My Bohemian days in London. With 32 illus. by the author

Preface

In falling in with the suggestion made to me by my publisher that I should write a further volume on my Bohemian days I found myself confronted with the perplexing question as to when one’s “ Bohemian days ” can really be said to have ended, for I have always been inclined to think that “ once a Bohemian, always a Bohemian.” Of course, I do not refer to the state of affairs which is a dreadful reality to many a struggling artist, and from which through force of circumstances, there is no getting away — to such the word is but a synonym for penury, and there can be little romance in connection with it, in London at any rate. There is another form of Bohemianism not associated with actual poverty that appeals so strongly to some men, that long after youth is passed, and when they are in a position to live as ordinary citizens, they still remain under its spell. It might be termed the fascination of the unconventional, were it not that unconventionality is almost inherent, and is largely a matter of temperament and climatic influence. My souvenirs, as will be seen, relate more specially to this phase of Bohemian life.

In writing of the years I spent in St John’s Wood, I realise that my Paris experiences of artistic Bohemianism helped in no small degree to impart

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PREFACE a sort of reflected Parisian lustre on my London studio, and made me perhaps take a somewhat different view of life in those days to what I should have done had I never lived abroad. It was not exactly looking at things through rose-coloured glasses, but with a certain sense of the romantic which had developed in the Quartier Latin and Montmartre. I lay no claim to having discovered any terra incognita , as I feel sure that to many men of my age, much of what I have described of the doings in the “ Wood ” in the mid ’eighties and early ’nineties, must have been to a certain extent familiar, but I venture to hope that my own personal reminiscences will prove of some interest, if only as affording a glimpse of studio life and a Bohemianism which is now but a memory.

This volume is intended as a sequel to “ My Bohemian Days in Paris,” so in conclusion I would add in the words of a once famous advertisement, “If you like the pickles try the sauce.”

J. M. P.

22 Golden Square,

London, W.

[NOTE. — The author had no opportunity of correcting the proofs of this book, as he was at the war while it was being printed . ]

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Chapter I Page

I return to London — Searching for rooms — St John's Wood in the ’eighties — A bed-sitting room in Wellington Road — The buxom landlady — A tempting offer — A mysterious hat and stick —

A little incident during the night — The defunct lodger, pathetic episode — In search of a studio — Rents in London as compared with Paris — I take a furnished studio — My landlady — “ Dear Old Jeph i

Chapter II

My first experience of Bohemian life in London — Of living as compared with Paris — The saloon bars and the “ shilling ordinary ” — The London charwoman— Her French prototype — My first commission— A lady visitor — A delightful afternoon — -Commencement of a little romance — Painting in my back garden — Sudden ending of the romance ....... 12

Chapter III

My letter of introduction to Sir Frederick Leighton, P.R.A. — His house and studio in Holland Park Road — The artistic beauty of its interior — Impressions of my visit — Leighton's sympathetic personality — His wonderful charm of manner — His linguistic accomplishments — The secret of his great popularity — His Sunday receptions — Amusing anecdote of a Royal Academician — The fashionable crowd in the studio on Show Sunday — Story of the President and the model . vii

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Chapter IV

St John's Wood in the mid 'eighties — Curious state of things — Art and gallantry — The fastest district of London — Distinguished men living there — The artist colony of St John’s Wood as compared with Montmartre — The “ Blenheim "

— The “ Eyre Arms " — Visits to friends' studios — An amusing incident — Unexpected visitors —

The trick bell-cord — A determined guest — A plethora of jelly — Models persistency in calling— Families of models — Costume models —

Models for the nude — “ Showing " their figure — Different ways of undressing of the French and the Italian models — Amusing episode in the studio — The two girls, a shock for the gas inspector— A novel evening bodice ... 32

Chapter V

Models as a class — Love in the studio — An awkward contretemps — An amusing incident — Earnings of models — The temptation to go wrong — Black sheep — Artists marry models — Jealous wives —

