THE SERGEANT-AT-ARMS' ROOM.THE SERGEANT-AT-ARMS' ROOM.From "Punch."
This room is still the Sergeant-at-Arms' office, but in it are no portraits, no black beetles—on paper; there may be some living specimens, for aught I know, haunting the old room in search of the lively company, the pipes, and the huge decanters. The present Sergeant-at-Arms is as unlike a black beetle as he is unlike the Bohemian Gosset. But I shall be surprised if, when the courteous and universally appreciated Sergeant-at-Arms retires, and the present Assistant Sergeant-at-Arms, Mr. Gosset, takes his place, we shall not see the old room again the most entertaining spot in the Houses of Parliament.
When Professor Rogers was escorting me to the famous room, he implored me to leave politics outside of it,—as if I ever talked politics in the House! "Rule is—no politics, so don't forget it."
"Ah," he said, as soon as he sat down, "why aint you in the House, Tom, vilifying and misrepresenting the Irish as I heard you this afternoon! Disgraceful, I say, disgraceful!" and he thumped the table.
"No politics, Professor," "Dick" Power remarked.
CAPT. GOSSET, LATE SERGEANT-AT-ARMS.CAPT. GOSSET, LATE SERGEANT-AT-ARMS.From the "Illustrated London News."
"Oh, indeed, my noble Whip; that comes well from a beater to a beaten gang. Why aint you at your post,—the door-post, ha! ha!—and rally your men and overthrow these damned Tories? Oh, yes, King-Harman, your good looks do not atone for bad measures."
"No politics, Professor," all cried.
"Come, Furniss, come away, they're all drunk here. I'll tell you my last story on the Terrace. These Tories destroy everything."
Such was my introduction to this select little club in Parliament, in which, with the exception of the Professor, all forgot politics, and the best of the Tories, Home Rulers, Radicals, and officials were at peace. I was always on most friendly terms with my "Black Beetle," a proof that caricature leaves no unkind sting when the victim is really a man of the world and a jolly good fellow. Surely nothing could be more offensive to an official in high office than to be continually represented as a black beetle!
When I did not "invent" a character, such as the "Beetle," I adopted for a change various styles of drawing. For even the work of a caricaturist becomes monotonous if he is but a master of one style and a slave to mannerisms. To avoid this I am Egyptian, Chinese, Japanese, and at times "Childish"—aspecimen of each style inPunchthe proprietors have kindly allowed me to republish in these pages. There is really very little artistic merit in the "Childish" style of work. I did not use it often, but whenever I did I tried to introduce some "drawing" as well. Here, for instance, are my Academy skits—drawn as if by a boy, but the figures of the teacher and pupil are in drawing. By the way, these different styles, I am glad to see, are still kept alive in the pages ofPunchby new—if not younger—hands. This year's (1901) Academy skits and other drawings, I notice, are signed "'Arry's Son," but they are not—as might be thought—by one of my own boys.
MY CHILDISH STYLE IN PUNCH.MY "CHILDISH" STYLE INPUNCH.
During most of the time I enjoyed a privilege which belonged to no one else, not excepting Members, for even Members must, like schoolboys, keep "within bounds." They are not permitted, for instance, to enter the Press Gallery, or the portion of the House reserved to the Press; neither can Press-men enter the Members' rooms at will. The public, being ignorant of the stringent rules of St. Stephen's, cannot understand the obstacles there are to seeing the House. One instance will suffice to show the absurdity of the rules. The ex-Treasurer of the House of Lords, whose acquaintance I had, and whose offices were in the corridor by the Select Chamber, could not take anyone into the House, even when it was empty, without a written order. Although armed with a Gallery Ticket, and also on the "Lobby list,"i.e., the right to enter the Inner Lobby, I was not free to make any sketches of the House itself, inside or out. Requiring to get such material for the elaborate interiors and exteriors I use in my Lecture-Entertainment, "The Humours of Parliament," I boldly bearded the highest official in his den, and left with this simple document. Aladdin's key could not have caused more surprise than this talisman. The head of the police, the Sergeant-at-Arms himself, could not interfere. "The Palace of Westminster" includes the House of Commons, so I made full use of my unique opportunity, and possess material invaluable for my Parliamentary work.
I SKETCH THE HOUSE.I SKETCH THE HOUSE.
I had facilities in another way. At one time the Engineer-in-Chief was a friend of mine, Dr. Percy. Few men were better known in and about the House than this popular official engineer of the Palace of Westminster. To begin with, he was over six feet high, and had a voice that would carry from the Commons to the House of Lords. He had to be "all over the place"—under the House, over the House, and all round the House. He was as well-known in the smoking-room of the Garrick Club as he was in the smoking-room of the Commons, and it was when I joined the Garrick I made his acquaintance. He was also an artconnoisseur, and had a very fine collection of water-colours. The first time I saw the Doctor was years before on a steamer on the Rance, between Normandy and Brittany. I made a sketch of his extraordinary features, so that when he entered the Garrick Club I recognised the original of my caricature. We frequently walked down to the Houses of Parliament together after dinner, and more than once he invited me behind the scenes and under the stage of Parliament, through the "fog filter" and ventilating shafts, when he was wont to indulge in a grim, saturnine humour appropriate to his subterranean subject. As he opened the iron doors for us to pass from one passage to another, close to and above which the benches are situated,—for the whole House is honeycombed for ventilating purposes,—he pretended that long experience enabled him to discriminate between the odours from different parts of the House, and declared that he could tap and draw off a specimen of the atmosphere on the Government benches, the Opposition side, or the Radical seats, at will.
"There, my boy! eh? Pretty thick, aint it? That's the Scotch lot. Now hold your nose. I open this door and we get the Irish draught. Ugh! Come on, come on quickly—mixture of Irish, working-men M.P.'s, and Rads. Kill a horse!"
