travellers, who a few
hours previously had been told to prepare for death.
MY ITALIAN MODEL'S STORY 305
The brave merchant, who as a dying man had pro-
phesied to Diavolo that he would never more see
the sun rise, Httle dreaming how his prophecv would
be fulfilled, now saw the glorious orb appearing
over the peaceful scene, and he and his son knelt
down by a crucifix and thanked God for their
deliverance ; and they had reason to thank God
also that they had been the means, all unsought, of
delivering the world from such fiends in human
form, who had sullied some of the fairest scenes
of the Abruzzi with crimes that, if equalled, had
never been surpassed.
The Mayor received early intelligence through
the shepherds of what had happened, and the news
spread rapidly.
A great, crowd collected in the market-place
when three mules, laden with the bodies of Diavolo
and two of his merry men, were led up to the piazza.
Here a revolting spectacle t*ook place ; the bodies
were thrown to the ground for the crowd to trample
on, and the pale but still beautiful face of Signor
Diavolo was turned upwards as he lay on his back.
A woman came forward and with her heel crushed
out that face for ever. Her act is easily explained,
for she was the wife of the poor Garde of the Forest
who had been seized by the Ijrigands some months
previously, and had all his bonos broken belorc lie
was put to death.
Soon after this the only one of llu; band ulio
remained alive was brought in. .After receiving
the wound in his thigh from the hatchet, he
i;
3o6 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
struggled on for a short space, and then fell ex-
hausted in the snow. He was thrown into prison,
and expired soon afterwards, but not before he had
made a full confession, and had informed the Po-
desta, on his promise of a pardon, where all the
treasure the band had accumulated was hidden.
The merchant and his son kept their counsel,
and. in giving an account of their adventures before
the authorities, said nothing of having recognised in
the brigand Diavolo the young elegant who was the
hero of the Podesta s entertainment, for, knowing
the character of this man, they considered it the
safest course to pursue, nor did the Mayor himself
suspect that they were in the secret.
I will not prolong this story, although there is
still more to tell. In real life events are not all
packed into a chapter or into a volume, or even
into three volumes, but link themselves on to sub-
sequent ones, and seldom, if ever, come to a con-
clusion.
Sufficient to say, then, that after this event
the Podesta disappeared from Nisco, and was never
again heard of.
After his disappearance search was made for
treasure said to have been buried by the brigands.
The place indicated by the last of the band was
discovered up in the mountains, but the treasure
itself was gone, and there was every evidence of
its having been recently taken away.
As for the daughters — the three Graces — so
unprepared for poverty, they were turned out of
MY ITALIAN iMODEL'S STORY 307
their fine house into the street, with nothing but
their beauty left them. They found their way to
MADALINA.
Paris, where they sat as models, and bccam<- mis-
tresses of the artists, till time effaced their mellow
charms ; then their lovers and admirers forsook
them, and they were l(;ft to dir- in a stranL,^e land.
3o8 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
" Thank you, Signer Caravaggio ; the sitting is
over for to-day. I don't know whether my work
is quite up to the mark, but if not, it is because
I have been so interested in my Italian model's
story."
MR. GAII.EY.
XXXVIII
MR. GAILEY
AMONG the many models who have sat to iiu',
-^^^ there is one whose name has been associated
with mine for nearly thirty years, I \r. was ceri.iiiily
not a beautiful model, to me he was not (^vcn a
useful one, and when I knf;w him all that time as^^o
he was not far off sixty. liow then is it, you will
ask, that he and I have bc-en associat<'d for '^o |i>ni(?
310 SKETCHES FROlM MEMORY
It is partly owing to his name being- " Mr. Gailey."
Struck by the oddity of his appearance when he
first entered the studio, with his hat in one hand,
his wig in the other, exliibiting a very bald head,
and looking at me with a terrible squint, I was
inspired by the Muse of Frivolity to paint him, not
in oil or water-colour, but in verse, and I composed
a sono- which in an unsfuarded moment I sano- at a
merry meeting of artists many years ago, and have
had to pay the penalty of that folly ever since.
Whenever I have been going to a friendly gather-
ing, to a smoke, a supper, or even a dinner, I have
felt an inward misQfivinor that I should be called
upon to sing " Mr. Gailey," and too often has that
forebodinor been realised. Hundreds of times have
I had to pipe forth the doggerel lines, and even
when I have thought myself quite safe and have
plumed myself that I had for once at least escaped
the ordeal, some one, prompted no doubt by the
offended ghost of Gailey himself, has called for
the song.
At all events, in this book I thought I should
escape from any such proceeding. I had finished
my chapter about models, and had submitted the
manuscript to Mr. Chatto, my publisher, when he
too, who in the long ago past had heard the effu-
sion, said, " But you have left out Mr. Gailey."
And so once more, and for the last time, I will
give ** Mr. Gailey," although I fear that in print,
and without the tune and the chorus, it will seem
but a poor affair.
MR. GAILEY 311
THE ARTIST'S MODEL
There is an Artists Model, and
He calls upon you daily ;
He squints, and wears a sandy wig,
His name is Mr. Gailey.
Yes, he is an Artist's Model,
Calling on you daily ;
He squints, and wears a sandy wig,
His name is Mr. Gailey.
He is very anxious for a sitting,
Which he finds it very hard in getting ;
He's no use for any sort of picture.
For he is such a very shapeless creature ;
But yet he is an Artist's Model,
Calling on you daily ;
He squints, and wears a sandy wig.
His name is !Mr. Cailey.
II
He is not like other human creatures.
There is something wrong about his features
He was made ere anatomy was invented ;
Nature ever afterwards repented.
But yet he is an .Artist's Model,
Calling on you daily ;
He squints, and wears a sandy wig,
His name is Mr. Gailey.
iti
He is very neat in his attire,
Most respectful, which I much admire ;
312 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
He can sit either with his hair or not so.
And when at last he takes a pose
You wonder how he got so.
But yet he is an Artist's Model,
Calling on you daily ;
He squints, "and wears a sandy wig,
His name is Mr. Gailey.
IV
He once sat for a broken-down old cab-horse.
And the driver :
I understand that Landseer made him
Sit for his Godiva.
A monk, an ancient gargoyle, or
A priest of low persuasion
He sits for, but for what he sits
You never have occasion.
But still he is an Artist's Model,
Calling on you daily ;
He squints, and wears a sandy wig,
His name is Mr. Gailey.
Now, if some fair and comely maid
You're anxiously expecting,
And o'er your disappointment you
Are quietly reflecting,
You hear a tap — you say " Come in,"
You think 'tis sweet Miss Bailey ;
You turn and see the grizzly beard
And squint of Mr. Gailey !
For O ! he is an Artist's Model,
Calling on you daily ;
He squints, and wears a sandy wig.
His name is Mr. Gailey.
MR. GAILEY 313
VI
Now having called, and called in vain,
On Royal Academicians.
Associates, and outsiders, who
All tried him in positions,
He sought some eighty unknown men
In moments unexpected,
The consequence of which was, that
Their works were all rejected !
But yet he is an Artist's Model,
Calling on you daily ;
He squints, and wears a sandy wig,
His name is Mr. Gailey.
OLD INN AT KILBURN.
XXXIX
A COUNTRY WALK
TN the old "clique days," as we call them, the
^ days when some seven of us held together in
a kind of brotherhood, we used to start off the next
morning, after sending our pictures to the Royal
Academy, for a country walk, and generally chose
some old roadside inn for our destination. Thirty
years ago St. John's Wood was quite on the con-
fines of London, and a few minutes' walk from
Marlborouo-h Place brought us into ereen fields and
wooded lanes. It was a great delight, after being so
long cooped up in the studio, working till we could
3'4
A COUNTRY WALK 315
hardly see, to feel free again, and we went forth
like birds let out of a cage. I had sent three pic-
tures to the Royal Academy, namely, Henry VIII..
Lady Godiva, and the Danaides. I started the next
morning with George Leslie, Marks, Calderon, and
Hodgson, for our usual outing. It was a bright
sunny day. the air fresh and sweet, the whole land-
scape decked in the dainty tints of early spring.
We made our way through Willesden to a little
roadside inn called the "Old Spotted Dog," with
a pretty garden, a lawn, a bowling green, and
quaint arbours ; and it was so retired, so rural,
that we could fancy ourselves fifty miles away from
London. Here we partook of a frugal meal, con-
sisting chiefly of mutton-chops, vegetables, and
pickles, especially pickles. The landlady was very
strong on pickles ; she made them herself and
seemed to have pickled everything she could lay
her hands upon, from young onions to old cabbage
stalks. The homely tankard of ale served us in
lieu of more costly liquor, and our own spirits were
sufficient to keep us cheerful as we wiled away the
day in pleasant chat, or tried our skill ai the good
old game of bowls.
Calderon had just been made an A.R.A., but
had sent nothing to the E.xhibition. Marks had
sent "The Beggars are Coming lo lown" and
"Feeble, the Woman's Tailor "; Hodgson. " Takini^
Home the Bride." and Leslie. "The Defence of
Lathom House." We naturally discussed our
prospects, our hopes and fears, ruul were pretty
3i6 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
free in our criticisms of each other's work. Not
only the pictures but the titles were discussed,
and this led to pleasant nonsense and quaint sug-
gestions characteristic of each speaker ; Calderon,
for instance, whose wit was " un peu malin," pro-
poses as a good title for one of Etty's pictures,
"Virtue defendinof Innocence from the attacks of
Chastity." Then Hodgson, always full of quaint
sly humour, thinks that "The Albumens throwing
off the Yoke : by Egg," would be effective. George
Leslie, with his own special line of fun, referring
to the works of Inchbold, a Pre-Raphaelite and
poetical landscape painter, says that "If you buy
an ' Inchbold ' you're sure to want an 'El-more'."
Marks, a disciple of Dr. Johnson, is inclined to
groan at these shallow attempts at wit, but at the
same time he adds, in a melodramatic tone, " That
the man who would lay his hand upon a woman,
save in the way of kindness, is a wretch, whom it
would be gross flattery to call a coward."
And so the day wore on merrily enough, and we
walked back as the shades of eveninof were draw-
ing on. These outings were in our hopeful days.
Prosperity followed hope, and nearly all of the
little band, including three honorary members, be-
came members of the Academy. David Wynfield
was the first to break up the party. He died in
1887, and J. E. Hodgson followed him about four
years ago, that is, in 1895. He was buried in High-
gate cemetery, and was deeply regretted by all who
possessed his personal friendship. I never heard
A COUNTRY WALK 317
him say an ill-natured thing of anybody. He was
an educated gentleman as well as a good painter,
but it was his simplicity of character and kindness
of heart which made us call him the "dear old
Dodcrer." It was affecting to see the five survivinor
o o *-*
members of the "clique," now grey-headed Aca-
demicians, standing at the grave of their departed
friend, reflecting perhaps on the long ago past
when they were all boys together.
Note. — Since the above was written two more of the brotherhood
have died, namely, H. S. Marks and P. H. Calderon. An obituary
notice of Marks, by George LesHe, appeared in The Magazine of Art
for May, and one of Calderon in the same magazine for June 1898,
written by the author of this book.
NEAR HURLEY.
