John Leech, His Life and Work Volume I Part 18

The frontispiece to the _Month_ for August is an etching by Leech of singular beauty, called "Charade Acting." I have looked in vain through the letter-press for any explanation of this charade, so I suppose the meaning is purposely left for discovery to the intelligence of the observer. It represents the clever performance of Mr. Smiley and Miss Corgy.

Mr. Smiley evidently represents a valorous knight--else why that dish-cover shield, that saucepan helmet, that long surcoat of nightshirt in the place of mail? The knight has armed himself further with sword and lance (sword of any period, lance a roasting-spit). Those warlike preparations must have been made in defence of that delicious girl leaning over the back of the ancient chair. Is she supposed to be a distressed damsel leaning from her prison-window and listening to Mr.

Smiley's vows of liberating her or dying in the attempt? If so, where is the word that will express as much? Not in the brain of the stout old gentleman who is fast asleep amongst the audience, nor in that of the pretty little girl who sits in front of him apparently wondering why people should be "so silly." The lady who tries to hide a yawn with her fan has evidently "given it up," and the two lovely women near her are much in the same condition.

Now we come to the belle of the month of August, who is riding with her papa in Kensington Gardens. An attempt was made--later, I think, than the Exhibition year--to extend Rotten Row into Kensington Gardens, and thus deprive pedestrians--notably children and nursemaids--of their promenades amongst the trees. For some months the equestrian habitues of Rotten Row careered in the Gardens, to the terror and danger of children, and the disturbance of many groups of soldiers and nursemaids.

This usurpation created very strong opposition.

I lived in the neighbourhood, and I accompanied a deputation to Sir Cornewall Lewis--then in power--with a view of impressing upon that Minister the desirability of rescinding the objectionable privilege which had been granted to the riders. We had some eloquent talkers, but their oratory seemed to me to make no impression upon Sir C. Lewis, who may have listened, but during the harangues he was always writing letters, and no sooner was one finished than he began another; and we left him without an intimation of our success or failure. But what is certain is, that within a week of our interview the equestrians disappeared--I hope for ever--from Kensington Gardens. Leech being a constant rider, both spoke and drew in favour of the new ride. Drawings may be found in the _Punch_ series in which he laughs at the opponents of the horses in the Gardens, and I remember his indignation when I told him of our deputation and its successful issue.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE BELLE OF THE MONTH--AUGUST--TAKING A "CONSt.i.tUTIONAL"

IN KENSINGTON GARDENS. TIME, 8 A.M.]

Leech was never happier than in the infinite variety of his pictures of life at the seaside; his invention was inexhaustible, as numberless groups of seaside visitors engaged in the search of health or pleasure--from the small digger on the sands to the valetudinarian at the Spa--sufficiently prove. Never was he more delightful than in dealing with the charming lady bathers, one of whom plays the part of the _Month's_ "Belle of September."

I think this picture might have inspired the poet of the _Month_, but his lyre is silent.

"The Balcony Nuisance!" Without some explanation the drawing that follows this t.i.tle would be perfectly incomprehensible. How, in the name of common-sense, of propriety, or of justice, can the word "nuisance" be applicable to the occupants of that balcony? Well, it is in this wise: A correspondent of the _Month_, who signs himself "Narcissus," lives in a suburban square, from which he indites a remarkable letter. According to "Narcissus," suburban squares are famous for the production of vast numbers of "single ladies." He calls his square a "realm of girldom,"

the proportion of the belles being very great over the marriageable young men, and therefore they watch with keen eyes for any new flirtations. "And now," said he, "comes my complaint. I cannot call at any house where there are daughters but, the instant I knock, every balcony near me is filled with waves of rustling muslin, and a dozen pairs of bright eyes are on the _qui vive_ for every movement or expression. I need not say how annoying this is."

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE BALCONY NUISANCE.]

I see no trace of annoyance in the simpering buck who is the cynosure of all eyes in the drawing. Leech evidently saw through the affectation of annoyance, and depicted the Narcissus mind in its real condition of gratified conceit.

The _Month's_ October issue contains a good deal of Leech's work. The number contains a "Belle of the Month," but she is so inferior in attractiveness to her sisters that I am ungallant enough to pa.s.s her by.

I find, however, a pretty musical group ent.i.tled "Pestal." In 1851 Mr.

Albert Smith says that Pestal, who was a Russian officer, was imprisoned for marrying without the consent of his Sovereign, and "cast for death."

Of course, though, according to Mr. Smith, this unfortunate man may have been a "Pestal-ent person," we are not expected to believe the crime for which he was executed was only that of neglecting to ask the Czar's consent to his marriage. "On the eve of his execution, as he lay _ironed_, awaiting the next morning's _mangling_," continues the inveterate punster, "in a happy moment of enthusiasm, he composed the waltz that bears his name."

