CHAPTER XVII
A HOLIDAY MISFORTUNE—ROYAL PORTRAITS—FAREWELL
Belgium.—Accident at Golf.—Portraits of King George V., the Duke of Connaught, Mr. Roosevelt, Mr. Lloyd George, Mr. Garvin.—Portrait painting of to-day.—Final reflections.—Farewell.
Sometimes as the late summer comes round, my wife and I prefer to take our holiday or part of it abroad, when the change of scene and living is a possible attraction.
Five years ago we had been told of a quiet and charming little watering-place in Belgium, not far from Ostend, called Wenduyne, and having in advance booked rooms at the hotel recommended to us, we arrived and found it most comfortable. I took no work with me, not even pencil and brushes, for I was determined to have a complete rest. We were pleased to learn that the golf links at Le Coq were quite handy, and we lost no time in taking the tram there and inscribing our names as temporary members. These links are beautifully kept up, and in the vicinity of the Club House are gaily decorated with flower beds.
Drawn in September 1899 by Mr. A. G. Witherby. What was mistaken for the gout was a broken bone in the foot.
Mrs. Oakes (my wife's cousin) and I soon arranged to play a game of golf. The nailed boots that I had been wearing during the morning were new and uncomfortable, so I changed them for a pair of canvas shoes with india-rubber soles, which were well adapted to the course in dry weather. A sudden storm, however, made its appearance, and the rain fell in buckets, saturating the ground completely. We were soon wet through, but knowing there were but two holes more to play we decided to continue to the bitter end, which shortly came. I made a bad shot and placed my ball awkwardly. In my endeavour to move it, and at the same moment of striking (and I conclude the india-rubber soles of my shoes were the cause) my foot slipped and I fell helplessly to the ground. My companion, in ignorance of the serious consequences of the fall, urged me to try and rise to my feet, when I found that my leg was badly fractured above the ankle. In time, but not before I was exhausted, a chauffeur turned up with a private motor-car on a road near at hand, and I was borne off by some cottagers and placed inside, while Mrs. Oakes, who had been in search of aid, escorted me back to the hotel.
After being jolted two or three miles over the rough, cobbled road, I was deposited on a sofa until surgical aid came. Fortunately I was soon in very competent hands, although the pain I underwent during the setting of the fracture I shall never forget, for it was agonising.
My wife returned to the hotel to find me safely installed in the proprietor's (M. Machiel's) private sitting-room, which he most kindly gave up for my use. She nursed me for some time under the surgeon's directions, until I urged her to enjoy the remainder of her visit and procure the services of a hospital nurse from London to relieve her.
It was over a month before I was allowed to stir, and when the time came that I might be wheeled on to the balcony of M. Machiel's villa I breathed again. The surgeon, whose temporary villa was adjoining the hotel, was a well-known town-councillor and scientist in Antwerp who must have weighed twenty stone. When giving me permission at first to get up, he invited me to waltz with him, which gave me hopes of my permanent recovery, but I did not accept the invitation.
On returning home, after the kind attention I received both from M. and Madame Machiel and the officials at Ostend who saw to my comfort before boarding the boat, I found every aid awaiting me at my studio, where I remained in the experienced hands of Dr. Reginald Ingram, who attended me until I was convalescent.
The press cuttings sent me while abroad concerning the accident amused me, as I was reported in some papers to have broken both my legs, while among the kind letters I received was one from Hermann Vezin, the actor, who was lying on a bed of sickness from which he never recovered. I reproduce here another, and amusing, communication which came from an anonymous friend after the accident I have just described. It invites me, as will be seen, to "smile" in spite of all.
My studio on the ground floor at Buckingham Gate made an excellent hospital, but I was still prevented from doing any work for some time. When The World approached me after my decision to terminate my connection with Vanity Fair, the inducement was that in addition to the same remuneration which I had received from that paper, I was permitted to retain the rights of my original drawings. In consequence, I was able to send a collection to the Turin Exhibition at the request of Sir Isidore Spielmann, for which I received a Grand Prix.
