His method of holding the scissors was unusual. The reason for this peculiarity is thus described: “One day, when crossing a stile, a lady tore her dress by a nail which was put on the step mischievously. To prevent the recurrence, I took a stone to take the nail away: in the act of doing so my index finger was lacerated in such a manner that I could not use my scissors. I suffered a great deal for several days, and my mind being so much excited about it, I dreamt that I cut likenesses without using the index finger. I was so much struck by this that, as soon as I awoke, I took my scissors and have ever since used them in that manner.” In an old daguerrotype he is seen cutting a portrait in this manner.
In his treatise Edouart gives no detailed account of his journeys, though he notes that he has always kept a diary.
From newspaper advertisements we learn that he was in Cheltenham in June, 1829, where he is described in the Cheltenham Journal as assisting in Lavater’s system with regard to Physiognomy. At this stage the old idea that silhouette portraits must have a scientific use still clung to the craft.
In 1830 Edouart is in Edinburgh. In the Scotsman of February 13th the collection of ingenious works executed by Monsieur Edouart is mentioned. “This may be seen gratuitously at 72, Princes Street. Mr. Edouart makes silhouette likenesses, not only of the profile, but also of the whole person, by cutting them by the hand, out of black paper.” The account ends thus: “In his rooms the curious will find amusement and the philosophic employment.” The cannie Scotsman would attract the “unco’ guid” with learning and occupation as well as the frivolous with amusement.
On May 8th of the same year the Edinburgh Evening Courant takes notice of Edouart’s success in his likenesses of Sir Walter Scott (this portrait of Scott was recently purchased by the Director of the National Portrait Gallery, on account of its fine technique and the human and life-like attitude of the great novelist), the Dean of Faculty, and other distinguished characters of the city, and slyly regrets that Edouart departs so soon.
The clever hint at departure evidently had the desired effect, for in the following February, 1831, Edouart is still at Edinburgh, “his rooms thronged with visitors since his threatened departure. Six hundred likenesses in a fortnight, and declining to take new ones till the orders given by the first families are executed.” Five thousand duplicates are now on view, and his books are exhibited at Holyrood Palace, where they are much approved of by the Royal Family.
It was at the end of 1830 that Charles X., ex-king of France, and suite, arrived at Holyrood, and though Edouart acknowledges “a feeling of ill-will towards the Bourbon family is still lingering in my bosom, remembering—as I did—the losses I suffered in consequence of their restoration to the throne of France,” he attended, when requested in person by the Duchesse de Berri. He found “His Majesty pacing up and down, and the Duchesse presented me, reminding the King that I was a Frenchman. He seemed pleased and affable.”
The whole Royal Family, attended by the suite, nearly forty in number, formed a circle, in the centre of which Edouart cut his first paper portrait of Charles X. “By mistake,” he says, “I took paper of four folds, in place of one of two, and, as I had begun, so I cut out the likeness. As soon as I had finished it the little Prince (the Duke of Bordeaux) took one, Mademoiselle, his sister, took another, the Duchesse de Berri another.”
Edouart cut the likenesses that evening of the Duke d’Angoulême, the Duchesse d’Angoulême, the Duchesse de Berri, Mademoiselle Louise Marie, the Duke de Bordeaux, the Cardinal de Latil, and many of the suite. After this Edouart declares that he “was a daily visitor at Holyrood, and my exhibition was often honoured by Royalty.” The Duke de Bordeaux declared that if Edouart would become one of his suite, he should be called the Black Knight.