Part 13

The Hon. Henry Graves was another popular portrait-painter of the past. I think that in all probability the best thing he ever did was a miniature portrait of myself, which, on account of its beautiful execution, is quite a little gem. For some years Mr. Graves had no success at all, but a portrait of the late Lady Alexandra Lennox being very much admired, he leapt into popularity, and afterwards, I believe, regularly made several thousands every year. Thorburn also painted what I suppose would be called a miniature of me. His particular bent lay in painting portraits rather like miniatures, but covering a very much larger surface. Another fashionable painter was Buckner, who painted my portrait in what may be called the keepsake style (as a matter of fact, an engraving of it actually appeared in a number of the _Keepsake_). Though somewhat artificial in pose, this picture was not at all unpleasing, being far more graceful than any modern effort of the same sort. At the present time, alas, the art of portrait-painting, except in one or two cases, cannot be said to stand at anything but a very moderate level.

Buckner, it was said, invariably made his portraits more beautiful than the sitters really were, in order to please people and thus cause their friends to flock to his studio.

Lithographs after Count D’Orsay’s drawings of well-known people of his day, which were once so popular, are now seldom to be seen. I well remember Lord Beaconsfield telling me how anxious he was to secure a picture of Napoleon the Third done by D’Orsay; it was coming up for sale at Christie’s, and he feared that it would fetch at least two hundred pounds, a sum which he declared himself ill able to afford. However, when the day came, the bidding was very feeble, and he secured the picture for twenty pounds. I suppose it still hangs at Hughenden.

Sir John Millais I used to meet every year at the shooting parties given by that most delightful of hosts, Sir Henry (now Lord) James. I remember that, by a curious fatality, the weather during these shooting parties was always execrable, but the clever and pleasant guests, together with the most excellent of hosts, used to make us all forget the torrents of rain which fell most of the time.

Lord Leighton also for many years I regularly saw, for he always formed one of a party which came to us every Easter. Nevertheless I cannot say that I ever really knew Lord Leighton well, for there always seemed to be something mysterious about him—a sort of curious reticence, as it were, which prevented one becoming intimate with him. Perhaps this was but fancy; in any case we always remained the best of friends.

A newspaper once mentioned Lord Leighton’s picture of Cimabue finding Giotto at work on his sketches as the “Discovery of Grotto.”

Another criticism of the same sort which appeared in 1884 was the one which described Walker’s “Harbour of Refuge”—a representation of an almshouse, in the swarded quadrangle of which a mower plies his scythe—as a good sea-piece.

Mr. Hamilton Aidé—one of the last survivors of the little group of which I have just spoken—passed away only a few months ago. A man of singularly refined taste and literary culture, Mr. Aidé was also a very talented painter in water-colours. The most charitable of men, he would occasionally have little exhibitions of his works, and as they secured a ready sale, many poor people benefited by his artistic gifts. His works, principally landscapes in Italy and Sicily, always sold well; at the last exhibition of them in Bond Street, only a few months before his death, they were purchased with great rapidity, and the poor, I believe, benefited to the extent of four or five hundred pounds.

I used at one time to hear a good deal about various artists and their work from my dear governess, Miss Redgrave, whose family (one of which, Mr. Samuel Redgrave, wrote the invaluable _Dictionary of Artists of the English School_) was well known in artistic circles.

