Forty years of 'Spy'

by Sir Leslie Ward

The "characteristic portrait," although without the same qualities as the caricature, is sometimes more successful with one type of man. Nature is followed more accurately, the humour is there, if there is humour in the subject, and the work is naturally more artistic in touch and finish, and probably a better drawing in consequence. The caricature done from memory is wider in scope; one is not distracted from the general impression by the various little fascinations of form one finds in closer study. In fact, I consider that in order that the cartoon should have a perfect result, it must be drawn firstly from memory. Of course, little details and characteristics can be memorised by a thumb-nail sketch, or notes upon one's shirt cuff, and for this reason I usually watch my subject all the time. I make notes, keeping him under observation and making the note at the same time. The sketch made in these circumstances is frequently useless in consequence; but it seems to impress upon my brain the special trait I have noticed.

My caricatures were often the result of hours of continual attempts, watching my subject as he walked or drove past me, or if he were a clergyman, as he preached, again and again. Before I pleased myself I would make elusive sketches, feeling, as it were, my way to the impression I had formed of him. At other times I was lucky, and the aid of inspiration led to almost instantaneous results.

A difficulty which caused me considerable trouble was the reproduction of my work. In early caricatures I frequently aimed at a result which, recognized, would not survive the process of reproduction, and so I was compelled to destroy the sketch; later in life my work became firmer and thus enabled the copyist to produce a better result. Pellegrini seldom failed in his precision of touch, and was equally careful to preserve a clean line, for he traced his first work carefully on to the final pages to ensure a good outline.

It is extraordinary how deeply-rooted the idea is that a big head and miniature body makes a caricature, whereas, of course, it does not in the least. I suppose the delusion is the result of suggestion from without, from sporting papers and such-like publications. I have had drawings sent to me, and photographs and drawings copied from photographs, requesting that I should convey my opinions of them to a tiny imaginary body, in the case of an author the head to be supported by one hand, with a book of poems or a novel in the other. In all cases I was obliged to refuse because—except in the case of a posthumous portrait—I never draw anybody from a photograph or without having seen and carefully studied them. (There is only one exception to this rule, drawn at the request of Vanity Fair.) For the great point I always try to seize is the indefinable and elusive characteristic (not always physical but influencing the outward appearance), which produces the whole personal impression of a man. Now a photograph may give you his clothes, but it cannot extend to you this personal influence. It is accurate, hard, and set. When I have not been required to make a caricature I may have a sitting, and make a drawing, which is perhaps interesting to the uninitiated, but to me impossible, because I have not illuminated that impression by the inspiration I have received. So I tear it up and try again—sometimes over and over again. Frequently one requires several sittings before one becomes familiar with one's subject, for different days and varying moods lend entirely different aspects to the same face. As a result one becomes, as it were, en rapport with the subject before one. A first sitting, as far as actual execution goes, counts for nothing; occasionally my editor has said to me—"Keep to the caricature;" but when in the attempt to obey I have made the drawing, I have frequently lost not only portrait and caricature but also the spontaneity as well. Often when I have finished my work, I feel I should like to do it all again, for, although a general impression is in many cases the best, as a result of more frequent sittings we see characteristic within characteristic.

The face of the man who lives or studies indoors is usually more difficult to portray than the features of the one who is very much in the open air, because the hardening effect of constant or very frequent out of door exposure produces more decided lines. Just as a soldier who has seen a campaign or two on active service begins to show signs of wear, so his face grows in interest, and the furrows more distinct; and in the same way an old admiral is more interesting than a young sailor whose face as yet wears no history. So it is with the weather-beaten hunting-man and the traveller with weather-beaten countenance.

Tattersall's was a great field for me, for there is something quite distinctive in the dress and gait of the truly horsey man, which lends itself to caricature.

Lord Lonsdale, for instance, is quite a type, and I studied him entirely there. He was, and is, a delightful subject, and the drawing eventually fetched a considerable sum in the sale of Vanity Fair drawings at Christie's. Again one of my most successful caricatures was that of Lord Rocksavage (Lord Cholmondeley) as the result of Sunday afternoon studies at Tattersall's. Americans show a good deal of the open-air quality to which I have alluded. I suppose the effect of climate and the method of heating rooms "across the pond" produces that parchment-like complexion, and the strongly-marked features of many typical American faces. I found William Gillette (as Sherlock Holmes) very interesting to draw in consequence; but then, of course, I must say he is an exceptional American or are they all exceptional? So it was in the case of the American Ambassador, Mr. Bayard, who had accentuated features, overhanging eyebrows, and deeply set eyes. He had a peculiar charm of manner, but was terribly deaf. Shortly after arriving in London, he was a guest at the Mansion House at a dinner given to representatives of Art and Literature, and was invited to speak. He did, but one thought he would never sit down. Having been greatly applauded at one period of his speech, this gave him an impetus to go on, but the guests grew wearied and restless, and in consequence, rattled their glasses and clattered their knives and forks. Mr. Bayard, who was really saying delightful things, took this for applause and continued his speech indefinitely. Afterwards, the Lady Mayoress, remarking upon the unfortunate incident, said to me, "I am ashamed of those of my guests who behaved so badly during the Ambassador's speech. I do hope you were not one of them." I was glad to be able to assure her of my innocence, and that I was too engrossed in Mr. Bayard's appearance to follow very closely his speech.

My best subjects are those who possess the greatest possibilities of humour. I divide human nature into two classes (as a caricaturist, I mean), those who are funny and those who are not. People say to me sometimes, "So-and-so has a big nose—suppose you make it bigger," or words to that effect. My reply is that a big nose made even bigger, need not in itself be funny. The bald man usually insists upon keeping on his hat, forgetting that his bald head contains a good deal in it, is frequently much more interesting than a well-covered cranium, and is nothing to be ashamed of.

The knowledge of human nature, of the foibles, and vanities of man that come with one's study of caricature is extraordinary, one does not come to know a man until he becomes a model for the time being and disports himself in a variety of ways according to his character, temperament, or personality.