The table of the House, which Mr. Disraeli erroneously described as "a solid piece of furniture," is in reality—like so many arguments which are flung across it—perfectly hollow;and one evening when I arrived with Dr. Percy and found that in consequence of the winding-up speech of Mr. Gladstone in a great debate the Press Gallery was full and all the seats under the gallery were occupied, Dr. Percy kindly allowed me to sitinside the table. I was sorely tempted to try the effect of inserting my pencil through the grating which forms the side of the table, and tickle the shins of the right hon. gentleman. Anyway, I looked straight into the faces of the Ministers and those on the front bench, and not only heard every word, but the asides and whispers as well.
DR. PERCY. THE HOUSE UP.DR. PERCY. "THE HOUSE UP."From "Punch."
I only once caricatured Dr. Percy inPunch(December, 1886), after there had been a sort of earthquake in the Inner Lobby of the House, and the tesselated pavement was thrown up. I madea drawing, "The House up at last." Dr. Percy "is personally directing the improvements." It is interesting to know that some of the pavement taken up on that occasion is laid in the hall of an hon. Member's house in the country, not far from West Kirby, Cheshire.
MR. PUNCH'S PUZZLE-HEADED PEOPLE.MR. PUNCH'S PUZZLE-HEADED PEOPLE. MR. GOSCHEN.From "Punch."
One frequently hears the remark, "Caricature is so ugly." Well, certainly pure caricature is the villain of art, and the popular draughtsman, like the popular actor, should, to remain popular in his work, always play the virtuous hero. If the leading actormustplay the villain, he takes care to make up inoffensive and tame. So the villain caricaturist need not be"ugly"—but then he cannot be strong. Nor is it left to an actor—unless he be the star or actor-manager—to remain popular by being tame and pretty in every part. So is the caricaturist, if he is not the star, liable to be cast to play the villain whether he likes it or not, and if he is a genuine worker he will not shrink from the part, merely to remain popular and curry favour with those deserving to be satirised.
MR. PUNCH'S PUZZLE-HEADED PEOPLE.PUNCH'S PUZZLE-HEADED PEOPLE. "ALL HARCOURTS."From "Punch."
Now inPunch, as I was cast for it, I played the villain's part. In doing so I was at times necessarily "ugly," and therefore to some unpopular. I confess I felt it my duty notto shrink from being "ugly," although whenever I could I introduced some redeeming element into my designs—the figure of a girl, allegorical of Parliament or whatever the "ugly" subject might happen to be—but in some of myPunchdrawings this relief was impossible. For instance, the series of "Puzzle Heads," in each of which a portrait of the celebrity is built up of personal attributes, characteristics, or incidents in the career of the person represented, could not but be unpleasant pictures. Some subscribers threatened to give up the paper if they were continued; others became subscribers for these Puzzle Heads alone. It is ever so. The old saying, "One man's meat is another's poison," is as applicable to caricature as to anything else. It is impossible to please all tastes when catering for the large public, unless an editor is satisfied to be stereotyped and perfunctory; but Mr. Punch has made his name by his strength, not his weakness, and it may be safely inferred that no Tory thinks less of him for having used all his talent in attacking Benjamin Disraeli year after year as no man has been attacked before—or since—in his pages.
In looking through the volumes ofPunchone is apt to forget that the strong situations and stirring events by which a caricaturist's hit is made effective at the time of publication fade from one's memory. The cartoon in all its strength remains a record of an event which has lost its interest. One cannot always realise that the drawing was only strong because the feeling and interest at the time of its conception demanded it. Allowance should therefore be made for the villain's ugly caricature, if it is a good drawing, prophetically correct, and therefore historically interesting.
Perhaps no cartoon of mine inPunchcaused such hostile criticism as "The New Cabinet" (August 27, 1892). It gave great offence to the Gladstonians. The Radical Press attacked me ferociously, and as I think most unfairly, for they treated it politically and not pictorially, and severely reprimanded Mr. Punch for publishing it. Had it been a Conservative Cabinet the Tory Press would not have resented it or allowed narrow-minded party politics to prejudice their mind in such trivialmatters.Punchis supposed to be non-political. Its present editor is impartial. Mr. Punch's traditions are Whig, and somehow or other a certain class of its readers at that particular crisis was strongly opposed to the two sides of a question being treated. Yet I venture to say two-thirds of the readers ofPunchare Conservatives, and should therefore be amused. It is impossible to treat a strong political subject—such as the meeting of that particular Cabinet caricatured by me—without offending some readers by amusing others, unless, as I say, the subject is treated in a colourless manner. This particular cartoon hurt because it hit a strong situation in a truthful and straight-forward manner, and subsequent events proved it to be a correct conception. Yet at the time no name was too bad for me, and as these are my confessions, let me assure the public that had the Cabinet been a Conservative one I would have treated it in exactly the same way; and it is my firm conviction that had such been the case I would have given no offence either inside or outside of Mr. Punch's office.
My readers will sympathise with me. I am to draw political cartoons without being political; I am to draw caricatures without being personal; I am to be funny without holding my subject up to ridicule; I am to be effective without being strong—in fact, I am to be a caricaturist without caricature! On the other hand, no cartoon I ever drew forPunchwas more popular. Non-politicians were good enough to accept it as an antidote to the usual caricatures, and those papers on the other side of politics were extravagantly complimentary, and I received a large sum for the original for a private collection. I allow the following leaderette from theBirmingham Postto illustrate the point, and at the same time to describe the cartoon. The same paper, I may add, comments on the principal cartoon inPunchthat week—drawn by Tenniel—as showing thatPunch"thinks little of the prospects of the present Government":
"'Mr. Punch' is in 'excellent fooling' this week. Rarely has he, even he, more happily burlesqued a political situation than in Mr. Harry Furniss's cartoon of 'The New Cabinet.' Not a word of explanation accompanies the picture: it is good wine, needing no bush, and making very merry.
