Forty Years of 'Spy'

On the journey the Prince talked most interestingly, and I gathered that he felt sanguine as to the belief of his ultimate succession to the throne of France. From his charm of manner and general conversation I could quite understand his popularity with his brother officers in the British Army. He did not strike me as being particularly smart in dress or general appearance, although he wore his hat well tilted on one side, and he clicked his heels in French fashion, as he had evidently been taught to do from boyhood.

On arriving at Chiselhurst we drove together to the residence of the Empress Eugenie where he gave me every opportunity of studying his characteristics, and upon the publication of his cartoon I received a letter of appreciation with a signed photograph of himself which is still unfaded, and which I greatly value.

I have drawn and caricatured and made portraits of the numerous foreign rulers, who have visited our islands from time to time. When Don Carlos (the Pretender to the Spanish throne) came to England in 1876 I visited him at Claridge's, where he was staying, to study him for Vanity Fair. I found him a very picturesque and striking figure in his uniform, which he put on for me, including the Order of the Golden Fleece. He was very obliging, and offered to lend me his uniform to use for further details, also the Order, which he begged me to treasure with the greatest possible care, as he stated that it had been handed down in his family for generations, and was, of course, of great value to him. I promised to be very careful that nothing should befall it, and when the uniform and the Order arrived I sought for a model, preferably a soldier; and incidentally asked Colonel Fred Burnaby if he knew a man big enough to wear it. He very kindly permitted his soldier-servant, who was a very fine man to stand for me, and when he came to the studio, and had donned the uniform I entrusted him with the Order of the Golden Fleece, and cautioned him to handle it very carefully. Taking it up to fasten round his neck he straightway dropped it on the floor, where it broke in half. When it snapped in two imagine my horror. It was with difficulty that I restrained my anger. On finding it broken I hurried off with it to Hancocks, the jewellers in Bond Street, who promised to mend it to the best of their ability. On the return of the decoration I could detect no flaw; it appeared exactly as it was, but the accident was costly. Needless to say I soon returned it and was thankful to hear no more about it.

An amusing contretemps occurred when I was sent by my editor to "stalk" General Ignatieff, who was at Claridge's Hotel. I had thought the best plan would be to stay there for a day or two, in order to obtain good facilities for studying him, so I arrived with my portmanteau, and endeavoured to ascertain something of the habits of the general. My curiosity resulted in old Mr. Claridge politely ordering my bag to be removed. When I informed him of my identity and disclosed the reason for my interest in the General's movements, his reply was somewhat as follows:—

"I know there is such a person as 'Spy' because I can show you a lot of his cartoons in my room, I do not doubt your word, but I have no proof and would rather that you went." But he was considerate in giving what information he could as to his whereabouts, and after saving my hotel bill I managed to catch my victim on his way from Hatfield.

In 1877 my editor was anxious to procure a drawing of Midhat Pasha for Vanity Fair, and as there was a great difficulty in obtaining an interview, I was smuggled into his presence by Mr. Gibson Bowles, who had an official appointment with him. The Pasha, it will be remembered, had just been exiled from his own country and this opportunity offered me every facility for making close observation of him who was, at the same time, ignorant of my identity or purpose.

I was fortunate in the case of Mooh-ton-oolk, Sir Salar Jung, Minister of the Nizam of Hyderabad. Sir Salar was received with great acclamation in England on account of the excellent service he had rendered to the English in the suppression of the mutiny. He also did much to break down caste prejudice. I attended his wonderful breakfast at that residence in Piccadilly which is now the Bachelor's Club. Sir Salar had brought with him to England his curry-cook who provided us with innumerable curries, of which very few were familiar to me although I enjoyed them considerably, more than that I was much interested in the distinguished company who were present. Following the breakfast my eminent host gave me an opportunity of making a sketch of him.

Some little time afterwards I accepted an invitation to dinner, which was given on a magnificent scale at the "Star and Garter," Richmond, and organized for him by a mutual friend, a lady whose husband owned the house that Sir Salar Jung temporarily occupied.

Over a hundred guests sat down to the banquet, which was arranged should be followed by a dance. It chanced that I drove down in a hansom and a violent thunder storm came on so that in spite of all precautions the front of my dress shirt became hopelessly splashed with mud. As it was too late to retrace my steps I decided to buy a dicky (this appendage being a novelty to me), and fix it over the damaged shirt front. Twice after I imagined it was safely fixed it flew up with surprising suddenness, and when my hostess asked me to help her with the dance that she had arranged should follow the dinner that evening, I felt more than a shade of embarrassment as I feared the dicky might betray me and my movements were therefore cautious, though with an additional pin I managed to secure it and all went well in the end.

