With pencil^ brush & chisel
il t - brush
, ACC. No. 994577
* 4 7 *
WITH ; ; /
PENCIL, BRUSH AND CHISE1
THE LIFE OF AN ARTIST
** HOW GOOD is MAN'S LIFE, THE MERE LIVING ! "
WITH ISO ILLUSTRATIONS
G.P. Putnam* s Sons
' 5 186ft
Made in the United States of America
,-? <-..i?'\/i r*i*v*v
I SHOULD LIKE TO DEDICATE THESE LINES,
WERE I PERMITTED TO DO SO, TO THE MEMORY
OF ONE OF THE GREATEST MEN OF HIS TIME.
GREAT AS PRINCE, AS KING, AS DIPLOMAT, AS
PATRON, AS FRIEND, AND GREAT IN THE ART
OF FORGIVING. AND EVEN TODAY WHEN HIS
SUN HAS SET, THE RAYS SLOWLY DISAPPEAR
ING BEHIND THE MOUNTAINS STILL LEAVE
AN AFTERGLOW OF THE BEAT^IFUL SPRING
DAY THAT HIS LIFE HAS BROUGHT
INTO THIS WORLD
1LTHOUGH Vienna was, and still is, one of the most
beautiful cities in Europe with its extensive boulevards,
its monumental buildings and Imperial Parks stretching
to the Danube, I always felt that the world which it
represented was too narrow for me. Only my father's solicitude for my
welfare deterred me from tearing my bonds asunder, and it was not
until he was summarily taken from me and I was thrown upon my own
responsibilities, that there being no longer any tie strong enough to hold
me at home, I started out,
^Destiny has carried me into many countries: Germany, France, Eng
land, Italy and Holland, Canada, Cuba and America. Everywhere I
have worked and met interesting people, and what I have beheld has
remained imprinted on my memory.
The favor of the highest in the land has been bestowed upon me; it
was my good fortune to meet some of the most exalted. But, however
great their cordiality, I have always remembered that no amount of
stretching my neck would help me to become a swan, and so I have been
content to be what I am.
zJtiCy only pride is in the consciousness that if I have achieved at all,
1 did it alone: and for my failures no one can blame me more than I
NEW YORK, October, 1924
WAS born to other things." Writing is about the
last I ever expected to attempt, but since I have
sinned I shall at least try to offer my explanation.
It is all simple and natural, as is any phenomenon
after it has been elucidated.
Last January Harvey W. Corbett, while posing for his bust,
asked me to speak before the Architectural League, to help them in
their publicity campaign, so that the forthcoming exhibition would
yield as many as possible of the needed half-dollars which are the
mainstay of its existence. The friendly suggestion from the president
of such an honorable institution is a command to be executed to the
best of one's ability.
I therefore removed the dust from my long-hidden album and
photographed its contents, to be duly thrown on the architectural
screen. While I fervently longed for the moment when, after the
talk, my troubles would end, I was soon compelled to admit that
they had only begun. From all sides I was approached by appeals
to publish my sketches and recollections. They varied from a
request for a laconic statement to an encyclopedical tome. One
young woman who represented a popular daily was so solicitous for
my reaching the " highest heaven " that my excuses and protesta
tions seemed to avail nothing. She even offered herself as collabo
rator with that smile which can make and has unmade continents.
But so wholly was I imbued with the picture of failure and ridicule
that for once I remained unconquered.
An ill wind must have blown in my direction a little seed which
began presently to germinate. I soon saw myself as one of those
fellows who, all his life having been no more than one in a large crowd,
finds himself -unexpectedly precipitated to the front line with an
unobstructed outlook; more, I envisioned myself raised to a platform
while the "numberless throng" breathlessly awaited the first words,
ready to grasp the novice and relegate him into the oblivion whence
he had emerged. This fired my rising ambition. At least, I thought,
the game should be worth a trial.
In such a delicate situation it is not easy to know who is the
somebody to consult. But I was fortunate, I took my friend
Joseph Leyendecker into my confidence and showed him the material,
Through his affiliation with The Saturday Evening Post the subject
came to the attention of one of the editors, who, a few days later,
came to see me. He was agreeable, perhaps a little on his guard, as
a man must needs be who is constantly being asked to do things,
which to decline requires all the delicacy in the art of refusal When
he saw the illustrations he became curious. He followed up the
progress of my quill driving. By and by he became interested and
finally even helpful.
Also George Palmer Putnam the publisher delved into my coup
de plume and what he proposed was so tempting that I decided to
ascertain first what sort of organization he represented. In the
guise of a bibliophile I sauntered into their store and offices and
subjected them to critical scrutiny. There I beheld a wealth of
rare books and the workings of a great enterprise. To be in such
company was inviting; I hurried home to sign my contract lest my
publisher change his mind.
Then came the question of the serial rights. My friend of The
Saturday Evening Post seemed pleased enough, but there still was
the Supreme Court in Philadelphia to finally decide. In my mind's
eye I saw a stern gentleman in a magnificent office, surrounded by
countless manuscripts. An affirmative decision from him is of such
far-reaching benefit that I fancy his smile alone would cause the writer
to feel like
' " A happy soul, that all the way
To heaven hath a summer's day."
However, once more my misgivings were dissipated. I am brav
ing the prospect of seeing myself in print in that periodical which is
the coveted vehicle of all authors.
Other publications must have learned of my literary utopisms.
Perhaps in a spirit of curiosity they approached me and I saw no
special reason why their inquiring minds should not be gratified.
One day a very young man presented a letter from his sub-editor and
asked leave to see the material. He confessed that he invoked first
the assistance of the Metropolitan Museum in finding out about me
and the result must have been reassuring, for here he was, with an
ample brief case and such an air of importance that I was tempted to
say, like Lord Rothschild, "Please take two chairs/'
After reading a few chapters he asked if he might take them to
the sub-editor or possibly to the editor himself. I said I was dis
inclined to part with the manuscript, but I should be glad to welcome
his sub and chief editors into the privacy of my studio.
He apparently resented my underestimating the importance of
his paper, for he drew himself up and said: " Perhaps I better give
you my personal opinion. I don't think your narratives would be
of sufficient interest to our readers. But why not try The Saturday
Evening Post? They sometimes handle such material." I thanked
him profusely for the suggestion.
Now that all is arranged, I am like the little boy who launches his
toy boat on the pond; he looks apprehensively at the sky, anxiously
noting from which direction the wind comes and figuring its effect
on his small craft.
CHAPTER I Early youth a Divine friend Sarah Bernhardt Musical Vienna 1888 3
CHAPTER 2 Academy Berlin Kaiser's "warlordings" in art the Empress and her
boys On to Rome 1 3
CHAPTER 3 The materialization of a thousand dreams Roman Society Queen
Margherita her reverence for things artistic Sargent Paderewski and
his timely gloriole 23
CHAPTER 4 Arrival in London Dividing line of two great epochs "some touch of
Nature's genial glow" the inconsistency of a vainglorious mother . . 35
CHAPTER 5 First years in London Convivial companionship at Pagani's Lady
Randolph Churchill work for the Marlboroughs embarrassing visit
to Blenheim Har court Pinero Forbes-Robertson Herbert Tree
George Alexander 44
CHAPTER 6 Paderewski at Merges Prince of Wales' first visit to the studio . . . 6 1
CHAPTER 7 Christmas of 1899 at Sandringham 69
CHAPTER 8 The Rothschilds Ferrieres-sur-Marne a ceremonious dinner a musicale
amidst difficulties Sir Edgar Speyer, Baronet the Beresfords a critical
dissection of some censorious critics Laszlo and Mensdorif . . . . 85
CHAPTER 9 Queen Victoria summoned to Windsor 101
CHAPTER IO Antonio Mancini and his artistic eccentricities first excursions into the
Realm of color Sargent's generous help no
CHAPTER 1 1 Second visit to Sandringham the large Birthday gathering a rare oppor
tunity for sketching the Corn wall is- Wests the Wertheimers . . .115
CHAPTER 12 Another summons to Windsor Memorial for the Queen's grandson
Her Majesty's last days the momentous night of January twenty-third 128
CHAPTER 1 3 The Edwardian Postage stamps a visit to the Court of Coburg a singular
coincidence at Beyreuth 138
CHAPTER 14 The brush becomes a rival to the chisel Le Marquis de Several Sir
Ernest Cassel Maud Ashley Sir Felix Semon's unappreciated efforts in
entertaining Mrs. Bischoffsheim's culinary proficiencies 150
CHAPTER 15 Coronation medals Lord and Lady Normanton Margot Asquith's amus
ing indelicacy Visit to Balmoral de Martino's dietetic dilemma-
Portraits and portraiture 160
CHAPTER 1 6 Icy hospitality at the Royal Academy Alma-Tadcma Mond father and
Mond son a blithsome smile of Goddess Destiny . , . , . . .171
CHAPTER 17 Abbey Lodge "that goal that lies beyond the purchase of the world" . . 1 79
CHAPTER 1 8 First visit to the United States "embarras de richcsse" and some doubtful
consequences Priceless "Old Masters" of yesterday and today Goulds,
Guinesses, Goelets a superman in literary affectation 1 88
CHAPTER 19 Visits to Cuba and Canada Clare Shciidan the gold of silence minus
CHAPTER 20 Sitters "to be" and "not to be" 214
CHAPTER 2 1 Maeterlinck Belasco's becoming isolation Pupils 21 g
CHAPTER 22 Models , 226
CHAPTER 23 Actions and reactions * , . 235
CHAPTER 24. A moment's halt a glance around a glimpse into a world of glorious
sublimity t 242
EMIL FUCHS Frontispiece
MOTHER-LOVE ........... 28
B AS RELIEFS ON BASE OF GROUP "MOTHER-LOVE" .... 29
OLD ITALIAN PEASANT WOMAN 32
ARABELLA DI SARACINESCO ........ 33
THE LATE LORD WOLSELEY ........ 36
LA PENSIEROSA .......... 37
LADY ALICE MONTAGU 40
THE SISTERS 41
SANCTA CECILIA 44
MOTHER AND CHILD 45
PADEREWSKI ........... 48
A BEAUTY FROM AUSTRALIA ........ 49
THE MARQUESS OF BLANDFORD ........ 52
LADY RANDOLPH CHURCHILL AS EMPRESS THEODORA .... 53
SIR JOHNSTON FORBES-ROBERTSON 57
PORTRAIT OF AN ARTIST (GEORGE DRINKWATER) .... 63
ITALIAN NEWS VENDOR 66
KING EDWARD VII (WHEN PRINCE OF WALES) ..... 7<>
QUEEN ALEXANDRA (WHEN PRINCESS OF WALES) . * - -7*
QUEEN ALEXANDRA (WHEN PRINCESS OF WALES) .... 72
EVENING AT SOMERLEY ......... 73
KING GEORGE V (WHEN DUKE OF YORK) ...... 76
QUEEN MARY (WHEN DUCHESS OF YORK) ...... 77
A BRIDGE PARTY AT SANDRINGHAM ....... 8o
THE LATE MARQUESS OF SALISBURY ....... 81
ASHLEY MEMORIAL AT RAMSEY CATHEDRAL ..... 88
PRINCE CHRISTIAN VICTOR MEMORIAL ...... 89
THE DUKE OF ROXBURGH ........ 9^
PHILOMENA ........... 9&
LORD BALFOUR ........... 9^
THE LATE LORD LONDONDERRY .,..... 96
THE LATE DUKE OF DEVONSHIRE ..... 97
SIR ROBERT L. BORDEN ......... 97
THE LATE JOSEPH CHAMBERLAIN ....... 97
THE LATE SIR GEORGE WHITE .....** 97
THE LATE MARQUIS DE SOVERAL ....... 112
LINDLEY M. GARRISON . . , . . . * .113
SIR JAMES REID .......... 120
YSAYE ....... ..... 120
PRINCESS VICTORIA OF WALES ........ 120
THE DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH ........ 120
PRINCE GEORGE OF GREECE ........ 121
EDOARDO DE MARTINO ......... lai
REUBEN D. SASSOON ....
* * * JL. X
DOWAGER LADY LONDONDERRY I2I
DRAWING OF QUEEN VICTORIA ON HER DEATHBED . . . .132
THE TELEGRAM WHICH CALLED MR. FUCHS TO OSBORNE ON THE OCCASION
OF QUEEN VICTORIA'S DEATH I3 ^
QUEEN VICTORIA I33
MEDAL COMMEMORATING THE TERMINATION OF THE SOUTH AFRICAN WAR 136
QUEEN ALEXANDRA AS PRINCESS OF PITY I3 5
OFFICIAL CORONATION MEDAL, KING EDWARD VII AND QUEEN ALEXANDRA 136
FLOWERS FROM THE DEATHBED OF QUEEN VICTORIA . . . .137
KING HAAKON OF NORWAY (WHEN PRINCE CHARLES OF DENMARK) . 137
MEDAL COMMEMORATING THE SIGNING OF THE PEACE TREATY, JUNE 28,
W9 ' 137
HEAD OF KING EDWARD VII FOR THE POSTAGE STAMP . . . 138
MEDAL COMMEMORATING QUEEN VICTORIA'S REIGN IN THE 20TH CENTURY 140
FIRST APPROVED DESIGN OF THE EDWARDIAN POSTAGE STAMP . . 140
THE HUDSON-FULTON COMMEMORATION MEDAL 141
ALIENNE DE CARRI^RE 144.
MRS. MARSHALL FIELD, III ........ 145
GEORGE J. GOULD 148
KINGDON GOULD 149
"!N MAIDEN MEDITATION" 153
MRS. COURTLANDT NlCOLL , .156
MRS. HENRY CLEWS, JR 157
A STUDY IN BLUE AND GOLD 164
THE LADY IN BLUE 165
THE CALL FROM THE BEYOND 168
THE GROUP 169
MRS. EDMUND C. RANDOLPH 172
MRS. ANTHONY J. DREXEL, JR. (WHEN MARJORIE GOULD) . . 173
THE LATE HOWARD W. BEAL, M.D 176
SIR JOHNSTON FORBES-ROBERTSON 177
A MODERN JUNO 180
THE JAPANESE PUPIL 181
THE ARTIST'S SISTER 185
MASTER JAMES COLWELL . , 188
CAPTAIN ROBERT W. HUNT 180
TAMARA -.,..,.,,,, 107
CATHERINE CALVERT % .196
MRS. EDWARD R. THOMAS , ,197
AWAKENING OF SPRING 200
MR. CLARENCE M. CLARK ,201
A PORTRAIT BUST 2()c .
MELVILLE E. STONE 20 g
MARTIN COLNAGHI . . , .
ETHELMARY OAKLAND . . . , % ^ ^ 2|2
CHILDREN OF MRS. SIDNEY WHELAN . . . t ^ t
GIRL WITH FAN ... ^ r
" > . . 216
THE DANCER 217
DAWN . . . . 217
CLARE SHERIDAN 220
Miss REBA OWEN 221
LA DAME AUX (EILLETS 224
LITTLE JANE AND HER MOTHER 225
MRS. LEWIS CHANDLER ......... 228
MRS. EDWARD W. CLARK, 30 229
STUDIES OF NUDES 233
PORTRAIT OF MR, FUCHS BY HIS JAPANESE PUPIL .... 236
ETCHING OF AN ITALIAN WOMAN 236
ABBEY LODGE, REGENT'S PARK ........ 237
MR. FUCHS' STUDIO IN NEW YORK 240
CORNER IN MR. FUCHS' STUDIO IN NEW YORK ..... 241
THE ARTIST'S STUDIO IN NEW YORK 244
THE ARTIST'S STUDIO ENTRANCE IN NEW YORK .... 245
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
With Pencil, Brush, and Chisel
" Youththe glad season of life. " (Carlyle.)
IKE so many parents whose children's welfare is the
fundamental consideration of their existence, mine
also were gravely concerned about the future of their
only remaining boy, who had been placed in this
world just after an elder brother in an unguarded
moment, playing before an open fire, caught a cinder on one of his
curls and ended his young life almost before it had begun. This was
probably why the newcomer was doubly surrounded with anxious
care and affection after his appearance on this stage where tragedy
and comedy succeed each other in endless variation, and are enacted
with such elemental force that not a few of the actors look implor
ingly at the curtain above and wonder when it will be lowered, too
often indifferent as to whether or not the exit is by the right door.
This affection of my parents was my stage. The light effects were
produced only by warm colors; the words I heard spoken were modu
lated by the tenderness of parental love; the setting was an idyll,
flowers and sunshine the Kingdom of Dreams. Even today I live
happily in that land of mystery and still enjoy each passing moment,
blessing the dawning morrow.
But I have learned that just to play the part to the best of one's
ability does not alone make for success. We need the collaboration of
4 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
the other actors, even the goodwill of those who do not act with us.
These are essential ingredients, and their omission gives to life the
flavor of unseasoned food; no matter how well it may be prepared,
there is something lacking. And that something is the human
My mother's kin had, with united efforts, made for themselves
name and wealth. My father's people were poor. He was the
youngest of a large number of brothers and sisters, all of whom seemed
satisfied with their lot in a little village in Hungary. Not so my
father. He left at an early age to mould his own destiny. He went
to the nearest town and accepted a place in a small commercial house
at the bottom of the ladder, whose steep steps he climbed untiringly
until he reached a level where he felt he might aspire to the hand of
one of the daughters of his patron. He proposed and was accepted,
and they went to live in Vienna. There he established himself with
nothing more than a good name, valuable experience, determination
to succeed and the affection of a consort to whom he was accustomed
to look up, and whom he worshiped ever more through the years.
Soon after I was sent to school, my mother's health became deli
cate, and she had to spend the winters in the south and the summers
in the mountains. Thus I grew up at the side of my father, who be
came my adviser, friend and companion. In fact, he was everything
to me and the gentle care with which he guarded my existence was
such that I never felt the need or desire to associate with my school
mates. My lonely childhood opened a world for me, a world which
kept me unaware of the shadows which are the complement of light,
I was a dreamer. Even while still very young, beautiful things
caused in me an emotion of happiness. There was always the craving
to express myself in some form of imagery. I would write poetry or
sketch or would compose tunes which, however discordant they may
have been to others, unfolded lovely pictures to my gaze. What I
could not express in language of my own, 1 borrowed from Heine,
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 5
Goethe, Felix Dahn, Th6ophile Gautier and Alfred de Musset my
companions who could make me weep or sigh or spur me on to such
heights of enthusiasm that I wanted to set out and conquer the world.
To lay claim to having been a good scholar would be to flatter my
self undeservedly. Actually, I had difficulty to squeeze through the
semesters and I seldom came out unscathed, for I bore several
scratches and a few hard knocks. The one course in which I excelled
was modeling. Small wonder. I spent all my spare time in that
room. My first teacher was an old sculptor of animals and the
quantities of dogs' heads that he made me copy would have decorated
a fair-sized kennel. To me it was such joy to mess about in that fas
cinating clay, which yielded so pliantly to the slightest impress of my
fingers, but I neglected to note that while it was excellent for my
ambition, it never improved my appearance.
As I grew older, I understood better and better what my father
meant to me. I saw that he deprived himself of comforts to give
me luxuries. He would often speak of the pleasure it was for him
to permit me to study anything I wanted to, because that was a
f drm of patrimony from which no one could separate me. But I did
not know then that my enchanted days entailed sleepless nights for
him who denied me nothing.
Having built up a little business of which he was justly proud, he
looked forward to the time when I should be able to help him. Noth
ing would have given me greater satisfaction. After leaving college
I did enter his firm with the resolve to lighten his burden, but I did
not know how to make myself even useful. It was painful to us both
to him because he soon saw that I had no aptitude for commerce,
and it grieved me beyond compare when I knew that I could be of no
service to him. And when, in later years, I might at least have re
turned his munificence in some small measure, it was too late his
summons had come to join the innumerable caravan.
While at school, not content to spend all my leisure time drawing
and modeling, I could not resist making cartoons on the margins of
6 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
my textbooks. Aside from the infraction of discipline, it destroyed
the saleability of the books to the incoming class. One of these un
timely sketches was of a teacher and cost me a demerit mark in de
portment at an unpropitious moment, for I had arrived at the period
of my final examinations. He said nothing but simply opened a large
class-book and placed a mark against my name which I was certain
was not favorable. This alarmed me so much that in my despair at
the ultimate penalty (the relinquishing of my privilege to serve
one year instead of three years in military training), I went straight
to him with my book and asked him if it was fair to punish me for
making a really complimentary likeness of him. He looked at it
and, in casually turning over the leaves, recognized the features of
some of my schoolmates and seemed to be amused. There were
others of himself, not so flattering, and it made me tremble as he
approached those pages, but they too seemed to amuse him.
He invited me to come to see him at his home that afternoon and
bring my books, so I journeyed forth on a pilgrimage to the outlying
suburb where he lived in a small apartment at the top of a shabby
house. I was shown into his study by a grumpy old housekeeper.
There he sat buried in mountains of book; books everywhere on
shelves, on the floor, on chairs, on tables, even tinder the tables. He
invited me to sit down and tell him about myself. There was little
to tell; just the story of a boy who craved to be an artist, but whose
family opposed it. And now this unfortunate incident in the class
room and the dreary prospect of years of military service on account
of my low mark in deportment . . . all this I told him while he in
spected my textbooks, occasionally breaking into hearty laughter.
He was no longer the stern schoolmaster keeping his boys in order.
He was natural, human.
After hearing my tale of woe he said, " Don't worry. I will do all
I can to help you. No one can really know the extent of your talent,
but I see enough to be convinced that the life of an artist means yow
happiness. So go home and keep on working/'
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 7
I had made a friend that afternoon.
This was the first occasion in facing an almost insurmountable
obstacle (the necessity for serving those two extra years in the Gov
ernment barracks), when I felt urged by an unseen force to act
promptly and without premeditation. To approach a master as I
had, was an unheard-of presumption. This and other later instances
taught me to act on impulse, even in important decisions, permitting
myself to be guided by those unnamed powers which seem to in
fluence the trend of our thought, just as the invisible rays or waves
transmit sound, and even envisage pictures, thousands of miles away.
The mere fact that we call it something, fate or destiny or providence,
proves that it must have manifested itself to countless others.
My unusual action had far-reaching consequences. This un
known man spent his days in a classroom harassed by a lot of unruly
youngsters, and his nights among his beloved books. In his ob
scurity he was one day sought and appointed secretary of the treasury
for the Austrian Empire. How this came about was in itself a
From time to time he had issued pamphlets on national and
economic questions. It was then the only possible way of criticizing
government measures by a private citizen, the welfare of whose father
land was his chief consideration. In due course, these brochures
came to the knowledge of the old emperor. Especially was Francis
Joseph interested in a series of articles ia which the writer undertook
to prove that if the Austrian currency could be brought to a par with
the currencies of France, Germany and Italy, that stabilizing act
would have a lasting effect upon the prosperity of the empire. So
impressed was the sovereign with these essays that, when a change
in the cabinet took place, he offered to unknown Doctor Steinbach
the portfolio of the Treasury.
And Steinbach proved to be the right man in the right place.
What he advocated in writing, he was able to put into effect. In a
few years the new system of Austrian currency proved so successful,
8 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
that even today it is still a legal tender and will probably continue
so for years to come.
Having passed my examinations with the help of my new-found
friend, my father allowed me to enroll at the Imperial Academy of
Fine Arts. After my brief business career, he was convinced that
it would be better to let me follow my own inclinations.
The teacher of sculpture at the Academy was Professor Helkner,
His class was popular and crowded, so that he could give only a few
minutes to each individual. The best pupils he taught in his private
studio, thus removing these shining lights from our sight. But this
did not matter much; to view their work would not have helped
materially, as the academies reach only the humbler disciples of art.
Even those who have arrived at the top of the academic ladder have
rarely attained more than mediocrity. One has only to study the
list of the hundreds who have won the coveted prix de Rome in the
various countries, to be assured that this was their only achievement,
if it may be designated thus rather than as a lucky chance.
The reason for this is simple. To succeed in art, more than talent
is needed. That is only the foundation; the edifice itself requires
many component parts, the omission of any one of which will be
noticeable in the work imagination, sentiment, perseverance, assi
duity, untiring devotion. It is because of the exigencies of this pro
fession that so few succeed, and these, indifferent to the dictates of
fashion, the critics, the dealers or the public, have silently followed
their own path, finding their way instinctively through the labyrinths-
Even if they are not permitted to see the end of the road and the
clearing beyond, their days have at least been filled with ttnalloyed
It was in the year 1888, while I was at the Academy, that Sarah
Bernhardt, then at the zenith of her fame, was touring Europe* Her
success was astounding. Although she played in French, the Vienna
theater sold out every night. At the stage door hundreds of people
waited for her to come out, when she would toss among them frag-
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, s AND CHISEL 9
merits of the lace handkerchief which she tore so effectively into
shreds in La Dame aux Camelias. No wonder I caught the con
tagious fever. Night after night I too waited in the dark passages
at the stage door in the hope of catching a glimpse of her as she
passed. One day I took my courage in my hands and wrote her
asking if she would grant me the honor of a few sittings for a small
bust, which I would be happy to offer her should she think it worthy
of acceptance. To my note came this reply:
Je vous recevrai demain, Samedi, & quatre heures et je me prterai
avec plaisir & votre f antaisie artistique.
(I shall receive you tomorrow, Saturday, at four and shall lend myself
with pleasure to your artistic fancy.)
This was about the biggest thing that could have happened to
me. I began the bust in wax and, with the aid of photographs, worked
at it day and night until I finished it such as it was. In a turmoil
of excitement I waited at my studio. The time passed but there was
no sign of the divine Sarah. I waited on, until finally I took up her
letter again to make sure that the engagement was written there,
black on white. There really was hardly need of that since I knew
the letter by heart. But as I scanned it again, and this time more
carefully, I discovered that I had read the first three words " Je vous
verrai" (I shall see you), assuming that this would mean at my
improvised studio. When I realized my error, I had barely time
enough to hurry to her hotel and to throw myself upon her mercy.
She was in her drawing room presiding at tea and was surrounded
by a crowd of illustrious visitors. Behind her chair stood her hus
band, Damala, the handsome Damala, whom she had married and
divorced and remarried again. Though he had no talent, he played
in her company the part of the leading juvenile. But what did that
matter? He looked the part and she possessed the gifts. Besides,
everyone knew that he had been her dressmaker and that she had
io WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
fallen in love with him. Because of this he was more interesting to
the crowd than a Charles Keane or a Henry Irving.
This throng about Madame Bemhardt I had to face, and I stam
mered my excuses as best I knew how. They all laughed heartily.
I produced the bust I had made. It was shown around to everyone,
and I suppose this must have been another cause of the hilarity.
Very graciously, however, she invited me to come up on the stage
that night. And when I came, hanging on her every word and
gesture, she presented me, after the big love scene in Camille, with a
piece of the coveted handkerchief and even wrote a few words on it.
My state by that time can be imagined.
A little later I received another note from her, which read as
Je vous en prie, cher Monsieur Fuchs, remettons la pose de mon petit
joli bust & mon retour. Je me sens trop suffrante aujourcThui, Je vais
me mettre dans mon lit pour pouvoir jouer ce soir. Venez ce soir dans
mon loge pour que je vous serre la main.
Si vous venez & Budapesth, je poserai bien.
(I beg of you, dear Mr. Puchs, to postpone the sittings for my nice
little bust -until my return. I feel too unwell today. I am going to lie
down so as to be able to play tonight. Come tonight to my dressing room
so that I can shake hands with you.
If you come to Budapesth, I shall give you good sittings.
A thousand kind regards,
I had a wild impulse to follow in her train with my poor bust,
Unfortunately I found that my means would not permit of such ex
travagance. For a long time my heart ached and for many days
after I kept running to my door to see whether the hoped-for letter
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND* CHISEL n
from Madame Bernhardt had arrived. But it never came. Time
is a kind friend and a great physician and it mended my broken
While passionately bent upon sculpture and drawing, I was also a
student of music. Thanks to the generosity of my father, who
showed me no end of kindness and indulgence, I was able to study
the piano at the Vienna Conservatory, and that has greatly enriched
my life. At that period, Vienna was the center of music. At the
Boesendorfer Hall I heard the d6buts of most of the artists who
have since then become famous the world over. It was here that I
first heard Paderewski, Busoni, Moritz Rosenthal, Arthur Friedheim
(the favorite pupil of Liszt), de Pachmann, Kreisler and, last but not
least, the great Anton Rubinstein himself.
Paderewski was then about twenty-eight years old, very slender and
with a mane of reddish golden hair, which made his magnificent head
still more magnificent. After one of his concerts at the Boesendorfer
Hall, I was asked to a Bohemian beer party at an inn nearby, where
Paderewski's teacher, Leschetitzky, was the guest of the evening. It
was a great gathering. Never before had Leschetitzky, perhaps the
world's foremost teacher of piano, appeared so radiant. His presence
in itself was an event. Once he rose and made a brief speech sketch
ing out the future of his gifted pupil, and all his hearers felt that
Paderewski's career was bound to be a glorious one. And every
augury of that night has been amply confirmed.
Johann Strauss, the immortal composer of waltzes and ball-room
tunes, was nightly producing his music at the Theater on the Wien.
The most famous of his operettas were coming out in uninterrupted
successes. The Bat, The Gypsy Baron, The Blue Danube all appeared
at this time. He composed them, oddly enough, upon an organ
which he had built in his palatial home. If there is any one instru
ment one does not associate with this light music, it is an organ.
It was my good fortune also to meet Johannes Brahms. The
collecting of autographs of famous men is still a hobby with some
12 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
people as it was then, and I called to ask that I be permitted to add
his signature to my treasured group.
Most of his later years he spent in seclusion in a fashionable
suburb named Landstrasse. Like Steinbach, he was a bachelor and,
if there be any truth in the words of Goethe that every genius is
linked to his century by one failing, their housekeepers must have
been their weak spots for these two men were completely under their
dominion, and to gain admission to the presence of either, one had to
resort to all sorts of devices to get into the good graces of the monitors,
It seemed inconceivable that Brahms could have written those ten
der songs so characteristic of him, for there was no poetic tendency
discernible in the man. He was short and stout with long hair and
beard, and he spoke brusquely in the hard, unsympathetic dialect
of the North. He received me in the midst of his work, carelessly
attired and wearing loose, felt slippers. Having succeeded in pene
trating his sanctum, I accomplished my object, but judging by the
manner in which he received me mine was only a Pyrrhic victory,
To listen to music, to play, to sculpt, to drawthat was my life
at this period in Vienna. It was all like some delightful revel. And
indeed, revels were not wanting. Upon the occasion of the marriage
of the Crown Prince Rudolph the city of Vienna arranged a pageant
which was the most splendid that her artists could invent. The
particular author of this was Hans Makart, a historical painter
whose pictures, The Entry of Charles V into Antwerp, The Dream
after the Ball, and The Hunt of Diana (the last two in the Metro
politan Museum in New York), made his fame world-wide. He
often came to visit my parents and upon one of these occasions my
father ventured to show him a part of his pageant which I had copied
from the illustrated booklets that were sold in the town, Hans
Makart scrutinized my drawings carefully.
"The blanks are the best/' he remarked after a pause.
How happy is he born and taught that serveth not another's will." (Wotton.)
WAS barely twenty-two when I lost both my parents.
My fate was now in my own hands, and after a short
stay with Professor Helkner in Vienna I decided to
try my luck with Professor Schaper in Berlin. I dis
mantled my studio, packed my belongings and left
/r" Vienna, never to live there again. When I came to Berlin and
(I showed my work to Professor Schaper, he informed me that I knew
nothing about sculpture. He only told me what I already suspected.
