James Virtue, the publisher, invited me to his charming house at Walton, where I was able to observe the novelist by making a close study of him from various points of view. We went a delightful walk together to St. George's Hill, and while Trollope admired the scenery, I noted the beauties of Nature in another way, committed those mental observations to my mental note-book, and came home to what fun I could get out of them.

The famous novelist was not in the least conscious of my eagle eye, and imagining I should let him down gently, Mr. Virtue did not warn him, luckily for me, for I had an excellent subject. When the caricature appeared, Trollope was furious, and naturally did not hesitate to give poor Virtue a "blowing-up," whereupon I in turn received a stiff letter from Mr. Virtue. It surprised me not a little, that he should take the matter so seriously; but for a time Mr. Virtue was decidedly "short" with me. Luckily, however, his displeasure only lasted a short period, for he was too genuinely amiable a man to let such a thing make a permanent difference to his ordinary behaviour.

[Ill.u.s.tration: JOHN TENNIEL.

1878.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: ANTHONY TROLLOPE.

1873.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: SIR FRANCIS DOYLE, BART.

1877.]

I had portrayed Trollope's strange thumb, which he held erect whilst smoking, with his cigar between his first and second fingers, his pockets standing out on either side of his trousers, his coat b.u.t.toned once and then parting over a small but comfortable corporation. The letterpress on this occasion I consider was far more severe than my caricature, for I had not praised the books with faint d.a.m.ns as being "sufficiently faithful to the external aspect of English life to interest those who see nothing but its external aspects and yet sufficiently removed from all depth of humanity to conciliate all respected parents." Nor had I implied that "his manners are a little rough, as is his voice; but he is nevertheless extremely popular amongst his friends, while by his readers he is looked upon with grat.i.tude due to one who has for so many years amused without ever shocking them. Whether this reputation would not last longer if he had shocked them occasionally, is a question which the bookseller of a future generation will be able to answer."

It is an ill wind that blows n.o.body any good, for through this drawing I received an offer from Edmund Yates, who was then starting _The World_, to make a series of caricatures regularly for the forthcoming paper. My father, who was anxious for me to continue my more serious work of portraiture, advised me to do half the number requested by Yates. When Yates heard my decision he refused to consider a smaller number of contributions, and so the matter dropped. Previous to this I had ill.u.s.trated a number of his lectures by drawings of celebrities, and I declined the extra work with some reluctance. Looking back, I see the excellence of my father's advice that I should not devote the whole of my time to work for reproductions, and I have often regretted that I did not give more time to my more serious work. I never realized that _Vanity Fair_ might one day cease to exist for me, or that a period might arrive when, owing to the ever enlarging field of photography, that type of work would be no longer in such demand.

My father was himself a caricaturist of no mean order; and one of my most cherished possessions is a caricature which my father made of me as a child, drawn on the day before I returned to Eton after a holiday. In it I am represented as a most injured person, because a very callous conversation is being carried on in the face of the great tragedy of my life (at the moment), the ending of the holidays. Of course I caricatured my father in due time for _Vanity Fair_; and he was a delightful subject.

"For heaven's sake, don't let me down gently!" he said. And I didn't!

In consequence, friends complained of my want of respect, whereas my father regarded the drawing with amus.e.m.e.nt, for he could always appreciate a joke against himself.

Once, however, I remember an amusing incident in which for quite a long time he failed to see any humour. My mother and sister, with my father and me, were returning from some theatre, and we hailed a cab.

Getting in, my father said "Home" to the cabby, whereupon the man replied, "Where, sir?" "Home," replied my father, a trifle louder.

"Where, sir?" answered the cabby, his voice mounting one note higher in the scale. "Go home," cried my father, irascibly. Still the cab didn't move, and the expression on the face of the driver was a study.

"Do you hear?" thundered my father. "No," replied the man. Then we came to the rescue.

But to return to the subject. Dr. Doran (whom I had caricatured shortly before in _Vanity Fair_) possessed the same delightful magnanimity as regards a joke against himself, and I really found that men of this type appreciated caricature. This drawing of my father's friend caused me extreme disappointment when it appeared, for during its manipulation by the lithographers it had suffered considerably.

The original now hangs in the National Portrait Gallery, to which it was presented, I believe, by one of the trustees of that inst.i.tution.

In January, 1873, the death of Lord Lytton (whose funeral I attended with my parents, as I had also been present at Thackeray's) led to my receiving a commission from Mr. Thomas, the editor of the _Graphic_.