"'Mr. Punch' is in 'excellent fooling' this week. Rarely has he, even he, more happily burlesqued a political situation than in Mr. Harry Furniss's cartoon of 'The New Cabinet.' Not a word of explanation accompanies the picture: it is good wine, needing no bush, and making very merry.
REDUCTION FROM ENGRAVING IN PUNCH.REDUCTION FROM ENGRAVING INPUNCH.
A glance suffices to seize its meaning, for it expresses a thought that has flitted, at one time or another, through everyone's mind. The big moment has come when Mr. Gladstone is to reveal to his colleagues the secret he has hitherto withheld from them, not less than from the electorate—to submit to them, masterly, succinct, complete, the scheme which, with unexampled courage and sublimest modesty, they have defended on trust, for which they have sacrificed their personal independence without knowing why, and as to which, painful to remember, they have sometimes blundered into confident and contradictory conjecture. We can picture the subtle excitement—in one Minister of joyful expectation, in another of horrid misgiving—under which they have come together. Well, Mr. Gladstone unfolds the fateful document, and lo! it is a blank sheet. Paralysis and grim despair fall upon the spirits of the assembly; face to face with a nightmare reality, not a man amongst them has strength to say, 'This is a dream.' At the head of the table, his elbows resting on the parchment, and an undipped quill actually split upon it in his angry grasp, sits the Premier, a never-to-be-forgotten picture of impotent ill-humour. The task with which the Cabinet is confronted, for him as for the rest, is impossible and yet inexorable. In the candle-flame, by an effect of hallucination natural atsuch a moment, the face of Mr. O'Brien seems to limn itself out, implacable and contemptuous; and there is a fearsome shadow on the blind—the massive head of Lord Salisbury. The candle, marked '40,' is the majority, which dwindles while the Ministers are sadly musing; and over the mantelpiece, behind the Premier's chair, mutely reproachful, hangs a picture of the great Cabinet of 1880. It is distinctly the best thing Mr. Furniss has done."
A glance suffices to seize its meaning, for it expresses a thought that has flitted, at one time or another, through everyone's mind. The big moment has come when Mr. Gladstone is to reveal to his colleagues the secret he has hitherto withheld from them, not less than from the electorate—to submit to them, masterly, succinct, complete, the scheme which, with unexampled courage and sublimest modesty, they have defended on trust, for which they have sacrificed their personal independence without knowing why, and as to which, painful to remember, they have sometimes blundered into confident and contradictory conjecture. We can picture the subtle excitement—in one Minister of joyful expectation, in another of horrid misgiving—under which they have come together. Well, Mr. Gladstone unfolds the fateful document, and lo! it is a blank sheet. Paralysis and grim despair fall upon the spirits of the assembly; face to face with a nightmare reality, not a man amongst them has strength to say, 'This is a dream.' At the head of the table, his elbows resting on the parchment, and an undipped quill actually split upon it in his angry grasp, sits the Premier, a never-to-be-forgotten picture of impotent ill-humour. The task with which the Cabinet is confronted, for him as for the rest, is impossible and yet inexorable. In the candle-flame, by an effect of hallucination natural atsuch a moment, the face of Mr. O'Brien seems to limn itself out, implacable and contemptuous; and there is a fearsome shadow on the blind—the massive head of Lord Salisbury. The candle, marked '40,' is the majority, which dwindles while the Ministers are sadly musing; and over the mantelpiece, behind the Premier's chair, mutely reproachful, hangs a picture of the great Cabinet of 1880. It is distinctly the best thing Mr. Furniss has done."
That impression was shared by my private friends as well, even those onPunch. My dear friend Mr. E. J. Milliken, a strong Radical, and a most active member of the staff, in a reply to a letter of mine, in which I intimated that I was afraid my cartoon would give offence, replied in a most flattering spirit.
I had to play the "villain" in another scene in the same political drama, "Mr. Punch's Historical Cartoons" (1893), in which the same Cabinet is shown in Mr. Gladstone's room in the "Bauble Shop"—the House of Commons. Those Radicals who had not joined the Unionists again took offence. Those Radicals who had become Unionist wrote to congratulate me. From one well-known and powerful personality, a historical name in the publishing world, I received the following:
"February 23rd, 1893."Your cartoon p. 95 delights us all. I have looked at it twenty times and seen fresh points in it. Nothing for years, I should say, has so entirely caught the very spirit of a great crisis."We shall owe something to you for this felicitous exposure of Gladstone's insane Bill. Alas! the miners and the brickies, the costermongers and the dust-cart drivers, have now the power. The middle class has been out-numbered, and if it were not that some labouring men and artisans have hard heads enough to comprehend the position we should be landed in a pretty pickle next September."It is a pity traitors' heads are nowadays their own copyright."
"February 23rd, 1893.
"Your cartoon p. 95 delights us all. I have looked at it twenty times and seen fresh points in it. Nothing for years, I should say, has so entirely caught the very spirit of a great crisis.
"We shall owe something to you for this felicitous exposure of Gladstone's insane Bill. Alas! the miners and the brickies, the costermongers and the dust-cart drivers, have now the power. The middle class has been out-numbered, and if it were not that some labouring men and artisans have hard heads enough to comprehend the position we should be landed in a pretty pickle next September.
"It is a pity traitors' heads are nowadays their own copyright."