But I was pained to realize that the fact was so apparent. With
much persuasion I induced him to give me a trial, and he accepted
(0 me at last as one of his pupils.
n Here I had my chance. I could study, and study undisturbed
in Berlin, as I had never studied in Vienna. And here I may say
ft* I made the best use of my opportunities. After a year's work I
was rewarded with the privilege of having a small studio of my own
at the Berlin Royal Academy. Some other minor compensations
which came at this time were also encouraging. It appeared to me
Othat the best use I could make of my private studio was to compete
for one of the scholarships which the Academy had it in its power
to confer. And I had only just reached the minimum age for com
petition -twenty-four when I was lucky enough to be the Thinner.
Anton von Werner was the director of the Academy at Berlin.
"The great Anton von Werner," he was called. It was said of him
that he could put more art into the painting of a soldier 's boots than
14 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
others could put into the face. His studio at the Academy was
filled to overflowing with patriotic pictures. He painted the Procla
mation of William the Great as Emperor at Versailles, the Negotia
tion of Peace at Versailles in which Bismarck forces Thiers to sign the
Treaty, and innumerable other historic canvases.
Von Werner was considered an institution in German art second
only to the great Menzel, his illustrious contemporary. The Acad
emy was proud of possessing so distinguished a leader. And excel
lent he doubtless was for that particular post. His speeches at the
beginning and end of each term were considered classics of their kind.
Even in my brief stay there, two things which he said still linger in
my memory. At his opening address he took a piece of chalk, and
holding it up, declared:
11 Talent is one. It is the basis of art. Without it any amount of
industry is of no value/'
Then he added a zero and held the one beside it. "But," he went
on, "talent and industry combined make ten."
At another time he said, " Academies are only for mediocrity.
They are the crutches upon which art students learn to walk. But
some of the students are born with wings those are the geniuses.
To them the academy is only a hindrance." When, before starting
for Italy, I took leave of him, he gave me another grain from his supply
of wisdom: "If the world praises you, it is good; if it abuses you,
that is not bad; but beware if it passes you in silence."
Had anybody told him at that time that his pictures would be
almost forgotten even before his death, he would have been astounded.
So imbued was he with the sense of his own greatness and importance,
with such deference was he treated by the high and lowly, that nothing
but eternity could have appeared to him as a possible measure of his
At this period, during the Emperor William's reign, art was like
soldiering, a matter of discipline. The highest form was the military
picture or the monuments or memorials commemorating heroes of the
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 15
Franco-Prussian war. As in everything else the Kaiser's decision
was final; here also his taste was prescriptive. From one studio to
another would he go, inspecting the work; and sometimes he would
even take the pencil or the modeling tool and show how he desired
this or that to be done. One creation of his fertile mind was the
Alley of Victory, the Sieges Allee in the Tiergarten in Berlin. There
he erected at his own expense a row of marble benches, fifty or more
of them, adorned with the figures and busts of all the great soldiers
and statesmen from the period of Frederick the Great to his own
time. Even in Berlin this Sieges Allee has been called the "alley of
abominations," which one would not be surprised to see demolished
one of these days.
How pernicious the Kaiser's meddling ultimately became is well
illustrated by the .case of Princess Lwoff Parlaghy, a painter who
only recently died in New York. In 1890 she was still young and
attractive and not without a certain talent. She called herself "one
of the few pupils of Lenbach." When the Emperor heard of her he
commanded her to paint his portrait. The result cannot have been
distinguished in view of the fact that the jury of the Spring Exhibi
tion in Berlin dared to reject it notwithstanding the identity of the
sitter. They did reject it, nevertheless, and their act caused some
thing like consternation. Upon learning of it the Kaiser immediately
ordered the portrait to be hung. When the list of medals and other
honors was submitted to him for approval, a customary procedure,
he cancelled the name of Wallot, the architect who had just
completed the capitol at Berlin, a public building considered one of
the finest in Germany. The medal of First Award which was to
have gone to Wallot was conferred by the Kaiser upon Irma
Among artists there was great though futile indignation at this
royal action. Wallot left Berlin and settled in Dresden. There he
was at once surrounded by a host of admiring and loyal pupils, and
there he died with the reputation of being one of the most notable
16 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
architects of his time without the medal. The Princess Parlaghy,
upon the other hand, despite all her honors and decorations, could not
make a living. She died some months ago in New York in poverty,
just when the sheriff was about to seal up her house and studio,
One day I received a commission to make an equestrian statuette
of the Kaiser, in silver. This was to be given as a racing trophy.
The commission came in the ordinary course of events from the
Court jewelers, who had inquired at the academy concerning a stu
dent sculptor competent to do the work. So many portraits were
constantly being done of the "all highest war lord," that artists of my
modest standing could obtain their sittings only from the uniform
which was held for such purposes and the loan of the " Vice-Kaiser."
This person was a servant in the Imperial household whose figure,
weight and proportions came as near as possible to the Emperor's.
The man also knew how to wear the uniforms with the endless trap
pings and decorations. For the use of the model horse I had to apply
to the royal stables for permission.
Those royal stables were in themselves a vast affair. They were
L shaped, each side several hundred feet long. In one part was a
long row of carriage horses, all black with the exception of the spans
of bay horses, Hanoverians, with long, bushy tails; these were used
only for notable state functions. Fine animals they were, of all
sizes, from the giants of eighteen hands to a number of the " double
ponies," used for riding and driving by the numerous princes. The
royal stables were in the charge of Baron von Reischach, an officer
of the Guards, and kept with meticulous care and military precision.
The Kaiser himself used many horses of all builds and colors depend
ing upon the occasion. For instance, when he wore the uniform of
a Death's Head Hussar, he would ride a lighter horse, one with a
long and bushy tail, in order to appear the more picturesque. When
he was a cuirassier of the Guards a large animal was needed to give
him that overawing dignity which he so craved.
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 17
Because of his short left arm, which he could scarcely use, all the
horses were especially trained to obey the slightest impulse from the
rider's thigh. The moment a horse returned to the stables from a
ride with the Kaiser, it was taken in hand by the head trainer and
soothed back to its normal form after the uncertain treatment of its
Very often the training would be supplemented by such distrac
tions as a concert in front of the horse. Musicians would appear
and play trumpets, bugles and other wind instruments. At other
times a crowd of stable boys would rush up and shout "hoch!"
" hurrah !" or even discharge a gun in its proximity. All this would
leave these animals unperturbed. They knew too well that their
good behavior would be rewarded with sugar and other delicacies,
which they must not risk by shying. It was one of these horses, a
beautiful and gentle animal called Meteor, which the Kaiser rode
most frequently, which was assigned to me as my model.
One day as I was working on my statuette there was great com
motion in the paddock behind the palace. My model and my work
were hurriedly thrust aside. The Empress was coming to look on
at the riding lesson of her two eldest boys. As she passed my corner
she threw a glance at the strange group, and a few minutes later I
was called and my statuette was brought before her.
She was a woman of striking appearance, considerably taller than
the Kaiser, and her customary smile was very becoming to her. She
was an ideal wife and mother, devoted to her family and her children
and so patriotic that she would order her clothes only of German
dressmakers an example by no means followed by the German
aristocracy. Upon this particular occasion she wore a rather tightly
fitting tailor-made costume of beige-colored cloth which emphasized
her tall slender figure and gave her a Junoesque appearance.
Not being accustomed to royalty I felt a little embarrassed in her
presence. She seemed not to notice it, asked me many questions
about my work and myself and was very condescending. The
i8 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
Master of the Horse helped me in answering her questions. He ex
plained to the Empress the purpose of the statuette, and told her that
I was still a student at the Academy, Fortunately, she seemed to
like the work, and especially the fact that I should have been able to
get a likeness of the Kaiser without having seen him close by She
was kind in her criticism. She thought, moreover, that I ought "to
have better opportunities for studying my subject. She accordingly
gave orders to have it arranged that I be allowed to see the Emperor
mounting and dismounting from his horse.
In the meantime the ponies were brought in and she kindly invited
me to watch her boys at their riding lesson. The exercises through
which they were put made me gasp. Again and again they were
drilled in mounting and dismounting, in sudden wheeling, in jumping
series of hurdles, and all this under commands from the riding master
precisely like the sharp military orders of an officer to a private.
Their ponies had no saddles and more than once the boys had falls
while jumping over the hurdles. But all this they took in good part
as a portion of their lesson. Another set of ponies would be brought
out to replace the first and they would go through their discipline all
over again. These were the exercises which made all the young
German princes such experienced riders.
The Crown Prince was the slenderer and more alert of the two.
His brother, Eitel Frederick, was the handsomer and more sym
pathetic. The horses they rode were full of vitality and spirit. I
could not help comparing those splendid animals with the worn-out
and decrepit hacks they gave us whenever we had to stage the
pageants which the students of the Acaderriy arranged upon great
occasions. I even had the temerity to mention this fact to the Em
press. She smiled when I described the little tricks we resorted to
in order to put life into our horses. When giving me leave to go
she did a gracious thing. She had a message sent to the Court
jewelers which was so effective that their order was followed up
by several others and with an advance in price.
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 19
Among the many visitors who came to see the royal stables and
mews during the time I was working there, was a gentleman with his
small son. He stopped before my model and seemed to take more
than ordinary interest in the sculpture. Several days later, he looked
me up at my studio and asked if I would undertake to do some work
for him even though it was not of a nature as artistic as that which
he had seen at the royal mews. I told him I should be glad of any
opportunity, whereupon he invited me to his hotel. There he ex
plained that his son, then a lad of about six, had some trouble with
his foot for which he needed a cast. He did not wish to entrust the
work to a moulder and he hoped that I would find it convenient to
oblige him. When the cast was delivered he came to see me again,
looked round my studio and chose the bust of a child in plaster.
This he asked me to execute for him in marble. It was my first
commission for a sculpture in stone.
Later, when the papers announced that I had won the traveling
scholarship to Rome, I received a letter embossed with a coat of
arms, and in it a check for a thousand marks, accompanied by best
wishes for my welfare in Italy. The writer was the father of the
little boy for whom I made the cast in plaster, Count von Bentinck
and Waldeck Limpurg. The little boy is the present Count who
extended the Kaiser his hospitality in Holland for so many months
after William's abdication.
The racing trophy I had made at the Kaiser's stables was followed
by a likeness of Prince Waldemar, the Kaiser's youngest brother, who
had died as a boy. This bust was to be a gift from my patron, a
loyal and admiring subject, to the Hohenzollern Museum at Berlin.
In order to have all the material available I was permitted to work
%t the palace of the Empress Frederick, Unter den Linden.
Situated opposite the Royal Academy of Arts, it was since
the death of the Emperor rarely inhabited. The Empress spent
most of her time at the castle in Friedrichsruhe which she had built
for herself as a retreat. The estrangement between her and her son,
20 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
the Emperor, was another reason for her constant absence. The
house showed all the desolation of inoccupancy. It was guarded
only by an aged domo and the military sentinel. No carpets lay on
the floors; all had been taken up and rolled in long cartridges. The
curtains were down. The furnishings were a quaint mixture of the
heavy gilt and carved " official" style with massive damasks and
velvets, interspersed with some dainty pieces which the Empress had
brought with her from her English home across the Channel. The
pictures on the walls, some of them done by the hand of his Excel
lency, Anton von Werner, were mostly glorifications of the old Em
peror's deeds on the battlefield canvases of vast dimensions.
Their banishment to that uninhabited house indicated plainly how
the finer taste of the Empress had judged them. There were, too,
innumerable models of memorials to the Emperor, to his father,
to Moltke and Bismarck in bronze, marble and even in silver* The
corridors and passageways were covered with numberless addresses,
mostly illuminated by second-rate artists, commemorating endless
official visits and occasions. To obtain permission to remove some
of these photographs and pictures across the street to the Academy
would have been such a complicated affair of red tape, that I chose
the shorter and more expedient way and worked in the palace.
As my two years' stay at the Academy in Berlin was drawing to
a close, I looked back over my experiences and could not help feeling
that I was progressing. Although art there doubtless moved in the
good old channels which were emphasized by a Schaper and a von
Werner, there was nevertheless a distinct current of fresh air and
fresh ideas noticeable. It must be owned that to the more enlight
ened the Academy appeared stuffy and they left it. Personally, I felt
otherwise. I had never looked upon it as other than those crutches
by the help of which I might learn to walk. The thoroughness of
the teaching appealed to me.
By way of illustration of the method one may cite the fact that
no student was allowed to pass a certain class unless he could produce
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 21
a certificate of a successful examination in anatomy and perspective.
For anatomy the Academy had a lecture room adjoining the medical
school. Professor Virchow, the son of the famous scientist, was
assigned as lecturer to the art students. A part of his duties was to
visit the studios whenever there was the need, to examine the work
and the models of the artists, and to point out their errors in drawing
first upon the living model and then to demonstrate in the dissecting
room. In no other art school have I ever known of such thorough
training. When I sent in my exhibits on the occasion of the scholar
ship competition, that training in anatomy stood me in good stead.
It gave me what I needed. Now, looking back to those distant stu
dent days, I am heartily grateful to that institution which equipped
its students with so solid a foundation.
The time was now at hand when I must make ready to leave for
This was in 1890. My friend Doctor Steinbach had just been
made a member of the Austrian cabinet. One day I received a
letter from him suggesting that I arrange my itinerary in such a
manner that I might pass through Vienna.
When I came to see him at the Treasury, there was still all the
elaborate pomp and circumstance which the tradition of pre-war
days required. The great rooms were in a style of rich baroque,
highly over-decorated. All the servants were in brilliant uniforms.
Busy counselors kept running back and forth with an expression of
' importance which increased with the descending scale of their rank.
The Minister's anteroom was full. Finally my turn came. I was
The man himself, seated in the midst of this pomp, was unchanged.
He was the same as before, the same kind friend, simple, cordial and
glad of my progress. He bade me sit down near him and tell him
all about myself. Time and again he grasped both my hands and
said, "Splendid! Splendid!" And he did make me feel so happy!
22 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
I could not tell him enough about myself and my training. At last,
when one of the officials timidly opened the door, it dawned upon us
both how fast the time had flown. But there was so much more to
be told. He asked me to dine with him that night. "But," he
added, "no ceremony, just like in the olden days."
At first I did not quite understand what he meant. But as he
explained, I learned that he was not occupying the official residence
which was his perquisite. He still continued to live in his three
rooms in the little house in the suburbs. The same little house, the
same crotchety housekeeper, the same atmosphere. The only
difference I could detect was an increase in the multitude of books
surrounding him there. When the time came for me to take my
departure, he bade me Godspeed with all the old cordiality and gave
me this parting advice:
" Fortune rolls a ball once to everybody during Ms lifetime.
Hold fast to yours/'
When Doctor Steinbach had finished revising the currency sys
tem of Austria, he again received an autograph letter from the
Emperor which read:
DEAR DOCTOR STEINBACH,
You have completed to my entire satisfaction the task upon which you
set out. I consider your services so valuable that I should like to ensure
their permanency. I appoint you therefore First Lord of the Court of
This was an appointment for life. Steinbach, who was first of all
a lawyer, greatly preferred his new position, and filled it with entire
success for many years.
"Know'st thou the land where the lemon-trees bloom,
Where the gold orange glows in the deep thicket's gloom,
Where a wind ever soft from the blue heaven blows,
And the guoves are of laurel and myrtle and rose? "
CONTINUED my journey from Vienna and my first
stop was Venice Venice, the city of " sweet fancies
All my dreams of this magical sanctum, however,
were soon shattered. After a week's sojourn there,
where I experienced nothing but cold, rain, mist and all the incon
veniences of a chilly boarding house, I felt unhappy and disappointed.
At the Pension, I always found myself at the wrong end of the table,
where the dishes reached me almost empty. Nor was I as yet ac
customed to the little Italian charcoal fires, or scaldini, which people,
held under their hands, as if they expected the heat to radiate all
over their bodies. I was miserable and I moved on.
I have since often returned to the abode of my dreams and have
enjoyed the poetry which envelops this city of enchantment the
majestic Lido, the Canale Grande, with its countless gondolas
gliding silently over the waters which reflect the moon a thousand
times in their mirrorlike waves.
My next stop was at Pisa. I wished to see Carrara. I was eager
to visit the marble quarries there, those famed quarries which supply
the sculptor with the snow-white stone, ready to accept the most
subtle of emotions. But Carrara is a misnomer for the marble. The
24 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
mountain which Pope Julius the Second gave to Michael Angelo for
use as a quarry for the papal works was situated at Seravezza.
For almost two hundred years the position of that quarry was
lost, until a Frenchman by the name of Henreaux rediscovered it
by the aid of certain documents which he had unearthed. Once
the exact location was established, the fortunate Frenchman was
able to buy the ground for a moderate sum. To-day the family of
Henreaux still possesses the virtually exclusive monopoly in that rare
marble which artists universally prefer to all others.
At Pisa I lingered only long enough to get a glimpse of the famous
leaning tower, the Baptistery and the others of that group of cele
brated ivory colored buildings and to get the train for Carrara.
Without further delay I continued my way to the Eternal City.
The government studios to which my scholarship bound me were
located upon one of the seven hills, the Monte Parioli. There was
nothing in these of the grandeur of the Villa Medici, which Napoleon
created the permanent home of the French artist pensioners in
tribute to Art. Nor did they even approach the splendor of the
Spanish Academy. Those two were communities by themselves.
Their students, well aware of their own importance, held much aloof
and would not mix with the youth of the other nations. Their
scholarships are baown as the Grand Prix de Rome, and the deport
ment of their students kept pace with its dignity and pride.
Looking back after these many years I must conclude that old
Anton von Werner had judged the situation correctly. Most of
those who went across the Alps with glowing expectations and hearts
filled with hope, ordinarily came back after a few years with little
more than memories of happy hours spent in Italy,
The few German studios which the government rented were
beautifully situated upon the hill in the midst of a pine and cypress
grove. There were no formal gardens as at the Villa Medici, nor
any sumptuous receptions for Roman society with choice music
provided by the musical students. Our own humble receptions were
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 25
twice daily at the little wine shop, the Trattoria in Vicolo delle
Colonette. There we had our own table at which some old artist
or another, settled in Rome for thirty years or more, presided over
us youngsters. These old stagers talked to us, gave us advice and
helped us with much kindness in every way they could.
For many years I had been fondly harboring a theme which one
day I hoped to put into form. This idea, as it f rained itself in my
mind, I called " Mother-Love/' My conception represented a young
woman bound to a pillory, faint, exhausted almost to the point of
death. But still she presses her infant to her breast in an effort to
nurse it. The child, unconcerned at its mother's suffering, is intent
only upon its nourishment its self-preservation. That composi
tion I meant to be a monument to the love and unflinching suffering
of motherhood. It was to consist of the main group and of a series
of four bas-reliefs to be inserted in the pedestal. The front relief
was to be an idyllic scene in which a boy and a girl were to form the
center. The second was to be an idealistic presentation of a mother
defending herself before an unsympathetic tribunal. The third was
a procession scene in which the crowd escorts her to the pillory,
carrying the child before her. The last was to be an apotheosis.
Now that I was in Rome with my wants provided for I saw a
chance of carrying out this idea that had so long dwelt in my mind
untroubled, undisturbed, Soon, therefore, I began to absent myself
from the table of convivial companions at the Trattoria and drew
away into the solitude of my studio. I encountered no difficulties
in finding a model in sympathy with my idea, and one who did not
object to the inconveniences of an uncomfortable pose. I embarked
upon my work and presently I found time slipping away much faster
than my work progressed. The first year had vanished and still I
was no farther on than my model in clay.
It was a condition of my scholarship that every three months I
was obliged to present myself at the German Embassy to report upon
26 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
my progress in Rome. A certain Count Solm, then German Am
bassador, was an old friend of Bismarck and stood high in the diplo
matic corps. By virtue of the large task I had begun, I soon became
known to the Embassy staff, and through these I had opportunity of
meeting others of the diplomatic service in Rome. Being an Aus
trian, I also had a desire to meet the representatives of my own
Like most nations, Austria-Hungary had two ambassadors.
Count Revertera represented the Emperor Francis Joseph at the
Vatican, while Baron Bruck was the head of the embassy to the
Quirinal. Count Revertera was indifferent to art. The social life
of the eternal city and entertaining on a vast scale in the famous
Palazzo Venezia was all that interested him. His staff however were
ardent collectors of antiquities and art objects.
But if to Count Revertera art meant little, it was not so with his
colleague at the Quirinal. Baron Bruck was one of the gentlest and
kindest souls I met in Rome. Almost every day he would stop at
my studio and watch the progress of my ambitious group. It seemed
to appeal to him with peculiar force and he watched it with a haunting
attention. He often gave put as his motto, "Stay where you're
happy." And as I was happy in Rome, 1 could not but follow his
When the time of my scholarship had lapsed, and still I was
working on my large group, I left the government studio, rented one
of my own nearby and began to execute my work in marble and
bronze. The number of my visitors began to increase rapidly*
There was, for instance, that very handsome and sympathetic young
count, Charles Paar, son of the chief equerry to the old Emperor
Francis Joseph. His blood was so blue and his family tree so old
that he was an accepted member of the Ancient Order of the Knights
of Malta. The members of this order were not permitted to many.
But when they appeared at official or social functions in their black
robes with the large white maltese cross upon their breasts, they
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 27
looked so striking and picturesque that many tender hearts went
It was so with Count Paar. Much interested in modern art, he
often came to my studio and usually brought some of his numerous
friends, always endeavoring to persuade them to order something.
He himself could do very little. In an unlucky moment of his life
he had played for very high stakes and lost everything he possessed.
Nothing remained to him but his salary and an income from his
Order, All this, together with his celibacy, spread about him an
atmosphere of romance. A love affair with a beautiful lady of the
Italian aristocracy, whom his vows made it impossible to marry,
added to the condition of his pathos. It was touching to see this
princess disregarding all the laws of convention and spending her
days with him when he was stricken with his fatal disease; but
neither her devotion nor her indefatigable care were able to arrest
the slow but certain decline which his many sorrows brought on.
He died in Rome with the princess at his bedside a figure as roman
tic as one in an ancient legend.
Baron Bruck also brought daily some of his friends. Upon one
occasion, he even brought the Turkish Ambassador, Mahmud Neh-
dim Bey. That poor man, who had been for many months awaiting
the salary which his government was tardy in remitting, was sports
man enough nevertheless to order from the young artist a drawing
of himself and a bronze of his beautiful great Dane, Achmet who
posed much more satisfactorily than his master. Bruck also brought
the famous Marchesa Di Lavaggi, who was then the talk of the
town, a celebrity in Rome, because she had imported her bathroom
complete from England then considered the height of bizarre extrav
Prince Doria Pamphily r ~was another of my visitors and ordered
a marble of his little boy who had recently died. And this order led
to a friendship which lasted for many years, until the Prince's death.
In the excitement of my studies and the work upon my group,
28 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
it never occurred to me to figure out the expenses. I was absorbed
in it and in my environment. Here I was with my life before me in
a wonderful land surrounded by the best that has been done in. art,
free to work according to my inclinations. Modern teaching in art
is greatly at a disadvantage compared to the times of the Renaissance,
when the eminent masters flourished. I saw my opportunity, and
decided that I would not limit myself to one branch alone. I resolved
to follow sculpture, indeed, but also to keep my hand in strict training
for drawing, the foundation of all the graphic arts.
It was this variety of training in many fields of art which mas
ters gave their pupils that brought about the Italian Renaissance.
Students were obliged to grind colors, to enlarge small sketches to
the size of the cartoons, to prepare the clay, to build the full size
figure from the small model, to learn the intricate art of making the
skeleton, and to prepare it so carefully that the master would not
find the work collapsed upon the floor just when the finishing touches
were about to be given. And they had to familiarize themselves
with the difficult process of bronze-casting, an art in itself.
At the time of Benvenuto Cellini the art of the "lost-wax"
(tire-perdue) process was generally in use. It was most ingenious,
Prom the model in plaster a form was made composed of many sec
tions which could be easily taken apart and put together. Into this
mould was poured a very thin layer of pure beeswax mixed with a
vegetable color to render it opaque. After the wax cooled and stiff
ened the shell was removed, section by section. This wax had to be
worked over by the artist almost as carefully as the statue itself.
First, the seams had to be flattened, and then were added the finish
ing touches to which the comparatively pliable and elastic wax lent
itself better than the hard plaster. After this a liquid generally
composed of brick dust and plaster, to resist fire, was poured around
the model. When dry and hard the whole was put into an oven
and lightly heated for forty-eight hours so that the wax could melt
out without leaving any residue. The model was cooled again and
Bas Reliefs on Base of Group "Mother-Low"
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 29
the bronze, composed of nine parts of copper and one part of tin,
was infused, in liquid form. This was the process full of intri
cate detail, so difficult that since the time of its earliest use it has
been twice lost and recovered.
In Italy the student has a chance to familiarize himself with all
of this technique. And this, in the midst of other preoccupations, I
endeavored to do the while I was there. Though it is doubtless true
that in such matters as sport or industry specialization is most to be
desired, I firmly believe that in art the broadest and the most compre
hensive foundation is necessary. Later in life I often had occasion
for being grateful that I had early learned the elaborate technique
of toy craft. I studied the technique, and yet persisted at my big
group. This was to be the crowning achievement of my Italian
The more, however, it advanced, the more I realized what a
foolhardy enterprise I had undertaken. Had I made portrait draw
ings of the entire Roman aristocracy I could never have earned
enough with which to finish it, counting at the rate of one hundred
francs a drawing which I was then receiving. What made the situ
ation more serious was a change in the Austrian cabinet. Count
Kalnocky, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, had resigned and the
days of my kindly patron, Baron Bruck, the Dean of the diplomatic
corps, were numbered. It was one of those unforeseen and unfor
tunate circumstances that react into a variety of channels. When
I discovered that Bruck's successor was Baron Pasetti, little inter
ested in art, it became apparent that disaster was staring me in the
In my desperation I took a train and rushed to Vienna to con
sult again my never-failing guide, philosopher and friend, Doctor
Emil Steinbach. With his everlasting patience and interest he would
look at my photographs; he would delve into the whole history of
my sojourn in Rome; every detail of my life, my aims, my dreams,
found a sympathetic echo in the soul of this great man. The near-
30 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
ness of his presence alone removed those mountains which had
seemed to pile upon my troubled mind and when, after a short stay, I
again boarded the train which took me back to Rome, I carried in a
full and grateful heart the assurance that my group would be fin
ished. In 1903 I received in London an invitation from the Vienna
Art Association to give a special exhibition of my work; I then again
saw my good friend, and rejoiced in his jesting admission that he no
longer regretted having assisted in passing me through college un
qualified and unmerited. Soon after my return to London I sorrow
fully learned of his death " Friend more divine than all Divinities/'
After working for the best part of five years, my group was at
last finished. I was obliged to do most of my own carving. This,
however, in later life I did not regret. Just before the completion
of the work I received an invitation from the Art Association of
Munich to exhibit it at their Spring Exhibition. They offered to
pay the expense of taking the piece to Munich from Rome and
thence to the next exhibition. I accepted and was awarded a gold
Mother-Love is a group in the round; the four bronzes in the
base are reliefs the two side panels in high relief and those adorn
ing the front and rear somewhat flatter. There is also a form of riliew
so low that it might almost be termed a painting in stone* This
is the most difficult. To distinguish the modeling at all, it has to
be illuminated by sharp light which will throw deep shadows* Its
application is particularly well suited for medals and was practiced by
Roty, Dupr6 and Bott6e to best advantage.
A Saint Cecilia of my own conception offered me the opportunity
to express in marble all the delicate nuances the subject demanded,
This I cut at the same time while I was working on my group; it
was my rest and recreation.
When I left Rome the work was not entirely finished but after
settling in London, its completion gave me many happy hours which
were at the same time instructive.
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 31
My Roman studio consisted of the wing of a building close to
the Government studios, A ground floor room contained my work in
marble. From that room a staircase wound into an upper apart
ment where I was making drawings and models. The south wall
of that upper chamber contained a huge window consisting of one
plate of glass, overlooking the city of Rome, its innumerable towers
and spires and the Alban hills in the distance. At any hour of
the day the effect was startling. But it was at sunrise and sunset
that the new and indescribable pictures were constantly being
revealed through my window.
Queen Margherita, mother of the present King, Victor Emmanuel,
and widow of King Humbert, was a noted lover of art and music.
From some of my diplomatic friends she had learned of my group
and expressed the desire to see it before it left the city.
Were that happening to-day I should know better what to do
when so honored by such a visitor. But being then inexperienced
I thought it best to invite also the Embassy upon the occasion of
her visit. The new ambassador found the big group too sad for him.
Again and again he asked me why I wasted my time upon gloomy
subjects when I might do gay and cheerful little bronzes which
people would readily buy. Queen Margherita, however, was warmly
interested and expressed the desire to see everything. She was full
of kindly and eager questions; I could hardly answer them for their
rapidity. When she mounted the stairs and found herself at my
great upper window just as the sun was setting, she exclaimed,
"What a beautiful and novel view of Rome you have here!"
She recognized a portrait bust I had made of Gustav Freytag,
the poet, and began to discuss his works, most of which she knew
in German, She was graciously delightful, and I soon realized that
the presence of the diplomats was an unnecessary luxury. I was
pleasantly surprised when she turned to the ambassador and asked
him if he did not think the group a fine piece of sculpture, I do not
remember his answer. I doubt whether he made one when he bowed,
32 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
but when she was about to leave, she turned once again to the group
"I appreciate the way in which you talk with your marble, when
I see the answers you elicit/'
The Queen's visit was a definite landmark in my life. For, what
with its attendant publicity, it brought many visitors to my studio,
both Roman and foreign. One of these, Miss Alexandra Ellis, daugh
ter of Arthur Ellis, Equerry to the Prince of Wales, desired me to
make a drawing of herself as a gift for her father.
Mrs. Carl Meyer, wife of the manager for the Rothschilds,
who kept open house in London and had a keen regard for art,
commissioned me to model a bust of herself, which she wished me
to start then and, as she had not time enough to stay in Rome
until it was completed, she invited me to finish the marble in Eng
land the following summer. Indebted as I was to Mrs, Meyer for
her tangible interest in my work, I was even more grateful to her for
a far greater thing which she did for me at this time.
Sargent was in Rome on a visit and one day Mrs. Meyer brought
him to my studio to see the bust for which she was sitting. This
meeting I consider one of the epochal moments of my life, Sargent's
fame was then beginning to spread over the civilized world. Not
since the days of Franz Hals has such directness in conception
and rendering, such dazzling, brilliant technique as Sargent's been
seen. He had just finished the large canvas of Mrs. Meyer with
her two children, the picture of that year at the London Royal
Academy. The expectation of meeting him had keyed me up to
a high pitch of excitement. From Mrs. Meyer's description of him,
I had formed an image already. When he entered my studio, a man
well over six feet in height, I would have taken him for almost any
thing but an artist. In the Latin countries, especially in France
and Italy, we are so accustomed to recognize artists by their ec
centricities in manner and dress, that we end by believing these to
be a manifestation of talent. Were this true, Sargent could not
O/^ Italian Peasant Woman
From an Etching
Arabella di Saracinesco
A Charcoal Study
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 33
conceivably qualify as an artist. There is nothing of the eccentric
about him. But once he begins to talk he reveals the man he is.