My second drawing of the present King was published by his permission in The World in 1910; it was but a short time before the death of King Edward, for a paragraph in reference to it appeared in The Morning Post opposite the announcement of the late King's death. I knew on the best authority that the Prince was a very fine shot, so I represented him in shooting-kit grasping his gun. H.R.H. took the greatest trouble to sit in order that every detail of the picture should be perfectly correct; indeed, on the occasion of the first sitting he not only changed into a complete suit of shooting-clothes, but he permitted me to choose the suit I thought best for the drawing. He told me he always shot with a hammered gun, and preferred it to any other, and that he made a point of wearing a red tie when shooting. On reminding him of boyhood days and the circumstances of my cruise on the Hercules, he remembered the incident perfectly. Not long after, I received the honour of sittings from the Duke of Connaught. I had been presented to H.R.H. at St. James's Palace by Sir Henry De Bathe at my first levee, and not having a Court suit of my own, I hired one for the occasion. When I returned to my cab after the levee I was horrified to discover that through careless tailoring my black velvet breeches had split across my thigh, the accident evidently having occurred at the moment I made my obeisance. I was naturally very much concerned at this ill-timed catastrophe, and could only hope that it had escaped observation.
When the Duke of Connaught was sitting to me I told him the story. He laughed, and related an incident that occurred on another occasion. An old and seemingly rather eccentric military officer was advancing to make his bow, when the Lord Chamberlain noticing something rather strange in his apparel attempted to draw his attention to the fact, and to prevent his advance. Other royal attendants made similar efforts, only to be waved aside by the old gentleman, who obstinately refused to be stopped. It was then that the Duke noticed that his sword, every button, in fact, and all the gold upon his uniform was covered with yellow tissue paper which he had obviously forgotten to remove.
I sketched the Duke in undress uniform, and while the portrait was in progress the Duchess and the Princess Patricia came to look at it, and the Princess, who is herself a clever artist, seemed to take an especial interest in my method of work. On my next visit H.R.H. told me that the Duchess had been so much pleased with the portrait that she would like to possess the original. It was then arranged that the drawing should be sent out to Canada, but at my request it was first lent to the proprietors of The Graphic, who reproduced it in colour for the special Duke of Connaught number, which was published shortly after the Duke had accepted office as Governor-General of Canada.
The Graphic also reproduced in colour a drawing that I did of Sir Colin Keppel, in Admiral's uniform; he, it will be remembered, took the King and Queen to India.
When the honorary degree of LL.D. was conferred on Mr. Roosevelt, Oxford made quite a fête day of the occasion. At the ceremony of installation I went down to observe the ex-President in all the glory of his robes and red gown.
Another interesting portrait I painted about this time, also within the fine setting of official dignity and circumstance, was that of Archbishop Bourne in his Cardinal's robes. I sent it to the 1911 exhibition at the Royal Academy, where it was alloted a very prominent position.
It was at the request of The World that I made the drawing described as "His Majesty's Servants." It was a group picture of the most prominent actors of the day, including Tree and Bourchier, Weedon Grossmith, Willard, and H. B. Irving, etc. Among a number of very interesting subjects which appeared in The World was Captain Scott, and I think I was about the last artist to whom he sat before he started on his fatal expedition.
One of my drawings of Mr. Lloyd George also appeared in The World; but my best caricature of the much discussed Chancellor of the Exchequer was published in Vanity Fair. He was so pleased with it that he selected it as a frontispiece for his biography, which appeared shortly after its publication, and when this cartoon was put up for sale with some other original drawings it fetched a very high price.
I occasionally made a drawing for Mayfair, the only Society journal that I can recall having succeeded in any way on the lines of Vanity Fair, although in this paper any accentuation of characteristics seems out of place. The fact is the object of Vanity Fair was most distinctly the entertainment of the public, while that of Mayfair is rather purposely for the satisfaction of the individuals.
In 1913, I was commissioned by Mayfair to make a drawing of the distinguished scientist, Sir John Murray, who died recently. He was a splendid subject, and had a most picturesque head. His portrait, which was exhibited in the New Gallery, was painted by Sir George Reid, and is one of the most striking in my memory. Mr. Bowie, the well-known Scottish A.R.S.A., to whom I recently sat for the portrait exhibited at the Royal Society of Portrait Painters, which has been so well noticed, also painted a very life-like portrait of Sir George Reid.
Mr. Birch Crisp, the well-known stockbroker, who was responsible for the Chinese and Russian loans, was one of my recent subjects in Mayfair. He sat several times in spite of the fact that he is an extremely busy man and rarely to be found out of his office. He was very interested in my work, and has made a representative collection of it, which hangs in his beautiful house near Ascot.