H.H. Ras Makunan, K.C.M.G., who was cousin and heir-apparent to the Emperor Menelik of Abyssinia, was also a warrior and a sportsman, and represented the Emperor at King Edward's coronation.

He was persuaded to make an appointment with me at my studio, and arrived at the early hour of 8 a.m. with his attendant, previous to breakfasting with the officers of the Horse Guards at the Knightsbridge barracks.

Before his visit I had been given the tip to have in readiness a bottle of good port wine, but upon pouring out a glass I was told that he judged it wiser to delay any refreshment until after breakfast. In the meantime small boys had collected at the entrance to my studio, being attracted by the Royal carriage waiting at the door. When they saw the chief occupant enter it they simply stared in amazement with open mouths. Finding a second interview necessary, which was arranged for at the Westminster Palace Hotel, I called at the appointed hour, but being kept waiting for a very considerable time sent up a reminder. Sir John was very angry at the delay, and after persuading the Ras that it was not the custom to treat gentlemen in such a manner he came out from an inner room (where he had been busily occupied sorting coloured silks) and did his duty to me, in fact sat in quite a stately manner, holding his long gun characteristically. During the process of sketching him I was given the hint not to make him quite as black as nature had painted him.

A kind of levee (if I may say so) was occasionally held by Cetewayo when he visited England and was housed in Melbury Road. As I wanted to see him I procured an invitation to one of these receptions.

The deposed monarch who looked quite jolly and robust shook me by the hand as though I might be some one in authority. My visit afterwards bore fruit in Vanity Fair, for I represented him as I saw him, nearly bursting through his light grey tweed suit with a kingly headgear of black velvet enriched with gold braid and a golden tassel attached.

On leaving this country I was told that his chief ambition was to take back with him some good specimens of our best sporting dogs. Well-bred fox terriers were procured, therefore, but when shown to him he feared they would not be strong enough, for it was for hunting he required them, "for hunting the man," so I believe bloodhounds filled their place.

In the case of the Shah of Persia it was different, for when eventually I gained an audience at Marlborough House he received me with courtesy, and I was somewhat embarrassed on seeing him desert (at all events pro tem.), several gentlemen, great authorities on the latest improvement in guns which were being shown him at his especial request. I was directed to the window and His Majesty evidently anxious to assist me, ordered the curtains to be drawn further apart that I might see him in a good light, he then came so close that I could focus only his nose which certainly was the feature in his face.

After making my obeisance I withdrew in favour of those I previously stood in the way of; and from the slight sketch I made and, relying on my memory for the rest, I eventually made my picture.

Having already studied the Viscount Tadasa Hayashi, a distinguished Japanese Minister at the court of St. James', and wishing to depict him in evening dress I persuaded him to come to my studio and to bring with him his star and ribbon. With the characteristic courtesy of the best of his race he appeared most good-naturedly in the early morning, dressed as though he were going to an evening reception, and thoroughly entered into the spirit of his portrait and my work.

Among the large number of Ministers and Ambassadors I have depicted, I may mention the names of Counts Munster, Paul Metternich, Mensdorff, Messrs. Choate, Bayard, Hay and Whitelaw Reid, and last but not least Count Benckendorff.

The latter (whom I have frequently had the pleasure of meeting at the Beefsteak Club) amused me greatly when he came to my studio by saying, "It is a simple task you have before you, you have only to draw an egg—a nose—and an eyeglass and it is done."

CHAPTER XIV

MUSICIANS—AUTHORS—ACTORS AND ARTISTS

Wagner.—Richter.—Dan Godfrey.—Arthur Cecil.—Sir Frederick Bridge and bombs.—W. S. Penley.—Sir Herbert Tree.—Max Beerbohm.—Mr. and Mrs. Kendal.—Harry Kemble.—Sir Edgar Boehm.—George Du Maurier.—Rudyard Kipling.—Alfred Austin.—William Black.—Thomas Hardy.—W. E. Henley.—Egerton Castle.—Samuel Smiles.—Farren.—Sir Squire and Lady Bancroft.—Dion Boucicault and his wife.—Sir Charles Wyndham.—Leo Trevor.—Cyril Maude.—William Gillette.—The late Dion Boucicault.—Arthur Bourchier.—Allan Aynesworth.—Charlie Hawtrey.—The Grossmiths.—H. B. Irving.—W. L. Courtney.—Willie Elliott.—"Beau Little."—Henry Arthur Jones.—Gustave Doré.—J. MacNeil Whistler.—Walter Crane.—F.C.G.—Lady Ashburton and her forgetfulness.