The pretty music seems to have sentimentalized the handsome youth, and drawn him closer to the performer, who is one of those sweet creatures with whom the artist has made us so familiar. I cannot refrain from presenting my readers with an example of the _poetry_ that adorns the _Month_, so that they may be convinced of the propriety of giving them as little of it as possible. Forty-one verses, of which the two following are fair examples, accompany the drawing called Pestal:

"In London, as usual, last season I spent, To Pocklington Square my notes were addressed all, And wherever I rambled or wandered or went, I was pestered with that horrid pest of a 'Pestal.'

"I thought this mysterious, moreover, and queer, 'Tis better at once that the truth be confest all-- That all through the city one word should appear, And that word the incomprehensible 'Pestal.'"

"The Great Dinner-Bell Nuisance" not only gives occasion for a capital drawing by Leech, but the t.i.tle also heads a capital paper, in which the absurdity of the function, when there is not the least necessity for it, is well satirized. A retired lawyer named Watkins Brown lives in a village which contains at most 347 people, "in a comfortable sort of house in the Italian style, which he christened Somerford Villa." He has no children, and his establishment consists of five persons, Mrs. W. B., Betsy, the cook, etc., including b.u.t.tons, the page. This boy, armed with a bell, is a nuisance to the neighbourhood; he performs upon it three times a day. "Now," says the indignant writer, "why does b.u.t.tons do this? Is it to echo back the sound that comes at the same hours from Sir Marmaduke Hamilton's, of Somerford Hall, and to impress people that Brown and Sir Marmaduke are the only gentlemen in the neighbourhood? It can't be to let Brown and his wife know that luncheon or dinner is ready, for in nine cases out of ten they are in the room when the cloth is laid. Again I ask, why does b.u.t.tons do this? If he is of opinion that his master is unaware it is time to dress for dinner, why doesn't he tell him so at once when he is in the room, instead of using such an absurd system of information? However, by six o'clock Brown and his wife are in the drawing-room, and b.u.t.tons seeing them there, and perceiving that they are just about to go to the dining-room, rushes out to the little court-yard, and then to the door of the miniature conservatory, and again commits the offence he had committed half an hour before. In the baby courtyard there are two dogs chained, and two other sporting dogs in a model of a kennel. Well, b.u.t.tons appears in the presence of the dogs with his great bell, and the sensible brutes, conscious of the pain they are about to endure, immediately set up a howl of quadruple agony, to which the bell tolls its awful accompaniment."

Exactly fifty years ago I went on a portrait-painting tour into the country. Some sitters were promised to me, and I had hope, subsequently justified, that they would be the precursors of others. Amongst my patrons was a clergyman of aristocratic lineage; who, though he had inherited little in the shape of money, was possessed of certain tastes common to the upper ten, in which he could not afford to indulge; but amongst them was the dinner-bell, in which he did indulge, to the great annoyance of his neighbours. The Vicarage was an unpretending house with a small garden about it, in a small village; the inhabitants were chiefly Methodists, and the congregation at church was the smallest I ever saw.

The Vicar was not popular; the villagers disliked what they called "his airs and graces," and they detested his dinner-bell. After sittings from the Vicar, he and I took occasional walks together, and one day, as we were pa.s.sing a cobbler's shop, the proprietor of it, "a detestable little Radical Methodist," as the Vicar called him, appeared at his door with a huge bell in his hand; he stepped into the middle of the road, and, affecting not to see us, he rang it furiously.

"Man! man!" cried the Vicar, "stop that! What are you making that dreadful noise for?"

"Well, ye see," replied the cobbler, in the language of the county, "it's ma dinner-time, and aase joust ringin' mysen in, to a bit of berry pudden."

I was so vividly reminded by the _Month's_ "Dinner-Bell Nuisance" of my early experience, that I could not resist my inclination to introduce it into what purports to be the life of John Leech, in which it has no business whatever to appear. Once more I apologize, and hope I may not be tempted to "do it again."

Of all the Belles of the Month, the belle of the month November is perhaps the most lovable. There she stands on Brighton Pier--stands, that is to say, as well as she can on those pretty feet of hers, against a wind that is so boisterously rude to her and to her mother, whose figure, blown out of shape, makes a striking contrast to her daughter's.

The little dog declines to face the gale, which seems likely to carry him away altogether, as well as the struggling child behind. The touches of cloud and sea, together with the screaming gulls, are indicated with the facile skill peculiar to Leech.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE BELLE OF THE MONTH NOVEMBER "IN DISTRESS OFF A LEE-Sh.o.r.e--BRIGHTON PIER."]

