I always remember an evening as Boehm's guest, when a lady whom I had taken down to dinner, in answer to an opinion I timidly expressed that it was just possible she might be on the verge of "spoiling" her two boys, who chanced to be at Eton with my son, turned upon me with the amazing question: "Do you think I can ever sufficiently apologise to them for my share in bringing them into this world?"
Boehm and Onslow Ford
Boehm's end was distressing. He was a great Court favourite, and one afternoon, in his studio, told his man that he expected a visit from the Princess Louise, and that Her Royal Highness, with her lady, was to be conducted to the studio at once. When taken there, on the door being opened, they found Boehm, who had sunk upon the floor from a sudden heart attack, unconscious and just breathing; he passed away in a few minutes.
Onslow Ford, another friend of ours, was as well known for his personal charm as for the refinement of his work. He was beloved by his brother Academicians, the features of several of whom he has immortalised in marble, and by a large circle of friends. One of his best achievements is the seated figure of Henry Irving, now in the Guildhall Picture Gallery; while the Christopher Marlowe memorial at Canterbury, the Shelley memorial in University College, Oxford, and the great statue of Gordon, mounted on a camel, at Chatham, will make his fame secure.
Another sculptor whose friendship we enjoyed was the late Count Gleichen, who regarded his art as far more than a recreation; and his statue of King Alfred at Wantage is the work of no mere amateur. We found it an interesting experience to sit to him for the two portrait busts which are now in the Garrick Club. The sittings in his studio at St. James's Palace were often enlivened by visits from well-known people of many kinds, which I hope did not detract from the merit of the sculptor's work.
I dare not try the patience of my readers by attempting at any length to write of that rebellious, capricious, tempestuous, and captivating genius "Jimmy" Whistler.
After welcoming him as our amusing and interesting guest, my wife and I were bidden to one of his historic luncheons at the White House, which then stood quite alone in Chelsea by the river. We had excellent company and ate buckwheat cakes, cooked by himself.
His despotic value of himself was exalted and could not be excelled: nothing shook it. The rapier and the bludgeon were alike his weapons of either attack or defence.
I believe his portrait of Irving as King Philip has varied in different markets from bids of a few pounds to some thousands.
"Punch"