A great friend of the Redgraves was Webster, whose pictures were at one time very popular on account of their genial humour and gaiety. Many, indeed, were engraved. Among his best-known works were “The Smile and the Frown,” illustrating the two different moods of the schoolmaster in Goldsmith’s _Deserted Village_—“The Boy with many Friends”—“The Village Choir”—“The Dame School”—“Coming out of School,” and others depicting subjects of a similar kind. Mr. Webster was very lively and full of fun, and devoted to children, like many people who have none of their own. He would describe how, as a boy, he had once, by mistake, been locked into the village stocks by his brother, and kept there for some time, owing to the key having been mislaid. He would laugh very much over the recollection of the gibes levelled at him by the village boys whilst he was awaiting his release, adding, however, that the actual experience was anything but pleasant. Another great joke of his was that when he wanted to join the Civil Service Stores, at the time when they were first started, he was informed that only persons connected with the Civil Service could be admitted as members, but triumphantly obtained his ticket as the orphan of a Civil Servant, being then over seventy years of age. Up to about the year 1856 Mr. Webster resided in Kensington, but the rest of his life was spent at a charming old house at Cranbrook, in Kent. During a severe attack of gout, he went one winter’s day, wrapped up in blankets in a bath-chair, to the Round Pond in Kensington Gardens, in order to note some ice and snow effects for his picture of “Boys at a Slide,” his reason being that he feared a thaw might set in and lose him the opportunity for observation. In his later years he suffered terribly from the same affection, and would constantly declare that it was only with the greatest difficulty he could put an eye to a small figure or a curl of hair in its proper place, as his poor fingers and trembling hands caused him to paint details, and even features, in quite wrong positions.

The Redgrave family had also known Sir David Wilkie, whose picture “Rent Day” created such a sensation. By a veritable _tour de force_ the painter contrived in this work to represent a man coughing. The figure in question is in the very centre of this picture. As a rule, attempts to depict people coughing, yawning, or the like, are far from successful.

There was, for instance, a picture I remember which was called “A Pinch of Snuff,” in which the artist had made an effort to represent a sneeze, and the result was not very satisfactory. Morland, however, in his “Connoisseur and Tired Boy,” has shown the latter gaping in a very realistic manner.

“The Long Sermon” (a picture by Hunt) also contained a study of gaping—a young man being depicted as being quite unable to repress this somewhat curious natural effect of being bored.

William Hunt, who died in 1864, was a fine painter of still life, and a sturdy and genial humorist in art as well as one of the greatest (if not the greatest) English flower painters in water-colours who ever lived. A loving painter of rustic life, he cared little for professional models, preferring to paint the real villagers whom he knew and understood. “The Blessing,” a countryman returning thanks for his humble meal, is probably Hunt’s masterpiece. Of this Ruskin said, “It is more than a sermon; it is a poem.”

Hunt being a cripple, he was, as his family said, “good for nothing,” so they made him an artist. In early life he assisted in the redecoration of the rebuilt Drury Lane Theatre, and painted part of a drop-scene. Curiously enough, a great many artists who have achieved success originally began their careers as scene-painters. Amongst them may be mentioned De Loutherbourg, the contemporary of Rowlandson, who was a scene-painter at Drury Lane Theatre; Stanfield and Roberts, as well as David Cox, who, in the early part of the nineteenth century, was assistant painter at the Birmingham Theatre. The late Mr. Thomas Sidney Cooper also, I believe, once did a little in this line. George Chambers, marine painter to William IV., was scene-painter at the Pavilion Theatre.

Amongst architects, Inigo Jones must not be forgotten as having practically been a scene-painter, for his genius largely contributed to the success of the masques which were so popular in his day.

A relative of Inigo Jones, who was also his pupil, attained some celebrity as a designer of the scenery and accessories used in these entertainments. This was John Webb, some of whose sketches and designs are still, I believe, in the Duke of Devonshire’s library.

The first piece of regular scenery used on the English stage is said to have figured in a play at the Duke’s Theatre, Lincoln’s Inn Fields, in 1662. Evelyn, of course, mentions “sceanery” in his diary some three years before that date, but this in all probability merely consisted of hangings of figured tapestry.