Some amusing incidents — Love resuscitated —

The “ engaged ” couple — Amateur models — Chance acquaintances — Some amusing incidents— Risks one ran — A11 exciting adventure . 45

Chapter VI

My good luck in Marlboro’ Hill — Commissions — Portraits— A beautiful sitter — Trying work — I fall in love — Symptoms of the disease — Keeping the postman busy — Top-hatted respectability — Bohemianism versus conventionality — “ A talk with papa " — Ignominious retreat — I go to Gorleston — Painting en plein air — Tender recollections— I go to Paris to paint portrait — La vie du Grand Monde — Leaving Marlboro’ Hill —

Search for another studio — 10 Blenheim Place —

The “ Eyre Arms " and its habitues — The Belsize Boxing Club — The dances in the Assembly Rooms — The coffee room — The dignified waiter — The private bar — Pony Moore — Amusing episode — Practical joking in the Wood — I spend a week-end in a haunted house — The family ghost — Thrilling incident . . . 56

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Chapter VII Page

My first visit to the office of the Illustrated London News — The office-boy and my drawing — Mr Mason Jackson, the Art Editor — I meet Mr William Ingram — His encouragement and acceptance of my drawing — A fateful morning for me — Engaging personality of Mr William Ingram and his brother Mr Charles Ingram —

Their remarkable ability — Fascination of the office — A private club — Interesting men there — Lunching places in the neighbourhood — Carr’s —

The Devereux — Wilkinson's d la mode beef shop — Illustrated Journalism in those days — Drawing on the wood — The art of the wood engraver — The “ special artist ” — An amusing anecdote ....... 75

Chapter VIII

Off to the South of France to finish portrait — Adventure en route — Mentone vid Elysium — On the Riviera — A funny incident on return journey —

The Frenchman and the luggage — Painting at the docks, an episode — Curio-hunting in the Wood — Tea-parties in studio — A good joke —

The British workman — Re-arranging the drawing room — Summer in the Scilly Isles — A large painting ....... 83

Chapter IX

Unconventionality of Bohemianism — Evening dress — “ Going to have a bloater for tea ? ” — A week-end visit to my friend’s “ cottage ” —

The impromptu fancy dress dinner party — The denouement — Amusing story of a fancy dress ball — The story of the bugler and the barman — Bacchanalian entertainments — The mysterious drink — Stories of Bohemianism . . . 97

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Chapter X

In Paris again for the “ Vernissage ” — Amusing incident on return journey — Keeping a carriage to oneself — I meet Captain Hargreaves — The Mount, Bishopstoke — Delightful hospitality — His yacht Ianira — A particularly pleasing souvenir — I join the “ Artists’ ” Volunteers — Sir Frederick Leighton, Colonel the South London Brigade — The grey-uniformed regiments — Distinguished men amongst the officers of the corps — My first march out — Easter Review at Brighton — Fun out with the girls — A practical joke — Easter Monday Field Day — Leighton, an ideal Colonel — An instance of his indefatigability ........

Chapter XI

“ Show Sunday " — Then a great event — Importance of exhibiting at the Royal Academy — Not a hall mark of talent — Significance of Show Sunday — The dealers' visits — The social crowd — Critics — What the artist has to put up with — Doubtful praise — Success in art not judged by financial results — Show Sunday stories — I send in my large picture — Sir Frederick Leighton’s encouragement— I have no luck — Not hung “ for want of space ” — My dejection — Thoughts of enlisting — My girl pal — A real comforter — I gradually recover — Picture purchased by Walker Art Gallery — Katie’s illness — Sad ending

Chapter XII

My first campaign for the Illustrated London News — The Bechuanaland expedition — Its origin — I see Mr Ingram and offer to go out for the News — He agrees — First impressions as an accredited representative of a paper — Interview with Colonel the Hon. Paul Methuen — The ist Mounted Rifles, “ Methuen's Horse ” — The recruiting office — A bit of a set back — Sir Charles Warren and newspaper correspondents — Suggestion that I join “ Methuen's,” in dual capacity as artist and soldier — Mr Ingram x