I was a privileged member of a select audience at a rehearsal in 1877 at the Albert Hall with the intention of studying Wagner and his eccentricities, while he was conducting one of his own operas, therefore, I was not as surprised as I might have been when I observed him waving his baton and growing more and more excited, dancing on and off his stool, until finally losing his head he grew very angry with everything and everybody, and gave up evidently in fear of one of those nervous attacks to which he was subject. Richter then took the baton and conducted magnificently.

Under very different circumstances I studied Dan Godfrey the bandmaster, a very different type of musician, when he had just been promoted to the rank of lieutenant. An officer on guard invited me to breakfast after I had watched him conduct the band in the quadrangle of St. James' Palace, to enable me to examine his features more clearly.

Arthur Cecil, the actor, loved music and was a born musician in addition to his interest in the stage, and was for some time in co-partnership with Mrs. John Wood at the Court Theatre. He was the first Baron Stein in Diplomacy. During his fatal illness at Brighton I visited him in the nursing home, and his first words to me were uttered in complaint of his food, for he dearly loved his food.

"What do you think they gave me to-day?" he said. "A boiled mutton chop." When he was convalescent he gained permission from his doctor to go, with his nurse, to reside at the Brighton Orleans Club, and whenever the menu was put before him, he selected the choice dishes dear to his heart (or his palate) that had been forbidden him a very short time previously. His greatest pleasure, however, was to be able to play the piano again, and that he did before me in the private hospital, his first selection being some music from his favourite opera of "Hansel und Gretel." Owing to his indiscretion during convalescence, he caught cold which caused his death prematurely, for he was under sixty.

After many times acting as an amateur he joined German Reed's company at St. George's Hall, and from there went to the Haymarket Theatre, after which he had a distinguished career as an actor in comedy. He was very popular both at the Garrick and Beefsteak Clubs. Of course Sir Frederick Bridge was an acquaintance of his, for Arthur was devoted to sacred music. Although it is quite ten years since I portrayed Sir Frederick he appeared just the same when I saw him recently at lunch at our mutual friend, C. S. Cockburn's house. He has, I think, officiated at innumerable historical ceremonies, including the Jubilees of '87 and '97, as well as the Coronations of King Edward and King George. He told me the following story, in the terse and witty manner which is so characteristic of him.

"In '87, just before the Queen's Jubilee, a good deal of alarm was experienced in consequence of the Fenian outrages, and the very frequent discoveries of clockwork bombs in black bags. Previous to the Royal visit, the Abbey was closed to the public and the utmost precautions were taken by the officials to ensure the Royal safety, by the order of Colonel Majendie (another of my victims) the Chief Inspector of Explosives. Every portion of the choir stand was examined, and even the organ pipes and every corner of the Abbey was subjected to vigorous inspection. The day before the Royal ceremony, I called a rehearsal of the band, and after their departure I remained in the organ loft to look over my music for the next day, in the company of a young pupil, who interrupted me when I was engrossed in my music, by calling my attention to a strange noise.

"'Listen, Doctor,' he said, 'don't you hear a ticking?'

"'Ticking!' I shouted. 'Where?'

"Jumping out of my seat, I listened intently, and sure enough, I heard a faint sound that was strangely ominous, and in the corner of the loft I saw that fateful sight—a little black bag.

"I confess I behaved very badly, for instead of waiting to be blown to pieces for my country, I left the loft as quickly as possible and hastened into the Cloister, where I met an old servant. He was a comfortable looking old creature with a glass eye.

"'Graves,' I said, 'go up into the organ loft and fetch a little black bag that you will find in the corner.'

"'Yes, sir,' he replied, and ambled off unsuspectingly. Then I waited. I do not know what I expected to see—a headless Graves returning in some gruesome but faithful remnant trying to perform this last request—but I breathed again when he reappeared safe and sound—with the bag—which contained an alarm clock, ticking away very merrily. I discovered upon inquiry that a cornet in the band had bought the clock for his wife on the way to the rehearsal, and how he had escaped detection, with the bag, and run the gauntlet of the fifty policemen who were guarding the Abbey I never quite knew. If a rumour of my discovery had got into the papers, I do not think the Queen would have come to the Abbey; as it was, I might have made my fortune by giving a nice little account of it to the Press.

"That is my only experience of dynamite. Graves died safely in bed a short time ago, and when I sent a wreath to his funeral, I thought of the episode of the bag, for to the day of his death, he used to say, 'You very nearly blew me up that time, sir!'"