My eldest brother, the late Lord Orford, was an ardent collector of everything connected with the Stewarts and possessed a good many interesting portraits. Amongst these was a painting of Prince Charlie executed by Blanchet in 1730 for the Grand Duke of Tuscany; this formerly belonged to the Duchesse de Berri when she lived at Venice, and is now, together with a picture of Cardinal York, in the possession of Colonel Walpole of Heckfield Place, Hants, who has a considerable number of valuable Stewart relics, amongst them a gold snuff-box with a secret spring revealing a miniature of Prince Charlie, whilst outside are inscribed the names of those killed in 1745. Though there are many collectors of memorials of the Stewarts, portraits of members of that family are occasionally unrecognised at auctions. Such a case occurred quite recently when an excellent portrait of the old Pretender was labelled at the Duke of Fife’s sale as “the Comte d’Artois by Danloux”! This was the more extraordinary as the Pretender is shown wearing the Order of the Garter, a decoration which the Comte d’Artois never received. The portrait in question, being purchased by a friend of mine for a very moderate figure, was discovered by him to have been the work of Batoni, an Italian artist, who executed an almost precisely similar portrait of Prince Charlie, but of smaller size, which may be seen hanging in the National Portrait Gallery.

A younger brother of mine was also much interested in the Stewarts, and possessed some curious letters from the Pretender, certain of which are dealt with in the Appendix to this book.

I possess a number of the old silhouette portraits very skilfully cut out of black paper, amongst them one of George III. Silhouettes, in the days before photography, were given to relatives and friends just as photographs are to-day. At Eridge Castle there are several very good ones of unusual size. Everybody knows the small silhouette in a black frame so often seen in curiosity shops, but big ones are, I think, much less frequently to be met with. Elaborate coats of arms used also formerly to be cut out of white paper; these, when pasted upon a black background, produced a very good effect. Some little time ago I was fortunate enough to come across some Walpole arms done in this fashion, which I at once secured, as a specimen of really good work of this kind is by no means easy to procure. Silhouette cutting of every sort is now more or less a lost art; it belonged, indeed, to a period when people had plenty of time, and women were content to stay at home, beguiling the long winter evenings with simple work of one kind or another, which would be not at all to the taste of their more luxurious descendants.

Princess Elizabeth, daughter of King George III., was an adept at cutting silhouettes and figures out of paper. I possess a little volume which is entirely filled with her work. Some of the designs, instead of being black, are white, and with each of these is a slip of green paper to serve as a background. This little portfolio was formerly in the possession of Lady Banks, to whom it was given by the Princess.

The best silhouette I have is one representing Mrs. Jordan—I think in the character of “Sir Harry Wildair”—the pretty features (immortalised by Chantrey in the monument at Père la Chaise) crowned by a profusely plumed cocked hat. Of her royal lover, William IV., in whose reign I lived, many stories used to be told illustrating his kindly nature and great devotion to children, in whose society he absolutely revelled. Lady Georgiana Curzon, for instance, well remembered how this kindly monarch kept a whole cupboard full of dolls to give to little girls.

This cupboard was under the care of a favourite Hanoverian servant, whose peculiar personal appearance had caused the King to nickname him “Ugly Mugs.” Lady Georgiana used to tell how, when she was taken to the palace, King William would say, “Now, little girl, you can go and ask Ugly Mugs for a doll,” upon which, running off to the individual in question, she made her request, “Please, Mr. Ugly Mugs, may I have a doll?” The Hanoverian invariably met this by pretending to be very angry, and by saying, “My name is not Ugly Mugs,” in a tone of simulated rage, but the doll was always produced, whilst the kindly King never failed to laugh at the description of Ugly Mugs’s rage.

As a child Lady Georgiana Curzon was present at the wedding of Lord de Ros’s sister to Lord Cowley, which, by the wish of King William, took place at St. George’s Chapel, Windsor—I rather think she was one of the bridesmaids. Anyhow, I know that she used to describe her great excitement on the occasion in question, and how much she looked forward to the ceremony, and especially to the wedding breakfast and other festivities which would come after its celebration.

