Forty years of 'Spy'

by Sir Leslie Ward

I was constantly drawing her from memory and trying to represent her as truthfully as I could.

During the completion of my oil painting of Miss Chappell (Mrs. Tom Caley), the Prince of Wales visited Mr. Augustus Lumley, to whom his Royal Highness was sitting, and Mr. Lumley, in the course of conversation, mentioned my name. The Prince, with the tactful remembrance that distinguished him, recollected my name at once and expressed a wish to see my work. Unfortunately, I was not in, and Mr. Lumley showed the Prince round my studio. On the easel stood my portrait of Miss Chappell (who was then a very beautiful girl of about sixteen, and was afterwards just as handsome in her womanhood), and on the wall was pinned a decided caricature of H.R.H. The portrait, I was pleased to hear, was admired, the Prince exclaiming, "What a pretty girl!" Then he caught sight of the caricature of himself, and said, "What a beast of a thing!"

Accompanying their father were the young Princes, who were amused by the various properties of the studio, which included an old-fashioned sword, whereupon one of the Princes (so I was told afterwards), I think the present King George, drew it from its scabbard and attacked the lay figure.

I was equally fortunate with my second portrait, having a very fine subject in Lady Shrewsbury, who in those days was always a charming hostess at Shipley, where I spent many pleasant days. Both these portraits were hung in the Royal Academy.

Some of my young subjects have revealed the most astonishing proclivities in the course of their sittings. I remember young Mark Sykes, who is now the popular member of Parliament, came with his mother to sit to me, and to keep her son amused, Lady Sykes told him impromptu stories, which were delightfully imaginative and at the same time so clever. During one unguarded moment when I was drawing, I forgot to keep my young pickle under observation, and grew engrossed in Lady Sykes' narrative; pausing with the mahl stick in my hand (with which I had been keeping him in order) I listened to the story. In a trice my young friend snatched the mahl stick and whacked me on the head, effectively rousing me from my temporary interest in the story. I never heard a boy laugh with more satisfaction.

Many child sitters came to me then. There were three little children I was painting, and they, being motherless, were rather at the mercy of various maids and governesses. On the occasion of one visit to me, they had no one to escort them. Consequently, the eldest, a girl of about eleven, arrived in a cab in charge of her two smaller sisters instead of the governess who usually kept them all three in order while I painted them. In the absence of this good lady, the two children behaved themselves uncommonly well, and I was able to paint them without interruption; but the child looking after them, having been in the studio about an hour, suddenly said tersely, "I'm going now ... I'm tired."

Then and there she carried off her charges with an air of great authority, ordered a cab, and was gone.

Being a child lover, and believing I was well able to control recalcitrant children, I was nevertheless unprepared for the behaviour of one little lady who came with her nurse to be painted. After two or three sittings, finding her somewhat weary, I thought to encourage her by showing her the portrait.

"Now," I began, with the best intentions, "if you'll be very good and sit very still, I'll show you after this sitting what I've done."

I kept my promise and lowered the oil painting which was quite wet, so that she might view it with greater ease.