XL
OUR RIVER
ly AANY a time has my friend George Leslie
convinced me, as we rowed up and down the
river, that any man who sat all day in a punt,
fishing for minnows and such small fry, must be
an idiot. And even when I have entirely agreed
with him, if we came upon another individual of
the same sort, the convincing process has had to
be gone through once more. The fact is, my friend
is a true lover of Nature, as his delightful pictures
show, and he no doubt feels angry with those who,
instead of looking at her beauties, keep their eyes
fixed on a little float with a worm on a hook
3>8
OUR RIVER 319
dangling from it. For who can look upon his
pure maidens in rose-gardens, his happy school-
girls in their green playgrounds, his river-scenes
and his punt-pieces, without feeling that Nature is
the sweet mother of his art. But perhaps even a
more convincing proof of his affection for her is to
be found in his most pleasant book of the Thames,
called "Our River"; especially in the latter part,
where he discourses, like a Gilbert White of
Selborne, on " meadow-sweet, loosestrife, comfrey,
and all the rest of the beautiful river-weeds." He
will tell you about harebells, creeping-jennv. wild
geraniums, potentilla, wild strawberries, toadflax,
persicaria, water - crowfoot, water - lilies, osiers,
withies, the flowering rush, 8zc. 8cc. Or you can
refresh your memory about tom swans or "cobs,"
moorhens, swallows, martins, kingfishers, wood-
pigeons (good for pies), willow wrens, woodchats,
sedgebirds, robins, wagtails, chaffinches, thrushes,
blackbirds, nightingales, flycatchers, lapwings, pec-
wits, and herons ; besides water-rats, beetles, water-
snails, freshwater mussels, crawfish, roach, gudgeon,
perch, barbel, pike, carp, trout, gnats, midges,
spiders, and so on.
I could not then have had a more useful and
agreeable companion for a river holiday which com-
bined rest with work. In July iSo;, 1 stayed wiiii
him in a little cottage at Taplow, near Maidenlie.id,
kept by Mrs. Copeland, whmn he immoiialises in
his book. There was a narrow garden .a llie bark
which sloped down to the river, or rallxr l" .1 pidiy
320 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
backwater. We each had our boat, and went out
every day in different directions, to make sketches,
returning in the afternoon to compare notes, to take
our dinner-tea, and to finish up the evening with a
pipe and a chat. Surely nothing could be more
delightful than the pursuit of art under such cir-
cumstances.
My work consisted chiefly of water-colour
drawings made on the river, either from the boat
NEAR HAMPTON COURT.
or from the bank, weirs, backwaters, watermills,
and among others Bray Vicarage, and of the Alms-
houses at the back where Fred Walker painted the
scene of his '• Harbour of Refuge," one of his finest
and most pathetic pictures, now in the National
Gallery, the gift of his sincere friend, admirer, and
patron, Sir William Agnew.
As nearly all talk of "our river" must be stale
news to a Londoner, I shall say no more about it,
but refer him to my friend Leslie's book.
NEAR MAIDENHEAD.
XLI
M. GAM HART
POURING our stay at Maidenhead we had a
■*-^ visit from M. Gambari. He had written i»»
Leslie to say he was coming, and was expected to
luncheon, but as he did not make his apivarancc,
we took a stroll by the river, and were rcinrning
to tea, thinking he had been detained in town, when
whom should we see, sauntering sIowK- aliHiL;, i>nt
our expected visitor.
"Oh!" said Leslie, "we iiad given you u|). and
thought you were not coming."
321
X
322 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
"When I say I will come — I come," was his
reply.
"Come back then to the cottage, and see the
pictures."
" I have already seen them."
" Not all, for my principal one is put away in
the cupboard."
" I have seen that too, for I have looked in the
cupboard, and in the portfolios."
" Come then, and have some tea, and a
chop."
" No, my dear Leslie, I would not come all the
way to Taplow to have a chop."
" No, of course not, we will dine at Skindle's.
I'll go and order the dinner."
" I have done that already ; we shall dine
at seven, so there is plenty of time for a
walk."
It was a lovely evening, and our walk was a
most enjoyable one. Our friend was in a pleasant
humour and extremely amusing ; he told us much
of his past history which was curiously interesting.
How he came to London as a poor Belgian artist,
and began his career by colouring prints for old
M'Lean, the publisher in the H ay market ; how he
found out, by degrees, that he possessed certain
faculties for business which he soon turned to
account, beginning by taking a roll of prints under
his arm to certain country customers, and with the
profit he made out of them going into further in-
vestments, ending with rolls of bank notes in his
M. GAMBART 323
pockets, and by becoming a picture - dealer of
European reputation, with a villa in Belgium and
a chateau in the south of France. He made us
laugh with his droll stories, but those told of
him of his quickness and coolness and shrewdness
would fill a volume.
The dinner of course was excellent ; whether
it was a further proof of this extraordinary man's
cleverness or not I will not say, but he did not buy
our pictures.
When his house in the Avenue Road, which
had been blown to pieces by a gas explosion, was
restored, he invited a number of his artist friends
to what he called a picnic. As the rooms had
not been repapered or furnished we were each to
take our campstools and our own knives and forks ;
he would provide the eatables and the champagne,
but we must not mind having a carpenter's bench
for a table.
It occurred to the invited guests that he who
could provide champagne could also provide knives
and forks, &c., and on our arrival we found a most
sumptuous repast, served with appropriate magnili-
cence. True, the place was not fully furnished —
there was no sideboard, but rows of botdes two
or three deep went down one side of the r<ii>in.
These contained the choicest wines, which. M.
Gambart said, he expected us to drink. About
thirty sat down to dinner ; among them were Frith,
Ward, Elmore, Edmund Yates, the "clicjue," and
many other well-known artists and writers.
324 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
While we were taking our fruit and wine, our
host said he had a Httle surprise for us, and had
invited an old friend of our juvenile days to enter-
tain us. The folding-doors at the end of the room,
which led into the gallery, were then thrown open,
and the real old Punch and Judy show stood re-
vealed. The well-known voice of Punch was
greeted with shouts of laughter and rounds of
applause by the assembled grown - up children.
Whether this was a compliment to the supposed
perpetual youth of genius, or the expression of
our cynical host's feeling that artists were a parcel
of babies and mere puppets for the Gambartian
picture-dealer to dangle, is a question that he
alone could answer ; but as I was a guest and
enjoyed even the Punch and Judy I will take the
former view.
Perhaps the most interesting feature of this
blow-up and restoration was the curious escape of
pictures, a fact which should, I think, be taken into
consideration by insurance companies.
The first day of the disaster Gambart was going
round the place with a friend, when they spied on
the floor, amongst the debris, a scorched canvas
rolled up like a thin biscuit. Gambart lifted it very
carefully, just opened it, but not more than an inch
for fear of breaking it, and said, " Ah ! that is
Tadema's picture."
It seemed a hopeless case, but the picture re-
storer took it in hand, and when sent back it looked
even better than before, the tone was improved.
M. GAMBART 325
Friths "Derby Day" would have been probably
totally destroyed, as its place was just over the
centre of the explosion, but it happened to be
away, and its return had been delayed. Another
picture — I think it was the portrait of Rosa Bon-
heur with a bull — had entirely disappeared, and
yet the frame was hanging on the wall. The
picture itself was discovered, some two days after,
in a garden two doors off. A cabinet of valuable
china was a heap of debris, yet not a finger
must touch it. it must be left just as it is — not
only for the insurance people's contemplation, but
for the mender's. On the eveninof of the dinner-
picnic, Gambart showed us this cabinet perfectly
restored, and the china, to all appearances, just
as it used to be. Many, of course, were the won-
derful resuscitations of valuable things, which, had
they been in any ordinary house, would have been
swept away as rubbish or hopeless ruins. All, of
course, was insured, but I believe the company
came to some arrangement with M. Gambart, and
paid a certain sum on each damaged picture, leaving
him the picture to restore or otherwise. The
portrait of Rosa Bonheur had to be relinctl, and
as it had naturally got a little scratched, he sent
it over to Paris for her to touch uj), enclosing
a cheque for a hundred guineas for lier trouble,
which, he said, he had received from the insurance
company. The pictun- was soon returned, and
also the hundred guineas, which the artist declined
to accept, as the little she had had to do to ih<,-
326 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
picture could not be charged for, and she was only
too pleased to do it for her good friend.
Gambart, however, since Rosa would not take
the money, invested the sum in a fine Scotch bull.
The animal travelled to Paris and to her country
residence, and was the terror of porters and others
during his journey ; he was accompanied by a note
from Monsieur, begging her acceptance of the finest
specimen of the sort he could find, which would,
at the same time, serve her as a model for future
pictures, and be a testimony of his kind regard and
esteem, &c. &c.
The details of a gas explosion are perhaps
better forgotten than remembered. The one in
the Avenue Road resulted in the loss of several
lives, and was due, as usual, to the carelessness, if
not to a worse fault, on the part of the plumbers.
They were engaged to lay on the gas to a large
ball-room erected in the gaifden, and had connected
the main pipes so badly that they came apart during
the night, and hence the escape of gas and the
catastrophe.
This ball-room was put up for the purpose of a
fancy dress ball to which the world of art — in-
cluding guests from France, Belgium, Germany,
&c. — were invited, but who had to be put off at the
last moment. Such a disaster would have daunted
any ordinary man, but not M. Ernest Gambart, for
notwithstanding that the tent was blown to pieces,
the house shattered from top to bottom, the staircase
destroyed, pictures sent flying through the air into
M. GAMBART 327
neighbouring- gardens, the grand piano shot into the
road, and even guests flung out of bed and on to
the tops of wardrobes, &c. &c. Sec, still Ernest
Gambart only postponed the grand entertainment,
and the ball took place about two months after-
wards at Willis's Rooms.
Like most of these affairs, it was a motley show.
The men, unaccustomed to be dressed up, looked
for the most part like fish out of water or hogs
in armour. There was a certain portly R.A., who
looked comical as James I. His wide trunk-hose
needed no artificial stuffino-, his sword eot between
his legs, his daggers kept dropping about, and his
moustache and false beard had shifted all to one
side. The Tom Taylors looked like old pictures,
but then Taylor was accustomed to the stage. Nor
could anything be more perfect than Gambari
himself as Count Egmont. Mrs. Gambart — of
course got up regardless of expense — was re-
splendent. The amiable Miss Knight, daughter of
the R.A., appeared as Titania, in blue gauze and
silver spangles, with gossamer wings and a lairy
wand. Miss Palmer the pink lady (my first instruc-
tress in drawing and spelling) appeared as Madame
Pompadour, with powdered wig, and although her
face was over-rouged, was the jiicturc of good
temper. Then there was Miss Kate Terry, .ill in
white, and of course perfection, clcgaiu. sw(( i, and
anything else you like to imagine. .Several )()ung
men from the City vv<.'r(.- dressed as Sj)anisli bull-
fighters, and looked daggers at each other on linding
32 8 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
their costumes were exactly alike and had all come
AT THE FANCY BALL.
from the same shop. Mrs. Edmund Yates as
Marie Stuart looked lovely — of course she did —
M. GAMBART 329
and Fred Walker as perfect as one of his own
pictures, as a citizen of the French Republic — his
sister accompanying him as Clarissa Harlowe.
• «••••
I may mention that the above is an extract from
a letter to my mother, and is not intended as a page
of history, but is a specimen of the sort of chat
she used to enjoy, when she was leading a some-
what lonely life down at Ramsgate, her deafness
increasino^ her isolation.
There is another story, in which Monsieur
shows how ready he is in overcoming difficulties.
I was at an evening party at his house in the
Avenue Road many years ago, when some mis-
take had been made about the supper. The dance
was in full swing, the house full of guests, and
at about half-past ten Mrs. Gambart came up to
her husband in a great state of anxiety to tell him
that there was no sign of the supper arriving.
It had been ordered at Gunter's.
" Oh, they have mistaken the day, there is some
mistake, do not be anxious, I will see about it. it
shall be on the table in an hour." He then sent
one nephew off in a cab to Callard's. another to
some other confectioner, witli orders to bring back
whatever could be got there ; he himself, taking
another cab, drove down to Gunter's. As he ex-
pected, they had made a mistake about the day. nr
rather nicrht, and said it was impossible m su|)i)Iy
him.
"What is this supper?" said he (a number
330 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
of hampers were being sent off). "That is for
Lord so-and-so." "Very well, you must send it
to me, or part of it, and send the rest by-and-by."