Lord de Ros, however, who was fond of a joke, took her aside the day before the wedding, and addressed her very gravely. “My dear child,” said he, “I know you are looking forward very much to the breakfast and amusements which you imagine are going to follow this wedding, but don’t count too much upon them, for I may tell you in confidence that everything depends upon whether my sister can make up her mind or not, and I warn you that she is extremely unreliable. When you hear the Dean ask, ‘Will you have this man for your wedded husband?’ prick up your ears, for everything depends upon her answer. As a matter of fact I half believe she will say ‘No,’ in which case you may say good-bye to breakfast and everything else.”

Little Lady Georgiana was so upset at this that that night she hardly slept at all, and words could not describe her excitement in the chapel next day. The fateful moment, however, at last arrived, and when the bride repeated in a clear voice the words “I will,” Lady Georgiana, who could contain herself no longer, immediately shouted out, “You all heard her! You all heard her!” So great was her excitement that only the assurance that everything was all right could restore order.

One occasionally comes across queer little paper circles elaborately ornamented and engraved. These are old watch-papers, which it was formerly the custom for watchmakers to put in the outside cases of old-fashioned watches which came to them to be repaired. These watch-papers generally bore the repairer’s name and address, surrounded with an appropriate design, and sometimes also contained a motto. William Teanby, a Lincolnshire schoolmaster, achieved a certain celebrity on account of his great skill in writing manuscript watch-papers with a crow-quill pen. There are still in existence some very pretty old watch-paper designs printed on white satin. One of the best of these shows a mass of coloured garlands enclosing a miniature silhouette of King George III.

These watch-papers, like engravings, are sometimes found in different states. I have the first state of a very quaint one issued by J. Woolett, watchmaker, Maidstone. On it is shown the figure of Time pointing to a dial, whilst his scythe is seen lying at his feet. Around the rim of this watch-paper are simple directions for regulating the watch.

I possess a good many engraved concert and ball tickets, the work of Bartolozzi, Smirke, Ibbetson, Legoux, and others. Legoux, in particular, executed a number of benefit tickets closely following the style of his master, Bartolozzi, whose own productions in this line, unlike most of his stippled work, were invariably engraved by his own hand. These tickets, generally designed in a spirit of fanciful allegory by his friend Cipriani, were, as a rule, intended for benefits and charitable entertainments, in which case Bartolozzi would engrave them for nothing. There is a splendid collection of them in the British Museum, presented in 1818 by Lady Banks.

Amongst other odds and ends which I have collected are a number of old bill-heads, several of which are prettily engraved in quite an elaborate fashion. The best of these dates from about the middle of the eighteenth century, and on it, within an elaborate border, is a representation of a merchant showing some elaborate wall-papers to a lady in a huge hooped skirt, who is accompanied by a richly dressed gallant. The whole composition is quite a work of art, and contrasts most favourably with the bill forms in use at the present day. Many bill-heads continued to have little engravings upon them till about the middle of the last century, when this pretty custom practically died out.

Up to quite recent years an enormous number of valentines used to be sent on the 14th of February, St. Valentine’s day. Most of these, it must be confessed, were of a very inartistic and tawdry character, whilst in some cases ridiculous and even insulting pictures were sent to unpopular people. This custom, however, for some reason or other has now completely died out, though it is not so very many years ago that thousands of valentines must have passed through the post. On the other hand, many more Christmas cards are sent than was formerly the case. Sending Christmas cards, it may be added, is a custom of comparatively recent introduction, the first of these cards having been printed in England about the year 1846. This, I believe, was drawn by Mr. J. C. Horsley, R.A., at the suggestion of Mr. (afterwards Sir Henry) Cole, well known in his day as “King Cole.” The card in question was divided into three parts by a trellis-work design, and in the two side panels were designs representing “Feeding the hungry,” and “Clothing the naked,” whilst the centre panel contained a merry family group drinking the toast which was printed beneath—“A merry Christmas and a happy New Year to you.” About a thousand only of these cards were produced, and it was not until 1862 that Messrs. Goodall and Sons issued the first series of Christmas cards which came into general use. These had border designs of holly, mistletoe, and robins. Messrs. Goodall did not, however, continue to produce Christmas cards, but after a few years relinquished this portion of their business to Messrs. Marcus Ward and Co., under whose auspices the Christmas card attained the great vogue which shows no signs of abating.