I still remember the flattering words he uttered as he looked at
my bust of Mrs. Meyer, and also his generous comment upon the
group. A few of my pencil drawings hung upon the wall, and when
for these, too, he had a kind word, I could not help pointing out to
him that they were lacking in that freedom for which I was striving
so hard and which was his gift in abundance. Reluctantly he then
admitted I was right. This I subsequently found to be part of the
highmindedness of his magnanimous soul. Always he looked first
for the best in everything. In the many years that I knew him
afterwards I never heard him criticize adversely, except perhaps once
Burne- Jones, whose art is so diametrically opposed in freshness and
directness, that it could hardly have been otherwise. But this does
not mean that he was intolerant of the whole Pre-Raphaelite school.
On the contrary, he had nothing but sincere admiration for Rossetti.
Even his averseness for Burne- Jones he expressed in a gesture rather
than in words.
When he came again shortly before he left Rome, he generously
offered me the use of one of his own studios when I should come to
London to finish Mrs. Meyer's bust.
I began to make my preparations to leave for London, not know
ing at that time that it was to be my future home. During my
Roman years I had lost touch to a great extent with both Austria and
Germany. Italy is a place for study and deliberation rather than a
permanent abode for a young artist. What my next step was to be
I did not know. Chance had brought me the commission for Mrs.
Meyer's bust and chance seemed to point toward England.
One episode, even though irrelevant, I cannot help recording
here. Just before I left Rome Paderewski arrived to give a series of
concerts at the Sancta Cecilia Hall. The first was to be in the after
noon at four o'clock and Queen Margherita was expected. The
house was crowded to the roof. When the royal family arrived and
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
the master, amid profound silence, was about to begin his con
cert, a ray of sunlight, shining through a yellow stained glass window,
crowned his head with a glow of gold so radiant that it gave the
striking appearance of an aureole. The audience burst into thunder
ous applause which lasted many minutes. I have wondered if even
today Paderewski knows the real cause of that spontaneous out
" The man must fight
Mid struggles and strife,
The battle of life;
Must plant and create,
Watch, snare and debate,
Must venture and stake
His fortune to make. "
[ ARLY in the summer of 1897 I arrived in London with
my marble bust of Mrs. Carl Meyer.
It was the year of Queen Victoria's Diamond
Jubilee the sixtieth anniversary of her reign. Num
bers of foreign visitors, royal and otherwise, filled the
town. My prospects suddenly appeared none too bright. First of
all, the picture of the rejoicing city was perhaps too dazzling for one
emerging from years of retirement in a Roman studio. I was alone,
and at a loss to find my bearings.
It became clear to me, too, that it would be long before Mrs. Carl
Meyer would resume her sittings. The round of festivities, all
crowded into the small space of three months, when all London
is in a continuous revel of dinners, dances, concerts, opera and
theaters, was enough to tax the endurance of any one. One day
Mrs. Meyer came to the studio and she had not been there many
minutes before she fell asleep in her chair. I was not surprised.
But here again Sargent was the first in that great tuimoil to re
member the stranger to whom in Rome he had offered his hospitality.
He repeated his invitation to work in his studio. I declined as it
36 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
would have taken a long time to finish the bust and I understood also
the inconvenience which my work in marble would be likely to cause
him. The noise from hammering and scraping is disturbing to any
one except the sculptor. The marble dust which flies about in clouds
covers everything with a coating of white. It would do the utmost
harm to a wet painting.
When I knew that my stay in London was to be prolonged, I
rented a small studio in Kensington, some distance out of town, but
this did not prevent him from calling on me. Busy as he was, he
invited me to his atelier, sometimes for lunch, sometimes to have a
little music in the evening or for a quiet chat. Here is one of his notes,
which are among my cherished possessions:
Cher Monsieur Fuchs, Je serai hetireux de vous voir ainsi que Mr,
Hughes, demain a I heure, disons I heure 10, pour que men module ait le
temps de disparaltre,
Bien a vous,
JOHN S. SARGENT,
Dear Mr. Fuchs, I shall be glad if you and Mr, Hughes will come to
morrow at i o'clock; let's say 10 minutes past I, so that my sitter has the
time to leave.
JOHN S. SARGENT.
Through the kindness of my neighbor, a portrait painter, Miss E chel
Matthews, I met at her studio Colonel Griffith, who was the inspector
of prisons. His regiment, it appeared, was planning to present Lord
Wolseley, then Commander-in-Chief of the British army, with a por
trait statuette in silver. A gentle conspiracy was at once entered into
by my new acquaintances. After Lord Wolseley's consent to sit had
been obtained, I was commissioned to do the work.
Lord and Lady Wolseley were living at Grosvenor Gardens near
Hyde Park where he could take his early morning rides before break-
The late Lord Wolseky
Commander in Chief of the British Army
A Statuette in Silver
In the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 37
fast. The days when he posed, he was obliged to forego his rides.
Nevertheless, he bore the new yoke bravely, and later when the wax
model of his statuette was completed, I took it back to Rome where I
had it cast in silver. The following year it was exhibited at the
Meanwhile, however, Miss Ellis, whose portrait I had done in
Rome, brought one day her father, General Arthur Ellis, to my studio.
As I have said, he was one of the equerries to the Prince of Wales. The
other three were Sir Stanley Clarke, Seymour Fortescue and Captain
Holf ord. General Ellis was not only a collector and a connoisseur in
art but also the Prince's lifelong friend. He accompanied the Prince
upon his long journeys and because of his taste in art matters the
Prince consulted him frequently. The Ellis house at 29 Portland
Place was like a museum filled with many pictures, bronzes, ivories,
shooting trophies, collected from all over the world an amazing as
semblage of gifts from royalty accumulated during forty years of as
sociation with the most exalted in all lands. He looked me up at my
out-of-the-way studio, invited me to his house, and there I met his
youngest daughter, a handsome girl of whom he wished to have me
make a bust in marble.
Upon his many visits to the studio he would bring friends, in his
desire to help the young artist. Whenever I heard the hoofbeats of
horses and looked out of my window I would generally discover the
scarlet liveries of the royal carriage and Arthur Ellis descending. It
was his interest in my work and in me that subsequently drew the at
tention of the Prince of Wales in nay direction. And that opened a
new life for me. Now, when the entire episode is crystallized in my
memory, I cannot but look back with heartfelt gratitude at the
chance that sent that young girl, Miss Ellis, when I was still a strug
gling student in Rome.
The summer had worn well away before Mrs. Meyer was able to
give me the final sittings for her marble. The country home of the
3 8 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
Meyers in Surrey was a beautiful place called Balcombe. There was
an excellent chef and a cellar with brands and vintages which spoke
volumes to the connoisseur. Their home was exceedingly popular,
and it was there that she gave me her sittings.
I still remember what an agreeable voice she had and how ready
she was to oblige her guests with her art. She was always taking
singing lessons from whatever teacher was most sought after. Rinaldo
Hahn, a second edition of Tosti, was a relative of hers, and often came
over from Paris. After a splendid meal, Hahn would sit down at the
piano surrounded by picturesquely grouped "souls" and, with the
room dimmed to the shade of romance, he would bring forth in a whis
pering voice those saccharine tunes which caused his audiences to
sigh and buy his songs.
This kind of life in an English country house was new to me. To
awake in the morning without having a thought or a worry for the
necessities of life was so novel and comforting that I kept on finding
imperfections in the bust. But I had to finish my work and at last
I returned to London.
The three months which I originally planned to stay in London
slipped away rapidly enough. I had accumulated commissions for a
considerable variety of work, and to finish them 1 was obliged to
await the return of people to town from their holidays. I began to
look about for another studio, and soon discovered a charming place
in the heart of the West End near Portland Place, where my friend,
Arthur Ellis, lived.
It was becoming more and more clear to me that destiny was
minded to fix London as my future home and I signed a lease for a
couple of years.
Among the many friends of his whom Sir Arthur (he had just been
knighted) in his warm kindliness was always bringing to my studio,
was Consuelo, Duchess of Manchester. She was a dashing lady in
those days, very ambitious and much in the fashionable life of Lon
don. By birth a Miss Ysnaga of Cuban-American origin, she to-
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 39
gether with her two sisters, Lady Lister Kay and one maiden sister,
had early settled in England. Having married the then Duke of
Manchester, she had three children, a boy and twin girls, both famous
for their beauty. She was popular, amusing, knew how to tell a good
story and the Prince of Wales was often a guest at her house in Port-
It was her surviving daughter, however, who attracted me.
From the moment I saw the girl, Lady Alice Montagu, I felt an irre
sistible desire to fix her delicate features in marble. That was no
easy wish to gratify. Art was not one of the things that concerned
the Duchess. It took the combined efforts of Sir Arthur Ellis and of
the Austrian Embassy, all of whose members were her intimate
friends, to obtain her consent for the sittings. Even so she changed
her mind half a dozen times before the final decision.
The sittings were not to begin until the London season was over,
that is, after the Cowes regatta, which takes place at the beginning of
August. She also stipulated that the bust in marble was to be ex
hibited at the Royal Academy the following season, and that after
the exhibition it was to be presented to her. To all these conditions I
The girl was so beautiful, so delicate, frail and sympathetic, that I
was willing to agree to any conditions at all. After my first few
months in that modern Babylon, with all the clang and commotion
of the Jubilee festivities, I, a stranger in a strange land, found in
Lady Alice a kind soul that responded to my humors and had so subtly
the gift of understanding. Art was her one passion. Every free mo
ment she would be drawing or sketching. Again and again she ex
pressed the wish that her vain and ambitious mother would allow
her to stay quietly at home and read, sketch or play. But any such
hints fell upon deaf ears. The poor girl had to be shown off and
dragged about into society. Repeatedly the mother was warned that
Lady Alice's health would not stand the strain. Only a few months
before her twin sister, Lady Mary, had died in Rome of consump-
40 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
tion. The physician who had attended her cautioned the Duchess that
if she did not treat her remaining daughter with the utmost care, the
chances were that she would meet a similar fate. The mother, how
ever, very proud of her daughter, would listen to no warnings. As
the girl had red cheeks, the Duchess took this as a sign of perfect
health. Her abstention from eating appeared as a pardonable de
sire to keep a slender figure.
In any case, word finally came that I was expected at Kimbolton,
the seat of the Manchesters, where the sittings were to take place.
Now, to make a bust is a vastly different matter from painting a por
trait. To paint a portrait all one needs is a canvas, a paintbox and an
easel,* and one is ready to work. For a bust, on the other hand, one
has first of all to carry the clay, and clay is pretty heavy. In order
to support the modeling clay against sagging, one is obliged to make
,an armature or framework of lead pipes, which also are not without
weight and substance. In addition I was also obliged to bring a
turning-table, part of the studio equipment, which is hardly found
in a private house. When I arrived with all these properties, and
even succeeded in persuading a van man in the village to haul me to
gether with my equipment to the castle (it had evidently never oc
curred to the Duchess that I might find any difficulty in reaching my
destination), the Duchess greeted me with the announcement that
she had accepted an invitation for her daughter to spend the week
end somewhere else.
My shock of keenest disappointment obviously meant nothing to
her. The daughter, however, with her usual understanding, came
to me and endeavored to relieve my dejection. So charming was she,
so sympathetic and so anxious to see how a bust is done, so desirous
of helping me in my predicament, that I very soon forgot all about
the Duchess. I brought forth the clay and all the necessary
implements and, despite the fact that in three days I would have to
pack it all up again, I began my work.
Kimbolton, in Huntingdonshire, was a somewhat somber house
Lady Alice Montagu
The Sister of the Duke of Manchester, Executed in Marble for the Late Queen Victoria
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 41
and in a desolate condition. Though the title of the Dukes of Man
chester went back to the days of King James I, when Henry Mon
tagu, then Lord High Treasurer, was elevated to a baronetcy,
Kimbolton was lacking in any collections or art treasures of what
ever sort. The very shelves in the library yawned gloomily empty.
The house had been denuded, principally, I imagine, by the late Duke,
who cared nothing for such possessions. And for the matter of that,
neither did I at that particular time. I was making frantic haste to
do the most with my bust in the three days allotted me before Lady
Alice departed for her week-end visit and I, with my complicated
impedimenta, to London.
In the fall of that year, however, when the family returned to
town, my fair sitter saw to it that my tinie and efforts should not have
been spent in vain. Whenever she could manage, she wrote a little
note asking me to come up to the schoolroom of their house in Port-
man Square, where she could pose for an hour now and then. Often
she would, upon those occasions, complain of having to go out to a
dinner, a ball, or a theater party, when she would have been so much
happier messing about with clay and moulding little figures, precisely
like a child.
The vanity of a proud mother, however, could not resist the temp
tation to show her daughter off. One night at a ball in Holland
House, after numerous dances, Lady Alice went out into the grounds
to cool off and caught a chill. She began to ail from that time for
ward, and she had to spend the winters at St. Moritz and the springs
and autumns in southern climates. After a long illness and not
withstanding all possible care, she died in ineffable suffering, which
she bore with that same smile which had been one of her chief charms
all her young life.
To show the attachment which that girl was capable of inspiring
in those close to her, I may mention that her governess and constant
companion from childhood grieved so deeply over her loss that she
42 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
For some time the Duchess herself seemed inconsolable. Carried
away by irremediable loss, she desired to perpetuate the memory of
her daughter in some artistic form. She asked me to make some
sketches for a suitable memorial to be placed in the church at Kimbol-
ton. I designed what I thought to be an appropriate monument
representing the twin sisters slumbering arm in arm upon a sarcopha
gus. By the time the sketch was finished, the Duchess had changed
her mind. She was always changing her mind. She preferred to
sink her grief in the whirl of social life. Two years later her brother,
Ysnaga, died and left her his fortune, which again brought her large
social possibilities. But I have not heard that any memorial was ever
put up to commemorate her daughter. My own neglected design I
sent to the Royal Academy, after having had it cut, in small size, in
marble. I am glad to reflect that now it is in the Walker Art Gallery
in Liverpool, where it has found a permanent home.
During these same early months in London I also came to know
Forbes Robertson Sir Johnston, as he is now. He was then just
coming into his own upon the stage. First, as is well known, he had
begun, as a painter, with some success as a pupil at the Royal Acad
emy as well as an exhibitor. Presently, however, he discovered
that his histrionic talent was greater than his talent for painting. He
was making a great success in Hamlet and was considered a worthy
successor to Sir Henry Irving. His fine and exquisitely cut features,
with the square broad forehead crowned by curly hair, like those
of some splendid Roman from classical times, were a great lure to
artists. They were eager to have him sit for them, and I was no ex
ception. I was so fortunate as to gain his consent, and before my
departure from London I had just time enough to finish the model
in clay so that I could take it with me to Rome and cast it in bronze.
By now I had accumulated a considerable number of models
which were to be finished variously in marble, bronze and silver. I
left London for Rome in the late autumn and there remained three
or four months, just long enough to finish the different pieces. Know-
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
ing definitely now that London was to be my future home I packed
up these as well as my other belongings or, to be precise, half of
them. During my absence in London thieves, tempted doubtless by
the lonely situation of my Roman studio, had obligingly removed the
other half. But it is certain these were burglars and not art col
"Life . . . like a dome of many coloured glass . . . " (Tennyson.)
|[HE beginning of 1898 found me once again in London,
this time clearly a resident.
My new workshop, although only the upper story
of a stable, had its entrance upon the street through
the house and distinctly resembled a studio. I
moved over, installed myself as comfortably as I was able, disposed
my things about and rejoiced in the feeling that I had again a per
The London of that period, the post- Jubilee London, was at a
most interesting phase in its history. It was at the height of pros
perity with all the advantages and disadvantages of such a condition.
The discovery of gold and diamonds in South Africa had brought
enormous wealth to the city, in addition to the riches already there.
People, I have found, like individuals are often adversely af
fected by too much wealth. England was no exception. It began
to show the detrimental influence. Luxuries assumed proportions
theretofore unknown. Hotels after the American fashion, such as
the Savoy and the Carlton, began to spring up rapidly. Easy-going
living was spreading like a rank growth. Business tended to become
generally lax for want of incentive. Young men, the sons of affluent
fathers, were making it a habit to begin their week-ends on Thurs
days and to end them on the following Tuesday.
In the field of art Pre-Raphaelitism was dying out. Rossetti
was dead and the influence of Burne- Jones was waning. People
San eta Cecilia
In the Collection of Edward D. Adams, Esq.
Mother and Child
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 45
were losing interest in all the exponents of Pre-Raphaelitism. The
era of Sargent was beginning. His art and the art for which the new
groups and associations stood, their bold and direct manner, had an
effect like the invigorating air on a mountain-top.
My new studio was quite near Pagani's, the famous Italian restau
rant in Great Portland Road, just behind Queen's Hall. As all
the important concerts took place in Queen's Hall, a table was
reserved for the artists who wished to meet there. Here it
was that I first met Tosti, the famous song writer then in his
glory. Small and dapper, with his snow-white hair and beard, he
achieved fame because Queen Victoria, who was fond of his songs,
V*.*: . T
often invited him to sing before her and a small circle of her friends.
His popularity in England was enormous and he was said to receive
extravagant sums for his tunes as well as for the lessons he gave.
Some of the members of the Royal Family were among his pupils.
Consequently he was greatly sought after. To take lessons from
Tosti, it used to be said, one had simply to hand over one's bank-book,
and let him help himself. His dress, always in the height of fashion,
as well as his manner, certainly gave the impression that he helped
himself generously. His self-assurance came at times to border on
rudeness, as often in life when we receive more than we are entitled
And so it was with Tosti. The ease with which he earned his
money tempted him to spend it freely, even extravagantly. He in
dulged in speculations. With the passing of Queen Victoria his
4 6 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
songs and his lessons lost their vogue. He died, I believe, a poor and
At every luncheon and dinner one was sure to meet a number of
interesting people at Pagani's. Sometimes when the artists' table
was overcrowded, a number of us would adjourn to the so-called
" artists' room" upstairs, the walls and woodwork of which were
covered with autographs and drawings by those whose emotions,
when mixed with Chianti, had imperious need of expression.
Here it was that I saw Paderewski again, that ever-gallant
gentleman. Then and always he was an idol and a grand seigneur,
Always he was fond of company, fond of having his friends about him,
a spirit eternally young and eternally popular. His society was al
ways an irresistible delight.
Busoni, too, was a frequent visitor at Pagani's Feruccio Busoni,
that giant among musicians, who transposed the whole of the organ
works of Bach for the piano. In many respects I consider Busoni
one of the greatest pianists of our time. When Liszt died and the
music school at Weimar was seeking a new head, it selected Busoni
as the successor to Abb6 Liszt.
One day, at my studio, Busoni and Paderewski met, Busoni
courteously suggested that Paderewski play something for him.
Paderewski refused to touch the piano before so renowned a figure
among musicians. Whereupon Busoni also refused to play. The re
sult was that with two world-famed musicians present in one room,
no note of music could be heard.
Many others were frequent visitors at Pagani's, Ysaye, Caruso,
de Pachmann, Kreisler, to mention only a few. Some of them came
to my studio nearby and would pose for me for sketches, a number
of which I still possess. It was a halcyon time, full of music and gay-
ety, high spirits and lively conversation. On the whole, however, I
found musicians, with the exception perhaps of a few of the greatest,
somewhat " touchy" and difficult to deal with. Even a man like
Ysaye has to be handled tenderly, "with kid gloves/' Lesser lights
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 47
require even more delicate handling. I have often wondered why this
should be so peculiar to musicians. Is it that contact with the
public makes one lose one's sense of proportion? If so, I should in
finitely prefer an art that separates me from the world by the walls of
the studio, and in which my personal appearance is no essential part
of my artistic equipment.
When still in Rome, before I had ever come to London, I had made
friends with an English watercolor painter, Edward Robert Hughes.
Hughes belonged to the school of Burne- Jones, Rossetti and Walter
Crane. And though waning, this school still had a considerable fol
lowing. All of these men, including Holman Hunt and others, had
never received any official recognition from the Royal Academy.
It occurred to a number of enterprising people, therefore, that a gal
lery which would give those painters an opportunity to exhibit regu
larly would be favored by the public.
Such a gallery was soon formed. It was called the New Gallery,
and for many years was considered an inferior rival to the Academy.
It was very conveniently situated in Regent Street, almost in the
shadow of the Academy, and the public that came to see the one, fre
quently visited the other also. Burne- Jones was the attraction of
the new institution and drew his own public. This, however, did not
prevent "other artists, even members of the Royal Academy, from
sending their pictures in. I recall one year when Sargent had six
pictures at the Academy and four at the New Gallery. J. J. Shannon
was a regular exhibitor at both. And so it went.
There was only one drawback. The management of the New Gal
lery was in the hands of Charles E. Hall6, a painter of a talent that
produced mainly soulful portraits with large eyes, small mouths and
other features to match. Hall6 was not only the manager of the New
Gallery but also the jury. So that while he ran after the big fish, the
smaller fry ran after him to be hung. Paintings by himself were
48 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
certain of most careful consideration and in consequence he had no
dearth of sitters.
Thus, every year the New Gallery was a motley collection of
sickly Pre-Raphaelites upon the one hand and vigorous Sargents,
Shannons and popular Alma-Tademas upon the other. The public
paid its shilling and was amused. Presently, however, the Royal
Academy put its house in order and altered its position. It could not
go on indefinitely closing its doors to artists who had made great
names at the New English Art Club, the International Society or the
Chelsea Arts Club. The Academic attitude became more lenient
toward newcomers, Pre-Raphaelitisrn was diminishing anyway, and
poor Hall6 encountered the melancholy experience of finally seeing his
gallery empty, nor could the great blue eyes and the brilliantly gilded
frames in the center of the main wall his own canvases avail him,
Artists ceased to send their pictures there and drifted elsewhere to
other societies and exhibitions.
In the meantime, Hughes, I must gratefully record, did much to
familiarize me with the artistic life of London during my early days
there. Alfred Gilbert was supreme among the sculptors of those
days. Hughes took me to Gilbert's studio one Sunday afternoon,
and in Gilbert I discovered one of the most original of all the
artists I had ever met. His style leaned towards the Gothic, and his
execution was perfect. He had recently moved into a house in Maida
Vale, crowded with orders that filled two enormous studios. At one
and the same time he was making a memorial for the Duke of Clar
ence, eldest son of the Prince of Wales, which was subsequently placed
unfinished at St. George's Chapel; he was also preparing a set of large
panels for Lord Rothschild, intended for Tring, the country place.
These were never delivered. He had numerous other orders from which
he was unable to disentangle himself. He worked more in the spirit
of a Cellini than a Michael Angelo, He would lose himself in endless
details upon a birthday spoon, which he would finish with exquisite
taste, or he would fuss over a decorative chain for a Lord Mayor or an
4!^ : T^t|f
A Beauty from Australia
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 49
Alderman and would put days and weeks into it, to the neglect of
bigger work. The Clarence monument he kept on changing perpetu
ally. And in connection with Lord Rothschild's commission it is
recounted that when Lord Rothschild came to the studio to inquire
reproachfully when his panels would be delivered, Gilbert, with an
engaging smile pointing a finger at the door, said,
11 My Lord, if my way of working does not please you, then "
and he waved a hand toward the exit.
The great millionaire did indeed go out, but he never came back.
Nor did Gilbert's panels ever find their way to their destination.
Thus Alfred Gilbert, a man of genius, one of the first in his line,
was literally overwhelmed by his success. Had the Royal Academy,
for instance, assigned him a pension, he might have gone on working
at the things he loved and thus enriched the world with his sublime
art* But nothing of the sort evidently happened, and Gilbert finally
resigned from the Academy and permanently left London.
At my first exhibition in the Royal Academy, in the spring of
1898, I was represented by three exhibits. First, there was the big
group of Mother-Love, upon which I had labored so long and so
hard in Rome; then there was the figure of General Lord Wolseley
in silver, and finally the bust in marble of Lady Alice Montagu.
Lady Randolph Churchill, who had seen the bust of Lady Alice
at the Academy, appeared at my studio one day and introduced her
"I saw the bust of Lady Alice, " she began quite simply, "and I
want to ask you whether you would care to make a similar portrait of
I accepted the commission eagerly, for Lady Randolph was a
central figure in the London society of that time. Striking and
distinguished in appearance, with black hair and piercing eyes, she
had besides a remarkable feminine charm. Her coloring was high
and she had dimples in her cheeks when she laughed and one in her
50 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
chin. This piercing quality of her eyes, not unlike that of the Ger
man Emperor, was enhanced by a peculiar droop of the upper eye
lid. Her speech, in English as well as ia French, was particularly
exquisite and seemed to belong naturally to her personality. Hers
was a flashing wit and she was famous for her repartees. Nor was
she less gifted in music and letters.
When I first knew her she was at the zenith of an eventful life. A
widow in her prime, enormously attractive, she was surrounded by
friends and admirers. Her small house in Great Cumberland Place,
decorated with rare taste, was distinguished for its parties that were
crowded by London society. Though lacking in wealth, invitations
from her were more eagerly sought than those from the palaces in
Park Lane and Grosvenor Square. That little house was a meeting
place for all that was highest in art, science, music, political and social
life. The Prince of Wales often dropped in for tea of an afternoon
quite informally and so did many other members of the royal family,
such as the Duke of Connaught or Prince Francis of Teck,
Her private and domestic life was no less picturesque. Her two
chief concerns at this time were the upbringing of her two sons and
the quarterly magazine she had just started, The Anglo-Saxon Review,
Her oldest son, Winston, then in the early twenties, left for South
Africa when the Boer war broke out, and the letters he wrote, some of
which the proud mother read to me during the sittings, already showed
quite clearly that here was the promising son of illustrious parents,
who would make his mark in his country's history. Already he was
gaining both his livelihood and reputation as a war correspondent,
occasionally even branching out into the domain of fiction.
His brother John, upon the other hand, was almost his antithesis.
His ambition was to enter the Army. But although Lady Randolph
derived an income from some New York real estate on Madison
Square, the site of the Manhattan Club, her funds were not stifficient
to permit of John's following his bent. He became a stock broker.
When Winston returned from South Africa his mother commis-
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 51
sioned me to make a small medal with the profiles of her two boys, one
on each side, which she always wore around her neck. It was con
sidered a novel idea and led to a sort of fashion.
This meant that both the boys were obliged to pose for me.
And the characteristics of both emerged markedly in the process.
John, the younger, posed with all the resignation of a martyr, which
though not flattering to the artist, at least gave him a chance to work.
Young Winston, on the other hand, was restless, full of ideas and im
pulses, always in a hurry and eagerly anxious to have the sittings over.
He was brimming with enthusiasm, self-confidence and plans.
Shortly after the war he stood for Parliament and won his seat
triumphantly. His history since then is well known.
Lady Randolph had a pleasant way of bringing many of her
friends to the studio. It was so that I came to meet Paul Bourget,
the French novelist, Sir Eric Drunomond, the diplomat, the Duke and
Duchess of Marlborough, "Lulu" (Lewis) Harcourt, the Sheridans,
the Moreton Frewens and many others.
The Duke and Duchess of Marlborough were among the first to
come to my studio. The Duke had recently married Consuelo Van-
derbilt, and they spent most of their time at Blenheim, their magnifi
cent country seat near Oxford, which a grateful nation had presented
to the first Duke. Both the Duke and Duchess appeared to be in
terested in art, and the" Duchess posed to perhaps more artists than
any other lady in England. Tall and handsome, with her small head
poised upon a slender neck, a retrouss6 nose and a radiant smile, it was
no wonder that artists eagerly sought the opportunity of painting
and modeling her, even making the honorarium an afterthought.
Blenheim was being Americanized in honor of the American bride.
Baths and steam heat were installed and the rooms redecorated, es
pecially the imposing rooms of state, filled with the heirlooms and
treasures of the house.
The heir to the Dukedom, the Marquis of Blandford, was then
one year old. The fond parents thought it was time to begin portray-
5 2 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
ing him. The Duke commissioned me to make a life-size statue in
bronze of the infant Marquis. It was decided that it should be a por
trait in the nude resting upon a cushion. In subjects so youthful it
is a question whether bronze is preferable to marble. To my view,
the dark color of bronze, even with the lightest possible pattina
(coloring produced upon the bronze by means of nitric or other
acid), cannot compare with the delicate hue of the marble. The
Duke's predilection was for bronze, and the Duchess having left the
decision to him, bronze was decided upon and I undertook the
I traveled down with Lady Randolph Churchill upon my first
visit to Blenheim and the gathering was limited to a family party.
With the Marlboroughs we found only his two sisters, Lady Nora
Churchill and Lady Sybil GrenfclL We arrived late in the afternoon
and when I was shown to my room in one of the wings of the vast
house, I realized that I would get all the exercise I needed by merely
walking to and from the living quarters not without a guide. Con
sidering that the steam heat and bathrooms had not yet been quite ac
complished I was very comfortably installed, though one still had to
content one's self with a flat tub placed upon a blanket in the center
of the room and a bucket of water for the bath. The comfort of the
open fire, however, was rich and abundant. A well stocked forest
upon the ducal estate supplied ample fuel and huge logs diffused a
glow of heat as well as light.
When I reached the drawing room (and perhaps it was the dis
tance that made me late), I found the party already assembled,
It is conceivable that unwittingly I may have committed some breach
of etiquette. Or perhaps I presented too timid an appearance since
at that time I had not yet learned that confidence In one's self sug
gests the same attitude to others. Possibly I mispronounced some
English word in my foreign accent in a grotesque manner or perhaps
my unfashionable clothes contrasted too markedly with those of my
host. In any case, no sooner had I entered the drawing room than
Lady Randolph Churchill as Empress Theodora at the Devonshire House Ball on
the Occasion of ^ueen Victoria s Diamond Jubilee
A Statuette in Bronze
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 53
suppressed laughter surrounded me. Every effort of the Duke and
Lady Randolph to be serious and to relieve my embarrassment
made things only worse.
To my relief dinner was announced, and the party being so small, I
was seated next to the Duchess. To ease my embarrassment she let
a course pass before addressing me. When however she spoke to me
again and began asking technical questions concerning bronze and
pattina, her obvious effort to be serious produced shouts of laughter,
and the more they laughed, the more fiery red became my face. It
was one of those moments when one looks about for a convenient
earthquake or a handy avalanche and regrets having ever left the
silence of the studio. Since then I have learned to join in the laugh
ter, even if it is against myself. I had other occasions to enjoy the
hospitality of Blenheim. No doubt my clothes and my pronuncia
tion had improved. In any case the laughter was not repeated and
I was glad that, after all, there had been no earthquake or avalanche
when first I craved them.
When the bronze of the Marquis of Blandford was finished I re
ceived one of those slips of paper which, although so small, mean so
much in our civilization. I trust the Marlborough family were as
satisfied with my artistic efforts, as their message was cheering to me.
Several months later upon returning to my studio from abroad, I
found a small box with a kindly note from the Duchess, which read:
DEAR MR. FXJCHS,
I am so sorry not to have found you as I have just come over from Paris
and am only in London for today. I have brought you the little present
I told you of and which I have been some time in finding as I wanted some
thing artistic and which I hoped you might like.
Trusting that you will accept this little Tanagra figure as a souvenir
from us both of the charming statue you did of our little son, and in remem
brance of our thanks,
54 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
So exquisite was the little Tanagra figure that I decided to give
it eventually a home where it would be safe from the vicissitudes of an
Lady Randolph Churchill's venture into magazine publication
did not turn out as successfully as she and her friends had hoped.