After further talk they promised to do so, but to
make sure of it, he made them put the things
into his cab and took the cook on the box. At
midnight a splendid supper was on the table at
Gambart's house in the Avenue Road, a good dis-
tance from Gunter's, and Gambart came in smiling
as if nothing had happened. I remember Herbert,
R.A., was there, and was next to me at supper,
so I asked him what he would take. He pointed to
a lobster, and said in his usual Frenchified accent,
" I will take some shell-fish ; " as I did not appear
to understand him he said, "It is what you call
lobstair!'
Many are the stories told of J. R. Herbert. He
was a profound humourist, who joked so seriously
that you might almost have taken him for a mad-
man. He seldom smiled, and seemed to treat all
the world as fools, or rather as an audience to
which he played his part. For some reason or
other, he elected to make his speeches in a sort of
broken English, as though he wished you to take
him for a Frenchman. The only polite thing
you could do under the circumstances was to treat
him with all the consideration that you would feel
for a foreigner who was imperfectly acquainted
with the English tongue. Upon his asking for
lobstair I observed that, as it was Friday, fish was
of course the correct thing. " I see you are a
M. GAMBART 331
Catholic," was his reply. He knew I wasn't, but
at the same time I respected his pretended belief
in the same vein.
Soon after the Academy was installed in Bur-
lington House, the Council discussed the advisa-
bility of introducing a band to play at the annual
soiree. There were many objections raised against
it, and the subject was on the point of being dis-
missed, when Herbert rose with his usual gravity
and said in French-English, " I cannot understand
this objection to introduce a sistair art on such
a festive occasion. It seems to me that, in our
magnificent galleries, the band of the First Life-
Guards would sound like the hum of the bee in the
desert, and could not, therefore, interfere with the
contemplation of the pictures or the conversation
of the guests," The band, I am told, was \oted
unanimously.
HEVER CASTLE.
XLIl
HEVER
IF walls had voices as well as ears, what strange
whisperings might be heard in the long gallery
at Hever Castle, where Henry VIII. courted
sweet Anne Boleyn "all in her summer days," and
what sorry memories they would awaken of the
cruel tragedy and of the lamentations that followed.
But I have not to deal with the history of long
ago; in 1866, quite long ago enough, other voices
echoed through the long gallery at Hever^the
voices of merry children, and of jovial artists in the
332
HEVER ^^^
high tide of success, namely. Calderon, Veames, and
Wynfield, who, with their family belongings, filled
the whole place with life and laughter. Although
they formed a pretty large circle themselves there
was still plenty of room for their friends, who were
invited down and hospitably entertained. Among
them was Frank Burnand, the lively editor of
Ptinch, who in his *' Happy Thoughts" devotes
seven or eight chapters to a most humorous
description of his visit to Hever, which he calls
" Bover." H. S. Marks, George Leslie, Arthur
Lewis, and many others, appeared upon the scene,
and I also was one of the Qruests and was made
very much at home.
This visit seemed, somehow, to be the turning
point in my career — I had been travelling through
a long lane for many years, and here I came to the
looked-for turning. To show upon what trilles our
destinies depend, I will mention two circumstances
which occurred during my visit.
One day my sister, Mrs. Calderon, asked me if
I had seen the children at breakfast, and said they
made quite a picture. So I went to see the children
at breakfast, and there were four little trots all of
a row, seated at a high table under a large oriel
window, the light streaming in bciiind ihcin. and
shining through their fair hair, while the rellecti<^n
from the white table-cloth lighted uj) ihcir merry
little faces.
Yes, they did make quite a picture, and I i)ainH'(i
it just as I saw it. This was my first " Dc Hooghc."
334 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
and if it bore any distant resemblance to that great
master, it could only have been because it was
copied from nature, and was not an imitation of
the Dutch artist.
I made many studies of the old Castle, its
orchard, its gardens, its long meadow, and several
interiors ; and nothing could be more delightful
than this kind of occupation, and in such good
company, all favoured by fair weather. And now
for circumstance number two.
As we were going in to dinner one evening,
Yeames and I, who were walking side by side,
made a halt at the door, and each drew back,
saying, "After you," which was repeated several
times, and we only settled the question by going
in arm in arm. "That wouldn't be a bad subject
for a picture," said I. I thought it over all that
evening, and then decided to carry it out.
The picture was painted, and the next year,
1867, it was in a good place on the line in the
Royal Academy ; and was the beginning of my
success. Sir William Agnew wished to have it,
but it was bought by Baron de Stern. So to my
visit to Hever I am indebted for a number of useful
drawings of its old walls and surroundings, for two
oil pictures, and for my first real start in prosperity,
besides the pleasant recollection of a happy family
party, and much fun and enjoyment.
I will close this short chapter with the pathetic
story told me by the ghost of a little gudgeon that
I saw one evening, lying on its side among the
HEVER
335
water-lilies, when I was idling away an hour or
two in the punt, on the moat.
I was a little gudgeon once
In the pellucid stream,
Playing about with pretty trout,
Young roach and gentle bream.
And in the river Eden
I often used to roam
And catch the dainty May-fly,
But wish I'd stayed at home.
For out from Hever Castle
Upon one morning fine,
Came forth three gallant fishers,
With rod and hook and line.
And on that hook a gentle was
To tempt poor silly me,
Which I no sooner tasted
Than I found me up a tree.
Jerked from the gentle river's bed
Full high into the air,
I came down like a thing of lead
Oppressed with pain and care.
Oh ! how with meek imploring look
I eyed those fishers three,
Yeames, Calderon, and Wynfield,
And how they smiled on me.
They put mc in a washing-tub,
I guessed my fate, good lack !
And then they put me on a trimmer
For to catch a jack.
And there I passed the weary day
And all the weary night.
Whilst o'er my head the sportive flies
Made merry at my plight.
336 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
At last the dreaded jack approached,
I knew his hungry look ;
I trembled, and I bade him pause,
For I was on a hook.
I strove in vain to get away ;
The monster quickly followed me,
And heedless of his fate and mine,
He in an instant swallowed me.
But retribution came full soon
Upon this deadly swimmer,
Who in the twirling of a tail
Was brought to by the trimmer.
For out from Hever Castle
All in the afternoon
Came forth those gallant fishers
To see how I got on.
And when they found a jack was there
A shout of triumph went
Around those castellated walls
And o'er the Weald of Kent.
Full soon they laid him on the bank,
And there they let him die,
Debating, or to boil him, or
To bake him in a pie.
With stuffing and with sherry sauce
They tried to force him down,
His flesh was not worth eating
They all were fain to own.
And then they wished among themselves
They'd packed him up in wicker.
And sent him, with their compliments.
To glad the worthy vicar.
HEVER
But my sad fate they heeded not —
Forgotten and forlorn,
Like many a poor and hapless wight,
None over me did mourn.
And so a pale and lonely ghost,
I haunt old Hever moat.
Where on its moonlit waters I
Am sometimes seen to float.
337
' AI-TER YOU.
XLIII
SUCCESS AT LAST
T HAD been introduced to Dion Boucicault, the
dramatist and actor, and called upon him one
day to ask his advice about going on the stage. I
always loved art in whatever guise she chose to
appear, and the drama was to me one of her most
delightful phases. But it was not from purely artistic
motives that I turned my thoughts towards the stage ;
it was rather in the hope that I might earn more
on the boards than I was earning by my brush.
SUCCESS AT LAST 339
He said the success of an actor depended
almost entirely upon his getting a part to suit him,
and mentioned, as an instance, Mr. Falconer, who
played Danny Mann in the "Colleen Bawn." He
had been on the stage about twenty years, and had
never been able to command a large salary, simply
because he had never had a part that showed
what he could do. They wanted some one to take
"Danny Mann," and " faute de mieux " as they
thought, they gave it to Falconer. It just suited
his particular talent ; he not only made the part, but
the part made him, and he was so successful that
he eventually took a theatre himself — I believe
Drury Lane.
I mention this story, as far as I remember it.
merely as an illustration of the same thing which
takes place on the stage of life ; many of us go on
for years before we get a part that suits us, often
mistaking our own line, and thinking we are cut
out for tragedy, or the classical, when really we are
only suited for genteel comedy. In my own art I
had tried the sad, the sentimental, the histf^rical,
and works of high aim, such as Saints and Holy
Families, besides landscapes and nude figures, all
with very modified success as far as salary wcni.
At last, upon going to Hever, as before; men-
tioned, I found a part that suited me in my " Polite
Gentlemen" or "After You," and the "Children at
Breakfast." I took ])leasure in j)aiiuing both liicse
pictures, and as a farther proof that my perf.rmance
was .satisfactory, my salary was raisexl.
340
SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
I, so to speak, entered into an engagement with
fortune for similar parts, and my next production
was "The Shy Pupil." This, says a kindly critic
(James Dafforne), evidences still farther progress in
all the essential qualities of art : " The costume of
the figures, the apartment, and the general effect
PEN SKETCH FOR THE SHY PUPIL.
recall to mind some of the works of the Dutch and
Flemish artists of the seventeenth century," &c. &c.
Now, as if Fortune had a mind to have a bit
of fun with me, after engaging me for what Tom
Taylor described as " French vaudeville" she intro-
duced me to the Rev. J. M. Bellew, who wished
me to paint an altar-piece for him, subject, "The
Crucifixion."
SUCCESS AT LAST 341
J. M. Bellew was at one time a very popular
preacher, and the incumbent of St. Mark's Church,
Hamilton Terrace, where his fine elocution, sono-
rous voice, and handsome face, drew laree conere-
gations. He had, however, for some reason which
I don't remember, taken Bedford Chapel near
Oxford Street, and had got up a subscription for
an altar-piece, which he considered would be an
appropriate finish or decoration. He spoke to me
about it, and I undertook the work, which was to
be fourteen or fifteen feet high, the figures, three in
number, to measure seven feet, and the price ^40 ;
the canvas, &c., which cost ^11, to be an extra
payment. As I had in my early ambitious days
made a design which included the Creation of the
World, the History of our Lord, and tlu- Last
Judgment, I felt that I could easily undertake the
subject of the Crucifixion, treated in the old Italian
manner ; and also, that to paint a devotional work
which was to remain for years in a sacred edifice,
would be something to be proud of: so I did not
trouble myself about the small price I was to get for
such a large canvas.
I resolved therefore to carry on this at the same
time as my humbler subject, and made a drawing
in water-colours of the complete composition, to be
squared up afterwards to the recjuisitc si/c. (Sec
illustration.) I worked at the picture coff (jniotr,
the subject lending itself to loving and di-votional
expression, to depict which, is one of the highest
pleasures of an artist. Th'- w'»rk being n\^ a liri^M-
342 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
scale and painted with much ease, it flattered my
ambitious desire to do a pure and good piece of
work, and as it grew out on the large canvas I
must confess that my joy was extreme. I could
have wished that it had been my destiny to have
had more work of the kind to do, but the Church
in England is not a generous patron of art.
I had made considerable progress with the
picture, when Bellew came to see it, and suggested
some alteration in the expression of St. John, show-
ing me, by clenching his own hands and looking up,
what he meant. I said if he would remain in the
attitude I would make the alteration at once, as I
saw the criticism was sound. He did so, but after
a few minutes he asked me if he might smoke. He
lit a cigar and resumed his impersonation. It struck
me that St. John contemplating the figure on the
Cross with a " Flor de Murias " in his mouth, was
" un peu bizarre," not to say comic, but it did not
strike me that if I had painted him in that manner,
frock-coat and all, and sent my work to the Salon
in the Champ de Mars, I might have been hailed
as an original orenius and the leader of a new school
"tout a fait moderne."
" The Crucifixion" was put up at Bedford Chapel
in May 1868 and Bellew paid me for it, pro-
misingf himself to settle the colourman's bill for
the canvas. As soon as I had received the cheque
and given him an acknowledgment, he asked me
casually how I was getting on at the Academy. 1
then told him I had sold both my pictures.
THE CRUCIIIM" ^.
{Altar-piece fainted for J. M. fifllm:
344 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
"What!" said he. "You don't say so! And
what did you get for them ? "
" Two hundred for one and a hundred and fifty
for the other, and the first has already been resold
at a profit."