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agrees — I pass medical examination — Sign on as trooper — Serious reflections — Enthusiasm prevails — Getting ready to leave England for a year — The departure of the Pembroke Castle for South Africa — Composition of the regiment and pay of troopers . . . . .130

Chapter XIII

I return to England from South Africa — The call of the wilds — Finding a new studio — 3 Blenheim Place — My cousin Harris — A sporting arrangement— Alone once more — The female element again — A pleasant adventure — My new friend —

I restart painting — The demure Gaiety girl and the diaphanous drapery — Painting from the nude — Bad times — Living on the cheap — Sententious platitudes — The artists' money-lender — Cycling in those days — The Army Cycling Corps --Our tricycle — Cycling Club costume — The “ Spider," the " Kangaroo " — Ludicrous adventure— The new dollar piece — Cycling in France —

Le Portel — The " Grosvenor " and Sir Coutts Lindsay — " Varnishing Day " at the Royal Academy— The "Private View" — London hosts and hostesses — Lady Seton — Social life — Card parties — Funny experience — Result of a foraging expedition — " When the moon," etc., curious sequel to the sale of a picture — Keeley Halswelle and the Sketching Club . . . . .136

Chapter XIV

Aventures in St John's Wood — A pleasant meeting at Marlboro' Road Station — My welcome visitor — Curious incident — A charming friendship— The end of the romance — An unexpected call — Painters idealising their models — " Love's Golden Dream " — My search for an ideal — The stage door of Her Majesty’s Theatre — The understudy — I paint the picture — Strange finale — I am introduced to my ideal — The “ material " as against the " ideal ” — The nun at the fancy dress ball — She comes to the studio — The story of the confessional . . . . 1 57

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Chapter XV Page

The “ Grove of the Evangelists ” — The “ fastest ” neighbourhood in London — Mixture of the reputable and disreputable in the Wood — The two classes of “ gay ” women — Streets of particularly ill-fame — Hanover Gardens — Wilton Street — A famous house of assignation — Extraordinary state of affairs — The “ fast " lodging-houses — Money the fetish always — Extortionate prices — St John’s Wood “ pubs ” as compared with Montmartre cafe's — Rural quietude of certain streets — Sequestered gardens — Secluded villas — The hansom “ cabbies ” — Fancy boys —

" Bruisers " — The " Judas ” — The “ best boy ”

— Signals to the “ best boy ” — The stamp paper — Beethoven’s symphony — Luxury and sensuality — A masterpiece of voluptuousness — All sorts and conditions of tenants — An awkward embroglio — Liaisons — “ Kept women ”

— Sordid arrangements — Calf love — Amusing incident— Story of a rich Frenchman and his mistress — The flashy, fair-haired houris of then — The " flapper ” of to-day — Sunday tea parties — Drunkenness amongst women . . .172

Chapter XVI

Heavy drinking amongst women {continued)-- A terrible scene in my studio — A midnight visitor — A fortunate interruption — My friend the doctor — Extraordinary denouement — Effect of drink on different women — A curious incident — The bell on the leg of the table . . . . .188

Chapter XVII

I take up caricaturing — Sir Frederick Leighton introduces me to W. Q. Orchardson, R.A. — His kindly reception of me — Difficulties the cartoonist has to contend with — Human weaknesses — Amusing incidents — The Frenchman’s tooth — The caricature on the table top — A shirt-front souvenir —

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Sketching for the paper — The " Unemployed "

Riots — Trafalgar Square on Sunday afternoons — Sir Charles Warren and the police — Mr Hyndman — An unforgettable experience — The " Special Constables ” — I join and am sworn in — The Socialists outwitted — Sir Charles Warren’s clever stratagem — Funny incident —