A "copyright" in heads is a good suggestion, and coming from a publisher too! But apart from "traitors," there are others known to a caricaturist. The House of Commons at one time was rich in them. Some such works of art suffer in beingtranslated. Indeed, what the poet "Ballyhooley" wrote of one might apply to others:
"Darwin MacNeill."Darwin MacNeill, all the papers are hot on you,Darwin MacNeill, they are writing a lot on you.What in the world sort of face have you got on you?Send us your photograph, Darwin MacNeill.Surely you must be both lovely and pure!Have you got fatures that nothing can cure?Let's have the first of it,Let's know the worst of it:Is your face only a caricature?Here's a health to you, Darwin MacNeill,Let penny canes all your enemies feel;Show me the crature would slander a fatureOf the beautiful Mimber for ould Donegal."Our childhers are dull, and we wish to be brightening themSend us your picture and we'll be enlightening them,Maybe 'twill only be useful for frightening them;Still let us have it, dear Darwin MacNeill.Shut up the slander and talk they are at,Show us the head you've got under your hat;True every particle, genuine article,Send us your picture in answer to that.Here's a health to you, etc."I hear that the Queen she has simply gone crazy, man;Says she to Gladstone, 'Get out, you old lazy man!Cannot you see that I'll never be aisy, man,Till I've a portrait of Darwin MacNeill?'When of that picture she first got a sight,She held it up, so they say, to the light,Looked at the head of it, then all she said of it,'I'm of opinion that Darwin is right.'Here's a health to you, etc."There's just arrived now, to give great content to us,A lovely picture, which someone has sent to us.We know the worst now, for there has been sent to usWhat's called a portrait of Darwin MacNeill.If it's a likeness, I just tell you what,That you have acted in ways you should not.Don't try a turn of fistsOn with the journalists;Thrash those who gave you the head you have got.But here's a health to you, Darwin MacNeill!Only just manage new fatures to steal,Then show me the crature would slander a fatureOf the beautiful Mimber for ould Donegal."
"Darwin MacNeill.
"Darwin MacNeill, all the papers are hot on you,Darwin MacNeill, they are writing a lot on you.What in the world sort of face have you got on you?Send us your photograph, Darwin MacNeill.Surely you must be both lovely and pure!Have you got fatures that nothing can cure?Let's have the first of it,Let's know the worst of it:Is your face only a caricature?Here's a health to you, Darwin MacNeill,Let penny canes all your enemies feel;Show me the crature would slander a fatureOf the beautiful Mimber for ould Donegal."Our childhers are dull, and we wish to be brightening themSend us your picture and we'll be enlightening them,Maybe 'twill only be useful for frightening them;Still let us have it, dear Darwin MacNeill.Shut up the slander and talk they are at,Show us the head you've got under your hat;True every particle, genuine article,Send us your picture in answer to that.Here's a health to you, etc."I hear that the Queen she has simply gone crazy, man;Says she to Gladstone, 'Get out, you old lazy man!Cannot you see that I'll never be aisy, man,Till I've a portrait of Darwin MacNeill?'When of that picture she first got a sight,She held it up, so they say, to the light,Looked at the head of it, then all she said of it,'I'm of opinion that Darwin is right.'Here's a health to you, etc."There's just arrived now, to give great content to us,A lovely picture, which someone has sent to us.We know the worst now, for there has been sent to usWhat's called a portrait of Darwin MacNeill.If it's a likeness, I just tell you what,That you have acted in ways you should not.Don't try a turn of fistsOn with the journalists;Thrash those who gave you the head you have got.But here's a health to you, Darwin MacNeill!Only just manage new fatures to steal,Then show me the crature would slander a fatureOf the beautiful Mimber for ould Donegal."
"Darwin MacNeill, all the papers are hot on you,Darwin MacNeill, they are writing a lot on you.What in the world sort of face have you got on you?Send us your photograph, Darwin MacNeill.Surely you must be both lovely and pure!Have you got fatures that nothing can cure?Let's have the first of it,Let's know the worst of it:Is your face only a caricature?Here's a health to you, Darwin MacNeill,Let penny canes all your enemies feel;Show me the crature would slander a fatureOf the beautiful Mimber for ould Donegal.
"Our childhers are dull, and we wish to be brightening themSend us your picture and we'll be enlightening them,Maybe 'twill only be useful for frightening them;Still let us have it, dear Darwin MacNeill.Shut up the slander and talk they are at,Show us the head you've got under your hat;True every particle, genuine article,Send us your picture in answer to that.Here's a health to you, etc.
"I hear that the Queen she has simply gone crazy, man;Says she to Gladstone, 'Get out, you old lazy man!Cannot you see that I'll never be aisy, man,Till I've a portrait of Darwin MacNeill?'When of that picture she first got a sight,She held it up, so they say, to the light,Looked at the head of it, then all she said of it,'I'm of opinion that Darwin is right.'Here's a health to you, etc.
"There's just arrived now, to give great content to us,A lovely picture, which someone has sent to us.We know the worst now, for there has been sent to usWhat's called a portrait of Darwin MacNeill.If it's a likeness, I just tell you what,That you have acted in ways you should not.Don't try a turn of fistsOn with the journalists;Thrash those who gave you the head you have got.But here's a health to you, Darwin MacNeill!Only just manage new fatures to steal,Then show me the crature would slander a fatureOf the beautiful Mimber for ould Donegal."
REDUCTION OF PAGE IN PUNCH.REDUCTION OF PAGE INPUNCH, SHOWING THAT MY CARICATURES WERE—IN THISCASE—PUBLISHED TOO LARGE.
This "Pen Portrait," by Mr. Robert Martin, refers to a matter of much regret to me. I have to confess my sorrow that I was the means of making a Member of Parliament ridiculous! The innocent item came in the ordinary course of my work forPunch. I was sent an incident to illustrate for the Diary of Toby, M.P., which, when published, was used as an excuse to "technically assault" me in the Inner Lobby of the House of Commons.
Perhaps in the circumstances I may be pardoned if I confess a secret connected with these Parliamentary caricatures. For some years I provided a page drawing and some small cuts in every number during Parliament—the latter were generally sketches of Members of Parliament. These single portraits were supplied in advance, and engraved proofs sent in a book to Mr. Lucy to select from week by week. The following letter is worth quoting in full as a characteristic letter from the Editor, typical of his light and pleasant way of transacting business with his staff:
"Dear H. F.,—"Please keyindly see that H. L. (not 'Labby,' but 'Lucy') has all your parliamentarians whom you (as your predecessor Henry VIII. did) have executed on the block sent to him, as he found himself unprovided up to the last moment and so wrote to me in his haste."(?) Fancy portrait. Our artist, H. F., as Henry VIII. taking off his victims' heads on the block, eh?"Yours, "F. C. B."