"What!" said he — he paused, and it may have
been my fancy, but I thought he looked as if he
were going to say, " Why didn't you tell me that
before I gave you the /"40 .^ " But recovering
himself, he congratulated me heartily and I am sure
sincerely, for I always found him a kind friend, and
if at one time rather a spoilt child of Fortune, he
was open-hearted and generous ; nor did I ever
trace the least malice in his disposition.
But the High Art picture was not destined long
to hold its proud position over the altar of Bedford
Chapel. The receipts at the collections gradually
dwindled down, and even a church, if it doesn't
pay, has to be shut up or handed over to another.
So it was with Bedford Chapel, and Bellew and my
altar-piece left it together. As it was fourteen or
fifteen feet high it had to be rolled up, and for a
long time, I think a year or two, it stood in his hall
by the side of the umbrella-stand. He left the
Church of England and ceased to be the Rev. J. M.
Bellew, but was for some time as popular a reader
as he had been a preacher. He became a Roman
Catholic, and presented " The Crucifixion " to the
Carmelite Church at Kensington, where it was
hung in a side-chapel, and looked, I thought, better
there than in its original position. I was much
SUCCESS AT LAST 345
complimented by the monks upon it, who pronounced
it a very devotional picture.
Bellew died soon after this, sincerely regretted
by those who knew him intimately, for he was a
kind friend, excellent company, and a good host.
I have spent many pleasant evenings at his house
in Addison Road. He had a great leaning for the
stage, and one of his favourite pastimes was to get
up acting charades in his back drawing-room, in
which he, Shirley Brooks, Frith, Edmund Yates,
Calderon, self and others took part.
Some years ago I went to have another look
at "The Crucifixion," — poor Bellew's gift; per-
haps with a feeling partly of vanity, and partlv of
satisfaction at having painted an altar-piece that
was to be looked at by generations of worshippers.
But here again Fortune, as if to show that .she had
only been having a joke with me, gave me a slap
in the face which 1 little expected. 1 went first
to the side-chapel where the picture had fornu-rly
hung. I saw only bare walls. I went into the
Church. Mass was going on. 1 kncli down, hui
my eyes wandered about looking for the picture.
At last, hanging like a loose rag from an archway,
I recognised the old canvas; a portion ol .St. John
and the feet and legs only of our I.ord were
visible. The use that ni\- ambitious |)crformaiice
seemed to be put tf), was to cover part ol a wiiujow
and to keep out the (h-aiiglit. I came a\v.i\ truly
humiliated, and completely conxinced that I was
neither a Perugino nor a Raphael in the cyc^ "I
346 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
the Kensineton Carmelites. The illustration here
given is a reproduction of the original water-colour
drawing from which the picture was painted.
" The Shy Pupil," my genteel-comedy picture,
was well received by the Council of the Royal
Academy, and was very well placed in the middle
room. On the varnishing day I was complimented
on the work by several of the members, and one
of them took me into the council - room to have
a glass of sherry. J. P. Knight, the portrait painter,
secretary, and Professor of Perspective, was there,
and said he could not allow me to drink out of
such a small glass as I had before me, and filled
up a bumper in a very large one, putting down the
little one with such contempt that he smashed it.
He told me how they all cheered when my pic-
ture came before them, and I was not to think it
was through favouritism that it was so well placed,
for none of them knew whose it was. It was well
spoken of by the critics, especially by M. Burty in
the Gazette des Beaux Arts, who said it was like
a De Hooehe before time had darkened its tones.
He wrote to me saying he should like to publish an
etching of it in the Gazette, but unfortunately I had
no sketch or photograph to lend him. The picture
was bought by Sir John Pender (then Mr. Pender),
and in addition to all this it brought me into busi-
ness relations with William (now Sir William)
Agnew, and his brother, Tom Agnew, of the well-
known firm ; and I must say that for many years
those relations were most satisfactory, and the
SUCCESS AT LAST 347
Agnews were not only my patrons but my good
friends, and helped me on to the success which
came at last after waitingr for it many years. The
first picture that I painted for Sir William Agnew
was a portrait-picture of his two litde boys. Phil
and Walter, going to school with their satchels
over their shoulders. They are passing along by
some grey park palings with the May blossom
hanging over them. One of those little boys is
now a partner in the well-known firm of Christie's,
and the other is one of the firm of Pii'cJi.
The picture was painted in a studio in St.
Mary's Terrace, the approach to which was through
a small garden : and when x^gnew came to see it I
met him there, and he said he should like to sit
down and smoke a cioar before he went into the
studio.
"The fact is," he said, "I feel quite nervous
about it." He told me he was so afraid he should
not like it. " But," said I, " if you don't like it you
need not have it ; I will paint another."
It seemed so curious that the man who si)ciu
thousands in a morning going from studio to studio
and saying " I will have this " and " I will have that "
without a moment's hesitation, should feel nervous
at looking at a small canvas with his two liiilc boys
in it; but he is a devoted father, and I (hiresay
dreaded to see a representation ni his chiMren
that did not realise tlu.-m to iiini as he saw them.
After we had smoked and chatted about five nr ten
minutes I asked him if he felt better. H<- laughed.
348 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
and we entered the studio together ; an expression
y^4TBSP7^:ri
FRIENDS.
of relief and satisfaction came over his face : he
was pleased, very pleased, with the picture.
XLIV
PORTRAITS AND PATRONS
npHE little portrait-picture of " Going to School "
led to my having other portraits to paint in
somewhat the same manner, and these led on to
others, and to my introduction to many agreeable
people. Although I continued to paint my genteel-
comedy pictures, most of which were bought by
the Agnews, portraiture was the most kicrative.
and my experience in that branch of art was cer-
tainly a very pleasant and sunshiny season of my
life. I went out a (jood deal not onlv in London,
but to those old Enorlish homes in the country
where during the shootino- and huntinijf seasons
such delightful company is wont to assemble, and of
which I shall say something later on. Hut perhaps
a few of my experiences in portrait-painting may be
entertaining, and 1 hope 1 may recall ihcin with-
out offence and without being too personal.
Some time ago I received a very pleasant and
quite unexpected visit from tw(j ladie.s, L.uly \ ..
and her daughter, Mrs. C, who came about a
portrait of the latter, whifh 1 eventually painted.
As Lady V. was full of character and a j^ood talker,
and always accom|)anied her daughter durini^ the
349
350 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
painting of the picture, she enhvened the sittings
very much. At one time we would discuss certain
points and pecuHarities of" art, of nature, and of
fashion ; at another she would entertain me with
strange stories of society — so that the day's work
was lightened by a good deal of amusement.
I remember among other things that we had a
disquisition on noses, or rather on long noses, and
she asked me if I thought it was necessary to paint
them quite as long as they sometimes appeared in
nature. But I said I rather admired long noses ;
I thought they showed character and determination,
and gave a certain dignity to the face. " Yes," said
she, "that may be, but still there is a limit;" and
she went on to sav that fourteen of her relations
had died violent deaths ; some were killed in battle,
some in duels, some were shipwrecked, and so on ;
but whether it was owing to their strong characters
or their long noses she didn't know — "perhaps a
little of both."
Referring to that delicate subject, the question
of a lady's age, she asked if it was necessary to
paint people quite as old as they happened to be
when sitting to an artist ; because, said she, they
were not always thirty-five or forty, for instance —
" You don't want to stereotype the age but the
individuality."
" No, you don't want to be thinking how old or
how young such and such a person is," said I, "but
whether she is handsome, intelligent, a lady born, of
a pleasant disposition, and so forth. You want a
PORTRAITS AND PATRONS ;,w
portrait that shall be always like, not somethincr
that only lasts for a season or two ; and that is why
I don't stick too close to the fashions in dress,
which look old-fashioned in a few years, unless
there is something really pretty and tasteful in
them, then it lasts for all time."
"Quite so, Mr. Storey, and I like an artist who
can paint flesh and blood, and not mere dolls and
dummies that look as if they were made of wood
and wax ; " and she referred to a fashionable por-
trait-painter of that day, who, she said, "pomades
his hair to such an extent that it's enough to drive
you out of the studio."
I told her of a lady who considered that twenty-
eight was a very good age to stop at ; I knew her
for over twelve years, and she never confessed to
more than twenty-eight.
"Well, you see, that can be any age."
Yes, any age — it can be forty, or even hlty. 1
knew a very handsome woman of over forty who
might well have passed for twenty-eight. She was
called "Pretty .Mrs. Porter," and 1 wrote the fol-
lowing description of her :
THEN AXn NOW
She was very pretty then.
So said the men.
She's handsome now, and stouter,
Looks rather shorter,
Has a grown-up dauKhtcr,
And wealth al;oul her.
352 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
Then, she was twenty,
Her face all dimply,
And dressed quite simply,
With admirers plenty.
Now she is forty —
And haughty.
Fresh as the morning dew,
Her eyes were clear and blue ;
Her skin, both fair and rosy.
Was like a posy.
Her blushes came and went
Without intent ;
Now, she is nice
With spice,
A powder-puff and scent.
Then, she was bright and airy
Like a fairy,
Played at tennis, nimble as a fawn ;
Now, she is slow and chokey.
Fond of a little jokey.
And only plays at croquet
Upon the lawn.
She goes to Monte Carlo,
Wins a pony,
Dreams all night of Martingales
And fortunes ;
Her luck importunes,
But fate refuses ;
She plays and loses,
Plays again.
In vain.
She has comforts now and sorrow,
She dreads to-morrow,
She feels there's something wrong —
She isn't strong ;
And though champagne she drinks,
She sometimes thinks
PORTRAITS AND PATRONS
She'd rather she were more
As before,
And give up all her wealth
For health.
353
MRS. rORTER — THEN.
Oh ! why do maids grow old ?
It seems a pity.
Why change that youthful mould,
That was so pretty ?
Why isn't notv as then
With Mrs. Porter ?
Because, there would be no chance
For her daughter.
354 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
Lady V.'s stories of society were most enter-
taining, as were her remarks on the fashions. She
spoke of the number of persons who went to at-
homes and dances without invitations, and of an
amusing incident, or rather catastrophe, which hap-
pened to a certain Lady , who was not a very
amiable individual. " She had three daughters,"
said Lady V., "who were all very ugly, and of
course their mother wanted to get them married,
which was not so easy, notwithstanding that they
were called 'The Three Graces.'" Hearing that
a Captain G., a very rich man, had taken a place
near her country seat, she gave a ball with the
express purpose of getting Captain G. to come to
it, and the Three Graces were to put on their
prettiest smiles. So an invitation was sent to the
gallant captain through a mutual friend, and in due
course he presented himself to Lady at her
grand entertainment. As she had never seen him,
she did not at first realise who he might be, and,
turning upon him rather abruptly, said, " I don't
know you ; why have you come ? " To which he
replied that he had received her invitation, other-
wise he should not have thought of coming. " I
never invite people I don't know," said Lady ,
turning away. The captain bowed, and said he
would return her invitation as soon as he got home
— and departed. It was not till some time after-
wards, that it dawned upon the lady that he was
the very guest she had been so anxious to receive.
The next morning her invitation was returned to
PORTRAITS AND PATRONS 355
her, enclosed in an envelope, without a word of
comment. We may imagine the scene between
mamma and daughters. A letter was despatched
at once by a mounted messenger, full of apologies
and explanations, with an invitation to dinner for
that evening, the reply to which was : —
" Captain G. presents his compliments to
Lady , and begs to say that he never dines
with people he does not know,"
Lady V. told me many other amusing things,
which I either forQ-et or do not wish to take the
liberty of repeating. I cannot resist, however,
telline two ofood stories which I heard from my
old landlord, Thomas Middleton, who was for some
years butler and confidential servant to General
Hastings at Ashby de la Zouch.
One of the General's intimate friends was old
Lord S., who was evidently a kindred spirit, for they
met often and sometimes played cards all night.