* “A perfect lidy ” — My first literary work for a daily paper — My meeting with Mr W. T. Stead — I go over to Paris for the Illustrated and the Pall Mall Gazette to interview and sketch President Carnot, General Boulanger, and others — My impression of the President of the Republic — An invitation to a reception at the Elys6e — Joke of my pals — The scene at the reception — My interview with General Boulanger Monsieur de Blowitz, Monsieur Eiffel, Campbell Clarke, and Caran d’Ache — Satisfactory results of my Paris visit — Mr Stead’s facetious remark 197

Chapter XVIII

Artists’ rendezvous in the Wood — Cheap restaurants in the West End — Soho in those days — Pagani's — Pellegrini and the Artists’ Room — Veglio's — Reggiori's, Gatti’s — The Monico — Its curious history — The cheapest dinner in London — The Caf6 Royal — Verrey's — French and English billiards in Windmill Street — Music halls — Our Saturday night’s dissipation — “ Adventures " with the girls — Mad pranks — The baked potato merchant — An amusing joke — The bewildered girls — A curious bet — The wealthy waiter —

“ The Maiden’s Prayer ” — “ Regulars " - — The “ street walker ” of those days — Extraordinary sights in the West End — An amusing skit — John Hollingshead’s wit — Foreign women in Regent Street — The “ last ” 'bus — I make a conquest — Facetious 'bus-drivers — Liquid refreshment —

Story of a “ rum and milk ” — Week-end boating — Painting at Cookham — Flirtation on the Bridge — The boastful Don Juan and the mysterious female — A splendid “ spoof " — A delightful adventure— The launch party — Curious denouement — Another adventure — Missing the last train —

The good Samaritans — L’incroyable. . 214

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Conclusion

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Uneventful times in the studio — “ Black and white ” artists and “ stock ” drawings — My fondness for France — Le Guilvinec — I paint a religious subject— Cheapness of living in the village — Ending of my Bohemian days — What brought about the change — The Wiggins Expedition to Northern Siberia — Mr Ingram suggests my accompanying it as his “special artist” — Sir Frederick Leighton’s friendship — Mr Ingram’s generous policy — I start on my big journey through the Arctic regions — Siberia, Mongolia, and China — My eighteen months’ absence from England — I return to London — Enough of “ roughing it ” for the time — I move from St John’s Wood into the West End . . . 239 xiv

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

PAGE

The Author ...... Frontispiece

She had my favourite colour hair — auburn . . 17

The delightful dwelling-place of a very erudite and

sympathetic artist ...... 26

— his splendid moustache and his martial bearing . 35

Shabby individuals of uncertain age, who looked like

broken-down actors ..... 41

Most of them sat for the figure ..... 42

With a sort of self-consciousness .... 43

Just the model you have been looking for . . 50

The child was just what the artist wanted for his

— but nothing would induce her to take her shoes

and stockings off . . . . .52

I commenced a sketch of her in deshabille . . 53

I worked from my models out on the old pier with the

very background and composition I wanted . 60

He was supposed to be in love with her, and carried out

the idea so conscientiously .... 89

The very embodiment of all that was sweet and human

and sensible . . . . . . .127

The picture which had caused me so much heartburning was eventually purchased for the Walker

Art Gallery, Liverpool . . . . .128

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ILLUSTRATIONS

PAGE

The deck of one of the old Woolwich steamers .

Then an old workhouse man .....

I got a flower-girl to come to the studio .

Was, at the time, “ at the Gaiety ” ...

So I painted her as a nymph after all

Once she had overcome her scruples

Hung in the Royal Academy the following year

She looked very beautiful lying back in a deck-chair

“ Love's Golden Dream ”

Made a black and white drawing of her as a ballet girl instead .......

Sir Charles Warren was the head of the police .

“You will have to catch me as well as you can " Perhaps it was the pretty barmaid over there —

A real river girl, the sort to make you fall madly in love with in a few hours .....

We were very great pals .....