Perhaps she laid more stress upon the covers than upon the con
tents. Each number was bound in a copy of some sumptuous
specimen of bookbinding and formed a unique item to collectors
of bindings. Only about twelve numbers, I believe, were issued
Her kindness, however, was continuous. Through her I met vari
ous other members of her family including her two sisters Mrs. Jack
Leslie and Mrs. Moreton Frewen. Mrs. Frewen was the mother of
Clare Sheridan, since then notable in divers forms of artistic expres
sion, but at that time only a child of about twelve. Already then
she differed markedly from other girls of her age.
She showed evidence of her many gifts. Her visits to the studio
were always welcome; she nevei developed the stage of what is called
the " flapper/' For a young girl, her outlook on life was rather re
markable, and despite her good looks she was never in any sense
spoiled. Notwithstanding her many social engagements after having
been introduced to society, she still found time for reading, writing
and artistic effort. Quite close to the Frewen country place at Brede,
in Sussex, was a pottery which G. F. Watts, the painter, had erected
near his studio. There Mrs. Watts was wont to model, bake and
glaze some unusual decorative panels and specimens in pottery. And
in that studio, too, Clare Sheridan was in the habit of spending her
spare time and produced some original pieces of pottery. That evi
dently was the source of her first training in art.
The family of her future husband, Wilfred Sheridan, I met at
about the same time and have known as long. The South African
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 55
war in 1900 took Wilfred's elder brother. Wilfred himself grew up to
be a splendid chap, fortunate enough to marry Clare, but alas, the late
war claimed him a victim.
Among Clare Sheridan's relations by marriage whom I came to
know were Mrs. William Hall Walker, whose husband's family
donated the Walker Art Gallery at Liverpool; and "Lulu" Harcourt.
Lulu (Lewis) Harcourt was a universal favorite with gods and mortals.
Coming from an illustrious family himself, tall and strikingly hand
some, he married Miss Burns, a niece of the late J. Pierpont Morgan.
He entered politics, and it was a proud day for Sir William Harcourt
when he could introduce his son into Parliament. Young Harcourt
quickly rose to cabinet rank and became a valued asset to his
It was a pleasant experience to contemplate his happiness. He
soon converted his country seat, Nuneham, near Oxford, which had
come to him in a dilapidated condition, into one of the show places
of the region. His herbaceous gardens were a thing that experts came
to see and it was considered remarkable that he knew the Latin and
botanical name of every plant and shrub in them. To crown his hap
piness there came a son and heir, and also a Marquisate for the son
to inherit. In addition to that, moreover, another Harcourt, a
bachelor, possessed of many of the heirlooms of the French family of
Harcourt, died and left them to his famous English relation. His cup
of happiness seemed complete. Together with his love for art he had
the gift of friendship. He often came to my studio and I had the
pleasure of painting both him and his wife. At the church at Nune
ham is also a memorial which he commissioned me to fashion to the
memory of his father, Sir William Harcourt, who sleeps in close prox
imity to the son who was his pride and joy and who has carried on
the work to perpetuate his name and memory. The memorial occu
pies the space on the main wall in the chapel which Lulu transformed
with such exquisite taste from a ramshackle old building into a gem
of beauty. It is but a few steps from the manor house and adjoins
5 6 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
the little graveyard with its quaint moss-covered tombstones testify
ing to days gone by.
Indeed, those first three or four years of mine in London were ex
ceedingly busy ones. Interesting people were constantly coming to
the studio. Aside from the musicians, such as Paderewski, Busoni and
Ysaye, of whom I have spoken, there were many others.
Sir Arthur Pinero, the dramatist, who had come to see the bust of
Forbes Robertson, posed for his bust too. He was at that time at the
height of his fame, and his pieces were playing all over the country, as
well as in America. His The Second Mrs. Tangueray, in which Mrs.
Patrick Campbell was starring, The Notorious Mrs. Ebbsmith and
The Gay Lord Quex were considered masterpieces of stagecraft.
Of Portuguese origin, his sharply marked, clean-shaven face and
bushy black eyebrows gave him an aquiline appearance. His fore
head, as the phrase is, extended all the way to his neck, and altogether
made him an easy subject for caricaturists. With all that, he was al
ways faultlessly dressed.
Being at times a guest at his house, I had opportunity to observe his
working habits. He was accustomed to take an early dinner when en
gaged upon a play and to retire to his study until the early morning,
with a light meal somewhere in the small hours. Of mornings he slept
late and, upon arising, he would take a long walk before his next bout
of work. His constant companion upon these walks was a charming
girl, his step-daughter, whom he treated as though she were his own.
A letter from Lady Pinero at the time when Sir Arthur was much
occupied with his writing may be of interest:
DEAR MR. PUCHS,
I wonder whether you and your sister would care about coming and
sharing our plain family lunch next Sunday at I :i5 or 1 :30 sharp. No
party only just ourselves. We cannot entertain or give any functions
whilst Sir Arthur is writing and as he is very busy and will be for a short
time longer, it's hopeless to try and give any parties.
Sir Johnston Forbes-Robertson
WITH -PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 57
My husband so enjoys seeing a friend to lunch therefore if you are
both disengaged on Sunday, do walk 'round and eat our simple meal. My
husband must rest at three o'clock. I am sure, however, you won't mind
this. I don't rest and we can chat on.
He took the labor of posing for his bust as seriously as everything
else. Many of the stage stars of that period came to see him at my
studio. The two Vanbrugh sisters, of whom Irene was by far the
more gifted, often came in. And with Irene came her husband, Dion
Boucicault, whose art in producing a play already assured half its
Sir Squire Bancroft, the actor-manager, was another friend of Sir
Arthur's who sometimes drifted in if one may speak of so grandiose
a figure drifting. With his white hair, his jet-black and highly
polished moustache, his black-rimmed monocle, high collar and stock
and flat-brimmed silk hat, he presented the last word of dandyism.
A lifelong friend of Sir Arthur Pinero's, he would come in to relieve
the sitter of the tedium of posing and to take him out for walks.
Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree, manager of His Majesty's Theater,
was another personage of the theater I came to know. So ably did
Sir Herbert manage his theater that not even his own acting could ruin
his productions. Spectacular, and never neglecting the detail and
pageantry of his stageries, he was always careful in the selection of
Ms actors with the exception of himself. His daughter, Miss Viola
Tree, must also have presented some problems to him in the casting
of her vis-l-vis, since in stature she took after her father.
Another of Sir Arthur's friends whom I came to know was Sir
George Alexander, proprietor of St. James' Theater, where so many
of the Pinero plays were first produced. The popularity of Sir George
closely approached idolatry, and even in his worst failures he could
always count upon a solid pit and balcony and a crowd of maidens
58 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
anxious to see him emerging from the stage door. I have often won
dered about the reasons for this worship. The shape of his face was
irregular, having nothing of the symmetry of feature which so often
helps to make a stage star. His dress in private life was on the care
less side rather than otherwise. Yet, upon the stage, he presented
the exact reverse of all these things and was popular for his stage
looks as much as for his acting. Unlike Tree, he never seemed to
trouble much about the technical intricacies of his performances, he
had no school connected with his theater for the cultivation of tragedy
and pathos, he needed none of those things; he simply was.
Frank Schuster, brother of the banker, Sir Felix Schuster, was an
other figure of those days in London. Though a bachelor, he kept a
delightful house with an especially built-in music-room in the oldest,
most aristocratic part of London, Westminster. Every Friday night he
had a dinner for the few privileged friends and music for all the rest
who came in afterward. His musical evenings became celebrated.
So great a mark of distinction was it to perform at those musicales,
that one could be sure of hearing only the best of the talents. It was
there I first heard Faur6, organist of the Madeleine, and some of his
songs, famous since then, were just beginning to be appreciated in
England. I have heard Faur6 often since, for I never failed to go to the
Madeleine whenever I was in Paris. Schuster's musicales were more
sought after than even those of Mrs. Ronalds, another well-known
musical hostess, because Schuster, it seemed, could select better
audiences and better artists.
But no musical host or hostess in London exceeded the exclusive-
ness and magnificence of Mrs. Sam Lewis in Grosvenor Square.
Sana Lewis was the most successful money lender of his time a
veritable prince of money lenders. His dealings were confined almost
entirely to the aristocracy. Whenever a young man of a great house
would find himself temporarily embarrassed by misfortune upon the
turf or at cards, he would go to Sam Lewis and make his bargain with
him. How well old Sam knew how to conduct his business is proven
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 59
by the fact that when he died, he left an estate of about four million
pounds sterling some twenty million dollars. He had his good
points, too. If ever a poor artist or musician came to him for a loan
of a few hundred pounds, and Lewis could be convinced as to the
truth of the story, he usually presented the man with the money.
The Lewis house in Grosvenor Square was a gorgeous mansion.
To the right of it was the Spanish, and on the left, the Japanese em
bassy. Three houses farther on lived Lord Farquhar, the Master of
the Royal Household, and next was the town house of the Duke of
Portland. The interior was in perfect taste, decorated entirely by
Frenchmen. The walls of the rooms were paneled in carved wood in
the period of Louis Fifteenth and Sixteenth, some of the panels re
moved bodily from French palaces. Every piece of furniture was
a genuine antique. The table service was of solid silver and Sdvres
porcelain. The servants, giants all of them, wore an awe-inspiring
black livery. The butler, in the entrance hall receiving a visitor, gave
the impression of ushering one in to the Prime Minister.
Lewis had as his hobbies the turf and games of chance. But the
one great hobby of Mrs. Lewis was music. She was a short lady,
generously corpulent, ambitious, and had a reputation for kindness.
Nightly during the season she could be seen at the opera in Covent
Garden in her box and there was no mistaking her, because of her
size and the magnitude of her jewels. At her own house she had
frequent concerts. And as her music director, a Viennese pianist,
was a friend of mine, I was sometimes asked to these performances.
No rarer treat was imaginable. She had her own particular quar
tette, all musicians of distinction who had to practice weeks ahead.
For the performance she would provide each of them with a priceless
Stradivarius, or Guarnerius. And if the program demanded a solo
ist, she would select either Kreisler or another artist of equal rank.
Sometimes not more than four or five people would be invited to
such a performance. The audience, however, consisted largely in her
self. In a dark corner in the far end of the room she would sit apart
60 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
drinking in the wonderful music. At times, she was perfectly content
to invite some great artist to perform for her alone, without any other
audience, and pay him, so it was said, possibly a thousand pounds for
his appearance. Whether it was the size of the fees or the apprecia
tion they met with, artists were eager to perform before her and to
give her the best of themselves.
In these tastes of Mrs. Lewis her husband did not share. His suc
cess on the turf was sufficient for him. After his death, at the begin
ning of this century, when his will was opened, it began with the
"I took it from the lord, I leave it to the poor/'
He bequeathed one million pounds, no less, to the hospital fund
which King Edward, as Prince of Wales, started upon the occasion of
Queen Victoria's Jubilee. The balance he left to his widow for life,
with a reversion to the same benefaction. All London was dumb
founded. The King sent Lord Farquhar in person to express his sym
pathy to the widow, and his gratification at the bequest. He desired
that every consideration be shown Mrs. Lewis in, London thereafter.
People of all ranks went out of their way to fulfil the King's desire.
In due course Mrs. Lewis was presented at Court- Upon that occa
sion an equerry was sent to conduct her into the presence of their majes
ties. Had she appeared more soberly attired, that presentation might
have gone far toward establishing the general good will she craved all
her life. But perhaps she was ill advised. In any case, she made her
appearance in a somewhat extravagant costume overburdened with
jewelry. Thereby she exposed herself to much criticism and even
ridicule. Subsequently it was announced that she was about to marry
a young officer of the Guards. Her marriage did not tend to expand
her former life. Her solitude rather increased than otherwise, and
when she died, she was as much alone as in the days when her first
husband was still living.
"He raised the mortals to the skies." (Pepys.)
the spring of 1899 Paderewski was in London, and
with his usual bonhomie, cordially invited me to visit
him that summer at Morges, his summer home near
Lausanne, in Switzerland. An invitation from Pa
derewski is something few people could resist. I
was no exception,
I arrived at Morges about the middle of September and found my
host in his usual high spirits. He had recently married Madame
Gorska and an atmosphere of joy pervaded the place. The house it
self, as simple and unpretentious as one of the smaller French cMteaux,
was beautifully situated on the Lake of Geneva and surrounded by
gardens perfectly kept. In one of the drawing rooms was a collection
of Steinway pianos, which the manufacturers had sent to him after
his American tours when he had played upon their instruments.
A large staircase winding along the walls left an open space in the
center, through which the light streamed from above. The house
was staffed with his own Polish servants including a cook who pre
pared the national dishes, which featured every meal.
There were other visitors, of course, mostly members of the family
and among them Hugo Gorlitz, Paderewski's manager. The house
not being large enough to hold all the guests, Gorlitz and myself
tenanted a little cottage nearby upon the estate, but we all took our
meals at the family table.
It was in many ways a memorable visit. Paderewski, with those
62 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
about him for whom he cared, was radiantly happy. Indeed, I have
never seen anyone more boyishly delightful, and this radiance he had a
faculty of conveying to others. In the morning he would appear in
white flannels which he wore all day. That, however, was never in the
early morning, for in those hours the master was not to be disturbed.
At about twelve o'clock he would begin practicing upon his piano,
hours which gave me occasion for making my sketches of him. After
lunch we would take long walks, or drive until dinner, at a fairly early
hour, for the meal was only a prelude to a merry, delightful evening.
We would improvise games, or theatricals, and sometimes his son,
then still living and gifted in writing, would provide some amusing
skit for us to play in. Some evenings there would be cards or dancing
with Paderewski playing the tunes.
It would be idle to attempt to describe Paderewski himself in
these circumstances. Everyone knows him and knows enough of him
to be convinced that he is one of those super-men who would have
been great in whatever he might have cared to undertake. People
of his sort inevitably improve upon closer acquaintance, because only
then one comes to realize the multitude of gifts and human qualities
which go to make up a truly great man.
Even then the Paderewski house already contained many of the
efforts of those who had tried to perpetuate his features in marble,
bronze or paint. Of these the portrait by Alma-Tadema, even, did not
seem to me to be successful. And to the best of my knowledge Alma-
Tadema had painted only two portraits, one of his doctor and the
other of Paderewski, which I saw. Another friend of Paderewski's, a
certain Doctor Nossik, who could paint, write and sculpt, did a medal
lion of the musician during my stay at Morges which I considered
good. But for the most part the efforts to portray Paderewski ap
peared to me ineffectual. And the most recent of them seem the
least successful, not to say libelous. Not long ago I saw some busts
of him in plaster, and if Michael Angelo's phrase that "clay is life,
plaster is death, and marble is the resurrection' ' be true, then I hope
Portrait of an Artist
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 63
that there will be no effort made to change those heads from their
present plaster stage.
The reason for my view, if I may state it, is that most of his por-
trayers seem to depict him too slavishly. Paderewski, the essential
man, like his forerunner, Chopin, so far transcends the frame and
features which first meet the eye, that too exact a copy of his small
chin and broad cheekbones, and such folds and wrinkles as he may
have acquired with time, in reality belie the real Paderewski. In a
portrait of him, to my mind, there must be mystery because mystery
envelops the entire personality of the man and his music. Every
feature in his face ought to convey that high sensitiveness which is
the chief charm of his art. From the very moment he sits down at
his instrument, before he ever touches it, the whole room is drenched
in an atmosphere which is almost inexpressible, because it is so mys
terious. That is what distinguishes him from all other musicians.
There may be and I believe there are better performers, performers
more even, more forceful and perhaps even more brilliant, but no one
else radiates that inexplicable charm which takes hold of us the mo
ment we come in contact with him.
First of all, it would seem to me, an artist in reproducing the fea
tures of Paderewski must stress the great forehead with the two marked
eminences over the eyebrows, said to be the storehouse of music.
Then there are the eyes, so captivating with their dreamy look and
peculiar for their combination of dark color and light lashes, with the
lids so prominent that they give an effect of the impenetrable when
64 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
they are really meant to look kind. An emphasis laid upon the sensi
tive mouth and the small moustache turned in at the corners would, I
think, complete the picture of the man who is so remarkable a com
bination of knowledge, determination, patriotism and sublime poetry.
Of all the likenesses of Paderewski that I know, perhaps the one by
Burne- Jones comes nearest to the idealization that one would wish
to see handed down to posterity.
The visit to Morges had brought me delightful restoration after a
busy and preoccupied London season. Previous to that, soon after I
had finished the portrait bust of Sir Arthur Ellis' younger daughter,
she had become engaged to be married, I naturally sought an oppor
tunity of showing my gratitude for a hospitality always so cordial, and
by way of a wedding present, I decided to make for Miss Ellis a small
medal with her father's portrait attached to a little chain as a bracelet.
At the! ^wedding reception my little gift was displayed, and shortly
after, Sir Arthur conceived the idea of having several more medals
struck from the dies I had made and to insert them in small gifts, such
as ash trays, ink stands, paper knives and cigarette cases. These ob
jects he distributed to members of the Royal Family and the Royal
household and friends where it was the habit to exchange^ Christmas
gifts. This small specimen of my work it was that first came to the
attention of King Edward, then Prince of Wales.
One afternoon in June, 1899, the Prince, accompanied only
by ! an equerry, came quite unannounced to my studio. My sur
prise and happiness to see him thus walking in at my door would
b 'difficult to describe. -And he' began with his usual genial affa
"Mr. Fuchs, I saw your medal of General Sir Arthur Ellis in
fact, I see it every day on the ash tray he gave me for Christmas. I
consider it a happy idea and a good likeness. Do you think you
could make a similar one for me?"
"I am almost sure of it, Sir," I answered. "If your Royal High
ness could grant me a few sittings "
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 65
"I will, and you can begin now," said the Prince. "If you have
your material at hand I will give you half an hour/'
It need hardly be said that I had and without delay he mounted
the model stand and sank into what I hope was a comfortable chair.
I offered him a cigarette, apologizing for its quality, but he took it and
smiled. I watched the expression of his face to see whether the smile
would change after the first puff.
1 ' How long have you been in England? " he inquired. I told him,
and took occasion to add how happy I was in his country and that I
owed my presence there to the little incident of the visit of Miss Ellis
to my studio in Rome.
II Is my pose right? " he asked. " You must tell me, if it is not/'
II 1 will, Sir," I assured him, " but for the sculptor a motionless pose
is not so essential as it is for painting."
Captain Holf ord, the equerry, had in the meantime seated himself
in the far end of the room, maintaining entire silence. Once the
Prince was at ease in his pose, he began to address the equerry, who
immediately came forward.
"You must' remind me, George, to give Mr. Fuchs another sitting
before I leave for Marienbad."
Observing that the Prince was no longer smoking, I interrupted
my work and ventured to offer him another cigarette.
" Thank you very much," he smiled. "I think I had better smoke
one of my own, which are milder."
But I am glad to say that was the only occasion when I was un
able to offer my august sitter a smoke not to his taste. Presently he
"When you get to a point where you feel you can make a pause,
please let me know."
The only reply in such a case was to assure him that that point
was then and there, and I immediately laid my tool aside. Where
upon he descended from the stand, caine over and looked at my work
and then began, with his customary urbane smile:
66 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
tl l should like to ask you a delicate question. But I must tell
you first that recently I had some unpleasant experience with an
artist " (and he mentioned a name) "who kept on drawing advances
without ever completing his work. How much will this medal cost? "
For a moment, I own, I was embarrassed. Finally I said to him:
"Your Royal Highness ' visit and graciousness has somewhat be
wildered me. If I don't express myself as I should wish, I trust
nevertheless that my answer will not be taken amiss. I should have
liked to beg of Your Royal Highness that I be permitted to pass over
the question of money altogether. All my life it has been embarrass
ing to me. Your Royal Highness' visit has brought something into
my life like sunshine which no amount of money could have procured,
and I think this should be more than ample. But since I am asked
a direct question I should suggest that" (I mentioned a certain
sum) "would be paying me royally.
Perhaps my answer still had a foreign note about it. In any case,
the Prince laughed heartily and said,
"We shall never again have occasion to discuss this subject/'
Then, asking for a sheet of paper, he wrote two autographs with a
date (A. E. September 9, '99) and he asked me to choose one for the
reverse of the medal "Do you think you could finish the medal by
that time?" he asked.
"It will be my most serious endeavor, Sir," said L
Then he said, "I am going to Marienbad soon. I shall try to give
you another sitting before I leave, but should I not be able to do so
and you desire anything, you will write me?"
He offered his hand. The equerry followed his example, and ere I
was aware of his intention, had anticipated me to the studio door lead
ing into the corridor and opened it. At the entrance, in a state
Italian Afettv Vendor
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 67
closely verging on collapse my old housekeeper was waiting to do her
part in gracefully honoring our royal visitor. The sturdy cob drew
up with prancing step ; both gentlemen quickly entered the brougham;
they bowed again; the Prince smiled; instantly the rubber wheels
rolled silently over the asphalt and the clang of the horse's hoofs faded
into the distance.
Before leaving for Marienbad, the Prince contrived to give me
another sitting and upon that occasion he commissioned me to make a
marble bust of Miss Louvima Knollys, daughter of his private secre
tary, Sir Francis, later, Lord Knollys. The name Louvima is made
up from the names of the three daughters of King Edward: Louise,
Princess Royal; Princess Victoria; and Queen Maud of Norway.
The bust was to be a Christmas gift for Sir Francis and a surprise,
which made the arrangement of sitting difficult. Lady Knollys, how
ever, was in the plot and helped by bringing the child whenever
As before, the Prince came accompanied only by a single equerry
and both were in civilian dress. Unlike the custom of the German
Emperor, the Prince never wore uniform or decorations except upon
state occasions. He drove about town in a brougham drawn by a
single horse, with no footman on the box. In public his equerry
would maintain the etiquette of silence, except when addressed. In
private, however, the etiquette between them was not quite so rigid.
After his cure at Marienbad, which lasted three weeks, the Prince
returned to England to inaugurate the shooting season. On his way
through town he gave me an opportunity of showing him the work I
had done in the meantime. The idea of distributing gifts with a
small! medallion of himself inserted in them pleased him greatly. To
use it the following Christmas he had about one hundred more of the
medals struck with the reverse in another form. He also spoke of
a medallion in marble which he desired me to make in memory of his
brother, Alfred, Duke of Edinburgh, and subsequently Duke oi Saxe-
Coburg, which he wished to place in the little church at Sandring-
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
ham. In all of these things he took keen interest even to the smallest
details. As his brother's portrait was to be in the uniform of an ad
miral, an office he had held prior to ascending the throne of Cobttrg,
the Prince himself explained the particular uniform and decorations
Sketches for the Panels In the Memorial for II, J. Ileim, Pittsburgh
" Oppress'd with awe and stupid at the wondrous things he saw. " (Dry den.)
HE day before Christmas that year, London was en
veloped in one of those heavy, yellow fogs which can
make that city gloomier than any other upon the
face of the earth. My work for the Prince had all
been delivered, including the marble bust of Louvima
Knollys for the Prince's secretary. It was early in the afternoon, and
I began to wonder how I was going to spend Christmas eve, when a
messenger came with a note from Marlborough House which read:
The Prince of Wales invites you to Sandringliam. His Royal High
ness wishes to consult you about the position of the memorial to the Duke
of Coburg about to be erected in Sandringham Church. You are asked to
travel down by the 2:35 P.M. train from St. Pancras to Wolferton Station.
Sir Arthur Ellis is also invited.
Signed: SEYMOUR FORTESCUE.
This was an entirely new experience to me. I was not in the least
prepared for it. No time, obviously, was to be lost if I was to make
the train. Hastily I unearthed my valise and my housekeeper bustled
about filling it with whatever she could lay hands on.
I made the train only by flashing upon the cabman the Royal arms
on the letter with one hand and the color of a gold piece with the
other. I never knew which it was that impressed him the more.
Those were the days before taxicabs and one had to figure with the
whims of a cynical worldly wise old beast, who thought little of royal
70 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
emblems or gold. Even the whip seemed to leave that aged hackney
cold. I just managed to board the train, leaping upon the first car
riage that my hand could clutch.
It was one of the luggage vans, filled with the most carefully
marked trunks, boxes and portmanteaux I had ever beheld. The
sporting guests had their racing colors painted upon their luggage so
as to make it easier to identify. And such quaint colors they were
I walked through the carriages until I discovered the friendly
face of General Sir Arthur Ellis, the equerry, to whom I breath
lessly apologized for my appearance. He was already aware of my
visit and invited me to make myself comfortable in his compartment,
not difficult in that luxurious private carriage which the Midland
Railroad provided for the Royal Family. Our first stop was Cam
bridge. At the second, Ely, the station master called my name, as the
Prince wished to know whether I had made the train. At Wblferton,
the next station, we were met by the royal carriages which took! 'us
to Sandringham House, Before entering the Prince genially intro
duced the guests to one another. It was a family party with only a
few old friends.
The Royal ladies were already assembled in the great living hall,
a room perhaps forty by fifty feet with the dining hall and the recep
tion rooms grouped about it. In one corner was a large piano and
facing it a settee with a table, upon which tea was awaiting the
guests. A log fire was crackling cheerfully in the enormous fireplace
close to the tea table, near which were grouped the Princess of Wales,
her daughter, Princess Victoria, and Miss Knollys, The Prince
courteously presented me to them and to the members of the house
hold and tea was served. The Princess poured it out herself.
Once the presentation was over, with the required formalities of a
low bow from the gentlemen and a well managed curtsy on the part of
the ladies, it seemed to become everyone's endeavor, particularly the
Royal Family's, to make taie feel thoroughly at ease. The Princess
King Edward VII
When Prince of Wales
When Princess of Wales
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 71
and her daughter made conversation in which the Prince and the
gentlemen joined. As for my part, I kept silent and as much as pos
sible in the background. The Prince, upon observing this, at once in
vited me to draw nearer and to join them, the Princess and her daugh
ter graciously engaging me in conversation, and the pleasant atmos
phere and warmth after the long, cold drive began to penetrate me
and I experienced a delightful feeling of comfort.
No sooner was tea over, than the Prince invited all the guests to
the weighing machine at the other end of the room, attended by a
servant, to ascertain the weights of all the arrivals. This is an old
custom maintained in the house since the illustrious hosts first in
habited it. The machine was equipped with a comfortable armchair
and, as the servant announced the weight of each one, a book was
handed to the guest in which he inscribed his name, address, the date
of arrival and, should he care to do so, some " remark " in a space
specially provided. This book is a collection of perhaps the most cele
brated names that any human being could assemble, with the odd
addition of their weights. It was amusing to see to what extent this
displayed the little weaknesses even of the great. Under the rubric
"remarks " one could read apologetic notes like this: "Very heavy
walking suit/' or, "Soaking wet coining in from the rain/' or, "Just
after dinner." Others would write down a few lines of verse, or
scrawl a funny drawing. Some of these contributions were surpris
ingly clever and amusing.
Then an equerry came to the newcomer to show him the wing of
the house where he could lounge or write, read or smoke without dis
turbing the hosts in their living quarters. This room is an enormous
library adjoining the big haU and filled with books to the ceiling in
shelves of light oak. The furniture was upholstered in red leather.
No more delightful lounging room could be devised.
Once the ladies had retired to dress for dinner, the Prince joined
his guests for a short while in the library. Adjoining the library was
the billiard room with an immense and notable screen upon which
72 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
appeared the heads of the foremost in every profession of the realm.
The walls were covered with sporting prints. The house was a mass of
flowers, and the rooms were crowded with interesting furniture, brie-
d-brac, and objects assembled from all over the globe, such as hunting
trophies, huge elephant tusks from India and Africa, priceless gifts
from Maharajahs, Kaisers, Kings, Sultans, Chieftains and lesser
mortals. Each object had its inscription, date and some explanatory
remark. It would take too long to attempt to describe these even
superficially. The house was in reality a museum.
Upon a word from the Prince perhaps that it was time to dress for
dinner, the equerry-in-waiting or the master of the household or per-
Jbaps one of the Gentlemen Butlers showed the guests to their quarters.
The room assigned to me was in the bachelor quarter, which one
could reach through long corridors in a wing newly added. It was
simple but comfortable, and when I entered it I found a valet busily
engaged over my open portmanteau distributing the contents.
41 Pardon, Sir, my saying so/ 1 observed the man, "but your valet
must have forgotten " and he enumerated a number of objects he
had failed to find. An embarrassment fell upon rne and the closer to
the bottom of the portmanteau we came, the more that embarrass
ment grew. There were no white ties, no white waistcoats and the
shirts were innocent of cuff links. The haste, moreover, with which
the clothes had been thrown into the bag neither added to the smart
ness of my appearance nor reflected credit on the precision of my
household. I decided to make a clean breast of it all and to throw my
self upon the mercy of the man. I told him that I was neither Knight
nor Noble, but simply an artist without a valet, with only an old
housekeeper who knew nothing of packing for such a party, and that I
must commend myself to his consideration. He departed and, after
evidently holding council with the proper authorities, returned, com
pletely self-possessed and informed me that everything would be
provided, by order of the Gentleman Butler. And, truly, in a short
time all the things arrived and all my lacks were made good.
When Princess of Wales
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 73
Doubtless, that valet had reported my plight to his superior, tell
ing it in confidence to perhaps one other friend. That friend had prob
ably whispered it to someone else. In any case, my story must have
penetrated to the highest quarters. For the next day when we were
all walking to church, the Prince noted that I was wearing patent
leather boots and remarked, laughing,
11 1 hope, Mr. Fuchs, you won't catch cold in those thin boots.'*
" Pardon, Sir," I answered, trying to smile too, "but I was under
the impression that at Sandringham eternal sunshine reigned. "
With a light tap at the door a servant announced the dinner hour
that first evening, and mentioned the particular foreign orders that
were to be worn. Different decorations were worn upon different
occasions, depending upon whom the Prince desired to honor thus.
So that upon one occasion the command would go forth, " Danish
orders will be worn tonight/' or, upon another, " Greek orders will
be worn. 1 ' As to those, however, it was a relief to know that they
could not have been omitted from the contents of my bag.
If I describe the life of the Royal household at Sandringham in
some detail, I do it because it calls to my memory some very delight
ful times and a spacious, happy period in English history which has
meant much in my personal life-span.
The dinner hour was changed every night. It depended upon the
program of the day. Generally the hour was eight o'clock or a quarter
past, but sometimes as late as half past.
The etiquette of the house demanded that the guests assemble
five minutes before the appointed time in the drawing room adjoining
the hall, where the ladies and gentlemen of the household were al
ready waiting. That first evening there was General Sir Dighton
Probyn, a veteran of the Crimean War, with his picturesque, long,
white beard. He was the comptroller of the Prince's household. Cap
tain Fortescue was the equerry on duty, and then there were Sir
Francis Knollys with Lady Knollys and daughter, Louvima; his sister,
Miss Knollys, Lady in Waiting to the Princess of Wales; Sir Arthur
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
Ellis, Sir Edward Hamilton, Sir Edgar Wallace, a special corre
spondent of the Times who accompanied the Prince on his journeys
and wrote the official reports; Lord Marcus Beresford, keeper of
the Prince's stables, and perhaps one or two other personal friends.
The household engaged the guests in conversation and presently
the equerry-in-waiting addressed each one and showed upon the chart
the place he or she was to occupy at the table. In case a lady was to
be escorted to the dining room by royalty she was notified at that
time; and in the same manner a man singled out for such an honor
was similarly apprized. The rattle of the doorknobs gave the sign
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 75
that the Royal hosts were approaching and all conversation immedi
ately ceased. The doors were thrown open wide and the family en
tered in procession. First came the Prince and Princess of Wales;
then the Duke and Duchess of York, who lived in York Cottage
upon the estate; Princess Victoria, the unmarried daughter; Prince
and Princess Charles of Denmark, the former a nephew of the Princess
of Wales, who had married Princess Maud; and the Duke and
Duchess of Fyfe, son-in-law of the royal host and husband of the
Princess Royal, with his Duchess.