Now, Lord S. does not seem to have been very
particular about his personal appearance, and used
to go about in a very old coat, which peculiarity
occasioned him several curious adventures. li<
not only dressed shabbily, but had a way of walk-
incr with his hands behind him, the palms being
o
held upwards. Being out for a walk one morning,
he passed a young midshii)man of the Royal Navy,
but without noticing him. The latter, struck l)y
Lord S.^s appearance, ihoughl he mu.st be some
broken-down gentleman, who was too noble to
beg, but lo whom assistance might i)e welcome.
356 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
So having just arrived in port, and being rather
flush of money, he stole behind the supposed
pauper and dropped half a sovereign into the up-
turned hand, and then was rapidly making off,
when my lord turned quickly round, examined the
donation, and called to his unknown friend to " wait
a minute," in a very gentle voice. The middy, all
blushes, returned, and Lord S., seeing his confusion,
and pleased with his honest face, said, " Thank you,
young man, I am much obleeged to you and will
accept your gift, but only on condition that you
will tell me your name and address in order that
I may have an opportunity of returning it at some
future time." The youth obeyed, but said there was
no occasion for doing that. A day or two after
this, the young middy received a note from Lord
S., which was brought by a big flunkey in livery,
asking him to do him the honour of a call at a
certain hour that day, as he wished particularly to
see him on business.
The young middy could not make it out, as
he said Lord S. was unknown to him, nor could
the big footman enlighten him further than by
saying, " I suppose, sir, you'd better come."
So the young man went, wondering and won-
dering what it all meant. Arrived at the house,
in ■ Square, he was ushered upstairs into a
spacious drawing-room, and there, to his surprise
and confusion, sat the dear old gentleman to whom
he had given the half-sovereign. Lord S. did not
wait for the young fellow to make apologies, but
PORTRAITS AND PATRONS 357
put a note into his hand for a hundred pounds, and
said, " I told you I would return vour eift." Nor
would he listen to a refusal. " Remember," said he.
" I only accepted it on condition that I mij^ht re-
turn it," and he also added, " I will see you advanced
in the service, for it is such stuff as you are made
of that wins our battles." And that young middv
was advanced from that day, and proved a brave
and gallant officer.
But there is a still more amusino- storv of Lord
S., and had it not been told me by Middleton.
who was on the spot, I should have thought it a
farcical invention of a playwright.
It appears that even on Sunday my Lord S.
wore his old clothes, not out of stinginess, but
simply because he did not think abcuit his per-
sonal appearance, and, as we have seen, rather
enjoyed the fun of it.
It was church time, but sauntering past General
Hastings' house, he gave a modest tap at the
front door, which was immediately opened by the
hall-porter.
"Is General Hastings at home?" said my lord,
in a mild voice.
"No, he ain't," said the magnificcnl llunki-y.
thinking him some poor fellow who had come
to beg.
" Oh then, I'll conic in and wait for him," and the
modest lord entered, despite the indignant protests
of the porter, who, however, became somewhat
softened bv the gentl<- manner of the visitor and
35 8 SKETCHES FROM iMEMORY
told him he could sit on the form in the hall. The
porter talked to this unknown intruder, questioned
him about his place, and felt so agreeably surprised
that at last he said to him, "Why, old chap, you're
not half such a bad fellow as I thought you was.
Look here — the General won't be in for another
half-hour, so we may as well make ourselves com-
fortable ; will you do me a favour ? "
"What is it?" said Lord S. .
And the other, slipping sixpence into his hand,
said, " Do you mind just going round the corner and
fetching me a pot of porter ? "
" With the greatest pleeasure," said my lord.
"The fact is," said the hall-porter, "in the first
place, I mustn't leave the hall, and I daren't be seen
in the street with a pot of porter in my hand, "as
all the neighbours would talk." So my lord went
round the corner and fetched the frothing beveraee.
The porter wanted him to have first drink, but
his unknown friend politely refused, as he said he
did not drink porter in the morning, but was very
pleased to have been of service in getting it for his
new acquaintance.
While this friendly discussion was going on
the General walked up to the door, and the
pot of porter was stowed away under the chair,
with a wink to Lord S., who sat meekly or^
the form.
As soon as the General entered he exclaimed,
" Why, S. ! what the devil are you doing here, sit-
ting in the hall ? "
PORTRAITS AND PATRONS 359
" Oh," said Lord S., " I am only waiting for you :
and my friend here has been very obleeginor."
The hall-porter almost fainted, especially when
he saw his master take Lord S. by the arm and walk
him upstairs. The bell was rung for Middleton, the
guest was of course most nobly treated, and the
two old friends sat down to cards. They played on
and on, only leaving off for meals. They played
all the afternoon, then dined, they played all the
evening, then supped — and then they played all
nisfht. Hundreds of cards were strewn at their feet,
and not until the next morning did Lord S. come-
downstairs to go home.
The magnificent porter had passed a restless
night ; he was pale and speechless when he saw the
noble guest, whom he had treated as a poor fellow-
servant, coming towards him. He tried to make an
apology, but could only gasp out, in a faint voice-,
"My lord!" S., who had been a considerable
winner, smiled blandly, put a five-pound note into
the porter's hand, and said, "There's a five-pound
note for you, and perhaps you will rcmcmlu-r
Lord S. when you see him again.'
I had an amusing experience in portrail-takin.i^.
at a fancy bazaar that was held at the l*"rt(! 'IVade
Hall, Manchester, in 1865 or i.S/)f). in aid of the
Children's Hospital at IVndk:l)ury. It was Rot
up, in a great measure, by John licnry Agncw
and his friends, and about /^r.ooo was collccird.
and handed over to th<- charity, nothing being
deducted for expenses. h<.r wh<ii the fclc, which
360
SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
lasted about a week, was all over, it was found that
the hire of the hall, the entertainments, and other
expenses, came to about ^1000. I remember we
PAMELA.
were standing in a circle when John Henry said,
" I think it would be a pity, gentlemen, to deduct
this money from the ^22,000 we have collected,
PORTRAITS AND PAIRONS 361
so let us see if we cannot raise it amone ourselves.
I will give ^100 towards it. We only want nine
others to do the same thing." And thereupon one
after another said, " I will give a hundred," " So
will I," "So will I," "And 1," until the whole sum
was collected. Although this is not the story I was
going to tell, it came into my mind, and certainly
the generosity of those Manchester men on tliat
occasion deserves to be recorded.
The part I took in the business, besides pre-
senting a chalk drawing called "Clarissa," which
sold for a pretty good sum, was to go about
among the crowd offering to take any one's portrait
for half-a-crown, likeness not guaranteed. I had a
sketch-book, and a note-book, the latter rather
small, in which I made a pencil outline in a ft-w
minutes, then tore out the leaf and received 2s. 6cl.
I did a very good trade, and in the two days that 1
worked at it I sketched forty portraits ; some of tht-m
were more elaborate, and I received 5s., 10s., and
even £1 for a few. One lady of a certain age was
not at all satisfied with the half-crown representa-
tion of herself, and she complained tliat I had made
her look too old. So, 1 said I couldn't make licr
any younger for half-a-crown, Inil that il she wt)uld
go in for a ten-and-sixpenny one I could make her
any age she liked — nineteen or twenty for instance.
so she did go in for a teii-and-si.xpenny one. Ami
another curious thing about this experiment was
that at least ten other ladies had tcn-and-.sixpcnny
portraits, and two went as far as a guinea ; scvrral
362 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
among them were very pretty girls whose pictures
MRS. POTTER.
were not paid for by themselves, and were sent off
to be mounted and framed there and then.
In those days the Manchester men seemed to
PORTRAITS AND PATRONS 363
have plenty of money, and were not niggardly in
spending it. Orders for several expensive portraits
were the outcome of this pleasant freak in the name
of Charity.
One of the great pleasures of portrait-painting
consists in the many kind friends and acquaint-
ances that the artist makes amone his sitters ; and
the invitations he receives to their town and
country houses in consequence. I recall many
enjoyable visits that I paid in the days of my first
success, and lively scenes pass before me of merry
doings at Coleorton, which would fill a chapter ; of
quite as merry doings at Hartwell, which would fill
another chapter, and of Burley-on-the-Hill, Ash-
down, Yewden, and other places, not forgetting the
hospitable homes of the rich Manchester men, and
the long holidays passed in the north with the
Agnews, when the present heads of the firm were
boys, including a trip to Scotland with them and a
pleasant sail up Loch Fyne with Frank, now Sir
Francis Powell, President of the Royal Scottish
Water-Colour Society.
It would no doubt be pleasant to me to recall
many of those scenes that have passed, and 10
note all the fun and geniality that I remember <>!
them, but my houk is nearly iilled up, so I will
speak only of one of the old homes — namely,
Debden in Essex, to which I will devote the next
chapter.
XLV
DEBDEN
I H E name
^ of Debden
brings back
some of my
pleasantest re-
collections, al-
though it was a
ne'er - do - well
gaunt solitary
place, that was
haunted not only
by a ghost but
by fates of ill
omen. Its mas-
sive walls and
fine apartments
were built for
Mr. Chiswell, a
man of great
wealth, about the
middle of the last
century.
My first experience of this house of vicissitudes
was on an autumn afternoon some twenty or
364
THE I'ARK GATE.
DEBDEN 365
more years ago. I took the train to SatTron-Walden
— need I say in Essex and not far from Audley
End — the picturesque and romantic dwelling of
the Howards, that had to be partly pulled down
because it was too large and too expensive 10
keep up, though what remains of it is still a noble
pile and belongs to Lord Braybrooke.
At the station I found an old coachman with an
old trap, who was willing to convey me and my
luggage to Debden. The trap, or the carriage, or
whatever it might be called, had worn-out cushions
and groggy wheels, which impressed me so forcibly
that I remember these characteristics as if it were
yesterday. We jogged on and on and at last
arrived in a lane half-choked up by hedges, and
shaded very much by overhanging trees. I thought
my old coachmian had lost his way, and was driving
me though a wood. I impressed uj)on him that I
hoped he understood I was bound for Dtbilen.
"All right, sir," said he, "we're coming to it," ant!
at last he pulled up at a five-barred field gate, not
in the best of repair, and getting down from liis
box informed me, "This be Debden, sir."
All I could see was a cowshed and a bit o| a
haystack, a road full of ruts all overgrown with
weeds, and a wilderness of trees in the distance.
" But I want to go to the Hall," .said I.
"All right, sir; it's about two miU-s and a
quarter after we get through this ere gate."
Having accomplish(;d the feat of gelling thnnii^h
that "'ere gate," we drove on and on till tlarkncss
366 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
began to settle down upon us, and by my coach-
man's manner I began to think that the Hall, per-
haps, was not much of a place. We passed a few
cows that were asleep or ruminating, and started
one or two to their feet, which seemed to indicate
that they were not very accustomed to carriages
going along the drive. At length I could just dis-
cern a big building telling out dark against the
fading light of the sky, and the driver pointed to it
with his whip, and said, "That's the Hall, sir." As
we came nearer, I could make out its massive pro-
portions, portico and all, and in another ten minutes
we drew up at a very unpretentious side-door. This
was quickly opened by a man-servant, and a minute
afterwards I saw the familiar and cheery face of my
host, who made me heartily welcome.
Only a small portion of the house had been fur-
nished, as the new inmates, Mr. and Mrs. Raymond
Cely Trevilian, had but lately taken possession.
Long dark passages, and mysterious staircases,
seemed to lead to anywhere. A gleam of moonlight
streaming in from a far-off window added to the
uncanniness of the place ; but there was a small
drawing-room perfectly fitted up, and a cosy smok-
ing-room that would have satisfied any man who
loves a pipe and a chat, and would be sure to be
his favourite apartment, even were the rooms of
state furnished in all their glory.
Before dinner we paid a visit to the stables to
inspect the new pony ; and never do I remember
going through so much to come out so very little.