I painted a religious subject there called “ The Viatigue

142 142 149 161

171 198 202 212 226 xvi

Chapter I

I return to London — Searching for rooms — St John’s Wood in the ’eighties — A bed-sitting-room in Wellington Road — The buxom landlady — A tempting offer — A mysterious hat and stick — A little incident during the night — The defunct lodger, pathetic episode — In search of a studio — Rents in London as compared with Paris — I take a furnished studio — My landlord — “ Dear old Jeph.”

It was with mingled feelings of regret and trepidation that I returned to London after the four never-to-be-forgotten years I had spent as a student in Paris, for I realised that my boisterous days of youthful insouciance were over, and that arduous uphill work was facing me. Henceforth I had to pull myself together and rely entirely on my own efforts to carve out for myself a career in the precarious profession I had chosen. The situation I had to face was to me almost tragic, the small income on which I had hitherto depended for daily bread and butter, and an occasional pot of jam, had been snatched away from me through a financial failure, and I found myself practically on my beam-ends with no option but to start out at once and work for my living.

The seriousness of this will be only appreciated

i A by those, who like myself, through no fault of their own, have found themselves in similar circumstances. The question now was, what was to be done and how to begin? I was little more than a youth, and had been brought up with the idea that I should never have to depend on my art for a livelihood ; young as I was I had already learned that, as a profession, art was not a money - maker to be relied upon. I knew from what I had seen in Paris that it was a lottery in which the prizes are few and the blanks many. It was too late, however, for me to think of taking up one of the many trades or professions which might offer more lucrative promise. I had no inclination for any other than an artistic career ; nought remained, therefore, but to make the best of things and put my back to the wall.

Before leaving Paris, in order to avoid expense of packing, I had decided to sell my modest furniture and household goods, though I must admit that it was not without an acute pang of regret that I was forced to come to this decision, and when I saw everything being taken away it was almost like parting with old friends, and I felt a choking feeling in my throat. What stories of tender romance, of heart-burnings, of joys and sorrows these insignificant Lares and Penates could have told ; the poor little fauteails seemed as though holding out their arms to me in mute adieu — all were associated with my innermost recollection of all the romance in my student days, alas ! now over. It was useless repining, so I stiffened my back and endeavoured to persuade myself, much against my own conviction, that it was Kismet, and always for the best.

I arrived in London, therefore, with absolutely no belongings ; with no souvenirs of my Paris life beyond my personal effects, my paint-box, sketch easel, camp stool, and a big bundle of canvases. I certainly could not, therefore, under any circumstances, have been considered a possessor of worldly goods and chattels.

Everything seemed very strange and cheerless to me at first I remember, as I had no home to go to, and but few relations or friends in London, so I felt almost like a traveller in some foreign city ; but I had made up my mind that there was no time to be lost, and I was in a feverish hurry to make a start. The day after my arrival then saw me searching for rooms. I had been recommended to look round St John’s Wood as being a most likely place to suit me and my exiguous purse, so I decided not to be fastidious, and settle on anything so long as it was clean, and at any rate make a beginning.

In the ’eighties St John’s Wood was the quarter most favoured by artists, and although this explained to a certain extent how I found my way up there, I cannot help feeling now that it was also the peculiar notoriety of the district that attracted me. There was in those days an eclat about the very name that raised visions of a repetition in London of the joyous times I had spent in Paris, and I must confess now, that as a substitute for the Montmartre of my student days, I found St John’s Wood in the ’eighties not altogether out of the running. Of course it was but a quiet suburb, and had none of the life or go of the French Quartier, but there was, as will be seen, plenty of fun and adventure there for those who were so minded, whilst as a place for work it was positively delightful in its almost rural quietude.

I found a nice bed-sitting-room on the second floor in Wellington Road in a small semi-detached house, with a garden back and front, for which I paid the modest sum of ios. a week, including my breakfast, and an ample one at that ; cheap enough in all conscience sake, but there was a somewhat curious little incident that perhaps explained how

I came to be thus favoured, for Wellington Road was not usually so inexpensive in the way of lodgings.