"Dear H. F.,—"Please keyindly see that H. L. (not 'Labby,' but 'Lucy') has all your parliamentarians whom you (as your predecessor Henry VIII. did) have executed on the block sent to him, as he found himself unprovided up to the last moment and so wrote to me in his haste.
"(?) Fancy portrait. Our artist, H. F., as Henry VIII. taking off his victims' heads on the block, eh?
"Yours, "F. C. B."
To this rule, however, there were exceptions. This particular caricature was one of them: it was drawn at the last moment to illustrate a particular passage in Mr. Lucy's Diary of Toby, M.P. Here it is:
I GAVE INSTRUCTIONS FOR THE CARICATURE TO BE REDUCED AS USUAL.REDUCTION FROM THE ORIGINAL DRAWING, SHOWING THAT I GAVE INSTRUCTIONS FOR THE CARICATURE TO BE "REDUCED AS USUAL."
"'Look here, Bartley,' said Tommy Bowles; 'if you're going on that tack, you must come and sit on this side. When I saw MacNeill open his mouth to speak, I confess I thought I was going to be swallowed whole. You sit here; there's more of you.'"
"'Look here, Bartley,' said Tommy Bowles; 'if you're going on that tack, you must come and sit on this side. When I saw MacNeill open his mouth to speak, I confess I thought I was going to be swallowed whole. You sit here; there's more of you.'"
Now had I shown "Pongo," as he was familiarly called in the House, in the act of swallowing "Tommy Bowles," I might have produced a most objectionable caricature. I made, however, a smiling portrait of the genial Member. I was away at the time recovering from a long illness: the sketch was made in the country, and sent up to thePunchengraver's office. By some mistake there, it was not reduced in size in reproduction as others had been; therefore in the paper it was apparently given extra importance—I had nothing to do with that. That Mr. Lucy's reference to Mr. MacNeill is not a caricature can be judged by anyone reading the passage I had to illustrate, given above. The notion that the drawing waspurposelyproduced on a larger scale than usual, so as to give this special caricature prominence, is disproved by the fact that the caricature of the gallant and genialAdmiral Field I drew exactly under the same conditions appears on the same page also far too large. Therefore it is a mistaken idea that this particular portrait was intentionally offensive, or different from others.
It was really the combination of circumstances, if anything, that called special attention to that particular page inPunch,and gave rise to
I shall, in describing the curtain rising on this historical incident, borrow Mr. Lucy's own account of the way in which the Member approached me after he had seen my illustration to Mr. Lucy's clever Diary of the Week:
"It was shortly after seven o'clock that Mr. Harry Furniss strolled into the Lobby. He had been suffering from a long and severe sickness, dedicating this the first evening of his convalescence to a visit to the scene of labours which have delighted mankind. Over the place there brooded an air of ineffable peace. The bustle of the earlier hour of meeting was stilled. The drone of talk went on in the half-empty House within the glass doors. Now and then a Member hastily crossed the floor of the Lobby, intent on preparations for dinner. One of these chanced to be Mr. Swift MacNeill, a Member who, beneath occasional turbulence of manner, scarcely conceals the gentlest, kindliest disposition, a gentleman by birth and training, a scholar and a patriot. The House, whilst it sometimes laughs at his exuberance of manner, always shows that it likes him. Mr. Furniss, seeing him approach with hurried step, may naturally have expected that he was making haste to offer those congratulations on renewed health and reappearance on the scene of labour that had already been proffered from other quarters. What followed has been told by Mr. Furniss in language the simplicity and graphicness of which Defoe could not have excelled."
Mr. Lucy refers to the following account I wrote at the time:
"On my return to continue my work in Parliament forMr. Punch after my severe illness, I found the jaded legislators yearning for fresh air, and even the approaching final division on the Home Rule Bill had failed to arouse more than a languid interest. I felt this depression when I entered the Lobby, its sole occupants being the tired-out doorkeepers and the leg-weary policemen. I really believe a swarm of wasps would not have roused them to activity, for I noticed a bluebottle resting undisturbed upon the nose of one of Inspector Horsley's staff. Even the Terrace was dusty, and the Members rusty and morose. One of the Irish Members had selected as his friend Frank Slavin, the well-known prize-fighter, who had an admiring group round him, to whom no doubt he was relating the history of his many plucky battles.
WHAT HAPPENED.WHAT HAPPENED.
"The stimulating effect of this may have been the cause for the assault upon me in the Inner Lobby, which has afforded the stale House some little excitement, which has been the salvation of the silly season. So many papers have given startling accounts of this attack upon me, some stating that I was caned, others that I was pummelled, shaken like a dog, and so on, that I am glad to take the opportunity of giving a clear statement of what really occurred. I was standing close to the doors of the Inner Lobby, talking to Mr. Cuthbert Quilter, when Mr. Swift MacNeill interrupted us by asking me, 'Are you the man that draws the cartoons inPunch?' 'That depends upon what they are,' said I. 'I refer to one,' said the excited Member, 'that has annoyed me very much,' 'Let me see it,' I replied. Mr. MacNeill then drew out his pocket-book and showed me a cutting from the current number ofPunch. 'Yes,' I said, 'that is from a drawing of mine,' 'Then ye're a low, black-guardly scoundrel,' melodramatically exclaimed the usually genial Member. Taking two or three steps back, he hissed at me, with a livid face, a series of offensive epithets too coarse forpublication. Having exhausted his vocabulary of vulgarity, a happy thought seemed to strike him. 'I want to assault you,' he said, and forthwith he nervously and gingerly tapped me as if he were playing with a hot coal. He then danced off to Members who were looking on, crying, 'This is the scoundrel who has caricatured me; witness, I assault him!' and he recommenced the tapping process which constituted this technical assault.DR. TANNER.DR. TANNER.Knowing that Mr. MacNeill is a very excitable subject, and at once detecting that this assault was a 'put-up job,' I was determined to remain perfectly cool; and, truth to tell, the pirouetting of the agitated Member hugely amused me, particularly as the more excited he became, the more he resembled the caricature which was the cause, or supposed to be the cause, of this attack, I treated the hon. Member exactly as the policeman treated the bluebottle—with perfect indifference, not even troubling to brush away the trifling annoyance. But when in the midst of its buzzing round me I moved in the direction of one of the officials, it flew away. Then appeared what I had been anticipating, and the real cause of the insult transpired. Dr. Tanner came up to me just as I recollect Slavin approaching Jackson in their historic fight. He showered the grossest insults upon me, and I was surrounded at once by his clique, who were anxious for the scene which must have occurred had I, like Jackson, been the first to let out with my left. But here again was I face to face with a chronically excited Member, backed up by his friends, and I refused to be drawn into a brawl. But the secret of the real cause of this organised attack upon me was revealed to me by Dr. Tanner, who at once informed me that it was the outcome of my imitations of the Irish Members in my entertainment, 'The Humours of Parliament,' which I have given for two seasons all over the country. This was myoffence; my caricature of Mr. Swift MacNeill the excuse for the attack."