DEBDEN -,6-
The stables are a stately pile, and appeared to me
almost as big as the Hall ; in fact, a company of
troopers might have put up their chargers there
without much inconvenience. We passed stall after
stall in the dim light of the moon's rays, and it
seemed to me to be many hundreds of yards before
we came to the last stall of all. Here Trevilian
struck a match, a good old lucifer, and the small
pony stood revealed ; a few more matches enabled
us to admire his perfect proportions, to pat him, and
to flatter him. We then returned in the darkness
the same way we came.
But why have I described this unimjnjruint
incident? Simply to show how the past glories
of Debden had departed, and because it is a part
of the picture. On our return another guest had
arrived, namely, the lawyer, of whom more anon.
Those parchments and papers, tied up with red
tape, which he carried in his bag, might mean for-
tune or ruin to the owners of this spacious and
empty mansion.
It was said that a Grey Lady wandered about its
halls and its passages regardless of bolted doors,
and that the keyholes were sufficient space for her
entrances and exits. This restless spirit was sup-
posed to be that of the wife of the former owner of
this large property, Mr. Chiswell, who had a con-
siderable fortune. Hut knowing lillle of busin* .
he was induced to enter into a certain .sjMJculation
in a concern which was suppo.sed to be Jis safe as the
bank, and therefore he mi'^hl rest secure and sleep
368 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
at ease. But owing to an unlooked-for and unex-
pected turn of events, caused by the French losing
San Domingo, the whole of the money invested
by Mr. Chiswell was lost ; and the firm in which
he was a kind of sleeping partner was involved in
utter ruin.
In those days of mail-coaches, news did not
travel so fast as in the present time, and no positive
information of the exact state of things had reached
Debden ; but still rumours and suspicions were
abroad, and Mr. Chiswell bade a trusty messenger
post up to town and ascertain the facts, and to find
out whether the rumours were true or false. He
was to return with all possible speed and drive up
to the Hall, or rather to a certain gate just beyond
the terrace, that could be seen from one of the
small dining-room windows. It was calculated that
he would return at about the dinner-hour. If the
rumour was false, he was to pass the gate and come
in as a guest, but if not, he was to stop at the gate
and drop a white handkerchief, which would be the
signal that all was lost.
Much depended on that white handkerchief! If
of^cially notified of the downfall of the firm, Mr.
Chiswell would have to render up Debden and all
its belongings as part of the assets ; but if he died
before news of the failure actually reached him, his
personal and private property would go to his
widow and daughter — at least that was Mr. Chis-
well's impression.
On that eventful evening, the only guest who
DEBDEN 369
sat at Mr. Chiswell's table was death himself. His
wife and daughter had, by his special desire, gone
to a concert to encourage some local charity, and
he dined in the little dining-room in solitary state.
It might be his last meal, or he might have the
pleasure of welcoming his wife and daughter home
again. As the time wore on, and as the hands of
the clock drew nearer the hour when all doubt
would be over, he became more and more grave,
and was listening for the sound of the wheels of
the chariot that was to convey his messenger.
At last he heard something approaching in the
distance. He rose quietly from his seat and went to
the window. The sound grew louder and louder ;
he watched the chaise coming down the avenue.
A minute later it stopped, and he saw the while
handkerchief fall to the ground. The drivir then
turned his horses and drove away.
The master of Debden, the man who had raised
its massive walls, the rich man whtj thought his
wealth boundless, now realised that that grinning
guest of his demanded his life in exchange for these
shinine halls and broad acres ; after brooiling for
a short time, he passed through the gun-rt).)ni.
where he selected a pistol, and going into an apart-
ment beyond, he put an end to himself.
His wife and daughter, returning soon after-
wards, were not informed ol what had aclually taken
place ; only that the master had died suddenly.
Now, all this happened a long time ..-o. more
than ninety years ago, but still tlv Crey I.adv. the
2 A
370 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
wife of him who gave up his Hfe for her sake, is
said to haunt the place, as though her restless spirit
had something to communicate to the living world,
if only some one in it would stay and listen to her.
'^-:&'
NINETY YEARS AGO.
I must refrain from entering into the family
history of the house of Debden, however romantic,
and even thrilling it may be — including the elope-
ment of the young lady of the Hall with a baronet
DEBDEN 37 j
of ancient lineage ; the sensational pursuit, which
was baulked by cut harness and lamed horses ; the
marriage, followed by extravagant expenditure, and
the selling off of everything, till nothing but bare
walls remained ; and how the whole place was
handed over, for a time, to money-lenders, who
took possession, and felled many of the fine old
trees in the Park to pay their fees and expenses,
holding the tide-deeds till their loans and their
interests were accommodated.
Many years have elapsed, and the old place has
devolved, and come into the possession of the host
and hostess who welcomed me that evening when
I drove up in that ramshackle old trap, and went
through "that 'ere gate," as already described. The
curse of fate has been, for a time, withdrawn frt)m
the manor of Debden ; by degrees its many apart-
ments have been refurnished, and merry faces again
appear upon the scene.
About two years after this, in the glowing
month of September, I again went on a visit u>
Debden, where I found a large and lively party
already assembled.
The great house presented a totally different
appearance to when I first visited it. and with such
a goodly company it was impossible to do otherwise
than enjoy one's self, especially when Mr. and Mrs.
Trevilian knew so well how to make every one
happy and contented. To wander in the Ix-aulihii
erounds rich in autumn lints, or in the rosf ''••'
or by the lake, with pleasant and witty connj.ini<'iis.
372 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
to saunter through the woods and picnic in the
chequered shade, to tell stories and sing songs
as in the Decameron, was certainly a very easy and
agreeable way of passing the time.
But other entertainments were resorted to. A
day's shooting for the men, a visit to Audley End,
or some other place of interest, or mustering in
small groups on one of the islands that dotted the
lake, to plot and to plan some new scheme of how
to make everybody happy, ourselves in particular,
and inventing signs and tokens in which the honey
bees played their part, and were held up as examples
to the denizens of the human hive ; the whole
winding up each evening with a sumptuous repast
and entertainment, and yet another hour in the
smoking-room after the ladies, in fair procession,
had wished us g-ood-nio^ht.
As a specimen of the variety which was some-
times introduced into the amusement of the day, I
will relate only one device. One of the young
ladies, Miss B., had the idea of disguising herself
as a gipsy, and asked me to paint her face in oils ;
but 1 suggested water-colours as being more easily
washed off, neither process being very professional,
and both most uncomfortable — but what did that
matter.'* She got herself up in gay-coloured rags,
and put black sticking-plaster on her teeth to make
them look as if they had been knocked out or ex-
tracted, and altogether made a very good represen-
tation of an itinerant fortune-teller. It was a beautiful
day, and the dining-room windows, looking on to
DEBDEN --{
the park, were thrown open. We had not long sat
down to luncheon when she appeared at one of
them, and began talking to the pretty ladies and
the noble gentlemen in such a natural way. that
the butler went up to her and told her not to stay
there, but to go round to the servants' entrance ;
which nearly upset the gravity of the gipsy, who
however stood to her part.
Mrs. Houstoun, a well-known authoress, who sat
next to me, exclaimed in terror, " Oh, look at that
horrid creature ! " I did all I could to compose
her, and our host, who sat at the other end of the
table, and was in the secret, had some difficully
in suppressing an explosion of laughter, especially
when he was reminded that perhaps the spoons
and forks were in danger, as there were always
others prowling about. I then tried to persuade
Mrs. Houstoun to q-q to the window and have
her fortune told. "Oh! not for the world!" saiil
she ; but the gipsy, looking towards us, made such
direct allusions to the clever writer <»f novels,
and the painter of lovely pictures to be seen in the
great exhibition in London, that Mrs. Houstoun
pronounced her a Vvitch. Of course she had some-
thing to say aijout every one all round the table— of
the many battles that the brave general' had won.
but had lost an arm in ili<- Crimea; and what a
wonderful shot a certain juilge was." Ix :'■
wore his glass eyes in his hai ; and many «)lher
things that were so true iliat every one was ftllctl
' General Walker. » Sir Robert Collier.
374 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
with amazement. While the gipsy was passing
her remarks, and trying to persuade some of the
"handsome gentlemen" to cross her hand with
silver— she did collect one shilling and eightpence
— one of the young ladies who sat opposite to her,
looking very hard at the intruder, said, "It's Miss
B." True, Miss B. was not at luncheon. "Oh!
what a cruel remark," said Mrs. Houstoun. " It's
only a little jealousy," said I. "What! Jealous
of an old hag like that, with half her front teeth
knocked out ? " However, she was at last in-
duced to go to the window, and 1 said, " Pretty
gipsy, please tell this lady her fortune." That,
and other remarks from some of the company who
came round, upset her gravity. She laughed
and stumbled, and thereby exposed such a clean
white petticoat trimmed with lace, that it was quite
out of keeping with the tattered outer garments.
The fraud was detected, and Miss B. was ap-
plauded for the admirable way in which she had
played her part. She afterwards came in to lunch.
The butler coloured up and looked rather confused
as he handed the dishes to the supposed gipsy,
whom he had told to go round to the servants'
entrance.
Such-like trifles kept us amused. There were
many more incidents of a similar character, which I
need not detail, and I only give this little sketch to
show that at intervals the gaunt walls of Debden
echoed with laughter, and the sighs of the Grey
Lady fell upon inattentive ears.
XLVI
M Y M O T H K K
T^HERE is one sketch that I cannot leave out
of this book, and that is of my mother, since
it is in a measure through her and to her that it is
written. Through her. because she preserved those
letters (over 300 in number) which contain the
notes on which much of it is founded ; and to her.
because those letters were written chietlv for her
amusement in the retired and somewhat lonelv h'fe
she led at Ramsgate, after her sons and daughters
had all gone their various ways in the world.
She and my father were the only inmates of a
large house facing the sea, across which she often
looked, thinking of those who were far away : for
she was, as she crenerallv siij^ned herself an "aiixi'
mother," and being deaf added to her lonelim -^ .
although she could hear if she used her ear-irunipei
or if you sat close to her and Sj)oke distinclK
one enjoyed a gossip more. \'\\\\ of hin herself, s: •
could appreciate a joke as well as anybody, and a
little bit of scandal, <jr even a great bit. did not
come amiss. Not that she had the least ili-naliire
in her composition, indeed she was truly ('nnrl. ^h'-
would constantly (lcpri\e herself of little i-.- .. -;
375
376
SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
and even comforts that she might help others, and
was of that sympathetic nature that their sorrows
became her sorrows, and their joys her joys. Her
MISS EMILY FITCH.
many letters to me were full of tender admonition
and affectionate advice all coming straight from her
heart, with now and then some quaint sentence or
MY MOTHER 377
observation that was verv amusine ; as. for in-
stance, in referring to one of her boys' inveterate
smoking, she thanks the Lord that there will be no
tobacco in heaven.
One of the things she was most anxious for,
was to see me making some wav in the world ;
she was anxious for my success, and especially
anxious to see me one day a membtrr of the
Academy ; but this pleasure was denied her, for
she died before my election. But any little cir-
cumstance that I could tell her which aave her
some hope or realised some long wish, was
enough to bring tears of gratitude into her eyes.
She was a religious woman, and prayed ear-
nestly for those she loved ; so that any good news
of them seemed to her like an answer to her suj)pli-
cations.
But any news was acceptable so long as it bore
upon the subject nearest her heart ; and especially
if any known names were introduced into my K-uers.
I can see her half-amused, half-angry when she read
the following : —
" Yesterday I was at work and in an anxious
state of mind, when a knock came ;it llut suulio
door. I went to oiu-n it. palette in hand, and I'rilh,
with two other gentlemen, namely, Maiiluw Arnold
and Mr. Farrer of Harrow, stood outsid. My
pipe dropped out r,f my m..ulh ;inil fell down in
front of them, and I daresay 1 cut raiiu-r a n.
lous figure."'