Another of the most interesting of my later-day subjects was Mr. Locker-Lampson. His cleancut face with its strongly-marked features shows the determined character of the man. A good story is told by him in connection with the General Election of 1910. He was due at a political meeting in the neighbourhood of the Fen district, and being already rather behind time, his car was at top speed when they turned an awkward corner of the road—and passengers and car were suddenly in the water. Mr. Locker-Lampson scrambled to the bank, left the car and proceeded to the local vicarage, where he borrowed the parson's coat and spoke that night at three meetings. The next morning all the village turned out to the scene of the accident; there was the stranded car and from a pole attached to it a banner waved in the wind bearing the words "Locker's In," and he got in all right by a big majority.
Last year at the request of the staff of The Pall Mall Gazette and The Observer, I made a portrait of their editor, Mr. Garvin. Owing to a family bereavement I was not able to be at the presentation dinner, to my regret, as I had very much enjoyed the opportunity of meeting and drawing this very distinguished man of letters.
As I conclude this book, so, incidents during my professional career of forty-three years seem to arise, but I must not try the patience of my readers by referring to any more.
It strikes me that the average standard of portrait painting has now for many years past been in the ascendant, but that snapshot photography has to a great extent interfered with the old form of coloured caricature, which was for so long a feature of Vanity Fair, although the increase of illustrated journalism has both aided and encouraged the development of many a clever caricaturist.
Again I hesitate to mention names lest I should leave out some of the best, and, à propos of this, I have always found it wiser when asked the questions, "Who is the best portrait painter of the day for men?" or "Who do you consider paints women best?" to reply in joke, "Why, of course, I am the best for both men and women." Thus one does not commit one's self; as I have invariably found when I have mentioned a name that the answer has been, "Oh! do you really think so? I can't bear his portraits, he has just painted me and my wife, and we have had to relegate both the pictures to the 'Servants' Hall.'"
The illustrations in Punch stand as high as the names of its excellent artists, and of course caricature portraiture plays its part prominently there in black and white, as it also does in many of the magazines and evening papers.
"Poster" work is in a strong position, too, in this manner, and here I must again refrain from individualising its chief exponents.
One word also in praise of the Royal Society of Portrait Painters, and the work of its members, of whom it is only necessary to read down the list to realise how representative it is, and where I am proud to have contributed my latest portrait in oil—that of Mr. M. P. Grace, the present occupant of "Battle Abbey," my ambition now being to devote a far greater portion of my time to strict portraiture.
From a life-size oil picture painted by Leslie Ward, 1914. M. P. GRACE, ESQ., BATTLE ABBEY.
Praise is as acceptable to an artist as to any other worker, and in addition to the kindly tributes of my personal friends I should like to express appreciation for those I have received from strangers. I was particularly gratified to receive the following letter:—
"Nov. 19th, 1904.
"My dear Sir,
"As a reader of 'Vanity Fair,' I much desire to take the opportunity of wishing you many happy returns for your birthday on Monday, and of sending you a few cordial and sincere words of greeting for that occasion. I suppose you will receive many such messages from friends both known and unknown, whilst others not caring to trouble you will at least think upon your name with much respect, and with such thoughts will couple expressions of good will.
"This is, of course, quite as it should be, and, personally, I would assure you of my very high esteem and regard. I thank you most sincerely for the pleasure your cartoons ever gave me, and for the successful part you take in making 'Vanity Fair' such a splendid publication. I read much, owing to indifferent health precluding my indulgence in vigorous exercise of any kind, thereby necessitating my leisure being spent in quiet and instructive pastimes—such as a study of art, literature, and music.
"I would express in all sincerity my fervent hope that every happiness and joy this world can possibly give may be yours to enjoy, with an entire lack of all that tends in any way to cause trouble or promote pain. Particularly do I wish you excellent health. Nothing, I feel sure, adds to or detracts more from life than the physical state—hence my remark. May all good luck and fortune attend you, and permit you to continue for many years yet your splendid work as an artist. Somehow I feel that words are quite inadequate to express all that is in one's heart to say. I can only ask you, therefore, my dear Sir, to accept my poorly expressed words as heartfelt and sincere, and believe them to come from one who takes the keenest interest in yourself and your fine work.
"Can you kindly oblige by replying to the two following questions for me:—"1. Where may a brief and authentic sketch of your life and career be found? I much desire to have the opportunity of perusing such.
"2. Also may I enquire where a good portrait of yourself may be procured? I am anxious to have a good one for framing, as a slight personal 'memento' (if I may so call it) of one whose work greatly interests me.
"Wishing you again many happy returns, offering you my sincerest congratulations, and hoping you are well,
"I am, my dear Sir,
"Very sincerely yours,
"A Reader of 'Vanity Fair.'
"Leslie Ward, Esq., 'Spy.'"
So kind a letter I naturally preserve with gratification.