Mr. Thomas, knowing that I was acquainted with the great author, sent me a water-colour sketch of the Hall at Knebworth by old Mr. Macquoid (the father of Percy Macquoid), in which I was to place a figure of Lord Lytton. My introduction to the paper came through Luke Fildes, who, besides making the drawing of Charles d.i.c.kens's "Empty Chair"

after his death, was then making the very interesting drawing of Napoleon III. on his deathbed. Small, Gregory and Herkomer also helped to make the _Graphic_, and I produced portrait drawings of celebrated people, including Miss Elizabeth Tompson, Disraeli, Sir John c.o.c.kburn, Millais, Gladstone and Leighton.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "MILES BUGGLEBURY."

_With praiseworthy ambitions but a failure in life._ 1867.]

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 un.o.bservant 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.

This reminds me of an early caricature of my own. It was drawn on paper with a flaw which the lithographer took for a wart; and in an excess of zeal the lithographer copied it minutely as such. The subject, whom I had drawn from memory, came to ask me for an explanation, saying, "My dear fellow, I may have other blemishes; but _really_ I have not a wart!" I was obliged to explain that the flaw in the paper upon which I drew the original had only shown it in one light.

In the earlier days of _Vanity Fair_ I was very often given subjects refused by Pellegrini. Bowles would say to him, "Now I want you to catch So-and-so," and Pellegrini would reply, "I don't like 'im. Send Ward--'e can run after 'im better." Thus it came about that I was sent off to stalk the undesirable subject because I was younger, and I was obliged of course to comply with the demands of the paper and pursue Pellegrini's uncaricaturable subjects. As an artist, Pellegrini's likes and dislikes were curious. He could find no beauty in a landscape, so he informed me, no matter how well depicted. Whistler's work he adored and Millais' he detested. He was a great personal friend of Whistler's, and, curiously enough, because Pellegrini's work was formerly greatly opposed to Whistler's, he spent a considerable time studying Whistler's method of painting and admiring his work.

Pellegrini became so imbued with the great painter and his ideas that he determined to abandon caricature and give his attention to portrait painting. His intention was to outshine Millais, whom he found uncongenial as an artist, and whose work he prophesied would not survive a lifetime's popularity. One of his favourite recreations was to discuss Millais and his success in relation to himself when he had gained fame as a painter. One day, on this subject, after working himself up into his customary excitement, he twisted a piece of paper into a funnel-shaped roll, and said to me:--

"Now Millais' ambitions go in like this"--pointing to the big end, "and become this"--turning up the smaller end. "And mine begin small and go on...." Here he opened his arms as if to embrace the infinite.

[Ill.u.s.tration: J. REDMOND, M.P.

1904.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE SPEAKER (J. W. LOWTHER, M.P.).

1906.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: BONAR LAW, M.P.

1905.]

When Pellegrini partially abandoned caricature and took up portraiture he attempted to become a master of painting too soon, and, inspired by Whistler's facility, imagined that it would be easy to overcome very quickly the difficulties of a lifetime. Occasionally, of course, he succeeded legitimately, as in the case of "Gillie"[3] Farquhar; but, generally speaking, if Pellegrini had a sitter who was an admirable subject for caricature, he was unconsciously liable to put what he saw into his portrait. His successes were great; he was undoubtedly--when he had a "sympathetic" subject, a genius in caricature. That pleasure, or sympathy, is one of the main elements in the success of a caricaturist. Just as a subject may offer great temperamental difficulties, so it frequently happens that--for some inexplicable reason--he will at once afford an opening which a practised caricaturist will know immediately how to turn to account. It is this element of chance which lends a charming uncertainty to the caricaturist's art; and it is this element also which explains in many cases the strange success or failure of an impression, the apparent fluctuations of an artist's talent in preserving a likeness or translating a personality into terms of comedy. Thus it often happened that I was fortunate in my own choice of a man, and thus, on the other hand, that when I was sent off in a hurry to seize the peculiarities of a man, I found he required a great deal of study, and so was obliged to leave out the caricature and put as many characteristics in as I could.

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 circ.u.mstances 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 Amba.s.sador, 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 gla.s.ses 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 Amba.s.sador's speech. I do hope you were not one of them." I was glad to be able to a.s.sure her of my innocence, and that I was too engrossed in Mr. Bayard's appearance to follow very closely his speech.