Forty years of 'Spy'

by Sir Leslie Ward

I was now obliged to procure the services of another model, and this time a real gentleman turned up. He was also elderly, and not prepossessing in appearance, but nevertheless bore the traces of better breeding than the Drury Lane super. He had a ponderous and high-bridged nose of a purple hue which contrasted with his saffron face, and his eyes were tearful with evident sorrows of the past.

When he had changed his rusty suit and knee-bagged etceteras for a spruce frock coat and equally dapper trousers, he sat in the gold-backed chair with the air of a duke while I prepared my palette.

As I commenced to paint, he began to talk and to relate his experiences in the past. He had, according to his story, started life as an officer in a cavalry regiment, and the love of gambling became so irresistible that he lost fortunes. Now, he said, he was determined to make amends for his folly in the past, and by the aid of his sympathisers he knew he could redeem that social position which he formerly held. That he must have decent clothes to start with, went without saying, and those who heard his story, he was convinced, would help him to procure them—of that he was sure. Had I any to spare? (Of course I saw what he was leading up to), and so the talk went on in this maudlin way till he had to be pulled up, and I had to remind him what he was in my studio for.

Possibly there was some foundation for his story, for that he had received a decent education there was little doubt.

Some time after he finished these sittings, he turned up again with a young woman whom he introduced to me as his wife. She was anxious to become a model too, but I fear by this time he was in little request. It occurred to me that he must have related to her some very plausible stories before they could have entered into matrimony.

Then, one morning, upon taking up the paper, I read a thrilling story of how an artist's model had so cruelly treated his wife that she died in consequence. It was a charge of manslaughter. This was the very man, but although in his drunken moments he had behaved as a brute-beast, evidence went to show that when sober no one could have treated her with more consideration and affection, so he got off with imprisonment, but died in gaol (it was said of remorse) shortly afterwards.

Before quite completing the face, and as I had been told of the extraordinary likeness that existed between the Duke and his sister, it occurred to me that a few touches from Lady Ossington herself would enable me to improve the portrait. I therefore, with some difficulty, persuaded her to give me a sitting which really proved useful. Anyhow, I received the kindest letter from her expressing her thanks for the satisfactory way in which I had completed my work, and this naturally pleased me, for it was no easy task.

Very shortly after, she wrote again, saying that although it was her intention to leave the portrait to the present Duke to be permanently hung in the Gallery at Welbeck, it had been arranged that it should be temporarily lent for the approaching visit of the Prince of Wales. In consequence of her anxiety for its safe delivery, I undertook to take it down myself, and Lady Bolsover, who was there at the time, invited me to stay the day. I was fortunate in finding among her guests a lady whom I knew, who kindly showed me over the place, and thereby satisfied my curiosity, especially when we came to the underground passages of which I had heard so much. I must say that after Mr. Henry Savile (his neighbour at Rufford) had related stories to me about the Duke, the mystery existing in my mind was somewhat dispelled concerning him. No doubt he was eccentric, but so much must have been human in him that his interesting personality predominated. Although he took little nourishment he seemed to have worked hard both physically and mentally, and to have possessed tastes of a high order.

Mr. Savile would often see him with his trousers tied with tape, much like the workmen on his estate, not only directing them in their work, but like one of themselves using the spade, although they were forbidden to recognize him by either touching or raising their caps.

Ages after the picture had passed out of my mind, I happened to be dining with friends, when I was introduced to an American lawyer. He was full of stories, as might be expected, and he told us one (of an extravagant order) which he said would lead to a very big case in the Courts of Law in which he himself would appear. The story was too impossible to believe; in fact, I was rude enough to tell him so.