ASSAULT ON ME IN THE HOUSE.ASSAULT ON ME IN THE HOUSE.WHAT THE PRESS DESCRIBED.
Mr. MacNeill's "technical assault" was a very childish incident. He merely touched the sleeve of my coat with the tip of his finger, and asked me if I would accept that as a "technical assault." This mysterious pantomime was subsequently explained to me, and meant that I was to take out a summons—but I only laughed. At the moment Mr. MacNeill was pirouetting round me at a distance, Mr. John Burns came on to the scene, and chaffed Mr. MacNeill, drawing an imaginary picture (for Mr. Burns was not in the Lobby) of a real assault upon me. A gentleman connected with an evening paper, who happened to enter with Mr. Burns, failed to see Mr. Burns's humour, and thereupon took down in shorthand Mr. Burns's imaginary picture as a matter of fact. It was published as a fact, and, for all I know or care, some may still believe that I was assaulted!
When I read that I had been treated like a cur, I was rather amused; but when I read a statement in the papers from a man like John Burns saying that he saw me "taken by the lapels of the coat and shaken like a dog, and then taken by the ear and shaken by that," I thought the joke had been carried far enough. Determined to have this cock-and-bull story contradicted at once, I went down to the House and saw Mr. John Burns, who expressed to me his regret that he should have invented the story, and he left me to go to the writing-room, and promised I should have from him a written contradiction.
After waiting a considerable time, a message was brought tome that Mr. Burns declined to keep his promise. I therefore wrote these particulars and sent them off to the Press. At the same time Mr. Burns, who had been closeted with some Radical journalists, wrote an offensive note—which was shown me, and which I advised him to publish.
Poor Mr. MacNeill! Well may he say, "Save me from my friends!" The Press put on their comic men to make copy at his expense. If I were to publish it all, it would make a volume as large as this. By permission I publish the following lay from theSt. James' Budget(September, 1893):
"THE LAY OF SWIFT MACNEILL.
(Picked up in the Lobby.)"Have ye heard, have ye heard, of the late immortal fray,When the lion back of Swift MacNeill got up and stood at bay,When the lion voice of Tanner cried, 'To Judas wid yer chaff!'An' the Saxon knees were shaking, though they made believe to laugh."'Twas widin the Commons' Lobby, in the corner by the dure,There was Misther Harry Furniss a-standing on the flure,When up to him came stalking, like O'Tarquin in his pride,The bowldest of the bowld, MacNeill, wid the Docther by his side."Then the valiant Swift MacNeill from his pocket he took outA picther very like him, an' he brandished it about,An' he held it up to Furniss for his Saxon eyes to see,An' he asked of him, 'Ye spalpeen, is this porthrait meant for me?'"''Tis your likeness, as I see it,' was the answer that he got,An' the wrath of Misther Swift MacNeill then wax'd exceeding hot,An' he cast the picther from him, an' he trod it on the ground,An' he took an' danced an Irish jig the artist's form around."'Ye spalpeen,' thus again he spoke, 'ye most obnoxious fellow!Ye see that I'm a lion, yet ye've made me a gorilla;If your Saxon eyes are blinded to the truth of what I say,Go and borrow for a moment the glasses of Tay Pay."'They will show ye that our seventy are Apollos one and all,That we're most divinely lovely an' seraphically tall;They will show ye we're all angels—though for divils I'll allow,'Tis the black ones ye'll be seeing where the lost to Redmond bow.'"Then Misther Swift MacNeill, just to lave his meaning clear,Wid flowers of Irish eloquence filled Mr. Furniss' ear;An' he also shook wid passion, an', moreover, shook his fist,An' the Docther an' his blackthorn stood all ready to assist."Misther Furniss smiled serenely, an' the only word he spokeWas to say it seemed that Misther Swift was slow to see a joke,But for all his jokes an' blarney, things were looking like a fight,When a minion of the Spayker was seen to be in sight."Then Apollo Swift MacNeill from his dignity got down,An' he withered Misther Furniss wid a godlike parting frown,An' he stalked along the Lobby wid his grand O'Tarquin stride,An' the other Mimbers followed him, an' went the House inside."An' there they still are threading on the necks of Saxon slaves,An' nightly wid their eloquence they're digging Saxon graves;An' my counsel to the artist who their fatures would porthray,Is to thry and see their beauty through the glasses of Tay Pay."
(Picked up in the Lobby.)