The guests formed a semicircle and the hosts went from one to an
other, saying a few words to each, until another pair of doors was
thrown open and the equerry-in- waiting announced to the Prince that
dinner was served. The procession formed quickly according to the
plan of the table and walked into the dining room.
That room at Sandringham is large enough to seat fifty people if
necessary. It is finished in light oak with panels of tapestries in reds
and blues against a light background. The sideboards were then
loaded with silver ornaments, mostly cups and other sporting trophies,
some of them of enormous size, and all with their appropriate in
These were changed every day. So was the centerpiece upon the
table and the whole flower arrangement, in itself a work of art and
beauty. The table with its profusion of silver, flowers and candle
light was a picture difficult to describe.
Orice the guests were seated the courses followed each other in a
quick succession. The servants, gorgeous in their scarlet liveries
braided with gold, were almost as numerous as the guests. Noise
lessly, they glided about quietly directed by their superiors. The
Prince was always attended by his own butler who served him even
when he dined out. The menu was elaborate and so selected that it
must satisfy any taste. As may be noted from the menu repro
duced there were two services, two distinctly different dinners, the
courses of each being offered to the guests. A variety of ices was
76 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
served and with each course a different wine. No guest was expected
to eat at a more leisurely pace than the Royal Family. As a matter
of fact, notwithstanding the elaborate bill of fare, dinner never lasted
more than an hour. If a guest talked too much, he found his plates
changed before he had had time to taste of the dishes.
The conversation was free and animated, the household always
assisting it to an uninterrupted close. The sonorous voice of the
Prince carried over the entire table and dominated. When the Prince
rose, all rose and two gentlemen of the household leaped to the doors
and stood upon either side while the guests proceeded to one of the
There the tone was easy and unconstrained. Personal friends of
the family were as free here as they might be in their own homes.
Royalty, like everyone else, is fond of laughter and a good joke, and
knowing this, some of the guests provided themselves with funny
stories. After all, laughter is the best medium by which to dispel
the embarrassment inevitable when we consider the disparity in rank
among those present. That particular evening Lord Marcus Beres-
ford was so amusing that the entire party was roaring with laughter,
so that the Princess was obliged from time to time to ask him to curb
his pace and give the company a breathing spell Lord Marcus had a
sharp eye for the little weaknesses of others and he was able to bring
them forward in a salient and amusing light. Nor did he always
confine himself to the absent. Often some of those present had to
listen to stories and jokes upon themselves. And if they showed any
embarrassment, that only increased the general hilarity. Sometimes
guests known to be musicians were asked to play or to sing while
coffee was being served before bridge playing began. Soon after half
past ten the ladies retired upstairs, the men adjourning to the billiard
room. There the Prince engaged in conversation with some, the
while others played. So far as I and my work were concerned, I
found during that and other visits that no matter how preoccupied
the Prince might be, he always found time to send for me and to dis-
S ai \(lring}iara,
,,- ''. Norfolk.
A7^ George V
When Duke of York
When Duchess of York
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 77
cuss what he wished me to do. He arranged to be at the church at
certain hours, to go over the plans on the spot and to give the matter
of the memorial his undivided attention.
Often I had occasion to marvel at his extraordinary memory. A
quite casual suggestion he would remember long afterward and refer
to it accurately. One day while I was making a bust of his brother
for the Duchess of Coburg he chanced to see it at my studio just
before he left for his annual cure at Marienbad, and he made a trifling
criticism concerning the coat upon the figure, which he asked me to
transmit to the Duchess. At a later visit, long afterward, he asked to
see the bust and the effect which his suggestion had produced.
It seemed to be customary at Sandringharn for the Royal ladies to
bring their pet dogs down to dinner. Both the Princess of Wales and
the Princess Victoria habitually brought down their favorites, King
Charles spaniels. However, the Prince's bulldog was compelled to
wait until his master came to the billiard room later in the evening.
That dog was devoted to his master and his master to him. Except
ing at the dinner hour they were inseparable. And when the dog died,
it took some time before the Prince could console himself with another
As the evening wore on the Prince finally rose and said:
11 Gentlemen, I bid you goodnight.' 1 Whereupon an equerry ad
vanced to escort the Prince out of the room. The guests followed.
In the hall a servant handed a lighted candle to each one, the Prince
shook hands and soon the house was wrapped in silence.
Situated in Norfolk about a mile from the sea, Sandringham is
said to receive the air direct and unimpeded from the shores of Den
mark. The Prince bought the house shortly after his marriage to
Princess Alexandra of Denmark in 1861. Originally it was quite
small, but as the family increased one addition after another was
made until, in 1871, it was replaced by the building as it is today, a
handsome edifice of brick and stone in the Tudor style. Later, as the
children married, cottages for them were erected on the estate; Apple-
78 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
ton House for Prince and Princess Charles of Denmark (now King
Haakon and Queen of Norway) and York Cottage for the Duke and
Duchess of York, the present King and Queen. Both of those houses
are simple and unpretentious. The grounds, some seven thousand
acres, are planted with pine and well stocked with birds for the shoot
ing season. About the house are gardens carefully laid out, in long
alleys with sculptures in bronze and marble, large vases, European and
Oriental, some in Japanese cloisonnS, all of which add much to the
decorative effect of the park. Not far from the house are the orchards,
the vegetable and flower gardens. There are beds calculated to pro
duce certain effects of color at certain times of the year according to
the taste of different members of the family. There are pergolas over
grown with roses and sundials of boxwood with the numerals in
flowers of varied colors,
Some of the Prince's friends, upon one occasion, knowing the pleas
ure he took in his garden, commissioned Alma-Tadema to design a
large marble bench, such as we often see in his pictures, and to super
vise the laying out of the surrounding landscape. That remains a
striking and effective decoration. Numerous trees have been planted
about the house by the Royal family and their relations to commemo
rate a variety of events, such as births, marriages or foreign visits
as the inscriptions indicate. Some of the trees, when I saw them,
were already grown to full size, while others were still hardly more
than saplings. In addition to all this there are almost miles of hot
houses of teakwood, which the Prince preferred to steel, and to which
he called attention with pride all richly stocked with flowers,
fruits and ferns.
Quite close to the palace is the little stone church with its rectory,
adjoining a picturesque old graveyard filled with ancient moss-cov
ered memorials. Not far away in a secluded comer is a small burial
ground for the royal animal pets with small carved stones perpetuat
ing their memories. The little House of God shows all the affection
ate care which the members of the Royal family rival one another in
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 79
lavishing upon it. Next to the seat of the Princess in the royal pew
is the Saint George statuette in silver dedicated to her departed eldest
son, the Duke of Clarence. That little monument is an exquisite gem
from the master hand of Alfred Gilbert. Every window in the church
is a memorial in stained glass, rich in colors and delicate in design, con
trasting markedly with the plainness and simplicity of the interior.
A small organ, new, but with the richly carved old case, completed
Sandringham's place of worship.
The next day was Christmas.
At the hour prearranged with the valet, he appeared with a tray of
coffee or tea. He brought with him the clothes which he had taken
the night before, carefully pressed and folded, and laid out what was
needed. From nine until ten breakfast was served in the dining room.
For this meal the Princesses never appeared. But all the gentlemen
came down and, as in other English country houses, whoever arrived
was served as soon as he sat down. Generally a member of the house
hold was present to do the honors at the table. Both sideboards were
loaded with silver platters warmed by spirit lamps, and under the
covers, were the many items which constitute the English breakfast
fish, eggs, fowl, bacon, porridge, sausages a vast variety. Upon the
other sideboard were spread out the cold dishes, chiefly different kinds
of meat, to which one helped oneself. A servant poured the tea and
coffee and changed the plates until the fruits were served. No sooner
was one place vacated than it was made ready for the next comer.
These elaborate meals are probably a heritage of the days when the
men were wont to go forth early to hunt or to shoot without pausing
After breakfast the entire party went to church. Everyone walked
the short distance. The Princes sat in their pews, which flanked the
aisle near the altar, the visitors, the household and the villagers taking
the others. The service was brief. Unless the pulpit was occupied by
visiting clergymen or some noted divine, the Prince always cut short
8o WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
the time of the sermon to about fifteen minutes. After church the
party walked in the grounds, the Prince noting and commenting upon
the many changes and alterations always going on. He took the op
portunity of looking them over with his clerk of the works and to ex
plain them to his entourage and guests. Here he lived simply the life
of a country squire and seemed to enjoy it thoroughly.
When we returned to the house everyone spent the time in his own
way writing, reading or conversing. The Prince attended to his
correspondence with his secretary, until luncheon which was at two
o'clock. There being no shooting on this day, the gentlemen were
present at the midday meal. The Duke and Duchess of York and
Prince and Princess Charles of Denmark also came in. The table ar
rangements were as impressive as the night before.
After lunch we were shown over the estate -all except the Princess,
who was arranging the Christmas trees. Through the gardens and
hothouses we went, then to the dairy, with its pedigreed Jersey live
stock; but the chief attraction was the stables. As a special privilege
we were allowed to see Persimmon, the famous horse that had won the
Derby in 1896 and so many other races before and afterward.
Persimmon was cared for in truly royal fashion. He had a sepa
rate stable to himself, all lined and padded with leather. He had a
particular stable boy to serve him whom he preferred to all others, and
a little friend, a pony, which was always with him. He was a tempera
mental animal, Persimmon. To make certain that he would enjoy
his food, everything was done to keep him in good spirits, and the
pony added for his well-being. The Prince took a great pride in show
ing him off and in explaining all the details of his existence. He had
the horse brought out, patted him affectionately, and showed us his
racing record, engraved upon a shining bronze tablet outside his stall.
It was a long list of equine achievements. Lord Marcus Beresford also
came in for his share of recognition which he truly deserved, con
sidering the difficulty of the task of breeding racehorses.
Persimmon, however, seemed to care little for our admiration.
> an drill gham,
A Bridge Party at Sandringham
With the Princess of Wales, Georgiana Lady Dudley, the Earl oj Cadogan, then Lord Lieutenant
of Ireland, and the Duke of Devonshire
The late Marquess of Salisbury
Prime Minister of England
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 81
He was carefully wrapped up in blankets and his legs were neatly
bandaged. He became restless and, as there is always danger of a
cold or a slip, it was deemed best to restore him to his quarters and to
the company of his little friend, the pony. The visit to Persimmon
was the culmination of our tour of inspection. Besides, dusk began to
fall and, as dinner was to be earlier than usual in view of the Christ
mas presents to be distributed afterward, we took the path that
brought us back to the house most quickly.
The dinner was, if anything, even more elaborate than the night
before. Besides the Princes from the cottages, the rector, Canon
Hervey, and his wife and daughter were invited. But in saying that
the dinner was more elaborate, one must remember that this was not
a household where the mistress put herself out to entertain distin
guished guests. Here the hosts were the most distinguished of all
present. And this fact seemed to guide the spirit of the household
at all times. The silent question always seemed to be: "How can we
best please our Royal Masters?" The devotion of everyone to the
Prince and Princess was almost legendary. And the lead in that de
votion was taken by the Princess herself. Her solicitude for the well-
being and happiness of her consort was an outstanding fact. She
seemed to subordinate not only her desires, her pleasures, her views,
but her whole personality to that of the Prince. That atmosphere
enveloped the entire life of the household an atmosphere of felicity,
of peace and cheer.
After the early dinner we all went into the big ballroom where
the trees had been set up. This room was one of the latest additions
to the house. The trees were arranged upon three tables under the
vaulted ceiling and illtimined by seemingly thousands of candles.
One of the tables was for the grown-up members of the family, an
other for the children and a third for the household and the guests.
Upon the tables were trees for each individual present; the largest was
for the Prince of Wales and reached well to the ceiling. The others
were in graduated sizes like the pipes of an organ, but still of imposing
82 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
height. Then came the row for the household, smaller trees these,
and upon a long table lay sorted the gifts for the children, each lot
grouped under an individual tree, which was marked with the name
of the recipient.
No sooner did we enter the ballroom, than everyone rushed for
ward, anxious to find his place. A wealth of presents lay stacked for
each one. There were not only such costly things as jewellery, but all
manner of lesser objects, decorative, useful or educative and ingenious.
Next to a magnificent piece of Limoges porcelain from some crowned
head would be a small bit of embroidery from some humble subject, or
possibly a little poem or a drawing which a schoolgirl had ventured
to offer. And these small objects brought as much pleasure and happi
ness as the far costlier gifts from the great. Everyone was remem
bered with lavish generosity. Everyone received something that
bore a personal touch about it. Months before it was a matter of seri
ous reflection and devising as to what to give in order to cause the
most agreeable surprise.
It need hardly be said that even under festive circumstances such
as these, etiquette still surrounded the household. Inevitably, and
regardless of all the goodwill of the hosts, guests and entourage would
naturally still hang somewhat in the background. As the doors were
opened the children, of course, were the first to rush forward toward
that fairy Queen, and for the most of them their grandmother,
Alexandra, Princess of Wales. The present Prince of Wales was at
that time a child of perhaps five. His brothers and sisters were
younger still. Little Louvima Knollys was then about ten. And there
were a number of other children. It was enchanting to see all those
youngsters as they surrounded the Princess standing at her table.
Leaping joyously from one present to another, they shouted, ex
claimed, compared gifts with one another and each kept pulling his
grandmother or grandfather to his or her tree to show them how
generously they had been treated.
4 'How could Santa Claus have guessed that I wanted a Persimmon
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 83
upon which to rock? " would cry a boy possibly the present Prince of
Wales. And a little girl would exclaim, "And look at mine! How
did he know that I wanted a doll called Alexandra, whom I could
Grown-ups received their gifts with less ostentation, perhaps, but
with no smaller delight and pleasure. And even I, stranger though I
King Edward VII. Bookplate at Sandringham
was, found myself regally remembered. Beneath my tree lay several
pieces of handsome jewellery, a blue Danish porcelain tea set upon a
copper tray with a card from the hand of Princess Alexandra, and
a silver ash tray especially engraved for the occasion and set with
the medal I had made for the Prince my first commission for him.
The next day there was festivity for the servants. The distribu
tion of gifts to them was a ceremony that I did not witness. But there
was a dance for them in the ballroom and every servant had the privi
lege of asking for the honor of dancing with some member of the Royal
family. There was nothing of the atmosphere of the Admirable
Crichton discernible in this ceremony. The servants were all over-
84 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
awed by the honor and there was a great display of shyness and em
barrassment, much to the amusement of those present.
The day after, when my visit came to an end, the Prince sent for me
shortly before the hour of departure in order to go over some of the
details of the monument I was making. The Princess also gave me an
opportunity of expressing my thanks and gratitude for a hospitality
which had been royal indeed. When I bowed adieu to Princess Vic
toria she graciously handed me her album and asked me to leave a
little sketch, which I can only hope was worthy of its environment,
"Some are born great, some achieve greatness, some have greatness thrust upon them."
ADY RANDOLPH CHURCHILL'S habit of wearing
about her neck my little medal with the portraits of
her two sons created a sort of fashion which led to
similar commissions on the part of many other people.
One of these, Mrs. Leopold de Rothschild, desired me
to make such a medal for her. Her husband was the youngest of
the three brothers who headed the great banking house of that name
in England. Mrs. Rothschild was not a Rothschild by birth, but a
Perugia, a prominent family in Trieste. The Rothschilds were al
ready beginning to frown upon a too close consanguinity, and
Leopold's was one of the first marriages outside the family.
Noted for her simplicity and unpretentiousness, this Mrs. Roths
child was exceedingly popular. She disliked the atmosphere of glitter
peculiar to many of the rich and inhabited a cottage at Ascot that was
a model of homeliness. Much of the popularity of the Rothschilds in
London was of this Mrs. Rothschild's making. For the eldest of the
Rothschild brothers, Lord Rothschild, was noted for a curtness of
manner that bordered upon rudeness. Of him, too, the story is told
that when a certain distinguished stranger came to see him at his of
fice, he invited him to take a seat and went on with his work. The
stranger after waiting patiently for some time, arose and said, "Per
haps you did not understand, but my name is so-and-so."
11 Very well, take two seats," was the answer.
Alfred, the second of the brothers, remained a bachelor all his life
86 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
and collected works of art at a time when they were still easily ob
tainable. Of the brothers/ he was perhaps the best liked, and he had
the odd hobby of keeping a private band for his own entertainment,
lending it generously for charitable purposes. Leopold, the youngest,
was the sporting member of the family who maintained the Roths
child colors upon the turf.
Of his two younger boys, it was, that I was commissioned to make
the medal. One of them, whether Anthony or Evelyn I do not re
member, has since fallen in the war, in Mesopotamia, side by side
with his cousin, Neil Primrose, second son of Lord Rosebery.
Through these London Rothschilds I became acquainted with the
Paris branch, where also three brothers reigned. The head of the
French house was the Baron Alphonse. I was commissioned to make
a portrait medallion of his only daughter, Madame Maurice Ephrussy
with her youthful face and snow-white hair, a woman of striking
appearance. This portrait had to be done in France, and accordingly,
in the summer of 1900, 1 went back and forth across the channel.
The country seat of these Rothschilds, Ferridres-sur-Marne, which
they occupied the greater part of the year, was about an hour's dis
tance from Paris. During the Franco-Prussian War, in 1870, it had
served as the headquarters of the old Emperor William and his staff,
including Moltke and Bismarck. The family still preserves and shows
to guests the visitors' book which all these personages signed before
leaving the chateau. This record impressed me less, however, than
three things which have remained vividly in my memory in connec
tion with the house.
First, there was the famous painting by Raphael, known as The
Violinist. This picture, formerly owned by Prince Sciarra, was by
him smuggled out of Italy in spite of the strict laws which preclude
the exportation of great works of art. And the reason the picture has
lingered in my memory is because then and there my feeling was con
firmed that Raphael's fame far exceeds his merit in comparison with
his contemporary Michael Angelo.
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 87
The second object I recall was a room hung with paintings on
leather, which, although very vivid, were attributed to Rembrandt
but in any case, extraordinary and unusual. The third, oddly enough,
was the kitchen. That kitchen at Ferridres was a separate build
ing, some distance from the main house. The dishes were conveyed
to the house by means of a subterranean railway, with trains of
heated cars to keep them warm.
The old Baron Alphonse was possessed of one eye only. He had
lost the other at a shooting party where a friend of his had made the
unfortunate shot. As the specialist was operating in order to save the
other eye, so the story goes, the Baron was heard to moan:
" My God, what must my friend suffer!"
Possibly the story is true. But so far as I knew the French, the
English and the Austrian Rothschilds, they seemed rather concerned
with themselves than with others. Their point of view toward life
was blas6 rather than otherwise. Their lot was too easy and comfort
able at birth and gave them too little to look forward to and thus bring
out deep sympathy for others. The practice of close intermarriage
between relations, often as near as first cousins, was also a detriment
to the family. Its original purpose was to keep the fortune intact in
the family. It proved harmful, however, and the practice has been
since then largely abandoned.
During one of my stays at Ferridres that summer, Count Witte,
then Minister of Finance under the late Czar ;Nicholas II, was ar
riving for a brief visit. That was an occasion for a display of wealth,
such as even among the Rothschilds was not often indulged in. The
Count was met at the station byjthe family with a carriage a la Dau-
mont, drawn by six horses, two of which were mounted by riders.
Like visiting royalty, he was shown over the estate, which was in
every respect a model.
Witte himself was of an imposing, if somewhat extraordinary, ap
pearance. Though over six feet in height and large in proportion, he
struck one by the unusual narrowness and length of his head. As to
88 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
feature and beard he was the typical Slav. He spoke French flu
ently, and his demeanor was that of a person always conscious of his
exalted position. Though my place at the table was such that I
could not overhear any of his conversation, I could not help observ
ing an air of serene dignity about him, a trait I had noticed elsewhere,
in Rome as well as in London, as peculiar to all Russian statesmen
and diplomats. They seemed to assume it in order to show the world
what a powerful master they were serving.
The Baroness that evening was dressed in black silk and priceless
lace and wore her black pearls which were famous. They were, in a
manner, her Order of the Garter, worn only upon great and exceptional
occasions. All the Rothschilds were present Baron Edouard, Gus-
tave and their families. A state dinner at Windsor could not have
been more formal. Witte took in the Baroness, and she smiled as
much as she was able. This was one of the rare occasions when I saw
her without her habitual expression of dissatisfaction that seemed al
most a perpetual weariness. Such an expression appeared ineradica
ble in those people owing to a satiety of all worldly things.
There were forty-eight covers and the table offered the best that
any kitchen or cellar could produce. At a certain point in the dinner,
when the host was about to rise and propose the health of the guest of
honor, the head butler poured out for everyone a glass of Bordeaux
of their own vintage. This, evidently, was such a rarity that the
servant showed the label to each and every guest.
The attitude of the old Baron was very amusing. He was a suf
ferer from gout, for the relief of which a certain diet had been pre
scribed. In order to maintain his treatment scrupulously he was
under the surveillance of a young physician, who would warn him
when he was about to transgress the limitations of his regimen. When
the priceless wine was served, however, the Baron lost patience with his
young doctor. He threw him a defiant look and ' ' told him a thing or
two" which evidently proved effective, for the doctor looked down at
his plate and the Baron held out his glass to the dispensing butler.
Ashley Memorial at Ramsey Cathedral
" Once didst thou shine a morning star amongst the living. Now, no more,
thou shinest an evening star among the dead."
Prince Christian Fie for Memorial
Erected at the Royal Chapel in Windsor
Executed for Queen Victoria
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 89
The old gentleman sipped his luscious liquor with such delight that I
almost regretted my own palate was nothing more than a passageway
to receive some of the necessities of our existence. I noticed that
while he imbibed his nectar slowly as if to prolong the agreeable sen
sation, others emptied their glasses in a few hasty swallows or in one
large gulp much as we partake of the cup of life. Some greedy
ones there are and short-sighted too, who dispose of the full contents
rashly, indifferent as to the effects and natural consequences first
satiety, perhaps indigestion, surely starvation when there is no more
forthcoming. But the wise one will drink with deliberation, premedi
tation even, and he will enjoy it the more for having comprehended
the fact that, once emptied, the cup will never be refilled.
On another of my visits the Baroness had arranged to have a small
musicale. The performer was a Mrs. Rowland, an exceedingly ca
pable violinist, the attractive wife of the American Commissioner to the
Paris Exhibition of 1900. The time arrived for the music to begin but
there was no accompanist for Mrs. Howland. Both the hostess and
the performer had left that to the other. In her embarrassment the
Baroness herself offered to accompany. She confessed that she had
not touched a piano in many years and begged the indulgence of the
guests. After the first few bars came a discord, and a stop. She tried
afresh with the same result. The faces of both performers were grow
ing purple and the situation was becoming painful. Someone sug
gested a violin solo one of those bravura pieces by Bach or
Paganini, where the violin itself supplies the accompaniment. This
type of music appealed little to an audience that would have relished
a valse. The Baroness rose in distress and asked;
" Is there nobody in the room who can accompany Mrs. How-
land? " No answer. ' ' Then/' she concluded sadly, ' ' we shall have to
forego the pleasure of music tonight."
When I felt certain that there was no Paderewski in disguise in the
room, I ventured to offer my services at the piano. Beginning with my
early days in Rome, I had played a good deal to the violin. There one
90 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
of my neighbors, a certain Bernardelli, practiced with me every day.
Several of the pieces remained in my memory and enabled us to im
provise. And though my playing was not as perfect as might be
wished, it had at least the charm of spontaneity; and it did count for
something. For if ever in my life I have come near to being embraced
by a woman, it was then and there. Mrs. Howland, who parted from
her husband some time after, subsequently married Sir Edgar Speyer,
London head of the international banking firm of Speyer Brothers. The
Speyer house was a center of music in London. Even before his mar
riage Sir Edgar had much music at his own home and started the popu
lar concerts in Queen's Hall, which drew thousands every night. Lady
Speyer had ample opportunity to display her many gifts, social as well
as musical, though she never again played in public except for charity.
During the War, Sir Edgar took offense at some veiled gossip and
rumors which the universal spy-mania brought into being pardon
able enough at a moment when the very existence of a nation was at
stake. Even in those dark moments, however, no one high in the
counsels of the State either reflected upon or assailed Sir Edgar.
Nevertheless he was offended and chose to give up his baronetcy and
to leave the country. In my humble opinion, he had done better to
leave the matter alone until a happier and more serene period re
turned. And if he be a true lover of England, which I believe he is, he
might well have taken to heart the advice given by Edward Hanslick,
the famous music critic, to his wife when she sang at a concert which
he had to review. He said:
"And now comes the most painful duty that can befall a critic,
but 1 will make it short my dear wife; let me give you some advice:
Love and be silent "
Since those days at Ferri&res I have not seen Lady Speyer. Per
haps she resented my attempt to help her out of an embarrassing
situation and still holds it against me. I am only too conscious of
what a poor performer I am and, should these lines come tinder her
eye, I hope they will carry to her my humble apology.
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 91
But the subject of music brings to my mind another notable
musical home of those days, that of Lady Charles Beresford, wife of
one of the most gallant and beloved of British admirals. Lord
Charles was a popular national hero. When 1 knew him he had but
recently returned from a mission to the far East on behalf of Sir
Thomas Lipton, the object of which was to promote business rela
tions between England and the East. But to remain in complete re
tirement was impossible for Lord Charles and he was representing a
constituency in Parliament. One could readily understand why he
was an idol of the masses. A great-hearted simplicity distinguished
his manner, and he was always cheerful and ready to do a good turn
for anybody. A medal which Lady Charles commissioned me to make
of him as a pendant for herself gave me ample opportunity to study
this delightful man; he was a most agreeable sitter. Music, his wife's
passion, did not appeal to him, and if he was present at her musicales
it was only because some visitor there interested him at the time.
His joviality and his amiability nevertheless remained unabated. Be
cause he commanded H. M. S. Condor at Alexandria in 1882, and
later, in 1884, th e naval brigade in the Soudan sent to the relief of
General Gordon, he was sometimes popularly called "Condor
Charlie" a name he did not like because of its rapacious connota
Lady Charles Beresford kept open house at her charming villa in
West Ham, near Richmond, and every Sunday during the season
her many friends assembled there to an always elastic hospitality.
There would be music and sometimes it was doubly enchanting to
those who, after dinner j would stroll in the gardens and listen to the
distant sounds in a perfect midsummer night.
Art and music, it has often occurred to me, tend to supplement
each other and to blend with and relieve one another like the cold
and warm hues on, the palette of the painter. Or like the major and
minor chords. In fact, creation was founded on this principle of posi
tive and negative; it pervades everything, commencing with the
92 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
colors in the rainbow, three of which are complementary and the
other three opposing night and day, summer and winter, spring and
autumn each needing its contrasting counterpart for the formation
of a homogeneous entity, the structure of existence.
The ancient Greeks understood these laws and called their applica
tion the " golden rule/' by which they established relationships in ac
cordance with their advanced ideals of perfection. Concerning the
human body, the golden rule fixed all its proportions the relation of
head to body, to the limbs, of hand and foot to arm and leg, of fingers
and toes to hands and feet all painstakingly and comprehensively
As these fundamental rules govern all the arts, this may be the
explanation of why in one man is combined the ability to express him
self in many media. To the artist, music is a necessity and, though he
may not know its technique, he has a love for and an understanding
Sir Philip Burne- Jones often visited at West Ham, Sir Philip's
father, the great Burne- Jones, believed his son to be a finer painter
than himself, which shows how blinding paternal love can be.
Another conspicuous figure at Lady Charles Beresford's was Sir
Claude Phillips. His talent as a critic seemed to hover between art
and music. He began as a musical reviewer and turned later to art
criticism. He was a devoted friend of Lady Charles, and they were
often seen at concerts and the opera together. He lived much among
musical people. And I often wondered how it impossible for a critic
to be in daily contact with the very people he is oblig'ed to judge
and still to keep that aloofness which is necessary to make criticism
completely unbiased. Yet Sir Claude seemed always popular, both
as musical and art critic, and his work in the Daily Telegraph was held
in far higher esteem than that of Mr. Humphrey Ward in the Times.
So brilliant, ['trenchant and forceful was the pen of Sir Claude that
he could make or unmake an artist "and stand a critic, hated yet
caressed." The influence he wielded was powerful. And that brings
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 93
me to a point. Shall we ever approach a time when we shall be able to
do away with critics and rely wholly upon our own aesthetic feeling
and judgment? Shall we always have to be told by someone who
has no more qualification than anyone else, what in art is good and
what is not? What is to endure and what shall perish? Often when
I went to see some of the collections in Paris of a Sunday afternoon
I would overhear the watchmen and guards in the museums or visi
tors of the lower classes discussing art perhaps more intelligently
than many a critic. With them this was a spontaneous expression
of a feeling with which the whole country was imbued. With some,
if not with all critics, it seems to be a process of filling just so much
space with print because it is to be paid for.
The community of art critics as a rule is recruited from among dis
appointed artists, or art students, or from men who wield a too facile
pen from which flow glittering phrases as empty as soap bubbles.
Those in the first named class are the more dangerous because all their
writings sound a note of disappointment, begrudging success to the
fortunate ones, while every word serves but to stress the fact that
" The greatest consolation for the mediocrity is that the genius is im
mortal only after his death. "
The art critic generally knows little about proportion, color, per
spective or technique, all of which are as indispensable as a knowledge
of counterpoint is to the musician, even though he be a genius. How
many times have I been asked to explain the difference between the
lost-wax process and the sand-mould casting and why the former
should be considered art and the latter only craft. Over and over
have I elucidated the meaning of chiaroscuro or the significance of the
expression " cold and warm color," so extensively used among painters
and which means so much. All of which and a thousand other de
tails should have been taught to the art critic as a part of his curri
culum in his preparation for a vocation which, if exercised in the
proper spirit, could be as beneficial in its scope as the words spoken
from the pulpit.
94 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
Instead they are apt to live in their narrow world, not daring to
look beyond its border lest the glare of light that might flood in upon
their vision would completely inundate their obscure, dim comer.
Usually each one is noted for the special tendency he champions, and
so tenaciously does he do this that he is frequently unaware that a
stronger and a cleverer man is stealing from tinder his nose the bone
of contention, which leaves him with nothing to gnaw on and necessi
tates a search for another bone. Few are broadminded enough to see
the good where it is instead of where they wish to find it.
The artist's resentment of the critics is comprehensible, for the
harm of unintelligent criticism to an individual or a group cannot be
measured. And so often the personal element enters in, the likes
and dislikes of a critic for the personality and not the artist. Most
of the masters have suffered like lions from the sting of annoying in
sects. What did not Richard Wagner endure from the barks of a
crowd who did not know how to make a better noise? And how
virulent were the attacks on Whistler by Ruskin? When I first went
to London, the famous lawsuit still resounded in every corner where
art was discussed, and the opinions of Ruskin were so highly esteemed
that the defenders of the painter were in the minority. Now that
time has proved Whistler's worth, the question naturally arises: Did
those attacks do him any real harm? Would it not have benefited
Ruskin if he had seen fit to emphasize the good in Whistler, which
was undeniably there? His undeserved harsh criticisms were about
as valuable as if he had cut his name in the bark of a growing tree in
the hope that posterity -might read it. Neither was Michael Angelo
spared disparagement; it became so exasperating that he resorted
to a ruse. At a place where archeologists were excavating, he buried
one of his statues after first breaking off an arm. When the marble
came to light and was exposed in all its beauty, they went for Angelo
to point out to him how far more perfect was the work of the ancients
in comparison to his own. He submitted to their sarcasm for a time,
and then opening his cloak, he produced and fitted the missing arm.