Quite recently Sir Frederick has married again for the third time.

Most people are unaware that the late W. S. Penley was a clever musician, and had a remarkably fine organ in his house which he delighted in playing; also that he was a choir boy. I saw him in his inimitable and famous part in "Charley's Aunt" several times, and one could hardly realize he could have worn a serious look or had a quiet side to his character. When he stood to me in my studio, I was attempting to catch a certain expression that I knew was very characteristic of him. I ran backwards and forwards, to quickly seize the look and convey it to my paper, and staggering backwards once too often in my forgetfulness and interest, I went head over heels over my rug. Penley did not stop laughing for some minutes and said when I had recovered (and he had!), "I shall not forget that, it was too funny—and when I play the part of an artist, I shall put your little accident and incidental business in."

But not very long afterwards he retired from the stage and death claimed him before the opportunity came.

I have always been treated with the greatest possible kindness by members of the theatrical profession, and I cannot speak too highly of the aid they have given me when occasion called for it.

It only seems the other day since I caricatured Sir Herbert Tree in 1890, when he looked a slim young man with a remarkably sleek figure. I think it was in the Red Lamp that a lady who had seen Tree's first performance in the part prophesied his enormous future, and told me she considered he would win a position on the stage that would rival Irving's, but no doubt the same idea entered other heads.

Quite recently Sir Herbert presented me with his book, which is quite unique amongst the literary efforts written by the members of his profession, and is well worth study, as he jokingly impressed upon me at the time, adding that no man should consider his life completed unless he read it before he died. Which reminded me of Bulwer Lytton who told me that no young man's education was complete who had not read Scott through and through.

I first met Max Beerbohm quite a long time ago when I was at the "Mitre" (Oxford), when Julius Beerbohm happened to be staying there also and he invited me to dine with him, adding:—

"I want you to meet Max Beerbohm, my half-brother, because I should particularly like you to see some most amusing caricatures that he has drawn, and which I think you will appreciate," and I did. "Max" has now a world-wide reputation in caricature and in letters; then he was an undergraduate and invited me to lunch in his rooms, when he showed me many of his humorous sketches.

The Kendals I have known since I was a boy, and I was first introduced to them at the house of the late Mr. Augustus Dubourg, then an official in the House of Lords, and joint author, with Tom Taylor, of New Men and Old Acres, in which they played. Their retirement from the stage, which was not advertised in any way or accompanied by the usual "benefit," was one of the greatest losses, in my opinion, that the stage has known, for Mrs. Kendal (Madge Robertson), who was a sister of Robertson the author of School, etc., is one of the most beautiful and consummate artistes England has ever produced. William Kendal himself, would even now, almost fill the part of a young man on the stage, for with him years do not tell us a tale of age.

If I were to relate all the anecdotes that I have heard of Henry Kemble (or the "beetle" as he was known) I might yarn for ever. For instance, on one occasion the tax collector called on Kemble for the Queen's taxes, "Quite an unusual tax," said Kemble; but after much discussion he found he had to pay. "Very well," he said to the collector, "I will pay just this once but pray inform Her Majesty from me that she must not look upon me as a permanent source of income."

Some of Charlie Brookfield's stories were very funny. He also drew a series of caricatures of Kemble as a special constable, in which capacity he was enlisted in a time of riots. There is a story "Brooks" used to tell of Kemble. He and Kemble were returning from a theatre one evening when they observed a large crowd gathered round the Mansion House. Dismissing their cab, they prepared to join in the fun, if there was to be any, and on approaching, found Sir Charles Dilke was speaking from a window. As they had arrived somewhat late and the speech was nearly over, their interest was not excited, nor did they comprehend the gist of the matter. Here and there rough-looking men commented aloud with decided emphasis, sometimes for and sometimes against the speaker, when Brookfield, in a mischievous mood, thought he would add his comment to the next remark.

"What abart the dockers!" he roared, choosing his words quite at random, with his hand to his mouth, in loud imitation of his audience.

"Yus—what abart the dockers," shouted a navvy next to him, and immediately pandemonium followed, Brookfield's hat being squashed in, his coat ripped up, and a few minutes later, two very dishevelled actors emerged from the melée, wondering vaguely why "the dockers" had proved such a sore point!

When I made my drawing of Sir Edgar Boehm, the famous sculptor, I depicted him working in a characteristic attitude upon his bust of Ruskin, which was in the rough clay and half finished. He was engaged also at the time upon a bust of Queen Victoria, to whom he was "Sculptor in Ordinary." Imagine my surprise when I received the following letter from Sir Edgar:—