"Have ye heard, have ye heard, of the late immortal fray,When the lion back of Swift MacNeill got up and stood at bay,When the lion voice of Tanner cried, 'To Judas wid yer chaff!'An' the Saxon knees were shaking, though they made believe to laugh."'Twas widin the Commons' Lobby, in the corner by the dure,There was Misther Harry Furniss a-standing on the flure,When up to him came stalking, like O'Tarquin in his pride,The bowldest of the bowld, MacNeill, wid the Docther by his side."Then the valiant Swift MacNeill from his pocket he took outA picther very like him, an' he brandished it about,An' he held it up to Furniss for his Saxon eyes to see,An' he asked of him, 'Ye spalpeen, is this porthrait meant for me?'"''Tis your likeness, as I see it,' was the answer that he got,An' the wrath of Misther Swift MacNeill then wax'd exceeding hot,An' he cast the picther from him, an' he trod it on the ground,An' he took an' danced an Irish jig the artist's form around."'Ye spalpeen,' thus again he spoke, 'ye most obnoxious fellow!Ye see that I'm a lion, yet ye've made me a gorilla;If your Saxon eyes are blinded to the truth of what I say,Go and borrow for a moment the glasses of Tay Pay."'They will show ye that our seventy are Apollos one and all,That we're most divinely lovely an' seraphically tall;They will show ye we're all angels—though for divils I'll allow,'Tis the black ones ye'll be seeing where the lost to Redmond bow.'"Then Misther Swift MacNeill, just to lave his meaning clear,Wid flowers of Irish eloquence filled Mr. Furniss' ear;An' he also shook wid passion, an', moreover, shook his fist,An' the Docther an' his blackthorn stood all ready to assist."Misther Furniss smiled serenely, an' the only word he spokeWas to say it seemed that Misther Swift was slow to see a joke,But for all his jokes an' blarney, things were looking like a fight,When a minion of the Spayker was seen to be in sight."Then Apollo Swift MacNeill from his dignity got down,An' he withered Misther Furniss wid a godlike parting frown,An' he stalked along the Lobby wid his grand O'Tarquin stride,An' the other Mimbers followed him, an' went the House inside."An' there they still are threading on the necks of Saxon slaves,An' nightly wid their eloquence they're digging Saxon graves;An' my counsel to the artist who their fatures would porthray,Is to thry and see their beauty through the glasses of Tay Pay."
"Have ye heard, have ye heard, of the late immortal fray,When the lion back of Swift MacNeill got up and stood at bay,When the lion voice of Tanner cried, 'To Judas wid yer chaff!'An' the Saxon knees were shaking, though they made believe to laugh.
"'Twas widin the Commons' Lobby, in the corner by the dure,There was Misther Harry Furniss a-standing on the flure,When up to him came stalking, like O'Tarquin in his pride,The bowldest of the bowld, MacNeill, wid the Docther by his side.
"Then the valiant Swift MacNeill from his pocket he took outA picther very like him, an' he brandished it about,An' he held it up to Furniss for his Saxon eyes to see,An' he asked of him, 'Ye spalpeen, is this porthrait meant for me?'
"''Tis your likeness, as I see it,' was the answer that he got,An' the wrath of Misther Swift MacNeill then wax'd exceeding hot,An' he cast the picther from him, an' he trod it on the ground,An' he took an' danced an Irish jig the artist's form around.
"'Ye spalpeen,' thus again he spoke, 'ye most obnoxious fellow!Ye see that I'm a lion, yet ye've made me a gorilla;If your Saxon eyes are blinded to the truth of what I say,Go and borrow for a moment the glasses of Tay Pay.
"'They will show ye that our seventy are Apollos one and all,That we're most divinely lovely an' seraphically tall;They will show ye we're all angels—though for divils I'll allow,'Tis the black ones ye'll be seeing where the lost to Redmond bow.'
"Then Misther Swift MacNeill, just to lave his meaning clear,Wid flowers of Irish eloquence filled Mr. Furniss' ear;An' he also shook wid passion, an', moreover, shook his fist,An' the Docther an' his blackthorn stood all ready to assist.
"Misther Furniss smiled serenely, an' the only word he spokeWas to say it seemed that Misther Swift was slow to see a joke,But for all his jokes an' blarney, things were looking like a fight,When a minion of the Spayker was seen to be in sight.
"Then Apollo Swift MacNeill from his dignity got down,An' he withered Misther Furniss wid a godlike parting frown,An' he stalked along the Lobby wid his grand O'Tarquin stride,An' the other Mimbers followed him, an' went the House inside.
"An' there they still are threading on the necks of Saxon slaves,An' nightly wid their eloquence they're digging Saxon graves;An' my counsel to the artist who their fatures would porthray,Is to thry and see their beauty through the glasses of Tay Pay."
JOHN BURNS.JOHN BURNS.
This manufactured "scene," coming as it did in the silly season, was made to serve instead of the Sea-Serpent, the Toad-in-the-Rock, the Shower of Frogs, and other familiar inventions for holiday reading. Unfortunately the poor Members of Parliament obliged to remain in St. Stephen's had to suffer far more than I did through the eccentricity of Mr. Swift MacNeill. Several of them complained to me that he lured them into the corridors and corners of the House, and then vigorously set to work to demonstrate practically how he assaulted me, or how he imagined he assaulted me, to the discomfiture and consternation of the poor M.P's.
I should like to explain why this "technical assault" on me was not made a matter of discussion. I did intend a friendly Member should have brought it before the Speaker, and in that way published the truth of the matter and exposed the stupid inventions of Burns & Co. With that object I had an interview with the Speaker, and he implored me not under any circumstancesto have it brought before the House. He was already tired, at the end of a trying session, and did not want any personal questions discussed, which invariably led to protracted scenes. For that reason, and for that reason only, it was not mentioned in Parliament, notwithstanding it was really a much more serious affair than was imagined. It was a deliberately organised conspiracy. When I was leaving the Lobby, after my amusing interview with Mr. MacNeill, in which he told me that I was "technically assaulted," Chief Inspector Horsley took me down a private passage, and informed me that he had been looking for me, as he had discovered there was a conspiracy to attack me, and at that moment nine or ten Members from Ireland were in the passage downstairs, out of which I would have in the ordinary course gone through, lying in wait for me. So I left with him by another door.