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 95
Some talent is so supreme a gift that to attempt to destroy it or to
damn by faint praise would be like trying to avert an avalanche or
swim in the rapids of Niagara.
At the recent exhibition of Sargent's work in the Grand Central
Art Galleries, the illustrated catalogue contained some reprinted
opinions of former displays, eulogistic, of course. But there was one
among them which contrasted sharply in its praise with the later
writings from the same pen; continuous commendation had evidently
proved irksome and had begun to pall hence an almost complete
" right-about" by way of variety.
A famous artist to whom recognition came late in life, upon meet
ing one of his now enthusiastic critics said:
( ' My friend, I almost believe that your praise does me more harm
than your abuse has ever done me good."
Lord Charles had two brothers, Lord William and Lord Marcus
Beresford, keeper of the Prince's racing stable. Lord William was
married to Lillian, Duchess of Marlborough. An American by birth,
daughter of Commodore Price, IL S. N., she had first married Louis
Hammersley, a New Yorker, and after his death the Duke of Marl-
borough, father of the present Duke. Louis Hammersley had left her
a respectable fortune and with this, after she became the Duchess,
she embarked upon elaborate improvements at Blenheim. These
were later carried on by Consuelo Vanderbilt, the next Duchess.
When the old Duke died, his widow married Lord William Beresford.
But still she clung to the title of Duchess which presumably had cost
her too much to be lightly relinquished. Her marriage to Beresford
proved a happy and congenial one and their union was even blessed
with a somewhat belated son.
One day I received an urgent message from Lord Marcus, whom I
had met at Sandringhana, bidding me come to Deepdene near Dork
ing to make for the Duchess a death mask of his brother, Lord Wil
liam, who had just died. The telegram came too late in the day for
me to avail myself of the aid of a moulder and, as I did not wish to
9 6 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
disappoint Lord Marcus, I decided to do the work myself. It was a
dreary journey from Charing Cross in an empty train past midnight.
When I arrived at Deepdene Lord Marcus and the nurse in attend
ance were waiting up for me. The Duchess I did not see. I pro
ceeded with my melancholy task.
The making of a death mask is no pleasant labor. First of all the
face is lightly coated with olive oil. IB the case of a man the brows,
the moustache and beard are covered either with the skin of egg or
with grease generously applied. A frame of soft clay is then laid
round the head to mark the limits of the cast and to prevent the soft
plaster from flowing out. The plaster has to be mixed with warm
water and a little salt to make it set more quickly. In liquid form it is
then applied with a brush and, as it gets harder, with the hand until
the whole cools down and solidifies. To remove the mould it is simply
moistened with a saturated sponge. "This form the moulder after
wards uses for making the cast. All this I was obliged to do myself,
with the help of only the nurse.
Once the task was done, I went upstairs to gain a little rest. To
the stranger the house seemed enormous. It was early winter and
outside I heard the wind soughing and moaning. So cold and life
less was everything within and without that I could not sleep. I
longed for my cozy studio and the little cheerful fire that awaited
me like an old friend. Early in the morning, at the first opportun
ity, I fled.
Yet, in spite of all this, in spite of my desire not to disappoint the
Duchess, her feeling and tenderness for her departed husband must
have evaporated rapidly for I did not hear from her. I wrote her once
or twice to say that the death mask was ready, but my letters re
mained unanswered. It was not until some time later, when I was
doing some work for Sir George Lewis, the noted solicitor, a man sym
pathetic to artists, that I happened to mention among others of my
experiences, the one with the Duchess. He desired to know all the
particulars. Sir George was the solicitor of the Duchess and had the
The Duke of Roxburgh
(From an Etching)
The Late Lord Londonderry
Prince George of Greece
Edoardo de Martino
Reuben D. Sassoon
Dowager Lady Londonderry
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 97
management of her affairs. Soon thereafter I finally received from
her an apologetic letter with a check.
Sir George Lewis, I may add, was perhaps one of the most eminent
solicitors in his day. His advice was universally sought and the most
important and delicate cases were likely to be found in his hands.
To have him on one's side was already in some degree an assurance of
success. His principle was never to advise a lawsuit unless he was
reasonably sure of the justice of the cause and the probable result.
The money-lenders act, which was directed chiefly against his name
sake, Sam Lewis, and intended to preclude the possibility of such vast
accumulations of wealth in that business, was drafted by Sir George
Lewis. The foremost contemporary names of his time, including that
of the Prince of Wales, figured among his clients. His offices in Ely
Place occupied two houses, which had been thrown into one.
His wife, Lady Lewis, of German origin, was a great lover of art
in all its forms. She was among the first of Sargent's patrons. In his
early days, before he became famous, he painted the portrait of both
Sir George and Lady Lewis. An entire wall in their house in Portland
Place was covered with cartoons by Burne- Jones. Sir George Framp-
ton, the sculptor, modeled the ceiling of her drawing-room. Pade-
rewski and Alnaa-Tadema were intimates and often to be met in the
Lewis house. Paderewski never came to London without devoting at
least one evening to his friends, the Lewises, who made this the occa
sion for a big dinner and reception, which strained to its utmost the
capacity of even their large house.
At about this time Philip Ldszl6 first made his appearance in Eng
land. Though a Hungarian, he had studied at the Academy in
Munich and set up as a portrait painter. He had an extraordinary
facility for likenesses and his first portraits, still painted under the in
fluence of the Academy, gave excellent promise. His ease was amaz
ing. It was the sort of ease which is far more general among the
Italians and the Spaniards. Sorolla once told me that whenever one
of his pupils shows signs of it, he sets him to copying Holbein until
98 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
he copies him well. Lszl6 was able to handle not only the brush
with facility, but also his sitters. He knew how to keep in the public
eye, and like a clever musician who is sometimes able to play himself
into the hearts of people, so Ldszl6 had the art of painting himself into
their hearts. To my own critical judgment his work is over-facile.
He has never had the impulse, seemingly, to retire from his endless
portrait painting into a seclusion where he might listen undisturbed
to that still, small voice, which every true artist should hear and make
him long for the day when he will be able to follow its call.
I cannot remember any other instance of a celebrated portrait
painter, such as Lszl6 gave promise of becoming, contenting himself
with turning out faces day after day with a facility which in time
must surely become mechanical.
Lszl6 first came to me with an introduction from Count Mens-
dorff, then the councillor of the Austrian embassy in London. I
was asked to help him obtain a studio for a short period so that he
could paint a score of portraits or so. As I then had, besides my own
studio, another one near by, I welcomed him as my guest. I saw
much of him at that time, and we often had discussions upon art.
One afternoon, when his sittings were over for the day, I visited him
and observed the pile of canvases in all stages of progress which he
had already accumulated in a short time in London,
II Don't you feel," I asked him, "like so many of us, that por
traiture is only a means to an end but after all it does not repre
sent the very best which is in an artist? " He seemed inclined to agree
"After all/' I went on, "in looking at the work of our foremost
portrait painters, Velasquez, Reynolds, Gainsborough, Van Dyck
and Rembrandt, giants in portraiture to be sure, they revealed the
true master rather in their compositions. Don't you agree with
Yes, ' ' was his answer. ' ' I grant you that is true. And as soon as
I feel a little more independent I mean to return to my studio in
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 99
Budapest and begin on some work which I have in mind. I see a
splendid decorative frieze which I am anxious to do."
11 That is fine," I told him, " and I am glad to hear you say it. Be
cause in my experience, true happiness for an artist lies only in those
works which he can create in the privacy of his studio, uninfluenced
by any consideration other than art in its purest form."
That was a quarter of a century ago, but I have not yet heard of
that frieze of Laszl6's. I sometimes wonder whether, as he looks back
upon his achievements, he does not regret that he has remained so
one-sided in the practice of his art.
L&szl6, 1 need hardly say, painted the portrait of Count Mensdorff
as he painted the portrait of every other celebrity. Count Mensdorff
was an excellent specimen of the diplomacy of his time. The prime
requisite of that diplomacy was not so much a fine mind as a strong
digestion. Almost all diplomats were in those days alike. Very few
stood out for exceptional ability. Baron Trauttenberg, an adherent to
the old school, one day wrote in an album:
"The duty of diplomacy lies less in the achievement of great suc
cesses than in the avoidance of great difficulties/'
That was the working principle of pre-war diplomacy. And it
was by no means confined to the Austrian embassy, but prevailed
in all the embassies I ever knew. For the statesmen of that era this
was doubtless a sufficiently satisfactory motto.
Count Mensdorff came of a noble family so ancient that it even
managed somewhere in its path to pick up a connection with royalty.
The house of Leiningen, to which he was related, had at some time be
come linked with the house of Coburg. Mensdorff was therefore con
sidered a relation of the British royal family, and was not only persona
grata but a favorite. No dinner party, reception or house party was
deemed complete without him. He was everywhere welcome, at
Cowes, at Newmarket, at Chatsworth, at Sandringham and Windsor.
When Count Deym, his chief, died, Mensdorff was elevated over
many heads and made ambassador to the Court of St. James's. With
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
so popular a man, it was thought, the cordial relations between the
two empires could not help but be maintained. When the War was
approaching it became evident that the situation demanded some
one as adroit in diplomacy as Mensdorff was socially. With that type
of man in London and such a diplomat as Austria now possesses in
Monsignore Seipel, the priest-statesman, the destinies of the world
might perhaps have moved otherwise. The Mensdorff type had
doubtless been a great asset in the days when the fates of empires were
settled by a chosen few over the coffee and cigars after a good dinner.
But these times had passed and they have, no doubt, passed forever.
Today we live in a world where merit alone is of any account, where
the humblest has the same opportunity as the highest born, where in
dividuals can no longer decree the fate of whole nations, but humanity
settles such things for itself.
And thank Heaven for that.
" They are happy men whose natures sort with their vocations." (Bacon.)
tN the spring of 1900 word came to me from Windsor
that Queen* Victoria had expressed the desire to see
some of my work and that I was to bring it to the
castle upon a certain date. I was to include the
marble bust of Lady Alice Montagu and the statuette
of Lord Wolseley , both exhibited at the Academy the preceding year,
and also a few of my medals. One day in March I took a train for
Windsor. The selection of my work I had already despatched the
When I arrived I was shown into the office of Herrn Muther, the
Queen's German private secretary. He introduced me* to Lord
Edward Pelham Clinton, the Master of the Household, who assigned
servants to help me set out my work where I thought it could be
shown to the best advantage. A little salon adjoining the Queen's
apartment was selected, a small room on the first floor overlooking
the park. The room was finished in rosewood, with dainty medallions
in Sevres Biscuit. The light color of the woodwork, as I remember it,
blended agreeably with the vivid color of the porcelain and produced
a harmonious effect. Some of the carved wooden ornaments, careful
as to workmanship, were faintly gilded. The windows were high and
the portidres and curtains were of thick green damask. Like most of
the furniture in Windsor Castle this was ponderous and in keeping
with the heavy draperies. An Aubusson carpet covered the floor. As
soon as the word was given that the sculptures were ready to be in
spected, the Queen came into the room, accompanied by Princess
102 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
Beatrice. Both she and the Princess, her youngest daughter, were
dressed in simple black, with a touch of white batiste at neck and
sleeves. The Queen wore a ruffled cap of white mousseline, and upon
her left arm was a large, plain, gold bracelet which contained a medal
lion. She walked with a stick, leaning upon the arm. of the moonshee f
her Indian body servant, who always accompanied her. Princess
Beatrice, who since the death of her husband, Prince Henry of Batten-
berg, lived with the Queen and was her inseparable companion, fol
lowed her mother into the room.
The Queen greeted me with a good-morning in a gentle, agreeable
voice, and though she spoke in fluent German, her accent was dis
"We are glad to see your sculptures," she said. "The Prince of
Wales has spoken to us about your work." She gazed at the bust of
Lady Alice Montagu.
"She was such a sweet and beautiful girl. Did you require many
"It did not take so many sittings, Madam," I told her, "consider
ing that the bust had to travel about a good deal. 1 ' And I related how
the work was begun at Kimbolton and how I had to pack it up again
and continue it in London and then finally to do it in marble in
Rome and put finishing touches upon it in my London studio. This
evidently both interested and amused her. There were many things
she wanted to know. How good a sitter had Lady Alice been? How
had I managed about the marble, and did I cut it myself? Then she
turned to Lord Wolseley's statuette.
"Dear Lord Wolseley," she exclaimed. "Don't you think you
made him look rather older?" And turning to the Princess Beatrice,
"What do you think, Beatrice?"
"It seems so to me, too/' replied the Princess.
I ventured to explain, when the Queen addressed me again, that
possibly the color of the silver with its dark shades in the depths might
have accentuated the heavy lines.
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 103
These two pieces interested her especially. Lady Alice had been
her godchild and the Queen was very fond of her. Of Lord Wolseley
she always thought highly and when the General, notwithstanding the
grant from Parliament, found himself one day in a financial strin
gency, the Queen assigned him an apartment in the Hampton Court
Palace, rent free, during his and Lady Wolseley's lifetime.
Some of my medals she had evidently seen before, because she
recognized a few of them. But she mentioned particularly the one I
had designed to commemorate the termination of the South African
War. Upon the obverse side is a fallen soldier, dying on the battle
field and still pressing the flag to his heart. An angel of victory is
bending over him. Upon the reverse is the figure of Bellona, the God
dess of War, sheathing her sword. In the distance troops are em
barking. The legend runs: "To the memory of those who gave their
lives for Queen and country. "
That medal seemed to appeal to her most, and it was to it, doubt
less, that I owed this, my first visit to Windsor.
The Queen finally spoke as she examined it. "The sentiment
which you have put into the medal moves us deeply/' Subse
quently she had many replicas of it struck for herself, her family and
She bowed slightly and I knew that the audience was at an end. I
also bowed deeply, and backed out of the room toward the door as the
etiquette prescribed. In Herrn Muther's room, whither I returned, a
message from the Princess Beatrice was already awaiting me to the
effect that the Queen wished me to leave the sculptures where they
were for the present because she desired to look at them again after
lunch. In later years, when I chanced to be speaking to friends of
some of the recollections of this phase of my life, they would often
press me to give them my impressions of the Queen. I was bound to
say that, though there was nothing in Queen Victoria's demeanor to
indicate her august position, and though her voice was gentle and
sympathetic, one could not but feel the majesty of her personality and
104 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
that there was a gulf which separated her from the rest of the world.
Call it a gulf or barrier, whatever it was, it certainly created an awe,
which even those who saw her often could no more overcome than
could those who beheld her for the first time.
I was invited to lunch with the household. The life at Windsor
was very formal more formal than anywhere else. There was even
a Windsor uniform which the gentlemen of the court were obliged to
wear for special functions. The Queen always lunched with her
family alone. All guests, with the exception of a visiting prince or an
ambassador, lunched with the household. The household's dining
room was a huge apartment in beige color, almost as plain as a mess-
room, with a few large engravings on the walls. The servants were in
scarlet livery, headed by two Gentlemen Butlers in black. Their at
tention was as strict and disciplined as at the royal table. The menu
was substantially the same.
At a certain hour the Master of the Household, Lord Edward Pel-
ham Clinton, came in, greeted the guests and introduced the ladies
and gentlemen in waiting. Among these was Lord Howe, the Queen's
Lord-in-waiting, and several maids of honor. About thirty of us sat
down at the table. He invited with a gesture of the hand the one who
was to be placed next to him a doubtful pleasure, for he was ex
ceptionally dry and solemn. I never saw him laugh or smile even once.
He appeared deeply conscious of the responsibilities of his position and
had evidently concluded that aloofness promoted respect. Fortu
nately, one of the maids of honor, an agreeable young woman,
chanced to sit upon my right and I had a delightful time. We found
many things to talk about. There was no sense of hurry at the table
because those members of the household who were in attendance
upon the Queen could join us only after their services were dispensed
with by their Royal mistress.
Presently, as we sat there, Heinrich von Angeli joined the party.
After Winterhalter he was the Queen's favorite painter* Though his
home was in Vienna, where he taught at the Imperial Academy, he
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 105
was often summoned to England to work for Queen Victoria. He
painted more portraits of her than any other artist. He was also con
stantly painting her family and members of the court. Upon this
occasion he was starting a portrait for which the Queen had just given
him a sitting. Because of his jovial temperament and the position he
occupied, he could afford to disregard somewhat the stringent formal
ity of that dining room and our party suddenly brightened into life.
We all became cheerful, not to say gay.
As to his work, it was doubtless sound in drawing and good in
color. But it was not great. The artist himself was conscious of his
limitations, for he endeavored to make up by assiduous labor what
genius had denied him. His industry was tremendous. His portraits
were distributed broadcast throughout Europe. Every palace held a
few of them and Windsor many. Now that time begins to cast its
charitable veil, these works will without doubt find their appropriate
Luncheon was scarcely over, when I was again summoned to the
presence of the Queen. With some purpose in mind, she asked a num
ber of further questions and details regarding the work. For instance,
she desired to know more about Lady Alice's portrait. To whom did
it belong now? Did I think I could obtain permission to make a copy
of it, and how long would it take to make one?
I replied that if the Queen desired a replica of the bust, such a de
sire would doubtless be a flattering command to the Duchess of Man
chester, who owned it, and certainly to myself. As I still possessed
the original model in plaster, a copy could be made without any in
convenience to the owner. This copy I subsequently did make and it
was delivered during the autumn of that year when the Queen re
turned from Balmoral. She kept it always in her own room, and
when King Edward ascended the throne, he had it brought from
Windsor and placed in his study at Buckingham Palace, with careful
attention to the lighting which, in sculpture, is a factor of such
io6 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
Aside from the copy of the Montagu bust, the Queen had another
idea. " It would be of interest to us/' she said, "if you would design
a medal by which to commemorate our reign into the new century.
Will you give this work your consideration? "
" Madam," I answered, "it will be my most earnest endeavor to
produce something which will find favor in your Majesty's eyes. May
I be permitted to submit that if your Majesty would consent to give
me a few sittings, and afford me the chance of getting my likeness
from life, it would greatly improve the work as a whole?"
"We will gladly do that/' she replied. She told me how she de
sired to be represented, with the crown over the veil as she was wont
to wear them on particular and state occasions. Should she be
pleased with the likeness, she might wish to order a more intimate
portrait, one with her every-day head-dress, upon a medal for her
immediate family. And as if this was not more than enough for a
beginning, she also ordered a portrait in relief of her daughter and
That day I felt like walking in the woods to inhale the balmy
ozone which saturated the air* Spring in the world and spring in my
heart ! How happy would my poor parents have been ! What would
I not have given had it been possible to relieve them of the anxieties
they so often felt for their boy's future !
The first of the two medals, the commemorative one, seemed to
preoccupy the Queen most. She was anxious to see the designs for
the reverse, and indeed, that was something that demanded careful
consideration. On many medals the reverse is simply an inscription,
with possibly a laurel wreath, and sometimes with a coat-of-arms.
Perhaps it is uncharitable to say that often these are merely evi
dence of a lack of imagination upon the part of the designer. That,
combined with the difficulties of execution in low relief, drives the
artist to slur a splendid opportunity rather than to strain his artistic
resources. I decided upon an angel carrying the name of the Queen
around the world. I have always derived zest from difficulties and, I
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 107
may say, even sought them. Here they were plentiful without the
seeking. The figure of the angel was conceived in full face, because
the fine distribution of lines and masses would thus add to the
grandeur and majesty. This itself presented an intricate problem in
sculpture. It was rather, if I may so say, a painting in light and shade.
Indeed, all my excursions into the sister arts during my years of
study in Berlin and Rome, stood me in good stead in this enterprise.
The angel, it occurred to me, instead of showing a tablet with the
Queen's name inscribed, should bear her autograph as she signed
it herself: Victoria R. I. This, I thought, would add to the impor
tance of the picture and give it a needed touch of personality. To
this she agreed and gave me some autographed signatures so that I
might the better be able to study the characteristics of her calligraphy .
She also promised the necessary further sittings upon her return to
At these subsequent sittings the atmosphere was measurably differ
ent. The Queen had already overcome a certain aversion she had
for new faces and new people, a peculiarity of her later years. But I
was no longer a stranger to her. Besides, the whole conception of the
medal as designed seemed to appeal to her and she showed it by the
graciousness with which she received me. She was wheeled in in a
chair by the moonshee, accompanied as always by the Princess
Beatrice. She was very anxious that the pose should be correct and
now and then she would inquire:
11 Is this right so?"
At one of the sittings after she had seen the designs and noted the
progress of the medal, she observed:
41 We approve of the design of the medal. Could you use the same
portrait and change the head-dress for the cap?"
io8 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
" Yes, Madam/' I said. " This is easily done/'
I still possess a letter from Muther, in which the Queen bade me
come to Windsor so that I could make the necessary studies from her
veil and crown placed at my disposal.
Her conversation during the sittings she addressed entirely to her
daughter, so as to enable the artist to give his undivided attention to
his work. At a certain point in time she would make a sign with her
head, which indicated that the sitting was at an end. The moonshee
would wheel her out in her chair, and then the Princess Beatrice
would take her own turn at posing.
Since these medals seemed to interest the Queen so much, I am
happy to think that she lived to see them completed. In August I
sent the large models in plaster for her inspection at Osborne before I
actually had the dies cut. In due course the medals were delivered,
and on December eleventh, next, came a note from Windsor which
read as follows:
DEAR MR. FUCHS,
I have just received your four medals which I duly submitted to the
august ladies. They are greatly pleased, not only with the execution, but
also with the prompt fulfillment of their orders. Will you kindly hold your
self at tlie command of Her Majesty on Saturday next between eleven and
twelve, since she desires to place another commission with you,
The object in question, so far as I was able to ascertain, is an allegor
ical figure. (I cannot be sure whether a statue or a medal is meant.) It
concerns the unfortunate Prince Christian Victor of Schleswig-Holstein. I
offer you these suggestions in the greatest haste, in case they might interest
you. Shall expect you at eleven o'clock Saturday next, December fif
teenth. Otherwise, please wire.
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
As the above signature indicates, the Queen had parted with her
German secretary, Muther, who had served her for over thirty years.
The ostensible cause for his resignation was that he felt, so he put it,
he could no longer serve her Majesty in the manner he desired.
There was however, I have reason to suspect, a little rivalry, if not
jealousy, between himself and the Indian moonshee.
Upon the occasion of her Diamond Jubilee, the Queen instituted
a new decoration, called the Royal Victorian Order. This she con
ferred in recognition of services other than political or military. The
order had five classes, the first of which was assigned to her own
family and immediate entourage. When Muther discovered that he
and the Indian moonshee received an order of the same class, he con
cluded that no distinction was made between a servant and himself.
That wounded his sensibilities. The Queen accepted his resignation
in a most touching autograph letter, considered the highest honor she
could pay anyone. He returned to his Bavarian mountains, but
knowing him as I did, I feel sure that his thoughts frequently turned
to the scene of his former activities across the Channel and that he
often wished he were still there.
"All is concentr'd in a life intense." (Byron.)
[ EGINNING with my early days at the Royal Academy
of Fine Arts in Berlin, I had been in the habit of
spending all my free evenings in drawing from the
figure. The more progress I made, the more I ap
preciated the necessity of it. It is much like the daily
exercises which the performing musician has to do in order to keep his
fingers supple. For an artist there is always plenty of opportunity for
the practice of figure drawing. In Berlin there was an evening class
at the Academy which the various teachers took turns in visiting and
criticizing. In Rome we students had the Circolo Artistico Itallaxio
in the Via Margutta. This was a social club in, some respects, but
primarily it was formed to further the study of the figure for those
who either could not afford a model or did not wish to waste valua
ble daylight for studies that could just as well be done at night.
What made the class in Rome both important and instructive,
was the fact that Mancini, the great Antonio Mancini, came there al
most nightly, surrounded by a throng of admirers who watched with
the keenest interest every stroke he made upon his paper. Sargent
has justly said that Mancini is the unrivaled living colorist. And
how sincere Sargent was in this statement is proved by the number of
Mancini's studies which he possesses and by the admirable sketch he
himself has made of the peerless Italian. To see Maacini work was
not only instructive, but amusing as well. He had a wooden frame
fixed before him with squares of thread through which he looked at
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL in
the model. His drawing paper was likewise covered with propor
tionate squares, and thus he was able to do his drawing easily and
correctly in the masses. The only objection to this plan was that the
slightest movement of the model interfered with the picture and was
greeted with a shower of Mancini's oaths and invectives, in which
the Italian language is perhaps the richest and most copious of all
After settling in London, I sought out a similar class and it proved
to be quite near my studio. It was the Langham Artists' Society
for the study of the figure and costume, at Langham Chambers, off
Portland Place. Many of the forty immortals who constitute the
Royal Academy have at one time or another belonged to that society
which can boast over a century of existence.
There, in my time, I met a number of well-known artists. Per
haps the most gifted among them, and the most highly thought of,
was William A. Brakespeare, a painter of great delicacy. His early
education was obtained under Lef ebvre, in Paris. He was an excellent
colorist and, had he not been exceptionally shy and modest, he could
have easily found his way into the Royal Academy. To my surprise, he
always worked at the Langham in color. This was new to me. I had
not known that with sources of light so different as the sun and the
gas-jet, results equally happy might be obtained. Brakespeare,
however, explained to me that so long as the light upon the canvas
and the model was the same, with a careful handling of the warm
colors, and especially the yellow, one could paint as well by artificial
as by daylight.
This fascinated me and brought me a new point of view as well as
a new incentive. Since my stay in Rome I had looked forward to the
day when I might perfect myself in color work. Here was my chance,
and with an excellent teacher. I began to work night after night, but
soon I felt the desire of experimenting by daylight too. I even gave up
my Sundays to it. I realized that not only did this practice help me
in sculpture, tending to make me see objects in a manner more soft
ii2 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
and mellow, but that it was in itself an occupation full of charm and
thrills. My knowledge of drawing enabled me to devote all my atten
tion to the subject of color.
It became doubly interesting to me to watch Lszl6, who was
then painting in one of my studios. But what I saw him doing was so
at variance with what I was accustomed to see in the work of those
whose talent I admired, that one day I took my courage in both hands,
went to see Sargent and asked him timidly if he would allow me to
make a few studies at his studio and under his eye. It must have
been only the kindness of his great heart that made him acquiesce.
For I myself realized the inconvenience which my presence was
bound to cause him. He was just then painting the first of the mural
decorations for the Boston Public Library the one with the magnifi
cent group of the Trinity in the center standing out so forcefully in
bas-relief. This alone shows what a sculptor he would have made. I
suggested that if I began at say 5 ;30, 1 should be leaving at about 10,
which would give him the least possible inconvenience. Several times
he came around at a very early hour to see how I progressed.
He never said much, but what he did say, one might do well to en
grave upon the tablets of one's mind. One of the great man's teach
ings was the dominant importance of values over color.
"Color," he said, "is an, inborn gift, but appreciation of value is
merely a training of the eye which everyone ought to be able to ac
Value in art, as everyone knows, simply means the relation
of light to shade. Sargent referred to this idea over and over, and
it occurred to me that perhaps he meant value not in pictures alone,
but fundamentally in all the realms of life. His work demonstrates
his ingrained belief in this. I can think of nobody who can see and
render values with such delicate distinction as does Sargent.
His palette was to me a marvel. His enormous wealth of color he
produces with a few simple hues, mostly earth colors white, yel
low ocher, light red or vermilion, burnt sienna, cobalt blue, emerald
The late Marquis de Soveral
Portuguese Minister at the Court of St. James and
One of the Intitnes at the Court of Edward VII
Lindky M. Garrison
Painted for the War Department
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 113
green and black. His is a rare skill in using and combining them.
Some mornings lie would come in and, without saying much, would
help me in painting a difficult passage from the model. While the
direct way of painting appealed to him, he fully appreciated the more
subtle methods, especially that of grisailles and glazing, by which
many masters obtain their effects of brilliancy. This method, per
haps I should add, consists in painting first in black and white, and
then laying on a thin film of transparent color.
Sargent's veneration for the work of the old masters was pro
found. But Velasquez and Franz Hals were the gods of his Pantheon.
He copied both freely. Of Velasquez he had in his studio a facsimile
of the dwarf Don Antonio el Ingles, and of Franz Hals several groups
from his large pictures at Haarlem copied by himself. If my recol
lections of our discussions about artists are correct, Van Dyck seemed
to appeal to him the least.
About technique it was always difficult to make him express him
self in words. Rather than explain a serious problem, he would take
a brush and paint that piece and the difficulties would vanish under
his touch. When I worked at his studio he offered me the free use of
his colors and even his palette and brushes which lay about in pro
fusion. Few artists can bring themselves to lend these objects without
feeling it to be sacrilege.
So dominant is Sargent's personality in art, that it was bound to
be reflected in the work of his friends. Young Brough, Von Glehn
and Harris Brown, who were seeing him constantly, all showed to
some extent the Sargent influence in their paintings. How uncon
scious this is in some cases was shown in an exhibition of portraits
painted by Harris Brown during the last few years in America and in
Canada. These are markedly different from earlier canvases painted
in Sargent's neighborhood. The freedom of these earlier pictures
is replaced by tightness and smoothness, not to say timidity. I re
call an Academy picture of his of some time back, the portrait of a
Scottish peer in his robes standing beside a horse, with its head
ii4 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
down. So fresh and boldly was that picture painted that at a dis
tance it might easily have been taken for a work of the Master.
With the coming of the warm weather, when Sargent was about to
leave London, he advised me to go to Haarlem and copy Franz Hals.
It was so I took my vacation that year, and I shall always be grateful
to him for that suggestion, as for so much else that he did for me.
When I returned from Holland he came to my studio to criticize the
copies I had made. On the whole, I remember, these were as timid
as they ought to have been bold. He criticized them and some other
essays of mine in color also, and all with that indulgence and under
standing, which wholly overcame the hesitation and shyness one
experiences in showing one's daubs to a master.
So Sargent was really the most important guide I had in my ex
cursions into the realm of color, and I am proud of it.
I have not seen him in many years. The fault is mine. I shotdd
never have allowed any lapse of time to come between myself and the
man who to me looms so great as to be virtually a school in himself,
who showed me his good will in such a generous way; but with that
sensitiveness which is often peculiar to artists and which the French
man expresses so accurately in the phrase : Vous cherchez toujours la
Mte noir always looking for trouble I had at some time in the past
the feeling that he had something against me, and kept away from
him. But I would never willingly or knowingly have done anything
to offend or hurt him.
Many years have passed. We are both approaching the summit of
that mountain from which one cannot help wondering about the valley
beyond. That thought brings humility. I only hope that the in
cident is nothing but a shadow thrown by my own imagination.
Medal which Napoleon left
to his Generals after
May 5, 1821
"There is a tide in the affairs of men
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune." (Shakespeare.)
jHE birthday of the Prince of Wales was the ninth of
November. It was the occasion for a gathering of
the family and friends, for a succession of visits and
for the beginning of the shooting over his preserves.
At that time of the year the Prince also gave close
attention to improvements, alterations and additions upon his estate.
On October thirtieth, 1900, the following note came to me from
DEAR MR. FUCHS,
I am desired by the Prince of Wales to invite you to Sandringham on
next Saturday. Will you travel down by the train leaving St. Pancras
Station at 2:35, arriving at Wolferton Station at 5:49, where a carriage
will be waiting for you.