XI

Collecting—Old watchstands—Samplers—Needlework pictures—Old military prints—French engravings—French furniture—The Hôtel de Ménars—Mr. Alfred Rothschild’s collection—The Tilsit table at Hertford House and its history—A £20,000 commode in danger— Eccentricity of Mr. Hawkins—Old English furniture inadequately represented in National Collections—Chippendale and the austere Sheraton—An apostle of good taste—Lady Hamilton’s cabinet— Furniture supports—Knole and its treasures—Origin of the dumb-bell—A gifted lady.

In these days the number of collectors has become enormous. Besides those who collect pictures, old furniture, and china, many people make a special hobby of prints, old glass, old watches, and even old watchstands, not to mention many other trifling relics of the past to which time has imparted some share of interest and value. Some of the old wooden watchstands just mentioned are exceedingly pretty, being formed of cleverly carved wood in most cases covered with a coating of gilt, whilst many specimens would appear to be of French origin, some of the finest recalling the graceful timepieces of the eighteenth century. Watchstands may still occasionally be picked up for a very moderate price, though when of exceptional quality they may cost something between fifteen and twenty pounds. Such watchstands, it must be clearly understood, have nothing in common with the hideous Victorian wire arrangement which the grandfathers of the present generation were wont to place on their dressing-tables or by their bedside. In the old wooden watchstand the dial alone of the watch is shown within a circular space so contrived that the watchstand, as has before been said, presents the appearance of an old clock.

Samplers, which not so very many years ago were only to be found in old nurseries and forgotten attics, are now eagerly sought for, as are old needlework pictures, which in many instances are highly ornamental. A similar kind of picture is that in which the dress of the figures is formed of coloured pieces of silk, cleverly worked on to an eighteenth century print. A very interesting specimen of this work which I possess represents an officer engaged in conversation with an elaborately dressed lady, every detail of the costumes being carefully reproduced in appropriate colours, whilst the figures themselves are cut out of two prints published by Carington Bowles. The whole composition of these pictures is most cleverly carried out, the wall-hangings and carpets being accurately represented by stuffs of suitable pattern. Signed and dated 1784, this composition, as was usually the case with needlework pictures, was the work of an amateur. In past days many of the common sort of prints were utilised in this manner, many hours being whiled away by ladies whose sphere of activity would to-day be thought somewhat limited.

Print-collecting, in which so many people are now interested, has of late years become a very expensive hobby, but there are still some minor forms of it which are accessible to those of moderate purses. Military prints, that is, representations of old uniforms, are as yet not particularly costly, and their brilliant colouring produces an exceedingly decorative effect. Such prints are very fascinating to lovers of past fashions, besides according very well with the hunting and coaching prints which have now for many years been in considerable request. A very pretty set of military prints is one drawn by Dayes and engraved by Kirk in 1792. These prints, six in number, representing the uniform of the Guards of that day, were published by Captain Hewgill of the Coldstream regiment, and sold by Boydell at the Shakespeare gallery.

Of late, French engravings have come into great favour with many English collectors. They are, as a rule, exceedingly pretty, expressing as it were the very spirit of that pleasure-loving France which disappeared in the blood-stained days of the Terror.

About the most valuable French line engraving, as well as one of the prettiest, is “Les Hasards heureux de l’Escarpolette,” engraved by Nicolas de Launay, after the picture by Fragonard, a replica of which hangs in the Wallace Collection, where it is known as “The Swing.” The little lady in the Wallace Collection, it may be observed, has no plumes upon her hat, whilst these exist in the engraving, which is taken from another similar picture now in the possession of a French collector, Baron Edmond de Rothschild.