Forty years of 'Spy'

by Sir Leslie Ward

CHAPTER VI

CARICATURE

Cannot be taught.—Where I stalk.—The ugly man.—The handsome man.—Physical defects.—Warts.—Joachim Liszt and Oliver Cromwell.—Pellegrini, Millais and Whistler.—The characteristic portrait.—Taking notes.—Methods.—Photography.—Tattersall's.—Lord Lonsdale.—Lord Rocksavage.—William Gillette.—Mr. Bayard.—The bald man.—The humorous sitter.—Tyler.—Profiles.—Cavalry Officers.—The Queen's uniform.—My subjects' wives.—What they think.—Bribery.—Bradlaugh.—The Prince of Wales.—The tailor story.—Sir Watkin Williams Wynn.—Lord Henry Lennox.—Cardinal Newman.—The Rev. Arthur Tooth.—Dr. Spooner.—Comyns Carr.—Pigott.—"Piggy" Palk and "Mr. Spy."

During my long and varied career as a caricaturist, I have watched some of the great men of the century build their careers, and as men are often known, remembered and immortalized—especially abroad—by some idiosyncrasy selected by the capriciousness of time, so I shall always retain of certain characters odd, and even baffling, recollections.

The caricaturist, I am convinced, is born, not made. The facility which comes to some artists after long practice does not necessarily avail in this branch of art; for the power to see a caricature is in the eye of a beholder, and no amount of forcing the perceptions will produce the point of view of a genuine caricaturist. A good memory, an eye for detail, and a mind to appreciate and grasp the whole atmosphere and peculiarity of the "subject," are of course essentials ... together, very decidedly, with a sense of humour.

I have met a considerable number of people, some interesting, amusing, extraordinary, and delightful, and some, but not many (I am glad to say), who, as subjects, were neither desirable nor delightful.

On the turf, in the Houses of Lords and Commons, in the Church, in Society, in the Law Courts—in fact, everywhere, I have hunted for my victim; and, in obedience to that inevitable eye with which I was presented at birth by my good (or bad, according to some people) fairy, I have found him in each and all of these places. At times I have followed the dictation of my own fancy, but more often I have been given a certain person or personage to stalk. Of course, not every one lends himself readily to the caricaturist, for the ideal subject is clearly one whose marked peculiarity of feature or carriage strikes at once the "note" which can be effectively seized and turned to account. The handsome man with perfect features and ideal limbs, but nothing exceptionally positive about him but his good looks, is sometimes, for example, a decidedly difficult subject. On the other hand, every one is caricaturable—in time, and when one knows him—whether on account of a swagger, a movement of the wrist, curious clothes, or of an oddly shaped and individual hat. So a longer acquaintance and a more extended opportunity for prolonged study renders even the beautiful man (or woman) at length a possible or even a very good subject. Here, however, the test of the caricaturist is revealed, for while there are many who can perceive and hit off the obvious superficial traits of those who present themselves as ready-made subjects, the genuine caricaturist combines a profound sense of character with such a gift of humour as will enable him to rise above the mere perception of idiosyncrasy or foible, and actually to translate into terms of comedy a psychological knowledge unsuspected by those who uncritically perceive and delight in the finished caricature.

The painfully ugly man who has some physical defect is almost as bad as the man with no specially named feature; for one does not wish to be malicious, and the portraying of physical defects is not a delight to the caricaturist. His object is rather to seize upon some absurd but amusing idiosyncrasy all unguessed by the subject himself, and very often by his friends, for we grow unobservant of everyday occurrence and familiar faces. But in spite of this, we must touch upon defects, because, for instance, sometimes an accident resulting in a twisted leg, a curious nose, an odd thumb, will not alter a man, but are so characteristic that to omit them would only draw attention to their presence. I could not have left out the cyst upon the forehead of John Stuart Mill, or the warts upon the faces of Liszt or Joachim. In the case of the latter I was profoundly disappointed when he grew a beard, for the warts upon his face were as marked as Cromwell's, and one was so accustomed to them that they seemed a part of the man.

In connection with this question of portraying a man "warts and all," I might cite the beautiful bust of Liszt by Boehm. Here the sculptor left out the warts, with, it seems to me, a failure of judgment which affects the importance of the bust as art as well as its importance as a true image of the subject. I do not mean that I should prefer such physical defects over-emphasized in a portrait, for that would be absurd. It is, however, essential that an artist should not be unduly sensitive about such blemishes. Imagine, for instance, how little we should recognize—and how little we should appreciate—such a bowdlerized or expurgated rendering of the oddly-marked face of Oliver Cromwell.