G. L. HOLFORD,
Equerry in Waiting.
Captain Holford, one of the four equerries, was the handsomest
man in the Prince's entourage. His prematurely white hair gave him
an air of distinction, and in addition to that, he was the owner of Dor
chester House, one of the finest houses in London. Those Amer
icans who visited it when Mr. Whitelaw Reid, as American ambas-
.sador, occupied it, will remember the innumerable art treasures
n6 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
with which that house in Park Lane was stocked. Captain Hoi-
ford, though then a bachelor, often gave magnificent parties before
he let it, and the Prince was not infrequently a visitor.
For two reasons I was asked to Sandringham House at this
time. First, the Prince desired to go with me over the work upon
the memorial of the Duke of Saxe-Coburg and to rearrange it in the
church. And then, the Princess herself was to give me some
sittings. Recently, one of the newspapers, commenting upon her
zealous work in the cause of charity had referred to Princess Alex
andra as the "Princess of Pity." This phrase had been brought to
her attention and the sentiment of it appealed to her. She had the
idea of using it as the theme for the reverse of a plaque which she
wished me to make for her and for which she was to give me the
initial sittings during this visit. Her interest in this particular piece
of work may be best illustrated by a series of notes from Miss Knollys,
her lady-in-waiting. The first, dated December sixth, came a few
weeks after the commission was given:
DEAR HERR FUCHS,
The Princess' favorite flower is the rose, but H. R. H. is very anxious
that you should make the background of the medal as soft and delicate as
the one in the "War and Peace " medal, which she admires particularly.
I may tell you in confidence that the Princess does not wish to have her
name placed in relief, as in the case of the reverse of the Prince's medal, as
she thinks it makes it look hard and cutting. Forgive me for making this
remark and believe me,
Yours very truly,
Another note from Marlborough House, of December nineteenth,
If you would bring the portrait here tomorrow morning at 10:45 o'clock,
I would show it to the Princess with the greatest pleasure. You must for
give me for not having written before, but I was always hoping that Her
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 117
Royal Highness might be able to give you a sitting. But unfortunately
she has been almost worked to death and has never had a spare moment.
P. S. We leave London tomorrow afternoon.
This was supplemented by the following:
Since writing earlier in the evening the Princess has told me that she
will see you at 1 130 tomorrow, so please be here then.
And again on December twenty-ninth:
The Princess says you were consulting together about the inscription
to be put on the back of her medal, so I write one line to tell you privately
that I am sure the one she would like best would be "Princess of Pity,"
as several of the newspapers have called her lately.
How great was Princess Alexandra's interest in this medal was
proved to me by two small slips of paper which I still have, upon
which she wrote out the kind of letters she wanted used and how
those letters were to be arranged to spell out the inscription, "The
Princess of Pity, 1900."
For the reverse of the plaque I submitted a group of the three
figures, Faith, Hope and Charity, which were approved and duly
When I arrived at Sandringham I found a large assembly of the
guests already in the drawing room. Some had come down in the
same train with me and by going into the royal carriages they knew
that I was one of the invited guests and made the customary remarks
about the weather. In the haH at Sandringham was the same cosy
corner with the cheerful teakettle presided over by the Princess and
the crackling fire in the enormous fireplace.
A few men in shooting dress were sitting comfortably on the
broad fire-guard with their teacups and cigarettes. Their heavy
shooting boots, however, had given place to dainty patent leather
pumps, with spirited little bows, which revealed not only the aris-
n8 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
tocratic legs, & la Sir Willoughby Patterne, but also gave an oppor
tunity of displaying the last word in silk stockings.
The prosaic detail of dress calls to mind a fact which was not
peculiar to Sandringham alone, but usual at all English country
house parties. I mean the enormous quantity of clothes the ladies
brought with them, and the number of times they would retire to
their rooms to reappear in gowns that had not been worn before. A
woman would come down to breakfast in a plain morning dress,
only to change it directly after for a walking costume, generally
very smart and tailor-made. This she would change again for a
more formal gown in which to meet the royal ladies at luncheon.
Immediately after, that had to give way to a costume for riding,
driving or walking. And teatime of course, with its opportunities
for cosy chatting with the gentlemen who had been out shooting
all day, was never overlooked as a time for displaying the latest
creations in teagowns. At Sandringham however, these did not
reveal that character of intimacy generally implied by this dress.
But dinner was the peak of the curve. There the whole art of dress
combined with the contents of the jewel box and the color sense of
the wearers, was fully revealed. Some of the ladies even went so
far as to inquire through the medium of the backstairs channels
which colors would be worn by the royal ladies and principal guests,
in order to match themselves effectively against so imposing a back
The Prince, still in his shooting costume, was the first to greet me
when I entered, and then the Princess and the other members of the
family and household followed suit. There was a charm and warmth
in that room which made one feel one was really welcome. When
ever one had the slightest doubt upon this score, one needed only
to observe the attitude of the entourage and then one could very
nearly gauge where one stood.
After tea came again the quaint ceremony of being weighed.
As before, the Prince saw to it that none should escape. Even mem-
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 119
bers of the family, no matter how often their weight had already been
recorded in the book, were obliged to inscribe it again.
The hour was late, and the guests soon retired to their rooms to
prepare for dinner. I met my smiling valet again, but this time I
too was smiling. There were no omissions in my wardrobe.
At dinner I realized how large this house party was. At San-
dringham the host and hostess sit opposite one another at the center
of the table, instead of at the ends. This was customary with large
parties. The circumference of the table as in everyday use was
enough for twelve or fifteen people to be seated comfortably, but
this time there were perhaps double that number.
After dinner when we assembled in one of the drawing rooms,
the Prince personally arranged the grouping at the card tables,
where bridge was invariably the game. The stakes were only nomi
nal and it was the rule that small as the differences might be, they
should be evened up each night, when the gentlemen retired to the
billiard room. The equerry would inform the Prince of his score, and
if he were the loser, would receive a banknote with which to settle it.
"Do you play bridge? " the Prince asked me.
"No, Sir; I never had the opportunity to learn nor do I possess
the necessary mental concentration for the game," was my reply.
"Perhaps, then,' 1 he suggested, "it would interest you to sketch
around and, if so, take your sketch book and draw whatever and
whomever you like. I feel sure that nobody will object."
I thanked him for the privilege, the importance of which I ful
ly appreciated, and brought down my material. Secretly I had
nursed that desire, but, of course, I should never have had the cour
age to suggest it. Now I was relieved of all formality and I set to
The first group of my sitters included Prince George of Greece,
the Duke of Devonshire, the Duke of Roxburgh, Lord and Lady
Londonderry, Georgiana, Lady Dudley, Mr. James Lowther and
120 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
Prince George of Greece was the second son of the then reigning
King of the Hellenes, a Danish Prince placed upon that throne by
the British Government. The Princess of Wales was his sister.
His eldest son, who had married a sister of the Kaiser, later as
cended the throne as King Constantine and more recently died in
exile in Sicily.
Prince George was a giant, some six feet six in height. When he
accompanied his cousin, the Czarevitch, later Nicholas the Second, on
his journey around the world, a fanatic had tried to stab the Russian
heir to the throne, and Prince George succeeded in parrying the
blow with his strong arm and thus saving his cousin's life. That
exploit tended to add greatly to the Prince's popularity, and the
manner in which he was treated showed that he was the spoiled child
of that world. Having disappointed the fluttering hope of every
eligible princess in Europe, he finally married Princess Marie Bona
parte, a granddaughter of M. Blanc, the owner of the casino at Monte
Carlo. Princess Marie brought him a dowry considered handsome
even in those circles. Prince George was the gayest of the party,
bubbling with jokes and humor and contrasting markedly with the
solemn face of the Duke of Devonshire, who never once smiled
throughout the evening.
That Duke of Devonshire, earlier known as Lord Hartington,
was the uncle of the present Duke. His long, bearded face was
preternaturally serious. He spoke very slowly, and his face was an
exact index of the way he looked upon himself. He was one of the
foremost peers of his day. His wealth, like that of Lord London
derry, was derived from coal mines chiefly. He was also a large
landowner. The political dinners at his town house were consid
ered the events of the season. The country seat of the Devon-
shires, Chatsworth, is filled with priceless books and pictures accum
ulated in over four hundred years of history. The house dates from
JSSS* when it was begun by a Cavendish and completed by his
widow, Bess of Hardwick, who there enacted the r61e of gaoler to
Sir James Reid
Private Physician to Queen Victoria
Princess Victoria of Wales
The Duke of Marlborough
The late Duke of Devonshire
The late Joseph Chamberlain
Sir Robert L. Borden
Former Prime Minister of Canada
The Late Sir George White
Defender of Lady smith
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 121
Mary Queen of Scots. During the Jubilee season, the Duchess of
Devonshire gave a fancy dress ball which remained for some time
the talk of the town. The participants had a costly and elaborate
book made of all the guests and costumes and presented it to the
Duchess as a mark of their appreciation. She was the Mistress of
the Robes to the Princess of Wales, which corresponds to the Prince's
Master of the Horse.
The Duke of Roxburgh was one of the younger members of the
party. He was an officer of the Guards, tall and handsome. His
enormous estate, Floors Castle, in Roxburghshire, taxed his resources
heavily. Fortunately he was later relieved from the anxiety of its
upkeep by his marriage to Miss Goelet, of New York, sister of Rob
Lady Londonderry, though she already had a grown daughter,
who married Lord Stavordale, and later became Lady Ilchester, was
still a famous beauty at this time. She was handsome, alert, witty
and exceptionally sympathetic. Her profile was particularly beau
tiful and from her slanting eyelids looked a pair of piercing eyes that
seemed to penetrate to the soul of her interlocutors. Both Lady
Londonderry and the Duchess of Devonshire had political salons,
and there was a sort of friendly rivalry between them. Lady Lon
donderry, however, included musicians and artists among her guests
and the spirit of amity that pervaded the atmosphere of the salon
was an attraction to those invited.
James Lowther was a member of Parliament but not the Speaker
who bore the same name. Lord Cadogan, the Lord Lieutenant of
Ireland, small, elegant, with a finely cut profile and thin lips, and Sir
Edward Hamilton were friends and guests of many years' standing.
The day after my arrival, being a Sunday, the Prince of Wales
went to church with me after breakfast ahead of the service to inspect
the work so far completed; on those occasions he would be unaccom
panied except perhaps by someone connected with the work. On
the way to and from the church he would show his interest in the
122 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
many objects about him, singling out special ones trees or build-
.ings commenting and explaining in such a cordial way that one
was almost inclined to forget his exalted position.
Next morning the gentlemen went shooting. They all came down
to breakfast prepared for a strenuous day. Generally, on such occa
sions when the weather is fine, the ladies meet them at a spot pre
arranged. Luncheon is sent in specially constructed vans and is
served al fresco. Nothing could be more delightful, more exhilarat
ing. The men arrived in high spirits, their lungs filled with the
invigorating air of the hills after a morning's drive over the well-
stocked preserves. Their appetites were commensurate with their
healthy exertions. Everything was done to satisfy the most fas
tidious taste. The menu was dainty and varied as if it were served
at home. The quantities were ample. Coffee and smoking materials
had hardly been passed around when the sign for resuming the
hunt was given and the party broke up. The head gamekeeper
appeared and with a low bow informed the Prince that everything
was in readiness, and soon the gentlemen disappeared behind the
hillocks from where the crackling of their guns testified to the fact
that their drive was not in vain.
On other days, if the weather was unfavorable, the ladies had
luncheon at home. Sometimes only the Princess of Wales, Prin
cess Victoria, Miss KnoUys and General Sir Dighton Probyn would
be at table.
Soon after I had finished my first few sketches, the Prince in
quired about them and wished to see what I had done. After look
ing them over, he said:
"I would suggest, Mr. Fuchs, that these should be kept together
intact. Perhaps you had better ask each sitter to sign his own."
This remark was made aloud and was a command which no one
would have cared to (disobey.
After I returned to town, I consulted with Zahnsdorf , the fa
mous binder, and had him fashion the best album ^that his capable
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 123
mind could conceive. Clark, in Old Bond Street, the skillful silver
smith of the Prince, another artist in his profession, constructed
the clasp with a protective lock and key and the four corners of the
book in sterling silver, the whole a monument to English workman
ship. Subsequent to this, there were other similar episodes, the
evidence of which, translated into black and white, I placed in the
album as a depository. Today it is more than half -filled and is my
most valued possession. Twice have I been approached, in discreet
manner, and asked if I could be induced to part with the book.
One of these tempters was wealthy beyond the "dream of avarice/'
accustomed to obtaining any coveted object. A blank check was
sent with the suggestion that the album might remain in my pos
session if only I would consent to sign a document which would
attest to its ultimate ownership. Fortunately, such dazzling offers
have no lure for me. I am willing to admit that the consciousness
that I, a plain artist, have in my possession such a treasure fills me
with pardonable pride. I hope one day to find for it a permanent
abiding place where it will be safe from the vicissitudes of the world,
as well as from the greedy eyes of the ever-present dealers. They
are unmindful of the sufferings of the poor artists who, laboring in
the sweat of their brows, have produced the masterpieces which
now enrich these men.
As the book was the result of the suggestion of the Prince, I
reserved one page for him which, on three of his subsequent visits to
my studio, he signed.
As the time was insufficient to make all the sketches I would
have liked, I asked permission to continue next morning, which
was granted, and the Duke and Duchess of York invited me to
go to York Cottage, where I had a splendid opportunity to work
while they read their morning papers. Others of the guests I sketched
during the day whenever the occasion presented itself. When evening
came and the Prince saw the collection, he at once noticed that there
was none of himself and commented on it. I confessed that while
124 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
I had almost literally taken his suggestion to sketch whomever I
pleased, still I would not have dared to include his portrait with
out his consent. He smiled and, when the game started a few min
utes later, he had me sit at his side while I made full use of the cov
Before my departure the Prince received me and spoke of a
medal which he wanted in rather a hurry. It was to be a double
portrait of the Duke and Duchess of York, to be inserted in the
presents they were to distribute on the occasion of their forthcoming
visit to the Colonies. Before leaving I spoke to the Duke about it,
who promised me the sittings as soon as he should return to town
after the holidays. A few days later I received the following com
munication from York Cottage, Sandringham:
December 23, 1900.
I am desired by H. R. H., the Duke of York, to let you know that he
would like to be represented on the medal that you are designing in the
full dress of a captain in the Royal Navy. T. R. H. the Duke and Duchess
of York hope to be able to both give you a sitting when they come to
London some time after January 3rd.
Of that medal only three hundred were struck and these for
that occasion only. It is the only work I was privileged to execute
for Their Royal Highnesses.
Lady Randolph's bust was sufficiently advanced so that her sit
tings could be resumed for the marble. I was glad to have the
opportunity of again seeing her often. But others shared with me
the same feeling. A handsome young man, son of Colonel and Mrs.
Cornwallis West and a friend of her son Winston, came to th6 studio
almost daily while she posed.
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 125
Mrs. Comwallis West was most ambitious. She had two beau
tiful daughters, the elder was even stately, and she decided to se
cure desirable husbands for them, in which she succeeded. The
elder married Prince Pless, owner of large estates in Germany
and Russia. The Kaiser was a constant visitor at the big parties
given at their different palaces and estates. The other daughter
married the Duke of Westminster, one of the greatest landowners
in the heart of London. He owns several thousand houses in Bel-
gravia, the most fashionable part of town, also in Grosvenor
Square and a large part of Mayfair. Grosvenor House in Park
Lane, the best known among the palaces in Millionaire Row, con
tained a picture gallery which was occasionally shown as a mark
of esteem. One of its treasures, the Blue Boy by Gainsborough, is
now in the collection of Mr. Henry E. Huntington in California.
The achievement in the marriage of her daughters more than
exceeded the keenest expectations of Mrs. Cornwallis West, though
the Duke and Duchess of Westminster have long since been divorced
and each has married again. She now sought a wife worthy of her
only son. He was so good looking that he had but to choose. Her
disappointment was therefore great when she learned that he in
tended to marry one of her best friends, a lady of her own age. Lady
Randolph wanted to show the world that this was a love match, so
she immediately discarded her title and became plain Mrs. George
Comwallis West. Her husband lived at her house in Great Cumber
land Place and sought other employment than shooting and visit
ing. Most of the troubles of the idle rich are caused by lack of
occupation and too much time. When it turned out that they were
ill-matched, they parted, and when they were free once more, he
married Mrs. Patrick Campbell, the actress, whom he accompanied
on her tours. It was in New York that I saw him again. Mrs.
West resumed the title of Lady Randolph Churchill and remarried
also. Her death a few years ago terminated one of the most bril
liant careers of any woman of her time.
126 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
One of the amusingly entertaining houses was that of Mr.
and Mrs. Asher Wertheimer. Soon after rny arrival in London,
Sargent invited me to lunch. When I went to his studio in Tite
Street to fetch him, he said that he had accepted an invitation for
both of us to lunch with a man whose portrait he was painting.
This was Asher Wertheimer. We went first to his gallery in New
Bond Street, where he showed us some china. When Sargent par
ticularly admired one piece, Mr. Wertheimer had the clerk wrap it
up and send it to the studio; protestations were of no avail.
The Wertheimers kept open house at Connaught Place near Hyde
Park. They needed the enormous building for their family was large
and grown-up. The drawing room in white and gold extended
through the full length of the house and contained the most beauti
ful furniture to be found. Then there was the hall in which Sar
gent painted the two eldest daughters in three-quarter length,.Jand
the schoolroom where the three youngest children posed for their
picture. In the drawing room hung the portrait of Mrs. Wertheimer,
the first of the series, which he later painted again because it did
not satisfy him. In the second portrait he displayed all that mas
tery which he possesses in such high degree.
The Wertheimers gave elaborate dinner parties; the children
attending to the preservation of their Bohemian character, artists
felt quite at home there. Mr. Wertheimer gladly gave his help
where he felt that it would advance a talent. Mancini did some
portraits for him and so did Brough, a young artist of promise who
was killed in a railway accident. Writers, musicians and actors
were all welcome. Sargent was the central and outstanding figure.
The Wertheimers were the most happy-go-lucky family I ever knew,
but they also had their great sorrows. Of the two eldest sons, one
died in London and one in South Africa. The third son was then
still quite young. This deprived the house of much of its spon
taneous gayety and exuberant spirit.
I was happy to read after the death of Mr, Wertheimer, that
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 127
Sargent's pictures had been left to the nation and they now occupy
a room by themselves in the National Gallery.
Conditions in England were not unlike those in this country
now. The discovery of gold and diamonds in South Africa brought
on an undreamed period of prosperity. Taxes were small, as Eng
land maintained only a moderate standing army, and the people
spent money lavishly and indiscriminately. New tendencies in art
and literature were discernible, but the new art was not permitted
to enter the Academy, which probably accounted for the number
of smaller art societies which sprang up. They sought contact with
the world without dependence on the Council of the Royal Academy.
Of these societies, the New English Art Club and the International
Society of Painters, Sculptors and Engravers were the most impor
tant. The latter exhibited also much abroad and brought greater
popularity to some artists than they could have achieved even
through the Academy. A case in point is that of Sir John Lavery.
He was known and appreciated long before the Academy ever con
sidered paying him the honor he deserved; and the same was true
of many others. The War has changed this; it blew like a hurri
cane through the antiquated institutions, cleaned them out and let
air in and sunlight. And this was as it should be.
"To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die. 1 ' (Campbell.)
[N December eleventh, 1900, 1 received word from Wind
sor that the Queen wished to see me the following
Saturday between eleven and twelve o'clock. When
I arrived she spoke of the death of her grandson,
Prince Christian Victor of Schleswig-Holstein, which
had occurred two months before in South Africa, where, during the
war, he had contracted typhoid fever. He was the oldest son of the
Queen's daughter Helene, who lived nearby at Cumberland Lodge,
where her husband was in charge of Windsor Castle. The Queen
wished to have a memorial of Prince Christian Victor placed in St.
George's Chapel, founded by Edward III, who in 1348 instituted
there the Order of the Garter.
On viewing the interior from the entrance the entire church
seemed a mass of filigree in Gothic style. The delicately joined
mouldings which radiate in profusion from the columns and pil
asters, blend harmoniously with the exquisite rosettes on the ceiling,
producing a symphony of lines such as I have seen only in the Cathe
dral of Cologne. The Queen's Gallery, right up to the altar, is filled
with three tiers of immense pews, skilfully carved in wood and
crowned by canopies. Their daintily chiseled details look almost
like lacework. They taper into a point, behind which are arranged
the escutcheons and swords of the different members of the exalted
order, and, towering above all, is a row of imposing flags each bear
ing the coat-of-arms of its Knight.
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 129
The effect is a blaze of color enhanced by the rays of the sun
filtering through a thousand pieces of stained glass formed into
priceless pictures by the skillful hand of the artist. And looking
west, the gallery is separated from the aisle by an equally gorgeous
screen whose proportions offer ample space for the magnificent organ
which thunders its mighty diapason throughout the edifice.
There are several small side chapels filled with sculptures of all
ages and all styles. One of these, the Braye Chapel, offered the best
site for the memorial which was to take the form of a monument ;
its south wall was nearly bare.
I started on my sketches at once. The Queen was anxious to
see them as soon as possible. Her health was none too good and her
doctors advised a change of climate. They thought that the invig
orating air of the sea would benefit her and when finally I was ready
to submit my models, I was requested to bring them to Osborne. It
was about six o'clock of an evening in the second week of January
that I arrived.
Osborne House was purchased by the Queen in 1845 and con
verted into a pretentious villa overlooking Southampton Water.
King Edward later transformed it into a home for convalescent offi
cers of the Army and Navy, and presented it to the nation.
The day I arrived the Queen did not leave her room, but she
asked to see the sketches. While I was waiting in one of the draw
ing rooms, Princess Christian greeted me in a low voice and asked
for the model, which she took to the Queen. After a while she came
back with the Duchess of Saxe-Coburg. They were pleased and had
the Queen's approval; the Princesses also liked it.
That same evening I left Osborne. While crossing the Narrows
the moon threw its silvery rays over the water. There was not a
sound. The boat, nearly empty, glided silently through the riplets.
I leaned over the rail at the bow and as I watched the dark outlines
of the castle fading in the enveloping mist, an unspeakable sadness
came over me. I felt lonely; I felt as though a visitation were
I 3 o WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
about to come over the world. My presentiment proved true. A
week later the Queen was no longer alive.
I returned to nay studio. It was gloomy there, but it was gloomy
outside too. It was one of those moments when we are faced with
the fundamental questions in life which make us stop and think.
Although the death of the Queen had not been entirely unex
pected, the news of the actual occurrence was a stunning blow.
It took time for the world to realize that the Queen, who for over
sixty years had given her best to the welfare of her country, who
had steered it through so many vicissitudes, who had added an
empire of over 300,000,000 people in India to her domain, whose per
sonality was such that she was the mediator of peace in the world,
had closed her eyes forever.
Preparations for bringing the Queen to London were expedited.
The members of the Royal Family hurried to Cowes. Mourners from
all the Courts of Europe came to England. To enumerate each one
would be simply to make a copy of the Almanac de Gotha. The
Kaiser was one of the first and came prepared to make a long stay.
The day after the Queen's death I received a telegram which
read as follows:
Come Osborne immediately. Take necessary things along to make
a sketch and a Totenmaske for a bust. Answer when arriving. Leave
Waterloo n :20, Southampton 1 130, arrive at Cowes 3:00.
I soon had my materials packed and was in the train which
was taking me back to that place where only a week ago I had been
for the first time in my life, and which I did not anticipate seeing
again under such tragic aspects.
Von Pfyffer, the Queen's secretary, awaited my arrival. There
was also a crowd of those curious people who waste their time be
cause to them it is a commodity without value. A few reporters
with cameras pointing toward me were there. Luckily, in spite of
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 131
the royal carriage, I did not look regal to them and consequently
not worthy of their inquisitive machines. One fellow at the gate,
unwilling to miss any chance at all, tried to snapshot me, but I
threw my coat over my head and escaped an ttndesired publicity.
The house was literally filled with mourners and it severely taxed
the resourcefulness of Lord Edward Pelham Clinton to accommodate
them all. There was much confusion. The corridors were crowded
with people moving about silently, and there were so many that it
was even difficult to distinguish between the royal mourners and
their attendants. I was shown into one of the rooms to wait until
the King could be informed of my presence. He was besieged on all
sides; first, as the chief mourner on whose shoulders rested every
decision pertaining to the funeral; then as host to so many visitors
of importance requiring his personal attention; and last as the new
King of a vast empire.
A continuous stream of telegrams and mail poured in, some of
them requiring replies which only he could give. So that when I
was at last brought before him, I could well appreciate the magni
tude of his task. I was ushered into his study. He was grave;
never had I seen him so serious. He first thanked me for an expres
sion of condolence I had sent the previous day, and then he spoke
of a bust of his mother which he wished to have made and which
should, as nearly as possible, represent her as she was in her later
days. He asked if I had brought the materials necessary for the
deathmask with me and what help I would require, if any, where
upon I begged that I be permitted first to see the Queen, after which
I could report.
I was shown into the death chamber. There she lay, white as
snow, her head covered with a lace bonnet, her hands clasping a
tortoiseshell cross, which contrasted conspicuously with the white
of the surroundings. Her regal profile looked more regal still in the
serenity of death. Her marriage veil covered the entire figure and
the bed was strewn with flowers, mostly lilies, which saturated the
1 32 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
room with their penetrating scent but did not conceal the heavi
ness of an atmosphere from which light and air had been excluded*
A few candles burning near the bed were the only source of a sad,
flickering light. Above her head hung a watercolor depicting her
beloved husband on his deathbed, which only emphasized the trag
edy of the scene. Beside her bed on the left lay a few photographs
which had been handled so much that they were indistinguishable;
they, too, were pictures of the Prince Consort, which she had car
ried with her ever since he departed from this life. The rest of the
room was shrouded in darkness.
Princess Christian entered. Her eyes were red from weeping.
First she introduced me to the nurse who was keeping watch in the
back of the room, and then she asked what I intended to do. I
showed her the telegram. She said that it had been the Queen's
wish that her body should remain undisturbed after death and that
the family desired to respect that wish; that, however, the final
decision rested with the King. I replied that I could appreciate such
feelings, the more so because also I had to lament the loss of my dear
ones, the dearest in this world, whose wishes would be ever sacred
to me. I had already decided, upon entering the room, that I should
prefer to make my studies in black and white only, in view of the
fact that the mask was to be used solely in modeling the bust, and
my experience had taught me of how little assistance these death-
In reporting to the King I explained the reasons which prompted
me to make drawings only, unless His Majesty should command
me to do otherwise. He was satisfied to leave it to me, and I com
menced my work.
It was dinnertime. The guests, one after another, were retiring
to their rooms. I longed for the moment when I should be able to
give myself up to my onerous task. Just when I was about to start,
Queen Alexandra came in. She was overcome by her grief. I hardly
knew what to say or do. She spoke of the Queen and what she had
, '$??' '
1 : ; '
* /?l1 ' ' ^'-' *' ^" :L i; /r :
-',#, , ,,' >T"W' " 1-' T**T~ * <~*r- -^ r- ,!-' f)J .) i ,. ^ ' , , > . f-fpl, fc* '!''"*'* 11
TA? Telegram which called Mr. Fuchs to Osborne on the Occasion of Queen
Victoria s Death
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 133
meant to her, of how majestic she looked and of the pallor of her
face, from which Death had removed every trace of age.
When Queen Alexandra noticed my preparations for the draw
ing, she looked at me inquiringly. I explained to her what had
been decided only a few minutes before. She seemed to be relieved
of an anxiety which evidently had occupied the minds of all the
relatives. I accompanied her to the door. When she bade me good
bye I bowed low over her outstretched hand and assured her that
I should always remain the Queen's most humble servant, where
upon she pointed toward the bed and said, "The Queen she is
still with us.* 7 And I understood.
During the next few hours I was able to throw myself undis
turbed into my task. The picture was so sublime that any artist
would have longed to possess superhuman gifts for the portrayal of
its majesty. Emotion and ardor struggled within me. But soon
the image began to unfold. I felt a sensation as of being lifted up,
far above the sorrows of a mourning world, and as though my hand
were guided by a force I had never experienced before. Like magic the
outlines evolved out of an indefinite mist and when at last I had placed
the final accentuating strokes and was about to draw back to receive
the impression of the whole ... I found myself surrounded by
an array of Royalty such as had never before been gathered together.
There was a deep silence.
The Queen was the first to move. She approached the bed,
from which she took a few flowers which she entwined with a fern
and handed them to me. Her silence was more eloquent than any
words could have been.
Someone tapped me on the shoulder and, turning, I saw a pair of
eyes like those of an eagle fixed upon me. The Queen, noticing my
bewilderment, said, "This is the Kaiser/' He looked quite differ
ent then than he did when I had seen him years before mounting
and dismounting his horse. It was one of those rare occasions when
he wore evening clothes. The broad blue ribbon of the Garter across
134 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
his breast and the sparkling diamonds of the star, contrasted viyidly
with the somberness of their background. He addressed me as if
the minutes he had known me were so many years. He said, "Go
on, Puchs, youVe made a good start, but you must accentuate this
and that." I bowed respectfully. Then the King interposed. He
also wore evening clothes with the Order of the Garter. He was
more subdued in manner and far more sympathetic, and he said,
"I feel that your suggestion was right. Such studies as these will
be more helpful to you."
I ventured to say that with the King's permission I would like
to work through the night, making a series of sketches and studies,
such as would be useful for other purposes than the bust alone.
There was no objection to this. The other visitors also looked at
the sketch, but no one said anything. It was late. One by one they
left the room and I was soon again alone in the middle of the night,
surrounded by silence.
There was a light tap at the door and a messenger entered. He
brought a note written in pencil, which read: " Please make me a
sketch of our beloved Queen as she lies there on her bed surrounded
by flowers she loved. A." It was from Queen Alexandra.
I now had ample opportunity to collect myself and resume my
work, bearing in mind what I should require. The night passed
quickly. Long before daybreak the Queen sent to inquire if I had
been able to complete the sketch for her, I replied that I had made
four smaller sketches and that I should be very happy if Her Majesty
would select the one she preferred. Then came this note:
January 24, 1901.
My most grateful thanks for your touching words in your telegram on
the loss of our beloved and great Queen the loss is too overwhelming, the
sorrow unspeakable. Thank you also for so kindly letting me have the
choice of the four smaller sketches I think the large one you did yester
day quite beautiful and very like.
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 135
Where would you like me to see the drawings, in her dear room or
here in mine, where I might see them perhaps more undisturbed?
She chose from the four designs one rather elaborate in detail,
one in which I had brought in as much as possible of the picture as
In the morning, Princess Christian was the first visitor. She
told me that Professor von Herkomer had been sent by an illus
trated paper to make a sketch and that the 'King had given his per
mission. She wished to suggest that I give him a choice of position
when he arrived. As my work was finished this was no sacrifice to
me. Soon the Princess brought him into the room and presented me
to him. He was so impressed with the serenity of the picture that
he exclaimed time after time to the Princess, "O, how wonderful,
how wonderful!" I wanted to give him the benefit of solitude and
was just leaving the room when the King sent for me. I took with
me the remaining five drawings and asked the King's permission to
submit them all and offer one to him. He selected the one he saw
first the evening before and accepted this for himself.