NOTE FROM SIR FRANK LOCKWOOD.NOTE FROM SIR FRANK LOCKWOOD, AFTER READING THE BOGUS ACCOUNT OF THE "ASSAULT."
In this I was not more to blame than other caricaturists, but I was more in evidence, and was selected to be "technically assaulted," so as to force me to bring an action, in which all papers, except those supporting the Irish Party, would have been attacked and discussed, and their influence if possible injured for purely political purposes. An aggrieved person, smartingunder a gross injustice, does not "technically assault" the aggressor. Had Mr.MacNeilltried it on with me, weak and ill as I was, I think I had enough power to oblige him; as it happened, I only saw the humour of the thing.
LETTER SUPPOSED TO COME FROM LORD CROSS.LETTER SUPPOSED TO COME FROM LORD CROSS.(LOCKWOOD'S JOKE.)
One of the most amusing sketches I received was this from Sir Frank Lockwood. Lockwood and I frequently exchanged caricatures, as shown by the clever sketches I introduce here and there in these pages. Sometimes he sent me some chaffing note written in a disguised hand, and disguised drawing; but the latter experiment, although it failed to deceive, certainly entertained me greatly. Here is a letter supposed to be from Lord Cross, a favourite subject of mine when he was in the Lower House. Seldom a week passed but I made his nose shorter and his upper lip longer, made his head stick out, and his spectacles glisten. Did he object? No, no! "Grand Cross" is a man of the world; nor was he ever a mere notoriety-seeking political adventurer. I once met him at dinner, and we chatted over my caricatures of him, and I recollect his saying, "A manis not worth anything if he is thin-skinned, and certainly not worth much if he cannot enjoy a joke at his own expense."
Sir Frank Lockwood whiled away the weary hours in Parliament to his own amusement and those around him, but he was not aware perhaps that what he did was seen from the Ladies' Gallery. The ladies got a birdseye view of his caricatures in progress. One in particular was the cause of much amusement, not only to the ladies, but to the Members. My lady informant related the incident to me thus: "I always watch Mr. Lockwood sketching, and I saw he had his eye on the burly figure of a friend of mine sitting on the Ministerial bench. Mr. Gladstone turned round to say something to him, and his quick eye detected Mr. Lockwood sketching. The artistic Q.C. handed the sketch (which I saw was a caricature of the late Lord Advocate) to Mr. Gladstone, who fairly doubled up with laughter, and handed it to those on either side of him. Eventually it was sent over to Mr. MacDonald and Mr. Balfour, and they thoroughly enjoyed the caricature of themselves, as did all their Tory friends. Butwehad seen it first!" It may have been this sketch subsequently sent to me and redrawn inPunch.
I recall an incident which happened one evening when I was on watch in the Inner Lobby to find and sketch a newly-elected M.P., who, I heard, was about to make his maiden speech, and it was most important I should catch him. Just as I was going up to the Press Gallery, Sir Frank Lockwood came into the Lobby and offered to get me a seat under the Gallery where I could see the new M.P. to advantage. The new M.P. was "up," so Lockwood went into the House to fetch me the Sergeant's order. I waited impatiently for his return; a long time passed; still I waited. A smiling Member came out of the House, and I asked him if he had seen Lockwood. "Oh, rather," he replied, smiling still; "I've just been sitting by him, watching him make a capital caricature of a chap making his maiden speech." When the Member had finished his speech, Lockwood ran out, and cheeringly apologised to me for his absent-mindedness. "So tempting, you know, old chap, I couldn't resist sketching him!"
Sir Frank Lockwood was perhaps the most favourable modernspecimen of the buoyant amateur. Possessing a big heart, kindly feeling, a brilliant wit, and a facile pen, he treated art as his playfellow and never as his master. And in the spirit in which his work was executed so must it be judged. The work of an amateur artist possessing a distinct vein of humour is, in my opinion, far more entertaining than that of the professional caricaturist, the former being absolutely spontaneous and untrammelled by the conscientiousness of subsequent publication, of correct draughtsmanship, made only from impressions of the moment, and not the effort (as in the case of many a professional humorist) of having to be funny to order.
SIR F. LOCKWOOD.SIR F. LOCKWOOD.
An excellent example of the amateur at his best is to be found in the drawings of Sir Frank Lockwood. No one would resent less than Lockwood himself having the term "amateur" applied to his work; indeed, he would, I am sure, have felt proud to be classed in the same category as several of our most popular humorous artists.
Circumstances connected with a curious coincidence concerning a caricature (what alliteration!) are worth confirming.
One morning I was taking my usual horse exercise round the ride in the inner circle of Regent's Park, before that spot, once the quiet haunt of the horseman, became the noisy ring of the cyclist. At that time a few cycling beginners used the circle for practice, and their alarming performances were gradually depleting the number of equestrians. One of these novices came down the hill, having an arm round the neck of his instructor, and one leg on the pedal, the other in mid air. He was unable to steer the machine, and as I cantered up, the performer's hat, which had been over one eye, fell off, disclosing the features of Professor Bryce. The next moment the machine, its rider and his instructor, were "all of a heap" on the ride up which my horse was cantering. I had just time to jump my horse on to the pathand thus save my own neck, and the life of the energetic Member of Parliament, who I noticed later in the day, when sitting in the Press Gallery, was on the front Opposition bench, next to Sir Frank Lockwood, quite unconcerned. I made a rough sketch of the incident of the morning, and sent it down to my brother Two Pins, Sir Frank, with a request that his friend Bryce should in future select some other spot to practise bicycling. This was handed to Lockwood just as he was leaving the House, strange to say, on his way home to dress for a dinner at Professor Bryce's. Lockwood mischievously placed the sketch in the pocket of his dress coat, and at the dinner led up to the subject of cycling, suggesting at the same time that his host ought to try it.