I can fancy how my mother would hair that
378 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
pipe, and think that it had ruined my chances
for Hfe.
However, they came in, and were most agree-
able. "The Old Soldier" was on the easel, which
seemed to amuse them. I asked Frith whether
I should send it to the Royal Academy or not?
He looked well at it, and said, " I suppose you
want me to be candid?" "Yes," I said, "even if
it makes me uncomfortable." "Well, then, I will
take the responsibility of advising you to send it."
Matthew Arnold struck me particularly by his
tall figure and fine head. Unfortunately, at that time
I had not read his prose or his poetry, which has
since given me so much pleasure. I wish I could
have quoted some of his verses, not to him but to
myself, it would have been an opportunity to enter
the precincts of his beautiful mind, the mind that
sought to make men happy ; which should be also
the first thought of the artist.
Partly from ignorance, partly from shyness, and,
no doubt, want of presence of mind, as it is called,
although perhaps stupidity would be a better name
for it, I have missed many similar opportunities. I
have often talked with Browning, but only on trivial
matters ; sometimes we touched upon the outside
of art, going about so far as to say it was "a very
fair exhibition," and "the painters seem to be
advancing." But what a delight it would have been
to have had a tussle with this muscular poet,
to have let him throw me over a precipice, and
then to be caught up by his good-natured smile.
MY MOTHER 379
However. I suppose one cannot become intimate
Ik
THE OLD SOLDIER.
with the immortals in this mortal sphere, and must
38o SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
be content to know them in their books for the
present.
Frith was always very candid in his advice, and
ready-witted into the bargain. I remember meeting
him at the Academy when my picture of "After
You" (my first success) was exhibited. I seemed
down-hearted about it. "We all feel like that,"
said he, "when we see our pictures here for the
first time. But don't go and alter your style, which
is quiet and pleasant, to paint up to Exhibition
pitch, and if it is any consolation to you, I may
tell you that I think my own pictures look beastly."
One year, when he was on the hanging com-
mittee, some young artist w^as very angry at the
position in which his picture had been placed.
Frith showed him that he had placed one of his own
exactly on the same level, in fact, as a pendant.
"Yes, but," said the artist, "the best part of
my picture is at the top of it, and that is quite out
of siofht."
" Well," said Frith, " would you like me to
hang it the other way up ^ "
I had been for some time engaged on a picture
of "Scandal," a composition with a number of
figures in it, ladies and men, enjoying that social
wickedness over their cups of tea. I had, as I
thought, nearly finished it, and intended to send it
to the Royal Academy, when Frith came to see
it. He said it was capital both in character and
composition, but that it was impossible to finish
it as it ought to be in the time I had, before
MY MOTHER
381
sending-in day, and advised me to keep it back till
the next year. "It is too good to throw away."
said he. "and although I am on the hano-ina
committee, and you are a friend of mine, I tell vou
MRS. ALLEN AND MY MOTHER.
candidly that I could not hang it on the line in its
present state."
Owing to this frank advice, I kept th(! picture-
back, almost repainted it. sent ii the next year to
382 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
the Academy, where it was hung in a place of
honour, and, as will be seen further on, it was
owing to this picture that I was eventually elected
an A.R.A.
Thank you, my dear Frith,
My mother thought a great deal of the painter
of,"Ramsgate Sands" and "The Derby Day,"
who was, no doubt, our most popular artist some
forty years ago, when two policemen had to be
placed near his pictures to make the eager crowd pass
on. But with all his popularity he was ever genial
and amusing, and kind to those young artists who
sought his advice. He is an excellent raconteur,
not only telling good stories but telling them well,
as shown in his " Reminiscences," which had such
a marked success some eight or nine years ago.
Now, whether he thought I required a little
cheering up after his remarks on "Scandal," I
don't know, but he called the next morning to say
that Mrs. Frith had sent him to ask me to come
in in the evening to meet John Parry. He could
not ask me to dinner, as the table was full, but
he ^thought I should be pleased to meet that most
amusing actor and singer. Of course I went, and
there met the Ansdells, Elmore, Du Maurier, the
Calderons, the Wards, and others.
Strange to say, John Parry, though the very
best entertainer I ever heard, and a thorough
master of the piano, was a very shy man, in fact
painfully nervous, and in order to induce him to
sing, Du Maurier and I went through some per-
MY MOTHER 383
formances of a light character. Du Maurier, I may
note en passant, was a charming singer and pianist.
But when Parry sat down he held his audience
spell-bound. In one of his songs he is supposed
to be serenading a fair damsel at a castle window,
and by the w^ay he looked up at her and gave ex-
pression to his voice, he made you almost see the
young lady herself. This power of making you see
the characters he introduced into his performances
was remarkable. I remember his impersonating
two crinoline girls sitting on the esplanade at
Brighton watching the passers-by. You could tell
how far they were apart by the way they leant over
to whisper to each other. " Here they come," says
one ; and you could see by their eyes — that is, John
Parry's eyes — how far the parties alluded to were
off. As they came nearer, the eyes looked out at
the corners, and as they passed, the eyes were
intently fixed on their books, and as soon as they
had passed, the eyes and the heads immediately
changed to undisguised curiosity, an(^ the young
ladies seemed to be staring with all their might and
taking stock of everything about the parties in
question. By the way the master touched the piano
while this was going on, he made you conjure up
in your mind's eye the sea and the shingle, and in
fact the whole scene. It is quite impossible to
describe the refinement of acting that all this dumb
show necessitated.
Parry was an artist in every sense of the word.
I have seen drawings of his—and among dther
384 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
things in this connection, I beHeve he sent pictures
to the Royal Academy. I told him the first thing
I did when I went there on the varnishing day
was to look round the top row for my picture,
where for several years I was pretty nearly sure
to find it. "Yes," said he, suiting the action to
the word, "first you look up, and then you look
down," putting on the mournful expression of a
disappointed painter.
My picture of "Scandal" went to Liverpool in
the autumn, as it had been bought by the Agnews,
but it did not make a favourable impression. I was
told it looked black, and that William Agnew had
bet his brother Tom a new hat that it would not be
hung at the Royal Academy. It came back to me
in due course, not like a bad shilling but a bad
picture, and I shall never forget the shock it gave
me. I could not believe it was my own work — how
little we know ourselves ! I was busy on another
canvas, but turned it aside and sent my model to
buy me a pound of powdered pumice stone. I put
the picture on the floor, and scrubbed away at it as
if I were cleaning a doorstep. By degrees, I got
rid of some of the blackness and a good deal of the
paint. Then up came Tom Agnew, who was very
anxious about the thing ; he said it would either
do me a oreat deal of harm or a o-reat deal of o-ood,
and added, " Blow the expense ! I don't mind what
it costs if you can only make it good enough to
get you elected an A.R.A." He then went over it
carefullv with me ; he was not a bad critic, and of
MY MOTHER ^S;
course took a practical view of art. .Ksthciics
were not in his line, but his common-sense re-
marks were valuable. He had also a eood deal
of kindly sympathy ; all the parts of the work that
he considered good he was only too glad to praise,
and those he did not like he said were "not art."
and furthermore, he promised to pay me an addi-
tional sum for all the extra work I should have to
bestow upon the picture.
As soon as he had gone, I began to cogiiaic
over the matter, with the result that I determined
to alter the principal group entirely, as it was some-
what confusing ; also to take out several figures at
the back, and to replace them by a pretty little dark-
eyed lady dressed in white, who is rather an invalid,
with a handkerchief over her head, and propped uj)
by pillows — to make her the principal figure and
evidently the mistress of the house, whose friends
have dropped in to ask after her. and lo amuse her
with the latest bit of •' Scandal. "
I then went round to Calderon. who laughcil
at first when I told him 1 intendctl l'» rcj)aiiU llie
principal group, but cjuite altered his tone wlien I
showed him the sketch of what 1 meant to do. H-
left his work, and came to the studio at once. W «•
stuck bits (jf paper over ili<- |)icturc, and tried dil-
ferent effects till the proijlem was worked out. I ! - n
came nature to the rescue, and " Little Swansdown "
sat for the invalid, and .so got me out of my •
culties, although it si(Mned very much like pullii
the character of 1 i amlct after the play was wrilH n
2 H
386 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
at all events I received many compliments on the
alterations, and several said that "Scandal'' would
make me an A.R.A. ; which it did.
I have told this story not only because it was
an important event for me, but it may be interest-
ing to some to peep from behind the studio screen
to see how a picture is undone as well as done, to
note its various vicissitudes, how a brother artist
comes to the rescue, the misery of the painter
himself, his fight with his difficulty, and his ultimate
victory on the varnishing day. " There were groups
of artists round my picture all day, and I heard my
name very often mentioned. Hook, R.A., in speak-
ing to Calderon of the next election, pointed to
it and said, ' That's the man.' E. M. Ward, and
other members, were also loud in its praise, William
Agnew told me that my success had given him the
truest gratification, and dear old Tom was as pleased
as Punch, as he had backed me all through, even
when William offered to bet him a new hat that the
picture would be turned out ; and in justice to Sir
William Agnew I must say that had I sent it in as
it was when he saw it at Liverpool, the chances
are that he would have won his bet."
This story of the picture of " Scandal " is chiefly
taken from a long letter to my mother, which winds
up with the remark, " I think I have given you
quite enough of the sugar for one letter — I might
add a few more lumps, but good news, like tea,
may be made too sweet."
The same year that I exhibited " Scandal " I
MY MOTHER 38-
also exhibited " Mistress Dorothv." whose storv 1
have told in a former chapter.
Then follows a year of sunshine and success.
My letters to my mother are full of more good
news, and hers full of delight at receivine them.
Of one she says, " The tears came into my eyes as
I read it," at another time she says, "We live on
your letters." I have portraits to paint, and more
cheques coming in. I even find them on the door-
step. O happy times ! were they all a dream, a
golden dream ? And for much of this I have to
thank my old friends the Agnews. who not only
gave a fillip to prices, whether wisely or unwisely,
but entertained the artists rifjht rovallv. I was at
many a grand " do " at Manchester — with the Punch
men and the " Clique," with Tenniel and Sam-
bourne, Fred Walker, Calderon, Marks, Du M.iu-
rier, Burnand, A' Beckett, Bradbury, Leslie, Yi-ames,
Wynfield, and others, and notably at the coming of
age of George Agnew, the eldest son of the present
baronet ; dinner parties, dancing parties, luncheon
parties, smoking parties, garden panics followed
each other in close order, and even when we .ill
came back together in a saloon carriage, we were
not sent empty away, l)ut were provided with a
hamper of good things. So that we fini-'-l np
with a railway picnic party, ami of cours«
one there was an intellectual party, for Iv
those named above were Ti.ssot, lieilbuth. SliiU'.)
Brooks, not forgetting I'red Cowcn and Charles
Santley, who sang us many of his delightful
388 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
One of the pictures that I took great pleasure
in painting at about this time was, " The Blue Girls
of Canterbury." I was sitting in the nave of the
cathedral of that interesting old city one sunny
Sunday morning, and listening to the solemn ser-
vice, and the beautiful voices of the choir, rising
through its lofty arches, when one of the little girls
belonoingf to the above-named school came out of
the chancel and went down the aisle. I was so
struck with her simple face and pretty dress that I
waited to see if there were any more like her ; and
after the service the whole school, twenty-five in
number, filed out, accompanied by their governess.
I determined to paint them if I could get them to
sit to me, and soon made the acquaintance of Mrs.
Sandys, the head-mistress. She at once entered
into the scheme, and said she would send her little
pupils to me in twos. I was staying at an old inn,
called the George and Dragon, in the High Street,
where I had a large room or hall to paint in. The
next morning two of my little models arrived ;
their names were Eliza Ravine and Louisa Jack-
son. In the afternoon two more came, namely,
Charlotte Bishop and Fanny Tomalin (see sketch),
looking so clean in their pretty dresses ; they were
well-behaved and simple, shy though not awk-
ward, curtseyed in a sweet old-fashioned way, jind
only whispered when I asked them their names.