In a paper headed "Hotels," Mr. Smith expatiates somewhat tediously on the "old-established house" of the "old coaching days." He says "the inmates of the coffee-room were mostly commercial travellers." Those gentlemen may have been permitted to use the coffee-room; but my recollection of such places tells me that the commercials always had a room of their own, specially provided for them.

The writer goes on to tell us that "the commercial gents," on the occasion of his discovery of them in the coffee-room, "pulled off their boots--not a very delicate performance--before everybody; and then, after sitting over the fire, and drinking hot brown brandy and water until they were nearly at red heat, ordered 'a pan of coals,' and went to bed."

Yes; and provided an excellent subject for Leech, worthy of being reproduced here, or anywhere, if only for that inimitable old chambermaid, who has lighted commercial gents to bed any time these forty years.

Judging from the twist of the commercial's necktie as he follows, or rather staggers, after the ancient maid, the brown brandy has done its work; and it is ten to one against his carrying that box of patterns safely upstairs.

One boot is successfully removed from commercial number two, and it will evidently not be the fault of the man who is struggling with the other if it does not follow suit.

Let the observer note the marked difference in character in all these figures, as well as the skill and truth with which the details in the room are rendered.

In 1851 Bloomerism was in full bloom, or rather the attempts of few foolish people to make it prevail amongst us were so persistent as to bring upon them attacks by pen and pencil.

As I have already drawn attention to the craze, and to some examples of the way Leech dealt with it, I should have made no further allusion to the subject had I not found in the pages of the _Month_ drawings of such charm that, in justice to the magazine and my readers, I felt I must notice them.

First, then, we have a Bloomer whip "tooling" her friends down to the races. If Bloomerism prevailed, this is the sight that Epsom might have seen in the year 1851, to say nothing of equestrian bloomers of whose horsewomanship Leech shows us examples.

I think in my last selection from the _Month_ I might claim for myself a position resembling that of the pyrotechnic artist whose display of fireworks culminates in a glorious blaze in the last scene of his entertainment, if I were permitted to introduce it.

My firework takes the form of a bouquet of young ladies at some "ancestral home" in the country, who have just received a box of books from London--perhaps from Mudie. What a bevy of beauties!--two of them already absorbed in the last new novel, while another makes off with an armful of treasures.

When I say that this drawing--whether we regard it as a composition of figures and of light and shade, or as an example of Leech's supreme power over grace of action and beauty--is worthy of admiration for itself, and of our grat.i.tude to the _Month_ for the opportunity of reproducing it, I fear no contradiction.

CHAPTER XII.

MR. ADAMS AND LEECH.

In the pursuit of material for this memoir, I have had the good fortune to make the acquaintance of one of Leech's earliest and most constant friends, Mr. Charles F. Adams, of Barkway, Hertfordshire. This gentleman is the beau-ideal of a country squire--handsome, hale and hearty, though far past middle age.

The letters I am privileged to publish show the terms on which the friends lived, and prove beyond a doubt that many of the hunting scenes which sparkle so brilliantly and so frequently in the pages of "Life and Character" owe their origin to the opportunities afforded to the artist by his friend.

This long-continued intimacy commenced when the men were both young; and the very first development of Leech's taste for horses began with his acquaintance with Mr. Adams. It is told of that gentleman that, being the possessor of two horses, and being at that early time employed in business in London during the day, the night served him and Leech for a wild career, Adams driving his horses tandem-fashion far into the country, rousing sleepy toll-keepers and terrifying belated wayfarers, while Leech's watchful eye noted incidents for future ill.u.s.tration.

That Leech could sing, and sing well, I know, for I have often heard him troll forth in a deep voice his favourite song of "King Death"; but that he had ever performed in public I was unaware till enlightened by Mr.

Adams, who told me that it was a favourite and not infrequent prank of these two spirits to disguise themselves in imitation of street-musicians, and, with the a.s.sistance of a young fellow named Milburn, as wild as themselves, descend upon the London streets, and by singing glees make "a lot of money."

"Leech used to go round with the hat," said Adams; "but we never could make the fellow look common enough. Still, he collected a good deal, though he failed on one occasion; for, on presenting his hat to a bystander, who had been an attentive listener, the man claimed exemption as being in 'the profession,' in proof of which he produced a fiddle from behind him."

Barkway is in the heart of a hunting country, and the meets of the "Puckeridge" frequently took place near Mr. Adams' house, or at an easy distance from it. The house itself--a large ma.s.s of red brick, ivy, gables, and twisted chimneys--is one of those old places which have been enlarged to suit modern convenience without any sacrifice of the original design and quaint character.

"Ah," said my host, as he showed me into his dining-room, "what happy times we have had in this room, when Leech, Millais, Lemon--editor of _Punch_, you know, long ago--Tenniel, and others, found themselves round that table!"