When I went to make enquiries about the room to let, the door was opened by the landlady herself, a buxom fair -haired person of uncertain age, g°t UP “lamb fashion.” She had a certain flirtatious look, and gave me an unmistakable “St John’s Wood glad-eye,” as she invited me in to see the room, which as it turned out suited me very well. It was the only one she let, so she told me, as she was a widow, and could not afford to keep servants ; but the rent of it was 1 5s. a week, and was more than I wanted to give, and I told her so. She seemed disappointed rather than annoyed when she learned this.

To my surprise, as I was going downstairs she suddenly said that she would reduce it to 10s. if I would take it at once, as she felt she was sure she would like to have me as her lodger, and then to my still further surprise she added, “that will of course include your breakfast as well” This was too tempting an offer to refuse, so I accepted without hesitation. I was young then, and perhaps somewhat dense at times, anyhow I arranged to move in that day. As I was passing through the hall I noticed a man’s hat hanging on the hat-stand with a very truculent looking stick near it. Somehow I did not like the look of them, they had an aggressive air ; the owner I thought could not be an agreeable sort of gentleman. However, I wasn’t obliged to know him, so it didn’t really matter, so I said nothing, but it struck me as somewhat strange to see them as though quite in their accustomed place after what she had told me about herself. Well, I moved in and found my room very clean and comfortable, and forgot all about the hat and stick for the moment.

I was busy the next week or so hunting for a cheap studio, and was out most of the time, so had not much opportunity for chatting with her, much as she would have liked me to, as I could not fail to notice, for she was a most loquacious and skittish person, and seemed to be always on the slightest excuse waiting to pounce out on me whenever I came in at any time, even late at night. As I went up to my room she would open the door of her bedroom, and peeping out coyly, ask me kindly if I had all I required. At times almost whispering tenderly that I must not mind asking her for anything I fancied, as she wanted me to be quite happy and feel myself at home.

I often think of a glimpse I got of her on one of these occasions. The light of the candle I was carrying lit up her face with startling effect as she stood in the half-open door of her bedroom, arrayed in a flimsy sort of dressing-gown which only partially hid her ample figure. To my

youthful eyes, fresh from Paris, and with the recollections still vivid in my memory of my delightfully young and piquant petites amies , this middle-aged passee individual, old enough to be my mother, with her dyed hair, pasty face, and sickly provocative leer was as a sort of vision of another world, which was new to me, and I hastily thanked her, and felt relieved when I found myself in my room, and with the door bolted. I remember I almost felt afraid she would come after me and try to get in.

The next morning she laughingly twitted me about coming in so late, and said that I had no doubt learned some bad habits in Paris, which by all accounts was a very “ naughty place ” — not that she minded what people did if they chose to — and, in fact, she rather approved of youth having its fling, she added significantly. I did not feel inclined to discuss the subject with her, but she was quite a character in her way, and it was most difficult to stop her talking once she started. Still, I could have forgiven her a good deal, for she was a kindly motherly person once she forgot her aspirations to be considered a young and beautiful girl.

One morning whilst I was having breakfast, which by the way she let me have in her own sitting-room,

I asked casually about her other lodger — that I had not seen anything of him. “ Her other lodger ! ” she exclaimed with surprise. “ What other lodger ? ”

“ The one whose hat and stick are in the hall.”

Then to my intense surprise she suddenly burst into tears, and letting herself drop into an armchair by the fire she buried her face in her hands and sobbed hysterically. I was so taken aback that I did not know what to say ; all that I could do was to assure her as sympathetically as I could that I was very sorry indeed if I had said anything to upset her — that it was quite unintentional on my part, and so forth — and then I sat and waited until the crisis passed.

In a few minutes she became calm again, and smiled sadly at me through her tear-dimmed eyes. I shall never forget what she looked like. She was not beautiful at any time of the day, and in the early morning least of all, and moreover she had a fancy for an excessive amount of a peculiarly white face powder, so the effect of her tears on this pastel-like surface may be imagined ; they had formed little lines all over her cheeks. I should have laughed outright had it not been that 1 realised her grief was quite real and unassumed.