My sketches were in water-colours, and I quite en-
joyed looking at my own work, because, I suppose,
it was really Nature's work ; and so I painted the
MY MOTHER
389
whole school : finishing up with Mrs. Sandys her-
self, who seemed quite pleased at the idea of sitting.
CHARLOTTE BISHOP AND FANNY TOMAI.IN.
I made careful studies of the Close and the old
gate by which ii is entered from Mercery Lane, and
390 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
began my picture on the large canvas. 1 got quite
MRS. SANDYS.
fond of Canterbury ; nor has my affection for the
old, old city ever altered, partly, I suppose, from its
MY MOTHER
391
associations, partly from its picturesque streets and
venerable piles of beautiful architecture— raised in
AMV Willi K, MAKY r,(.OI»HK\V, AM« MAIIII'A I
the a.^rc of faith. Init now. alas' likely tu iu.
ruin in this age of unbelief.
392 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
And now comes hopeful news, mingled with
disappointment. I wrote to my mother on Feb. 2,
1874, to say that "I was nearly elected an A.R.A.,
but not quite." The following is an extract from
the Athenceiu}i: "At a meeting of the members of
the Royal Academy, held on Thursday night, the
first scratching showed Mr. G. A. Storey first in
order, then Messrs. H. H. Armstead and J. L.
Pearson appeared equal ; after these, Messrs. A.
Waterhouse and Eyre Crowe were likewise equal ;
Mr. Peter Graham was in the fourth rank. The
second trial showed Mr. Pearson first, Mr. Storey
second ; the third trial resulted in the election of the
former, thus adding an architect of ability to the
ranks of the Academy."
" I daresay you will be disappointed at my
getting so near, and yet not succeeding, but there
was a strong feeling in favour of an architect, and
there is some consolation in the fact that I was well
ahead of the painters ; and I am told that I had a
good many of the best men as my supporters."
This year and the next were my most pros-
perous years, " Little Swansdown " and " The
Whip Hand" bringing me several portraits, one the
beautiful Mrs. Finch, of Burley-on-the-Hill ; and
another, Mrs. R. C. Trevilian, the lady of Debden
(not the Grey Lady), a visit to which place I have
already described. I also painted my mother's
portrait, who was then in her sixty-eighth year, and
several others, besides subject-pictures, such as
*' Caught," a girl fishing, who has caught a lover ;
MY MOTHER 393
and in February 1875 I sold four pictures all of
a row to Sir William Agnew for ^1000. Success
had come at last.
But I must pass over many things, which,
however interesting they may have been to my
mother, might be tedious in this place. And al-
though my visits to Burley-on-the-Hill, to Hart-
well, to Ribston Hall, where the pippins came from,
and other places, afforded subjects for chatty epistles,
I will only give one of them, which is the hist in the
volume of letters, and refers to Coleorton.
" Coleorton Hall is a large house standing in
beautiful grounds surrounded by fine trees, many
of them over a hundred years old. It has an
historical interest for the artist, as it was built by
Sir George Beaumont, who may be said to be the
founder of our National Gallery, since he was
the first to advise its establishment and presented
fifteen of his fine pictures to the nation. Indeed,
he off"ered, I believe, his whole collection if the
Government would build a place for them ; but it
seems you may safely offer any amount of treasure
in the shape of art to a British Government with-
out any fear of its being accepted if you only make
the condition that it must erect a suitable building
to put them in."
An interesting chapter might be written about
this place, where old Sir George entertained poets
and painters, including Wordsworth and Constable,
and many other well-known men.
" I found Sir George, who is a nephew of the old
394 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
Sir George, a most agreeable companion, always
ready for a walk, a pipe, and a chat ; he takes great
interest in showing me the place, especially the pic-
ture-gallery — which contains some fine things by Sir
Joshua, Gainsborough, Wilson, Wilkie, and others,
which have descended to him fi-om his uncle.
" But I must tell you about my last visit to
Coleorton, and will try and remember all the chit-
chat just to amuse you. We were a very jolly party,
chiefly shooters and their wives and daughters.
Among them was a crack shot, Sir Henry Halford,
who has won about a thousand pounds in prizes
at the rifle- matches, and is to take out a team to
Philadelphia next year ; he was very entertain-
ing, and hot on breech-loaders. He is one of
the figures in Wells' picture.^ Then there was a
jolly specimen of an Englishman, Mr. Fenwick,
and also Mr. de Lisle, an amusing country gentle-
man whose great hobby is walking. After a long
day's shooting he was always ready for a walk
into Ashby, about five miles there and back. He,
Mr. Fenwick, and I walked in one day to supply
certain trivial wants. De Lisle wanted some new
hair-brushes and a comb : he had had his old
ones for about ten vears, and his man had been
bothering him for the last year to get a new pair,
as there was scarcely a hair left on the old ones ;
besides, his comb had broken in half that morning,
so he felt the time had come for him to gret a new
' "Volunteers at a Firing Point," by H. T. Wells, R.A., exhibited in the
Royal Academy, 1866.
MY MOTHER j95
set. He did not care for ivory backs or anything
of that sort, and he was proud to say that he liadn't
any jewellery, not a ring even — nor had he a tall
hat nor a frock-coat. He goes to Rome once a
year, spends another portion of the year in Switzer-
land and the shooting season in England. Mr.
Fenwick's object in going to Ashby was to get a pill.
So we had a discussion about pills. Every now
and then, they alluded to old Jack Storey. I said
I felt interested in the name. 'Who was he?'
' Well, he was master of hounds tor some years, a
country squire who used to say that he had drunk
enough brandv in his time to float a man-of-war.'
He was evidentlv a o-reat favourite. I)e Lisle had
forgotten to wind up his watch as we had been
rather late the night before, so I said I always
wound mine up in the morning. 'That's just what
old Jack Storey used to do,' said he. Then ihere
was Mr. Craik, a very handsome man. a son of
Lei^^hton or an Admirable Crichton. whose dress
was perfection, manners exquisite, he .set-mcd lo
know evervthincr and to be al)le to do anylhinjj.
He played on the piano like a jjrofc.ssional. and
after the day's .shooting, whicii was a vrry u<i
one, he was obliged to come lo afternoon tea in
the most lovely of smoking jackets — black velvet.
trimmed with lavender silk. lie apologiw-d for
it, and said it was on account of the w .'h,r ihal
he wore it. Hut Lady Hcaumonl s;iid i..* ; «»uvjhl
to feel grateful to the rain for giving ihcm ihc
opportunity of seeing such a iK-autifiil coa?
,\.,-
396 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
other guest was Lord Ferrers, quite a young
man, but one of the most amiable and pleasant,
and a good shot too, very quiet but fond of a joke ;
at dinner he always appeared in pink, as also did
several others, which quite lighted up the party.
He had his 'baby' with him, that is, his banjo,
but it was out of tune, so he sang some songs at
the piano. Of course there was a large dinner
party every evening in the new dining-room, to
which people in the neighbourhood were invited,
and there was a gorgeous display of liveries round
the table, adorning the tall footmen, who were
covered with gold cords, epaulets, &c. &c. But
there was no stiffness ; in fact, mirth was the order
of the day. One evening we would have a round
game of cards, with a little gambling in a mild form,
on the next a sort of concert, and on another a
dance that several of the younger ladies were dying
for. There happened to be rather a scarcity of
ladies, so on one occasion Lady Beaumont dressed
up Lord Ferrers and me in paper costumes, out
of the crackers, which was a great hit. When
the time came for the ladies to retire, it was
very pretty to see them going up the staircase
of the circular hall, then forming in groups on
the balcony, and looking down at the men, with
many a pleasant good night ; but I must say good
night too.
" I may mention that the shooting was very
successful despite the weather. On one day, be-
ginning at about eleven and ending at four, allow-
MY MOTHER 397
ing an hour for lunch, the five guns shot as many
head of game as there are days in the year ; I did
not shoot but walked with Sir Henry, who must
have knocked down at least ninety. The woods
looked lovely in the late autumn, all gold and
purple, as it happened to be a sunny dav.
" I hope, my dear mother, that you will soon
be able to resume the pen — your illness is a great
anxiety to us all. I am glad dear Clara is with you.
I am going to Hartwell for a few days. Hdward
Lee called upon me yesterday to ask when I could
go down. As this is the third time he has invited
me this year I felt I could not again refuse ; be-
sides, it is always so enjoyable there. So 1 start
to-morrow week."
But I did not ^o. The above letter full ol
trifles, althoueh "trifles from those we love are
acceptable," is the last that I wrote to my mother.
For some time her health had been failing, and
I had remarked upon her having ceased to write
to me. In her later letters the complaints she
makes about herself are chietly on account of her
inability to attend ujjon my father. She laments
her deafness and a difficulty of breathing, but seems
to have no serious api)rehensions. I'j) to that lime
she had scarcely known wiiat it was to Ik- ill. and al
sixty preserved a certain youthful appearance. In
her young days she had been much admired
her portrait as Miss Fitch, page 376), and was
at all displeased when some old beau told her th-.t
she looked as young as her daughters.
398 SKETCHES FROM MEMORY
Hearing that she and my father were both very
ill, I went down to Ramsgate to see them, on the
loth December 1875. My father was very weak,
but I found my mother sitting up in her room,
quite cheerful, and as interested as ever in all my
news, as she called it. Several other members of
the family were present, and we formed quite a little
Christmas party. I stayed for several days, and
then, as my mother seemed so much better, and
as she wished it, I took leave of her, promising to
pay her another visit on my return from Hart well.
I arrived in London late that night, feeling so
glad that she was so much better, but the next
morning, Sunday morning, a telegram arrived to
say that my dear mother was dead. I was stunned,
my eyes were dry, it seemed impossible.
My father lingered on for a few months, and
died in the following May, at the ripe age of eighty-
six. In the meantime, I had been elected an
A.R.A., which event had long been signalled as it
were, but it came too late for my mother to know
of it here, and my satisfaction at that election was
robbed of its sweetness on that account. At the
moment of my greatest triumph as an artist, I
was cast down and unable to fully enjoy it. The
one crowning news that I had longed to tell
her, came when she had ceased from caring for it.
Her prayer had been answered, but did she know
of it ?
Now, since this book is written in some sort,
and in a great measure to my mother, it is well
MY MOTHER 399
that it should end when she can no loneer be
interested in it, can no lono-er lauorh at mv stories
or rejoice in my good news.
And I must bid my readers farewell, trustin^^
they will forgive me for the many shortcomings that
are sure to be found in these pages. I said at the
beginning of my book that it was not to write about
myself that I took up the pen, but I fear I have
intruded too often. It would have been so difficult
to leave myself out altogether in a volume of this
kind. As regards others, I trust I have not un-
wittingly offended by recording things which should
not have been recorded, and by not recording
others that should have been, or for any mistakes
in my notes, any faults of drawing in ni\- delinea-
tions of those I have represented. l*"or I trust it
will be borne in mind by the kind reader tliai they
are "Sketches from ^lemory."
^ ^
XLVII
MANY YEARS AFTER
MANY years after my mother's death I took
my Httle daughter Gladys, then about four
years old, to visit her grave in St. Laurence
Churchyard. The child could not understand the
400
MANY YEARS AFTER 401
meaning of death, and asked me curious questions
about her grandmamma.
GRANDMAMMA'S GRAVE
" Can she hear me if I call her ?
Is she lying in the mould?
Is she here ? and is she sleeping ?
Can God see her ? is she cold ? "
The child thus questioned of the dead,
And then she pulled aside the flowers,
Tried to get the earth away ;
Her golden tresses fell in showers
'Mid the leaves and blossoms gay.
'■ Grandmamma ! " she softly said,
Then she listened — bending low.
Was she heard ? I do not know.
There came no answer to her call :
A gentle breath just moved the leaves-
And that was all.
THE END
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