On returning to the room I was informed that we must get ready
to leave, as the preparations for removing the body to London would
After the King saw Herkomer's hasty sketch he again sent for
me and said, " Although Professor von Herkomer has been sent here
it seems to me that if anything is published, it should be one of your
I replied, "With Your Majesty's most gracious permission I
would like to submit, that the occasion is so solemn that I would
prefer not to desecrate it by any thought of self/'
Von Herkomer and I departed in the same carriage, we crossed
on the same boat, but each kept to himself. As a member of the
Academy and the more important of us two it devolved upon him
to address me first, should he wish to do so; but as he remained
136 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
silent there was no occasion for me to do otherwise. And leaning
once more over the rail at the bow, where I had stood only a few
days before, I had plenty of leisure to reflect upon the impermanence
of life and the sudden changes which often a single day, yes, an hour,
When we parted at Waterloo Station, we were still the strangers
we had been in the beginning.
And here is an instance of what I meant when I spoke earlier in
these pages of the human element which counts for so much: On
account of always having lived a more or less solitary life, probably
through lack of social talents, I have, no doubt, missed some of
the small benefits which the kind word of a helpful friend will procure.
On the other hand, it has given me ample opportunity to launch
forth into the many branches of my art, in whose neighborly do
mains I delighted to wander. It matters little how one achieves
one's happiness but it is important that one should achieve it.
On the twenty-eighth of that month, the London Times published
the following Court Circular:
"Osborne, January 26th. Professor von Herkomer and Herr
Emil Fuchs have had the honor of making sketches for a portrait
and a bust of Her Majesty, the late Queen."
Photographs of two of the drawings which I had made at Osborne
were sent to the brother and sisters of King Edward and to the
Emperor. The letter which the Duke of Connaught, the King's
only surviving brother, sent to me, in autograph, is so touchingly
beautiful that I shall quote it:
March 2, 1901.
DEAR MR. FUCHS,
Accept my very best thanks for sending me the excellent fac-simile of
your sad drawings made at Osborne. I will ever value them as being the
last likeness that could ever be made of my beloved mother, the Queen.
- rw ^ *jk
Medal Commemorating the Termination oj the South African War
}ueen Alexandra as Princess of Pity
Reverse (Faith, Hope and Charity}
Official Coronation Medal
King Edward VII and Queen Alexandra
Flowers from the Deathbed
of jieen Victoria
King Haakon of Norway
When Prince Charles of Denmark
\ :/!. ' .. >^y ' ' ^ "'"' f ift
Medal Commemorating the Signing of the Peace Treaty
June 28, IQIQ
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 137
As soon as the funeral ceremonies were over and the guests began
to depart, I had an audience with the King, at which I submitted
the medals of Queen Victoria which in the meantime had been
completed. His Majesty had a few struck off the dies. I think
three of the largest, one of which he ordered in gold to be sent to the
Empress Frederick at Friedrichsruhe. Later, the King permitted
copies of the largest size in silver to be presented to the British
Museum, the Victoria and Albert Museum in. South Kensington
and to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York.
On February twentieth of that year I received the following let
ter from Marlborough House:
DEAR MR. FUCHS,
I am commanded by the King to ask you to be here (at Marlborough
House) on Friday next, the twenty-second instant, at 3:15 o'clock P. M.
Please send me a line in reply that I may know this letter has reached
D. M. PROBYN.
The form and style of this letter, also the request for an answer,
were somewhat unusual. It was more than ordinarily formal, but
I soon understood the reason. When I arrived at the appointed
hour and was brought into the King's presence, His Majesty handed
me a small case and said:
"We have decided to confer upon you the honorary fourth class
of our Royal Victorian Order/'
THE TIMES, MONDAY, JANUAKY m, 1901.
GSBOBNE, JAB. 26.
Professor von Hericomer and, Herr EmQ Fuehs
lave bad the honour of mating sketches for a
portrait and taafe of Her Majesty the late Queen.
"Grasps the skirts of happy chance." (Tennyson.)
HORTLY after the ascent of the King to the throne, the
firm of Thos. de la Rue & Co., Ltd., who for gen
erations had made the postage stamps of the realm
submitted a design which they had already pre
pared. It was taken from a photograph of the King
in uniform. It did not meet with His Majesty's approval. He had
quite definite ideas as to how he wished the stamp to be treated.
Evidently the way the first designs were altered by De La Rue did not
please him either, and he asked them to communicate with me and
to make the head I had modelled of him, with the free bare neck, the
base for the design. They therefore sent a member of their firm
to discuss the subject with me. So far I had made only a medallion,
which was in sculpture. It could have been adapted for the stamp,
but I suggested an entirely new drawing. My suggestion was accepted
and the King intimated his willingness to give me the necessary
Head of King Edward VII for the fostage Stamp
(From an Etching by the Artist)
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 139
It may be of interest to read two coinmtinications received from
Thos. De La Rue and Company, Ltd. ; one in March, 1901 , is as follows :
ENGLISH UNIFIED STAMPS
With reference to the designs for the English Unified Stamps which
you are preparing by command of His Majesty the King, we would point
out that the present issue is the outcome of a protracted inquiry made by
a Joint Committee of Experts which was appointed by the Postmaster
General in October, 1884, to consider the designs and colors of the Postage
The principal point the Committee had in view was to obtain a strik
ing distinction between the different duties of Stamps, not only by day
light but by artificial light, so that the sorters of the post offices could
easily check the values of the Stamps, even when obliterated.
The difficulty in obtaining sufficient contrast between the Stamps is
enhanced by the fact that only two colors of doubly fugitive inks, viz.,
purple and green, are available.
It is essential to use doubly fugitive inks, because the Stamps have to
be sensitive, not only under a printed, but also under a written cancellation.
The distinction between the duties is obtained, partly by employing
coloured papers and partly by printing the Stamps in two colours.
We submit that the itfd, 2d, 4$, $d, gd, lod and i/- Stamps, which
are printed in two colours, and the 3^ Stamp, which is printed in one
colour on yellow paper, are good in design, and that it would be most
desirable to leave them as at present, inserting the crown on the borders,
as shown on the accompanying designs.
We think that new designs might with advantage be substituted for
the J>4d, id, 2}4d and 6d stamps.
Introducing new designs for these four duties would not in any way
upset the object the Joint Committee had in view, provided the }4d is
printed in green, the id in purple, the 2}4d on blue paper, and the 6d on
The other is dated the nineteenth of April, 1901 :
With reference to the Medallion which you are preparing by command
of His Majesty the King for the embossing die, we quite understand that
this is only to be used for the English, Indian and Colonial embossed
stamps, and we undertake that it shall not be employed in any other way.
140 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
We shall be glad if you will kindly send us three plaster casts and we
hope that His Majesty will be graciously pleased to initial one, as he did
in the case of the design for the stamp, in order to give the necessary author
ity to the Government for its adoption.
P. S. We enclose two copies of the original design, and letter of approval
The designing of a stamp was new to me. The drawing for the
head and the model for the embossed stamp are not all that is needed.
The first has to be engraved in steel in the size required for the stamp
and, as I was not familiar with the technic of engraving but knew
how easy it would be to lose the likeness in the process, I asked the
firm for a skillful man who would do the engraving in my studio and
under my guidance.
The process is quite difficult but interesting. He first made a
photograph from the drawing in the size required and from that he
did the work. Then he started his engraving on the steel die. It
was all accomplished by the aid of horizontal lines, the different
thicknesses of which constituted the modeling. The slightest error
meant some loss of likeness. Sometimes it would take him a whole
day to cut only part of a line. Once the entire head was on the
steel, the task of copying the features as accurately as possible
from the drawing proved quite intricate. As an illustration to
make a man realize the salient points of a feature is one thing; to
make him interpret it in his work is another. If the engraver could
have made portraits, he need not have worked for someone else.
There was an inevitable loss of likeness, but I felt that the way we
proceeded would reduce this to a minimum. Every few days we
would take an impression of the engraving as it progressed. In this
way we were able to note immediately any faults at the point where
they occurred and could make our corrections before proceeding
further. It made an interesting collection for my album, to which
I soon added the designs bearing the King's approval. Of the draw
ing of the head I possess only a fac-simile; the original is the prop-
Medal Commemorating Her Reign in the Twentieth Century
First Approved Design of the Edwardian Postage Stamp
Hudson-Fulton Commemoration Medal
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 141
erty of the Government and was sent to Somerset House, which is
the office of Inland Revenue.
One day word came from Windsor that the King wished to see
the stamp. It was then just in the preliminary stages. Not even
the final colors were available. So we took an impression from the
head and another from the frame and pasted the two together. The
one-penny stamp, being the one most generally used, was the farthest
advanced, and to convey the idea as it would appear in color, we
made one impression in green and another in mauve. The King
saw them and approved, and they were promptly added to the col
lection in my album. This is the letter from Sir Arthur Ellis which
accompanied the return of the proofs:
DEAR MR. FUCHS,
I return the stamp and memo which I have submitted to the King. His
Majesty likes the pattern best which he has marked, "Approved E R"
but thinks that the head is pasted on leaning too far forward and prefers
the other which is marked X as to the uprightness and pose of the head;
I have explained that this only arises from the slovenly way the head has
been affixed to the design drooping forward.
His Majesty likes one-penny * 4 A" in a straight line better than <1 B. M
He thinks all the heads should in every case (whatever the value of the
stamp) have the crown above.
In the case of the Victorian head, Her Majesty was wearing the crown
so this was not so significant.
The photo makes the hair black! 1 ! ! which is wrong.
To design a postage stamp was not an unmixed pleasure. Soon
after it came out, the world seemed to be composed of only critics
critics among the artists, the collectors, my friends, and of course
among my enemies. On the twenty-second of May, Sir Arthur
Ellis sent me a little note which prepared me for the news that even
in the House of Commons I had critics. He said,
"You may see that a question is to be asked in the House of
Commons this evening and the reply which we have made out will I
142 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
think be complete and satisfactory. But it shows how much jealousy
To have a question asked about one in the House of Commons
is such an honor that I feel I should give the incident in full.
On Friday, May twenty-fourth, the London Times published
tinder the heading "PARLIAMENT," the following report:
HOUSE OF COMMONS
Thursday, May 23
THE NEW POSTAGE STAMPS
Mr. Ellis Griffith (Anglesey) asked the Secretary to the Treasury, as repre
senting the Postmaster General, whether the designs for the new post
age stamps had been entrusted to an Austrian sculptor; and if so,
whether this was due to the fact that there was no British artist com
petent for the work.
Mr. Austen Chamberlain (Worcestershire, E.) It is the case that the por
trait of Ms Majesty, which has been used in the preparation of the
designs to appear on the new postage stamps, is by a foreign artist,
there being in existence an excellent profiled portrait executed
only last year by the Austrian sculptor, Mr. Fuchs, who is now a
resident in London. It is not to be inferred that no British artist
was considered to be competent for the work.
Mr. Ellis Griffith asked who had the right of selecting the artist.
Mr. Austen Chamberlain I must have notice of that question.
Lord Balcarres (Lancashire, Chorley) asked how the unsuitability of British
artists was determined.
Mr. Austen Chamberlain I have expressly stated already that the un
suitability of British artists was not to be inferred from the choice
Dr. Farquharson (Aberdeenshire, W.) asked if the opinion of the President
of the Royal Academy or other leaders of the artistic profession was
taken before the selection was made.
Mr. Austen Chamberlain I have already said twice that I must have
notice of any further questions. (Hear, hear.)
Again, on June seventh, this was published in the Times:
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 143
HOUSE OF COMMONS
Thursday, June 6
The House resumed after the Whitsuntide holidays. The Speaker took the
chair shortly after 3 o'clock.
THE NEW POSTAGE STAMPS
Dr. Farquharson (Aberdeenshire, W.) asked the Secretary to the Treasury,
as representing the Postmaster General, whether, before the com
mission for designs for the new postage stamps were given to an
Austrian artist, the advice of the President of the Royal Academy
and the leaders of the artistic profession was obtained.
Mr. Ellis Griffith (Anglesey) asked the Secretary to the Treasury whether
he could state who was responsible for entrusting the designs to a
foreign artist, and whether an opportunity was afforded any other
artist to submit designs; and, if not, what was the reason for such
Mr. Austen Chamberlain (Worcestershire, E.) answering both questions said,
The responsibility for the designs of the new issue of stamps rests
with the Postmaster General, who took the pleasure of his Majesty
the King as to the portrait of his Majesty which should be used in the
preparation of the design. The portrait selected by his Majesty was
executed only last year by a gentleman who has long been resident in
London, and whose work deservedly enjoys a high reputation in this
country. As the portrait was thought to be particularly adapted for
the purpose in question, it did not appear necessary to invite designs
from any other artists. It was not thought necessary to consult the
President of the Royal Academy or the leaders of the artistic profes
sion on the subject, as the selection of the portrait to be used in the
preparation of the designs was obviously a matter in which His
Majesty's own wishes should carry most weight.
This was the last argument I heard on the subject of the postage
Truth published the following poem:
144 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
STAMPING IT IN
New stamps are wanted. Such a chance
But seldom can occur,
For casting on poor British art
So undeserved a slur;
Thus, if you please, Herr Fuchs they choose,
An Austrian sculptor he,
To draw our English King! oh, what
An excellent decree!
Not seldom has the Treasury,
Right glad to play its part,
Brought down its foot full heavily
On slighted British Art ;
But now as though to emphasize
Its policy of spite,
The heavy foot put down before
It "stamps" with all its might!
The making of a postage stamp is not the simple project casual
consideration would assume it to be. When King George came to
the throne and the question of a new stamp was under advisement,
this time the Royal Academy was duly consulted and made its
recommendations as to the most desirable artist. To Mm the work
was given and, to ensure complete success, he was supplied with an
assistant, the head of the school for decorative design, who was to
have charge of the frame.
The issue of this stamp was awaited with the keenest anticipation.
All the preliminary conditions were present to make it a great work
of art. I still vividly recall how, the night before the coronation,
June twenty-first, 1911, some of my solicitous friends urged me to
take a little holiday, so that I might be spared witnessing the enthu
siasm attendant upon the reception of the new stamp (of which they
had seen a specimen), and also hearing disagreeable comparisons to
the disparagement of my King Edward stamp. It pleases me now
to recall how unfotinded was the exceeding anxiety of my friends, and
Alienne de Carriere
Mrs. Marshall Field HI
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
that a preponderance of curiosity impelled me to remain in London,
where I could be au courant with the discussions in the House of
Commons which started once more soon after the appearance of
the much heralded stamp. It was not now the question of the artist
being an Austrian or that the Academy had not been consulted,
but the effect notwithstanding was that drastic changes had to be
made in the design.
The following excerpt is from a book published in England in
1921, The Stamps of Great Britain, written by Stanley Phillips pre
sumably in an official capacity:
On Coronation Day, June 22nd, 1911, the J^d and the id of the new
Georgian series were issued, and in the storm of criticism which they evoked,
(A) Original Die
(B) Deepened Die
Enlargement showing the Two Dies of the First Georgian J^d from The Stamps of Great
Britain (1911-1921), Stanley Phillips
the minor defects of the Edwardian stamps were forgotten. Few people
could be found to say a good word for them, in regard either to design or
execution, and so great was the outcry in the public press that, although
great improvement was made in the printing of the stamps, the Postmaster-
General was forced to announce that the designs would be altered as soon as
possible, and, as a matter of fact, the dies had been deepened almost at once,
giving rather better results.
146 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
On New Year's Day, 1912, the " improved" J^d and id Georgian stamps
were put on sale, but the alterations in the designs were not great and did
nothing to influence public opinion in their favour. The 2d stamp, issued
in August of the same year, was, however, much more satisfactory, and
better hopes were entertained for the remainder of the series.
The enlargements produced herewith showing the two dies of the
first Georgian stamps may be of interest.
If these stamps did not prove as successful as everyone expected
them to be, the cause is simple and evident. The artist entrusted
with the design was an eminent sculptor and that part of the work
which appeared on the embossed stamp, for the stamped envelopes,
was far superior to the drawing on the flat stamp. As I have men
tioned elsewhere, so few sculptors are good draftsmen and con
sider the value of light and shade as a painter wotdd. This lack
of emphasis is responsible for the effect achieved in the flat stamp.
Of course I lacked the assistance of a professor from the Victoria
and Albert Museum, but my knowledge of painting and drawing
seems to have supplied the omission.
When I was occupied with the memorial to the Duke of Coburg
for Sandringham Church, the question of inscription and armorial
bearing had to be decided. I submitted my designs and in reply
received the following letter from Sir Arthur Ellis:
DEAR MR. PUCHS,
Personally I prefer the Gothic shields as more in harmony with the rest
of the surrounding church decoration and the actual monument itself.
But your heraldic drawing is deplorable, my dear friend your Russian
eagle is a gruesome fowl like a plucked turkey in a poulterer's window!
Look for a piece of Russian money (rouble) or on the back of the Duke of
Edinburgh's marriage medal There is a beautiful heraldic spread double
eagle ! which will put your miserable pullet to flight !
When I submitted my sketch for the Prince Christian Memorial at
Osborne, the Duchess of Coburg wished me to make a bust of the
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 147
late Duke. She asked if I could progress far enough with the model
to make it possible to bring it to Coburg that summer and finish
the work there. To escape the dull season in London one would
probably be content with a far less important excuse.
Coburg is a small town in Thuringia. It is in close proximity
to the Grand Duchy of Weimar, better known on account of its hav
ing been the home of Goethe and Schiller and, later, of Abbe Liszt.
The court in Weimar had traditionally favored art and artists,
which had made it famous. Like the Medicis, the Weimarians
knew that art endures and, that they themselves might endure,
they closely interwove their lives with the great men of their time.
Coburg leaves no such inheritance to posterity. Their ruling
families have been related to almost all the reigning houses of Europe
and have been so enormously rich, that this they considered quite
sufficient to ensure to them "immortality/* The castle in Coburg
is a splendid building, commensurate with their great wealth. It con
tains nothing which differs much from other abodes of its kind. The
room allotted to me was none too elaborate either in its decoration or
its furnishings, which was only natural, considering that I was to
work there in plaster.
The Court spent the summer not far away at Castle Rosenau, a
rather simple house for royalty. I was asked for luncheon several
times, which was served in a vaulted room of ample proportions
leading into the garden. The windows were so small that the light
it received from the outside was only that of the blazing sun reflected
from the white sand. With the exception of the Princess Marie of
Roumania, now the Queen of Roumania, the whole family was present.
The Dowager Duchess, a daughter of Czar Alexander II of Russia,
was a lady of generous proportions whose English abounded with
the idiom which is so attractive a characteristic of the Russians and
which they seem to retain in spite of their superior linguistic tal
ents. Three of her four daughters were there, all of whom were so
beautiful that it has never been decided which was really the hand-
I 4 8 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
somest: Victoria Melitta, Grand Duchess of Hesse, who afterwards
left the Dtike and married the Grand Duke Cyril of Russia; Alex
andra, hereditary Princess of Hohenlohe Langenburg; and the
then unmarried Princess Beatrice, who later married a member of
the Spanish Court, a cousin of the present King, thereby incurring
the displeasure of their mother as well as of the King of Spain, on
account of their difference in religion. She was Protestant, while
her husband was Catholic.
Besides these there was the young Duke of Coburg, a son of the
late Duke of Albany, who was the youngest of King Edward's
brothers, and also the Princess Victoria of Schleswig-Holstein,
daughter of Princess Christian, in honor of whose son's memory
I was designing the memorial.
The party was a happy one. The Grand Duchess was most
amusing and always ready for a joke. Once at the luncheon table,
she told one of her stories which was so funny that the servants
could only with difficulty keep their serious expressions. When she
noticed this, she and the others purposely continued to say laugh-
provoking things until at last one of the servitors was compelled to
place Ms dish on the sideboard, to regain his customary composure.
They were all Russian guardsmen, each one a giant, whb had prob
ably been in the royal service all their lives. As it was a hot sum
mer's day and the life at Rosenau so informal, they were in all white
uniforms, a most imposing sight.
During my stay came the news of the death of Empress Freder
ick, which threw nearly all the courts of Europe into deep mourning.
The Duchess who was a great patron of music and especially
of Bayreuth, where she was a regular attendant at the performances,
offered me her tickets for Parsifal. I was to go with h$r chamber
lain, H. de Vignau. To travel from Coburg to Bayreuth, although
the distance as the crow flies is short, required considerable planning,
on account of the side lines with poor connections which one had to
use. We carefully studied the timetables and left early enough to
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 149
arrive in good time, for it was a rigid rule that the instant the con
ductor made his bow, the doors must be closed and no one, however
exalted he might be, could be admitted before the end of the act.
Everything went like clockwork until we arrived at a station
where we were to take the branch line which would bring us to
Bayreuth and found that this connection had been abolished, and
was of course not noted on the old timetable. This was hard luck,
but we did not give up. Upon consulting with the stationmaster
we learned that the distance was not great, only a few miles away.
When we asked him to provide a special train, he looked at us with
astonishment and said, "Have you any idea what this will cost?"
We confessed we had not.
"It will cost you one hundred marks, paid in advance."
We smiled at him, placed the money in his hands and urged him
to hasten, which he did. He had no coach available, but he had
an old engine such as they use in the stations for shifting. To this
he attached a cattle car with two chairs, and off we went, as rapidly
as the steam would carry us. We looked alternately out of the car
and at our watches. The engine seemed to crawl and the watch
hands to fly. There were only fifteen minutes left, and we began
to resign ourselves. Under the most favorable circumstances we
could not have done better than five minutes late. When we reached
the station, a crowd had assembled, for it was already known that
a special train was due, which could mean only Royalty or a multi
millionaire. The way was clear, but on account of the crowd which
followed us, we had to take a cab, although our watches told us it
was useless to hurry now, as we were too late.
But when we arrived the usher was just closing the doors and
he let us slip in. By a most unusual and rare coincidence, the con
ductor had been detained that day by an unavoidable accident
which made him late too, an almost unheard-of occurrence, though
much to our gratification and to the amusement of the royal guests
when we reported it next day.
"Man he seems of cheerful yesterdays and confident tomorrows." (Wordsworth.)
fHE South African War. came to an end. With the
defense of Ladysmith and Mafeking, England had
proved that if she is called Bulldog, it is justly so
as she has every claim to the title. In Generals she
had added two names to the long list of her national
heroes and her idols Sir George White and Baden Powell.
Sir George White I first met when he was posing in my studio
for a portrait which Lszl6 was painting by command of the Queen.
His head in profile was even more interesting than full face. The
features showed every indication of the ascetic life to which he was
accustomed; deep, sunken eyes, a forceful aquiline nose and a de
termined mouth, habitually used to command and to exact obedi
ence. His skull was remarkable; in profile especially could be
discerned the unusual amount of brain-space; and, as if the natural
flow of contour were not enough, he bore on the top of his head an
additional eminence. The enthusiasm after his return and the
eagerness of the entire populace to entertain and f6te him was more
than he cared for, and he often spoke of it as being so different from
his hitherto rigid life.
"Have you any suggestion as to the reverse side of the medal? 1 '
I asked him one day when I had nearly finished my medallion of
"Yes," he replied, "I would like you to use my motto/' and he
wrote on a slip of paper "Honeste Parta."
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 151
Sir Robert Baden Powell did not so much mind the adulation
which fell to him as his share. He even enjoyed it. It reminded
me of the famous actress who instructed her secretary to read to
her only those criticisms which were eulogistic. One day the secre
tary said, "Do you still wish me to continue? Don't you tire of the
" You have no idea/' she replied, " of the amount of praise one can
When I moved to my new studio in Regent's Park I saw much
of Sir Robert. He was a clever draftsman, quite an artist, and an
amusing companion. The Commonwealth of Australia presented
him with two saddle horses, a white and a black, splendid specimens.
When the black one was no longer useful for the saddle he placed it
in my care. At about this time, Countess Deym, the widow of the
late Austrian Ambassador, made me a present of the hansom in which
her husband used to drive about town. The two combined made
an admirable turnout and enabled the horse to enjoy many easy and
The more I worked in oil, the more fascinating it became. It
seemed to fill a gap in my existence. Many orders for portraiture
could not be so successfully executed in sculpture as in painting.
The moment color is the dominant factor, clay, marble and bronze
cease to be the correct media, and if an artist employs them in these
circumstances, it is only because he is not able to do otherwise.
Fortunately, I was no longer compelled to do this, and soon was
making a clear distinction among my sitters as to whom to portray
in the one and whom in the other medium. Two commissions which
I had on hand were manifestly problems of color. One was that of
Maud Ashley, the very attractive daughter of Sir Ernest Cassel;
the other, the Marquis de Soveral, who was the Portuguese Minis
ter to the Court of St. James's. He was favored of the gods not
good-looking, but different from anybody else. His face was nearly
i 5 2 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
as round as a billiard ball and the few remaining hairs on his head
were carefully parted. He had bushy eyebrows and wore a heavy
moustache, most punctiliously turned up, and an imperial, all of
which were jet-black. His cheeks were shaved, but the hair-growth
was so strong that it gave his skin a bluish tinge, which earned him
the nick-name of "blue monkey." He was an amusing and keen
One night when he was dining at the house of Sir Ernest Cassel,
the financier, who shared equally in the friendship of the King,
His Majesty was present and suddenly called across the table:
''Last night I saw the revival of Oscar Wilde's Importance of
Being in Earnest. Do you know it, Soveral?"
"No, Sir," was the reply, "but I know the importance of being
Sir Ernest. 15
A party without him seemed incomplete. He was equally at
home in Sandringham, at Windsor, Sunderland, Devonshire or Dor
chester House. When the father of the present King of Portugal
came on a visit to London, Several gave several parties at the Lega
tion which were the talk of the town. At one of these, a dinner,
the King made him a marquis. Shortly after this, a relative died
and left him a fortune.
When I commenced his portrait, the question of uppermost
importance was dress; he was known as one of the best-dressed
men in London. Men's clothing seems so simple that it was as
tounding what an infinite variety he achieved in frockcoats, light
waistcoats, ties and spats. We went through his wardrobe to make
the final selection and the quantity of suits it contained seemed incred
ible, veritably an embarrassment of riches.
The first pose he assumed was so characteristic of the man that
I promptly adopted it. He was seated in a chair with his legs crossed
and his hands resting upon one of his countless canes which, in this
instance, was the King's latest Christmas gift and was crowned by
an immense lapis lazuli. In his right hand he held the ubiquitous
" / Maiden Meditation "
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 153
cigar, the size and quality of which was rivaled only by the King's
own brand. The Duchess of Manchester, whose brother owned
plantations in Cuba, arranged that they should both be supplied
with the best cigars to be procured.
During his sittings there was never lack of company; visitors
were so many that I was vividly reminded of Velasquez* immortal
Las Meninas. As a natural consequence, criticism started with
almost the first stroke of the brush. It was an easy way to show
one's deep interest, friendship and devotion to the sitter, quite indif
ferent as to the feelings of the artist. Luckily, he was too well accus
tomed to such fulsome praise to have it affect his equilibrium, and
he continued his regular and intelligent sittings, thus enabling me
to make a good likeness of him.
Maud Cassel was the only daughter of Sir Ernest. The story of
his life reads like another fairy tale.
He came to London when still a boy, and entered the banking
house of Bischoffsheim and Company in an insignificant capacity.
There he soon gave evidence of extraordinary ability and he ad
vanced rapidly. One day the house was confronted with a difficult
situation, the handling of which presented seemingly insuperable
obstacles to all. Young Cassel suggested a solution which appeared
to be feasible, and was entrusted with the task. Having accom
plished it successfully to the complete satisfaction of his superiors,
he was called into the office and informed:
"We are entirely satisfied with the manner in which you have
discharged this undertaking and, as an indication of our apprecia
tion, we have decided to raise your salary to five hundred pounds. "
Young Cassel calmly replied, "I suppose you mean five thousand
Whereupon everyone looked with astonishment at everyone else,
but Mr. Bischoffsheim retorted just as calmly and promptly: " Yes,
He was soon made a partner in the concern, but the flight of
154 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
his imagination probably soared too high and his vision was too
magnificent for them to follow; so they parted and he went into his
own business. In a modest three-room office, his transactions em
braced the whole globe. He negotiated for railroads in the most
inaccessible parts of Sweden, Russia, Mexico; with Baron Hirsch,
whose firm friend he was, he planned the complete system of rail
roads for Turkey and Anatolia. Loans of such magnitude were
arranged that even the Rothschilds would have considered twice
before entertaining them. No proposal was too big for Ernest
Cassel. His name became a magic word in the world of finance.
One day so the story goes, a man approached Lord Rothschild with
a scheme for the irrigation of the Nile Valley country. Since the days
of the Pharaohs similar projects have been promoted. The Nile, like
any other stream, is dependent for its water supply upon the moods of
Dame Nature. Some years there is such an abundance that the banks
overflow. In other years the drought causes a catastrophe equally dis
astrous. If only the supply might be regulated, it was believed that
Egypt would know such an era of prosperity as only one's wildest
dreams can conceive. This man, then, was received by Lord Roths
child who, after hearing his plan, said sarcastically, with a shrug of his
"Such fantastic ideas find encouragement only with Ernest
The man probably did not even know at that time who Ernest
Cassel was, but he soon learned. Cassel listened to him and asked
him to leave his papers for him to study, promising to return them
in a few days, which he did. Then Cassel chartered a steamer and
invited on a trip to Egypt a party of friends, financiers and others,
including Sir George Baker, the famous engineer who built the bridge
over the Firth of Forth, and Sir John Aird the contractor.
And while his friends enjoyed themselves, he spent his time
investigating and planning and calculating. A few years later, this
problem, which had baffled the engineering world for centuries,
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 155
was solved by the genius of one individual. And as was predicted,
irrigation brought untold riches to the country. The cotton crops
each year were uniform; the value of the land rose accordingly; and
it would not be surprising to know that, in spite of his fabulous
wealth, old Rothschild regretted he had not been a bit more gen
erous with his time and attention when the little, unknown man
laid before him the product of his fertile mind.
Ernest Cassel had many admirable qualities, the most important
of which was his ability to remain silent. Every man knew he could
go to Sir Ernest and confide his most precious secrets with the know
ledge that they were buried, never to come to life again through any
act of Sir Ernest's. He was lavishly generous and always headed
any subscription list for a worthy cause.
For years he was in charge of the King's financial affairs, even
while he was still Prince of Wales. He could be the best of good
friends, but also he had his dislikes and in these instances he knew
how to express them.
He lived in Grosvenor Square when I first started to work for
him on his medallion and a marble bust for his daughter. Later he
bought Brooke House, in Park Lane, from Lord Tweedmouth and
redecorated it actually, he rebuilt it until it became one of the
showplaces of the town. The entrance hall was in blue marble
from a quarry which had just been discovered in Canada, and this
was the first of it, to be used. It resembled lapis lazuli, so the effect
may be visualized.
The house contained an abundance of the rarest pictures. At
about the time when he moved into the new house, he learned that
Arthur Davis, one of the South African mining magnates, was in
difficulties and was compelled to sell his collection, which contained
choice Romneys and Reaburns, obtained before collecting had
become the fashion and while he still had a wide choice. And he
chose well. Sir Ernest (as he was since the Queen's Jubilee) bought
up the entire collection, which appeared to far greater advantage
1 5 6 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
in Brooke House than it could have in Davis' flat in St. James
During the racing seasons, twice a year, Moulton Paddocks, his
house at Newmarket, was the scene of many notable parties. The
King dined there often as well as in the town house.
His daughter Maud was the most sympathetic and delightful of
women, absolutely unspoiled and with a full understanding of the
needs and feelings of others, perhaps partly due to the fact that
she herself had been a sufferer for much of her short life. Her hus
band was Wilfred Ashley, of the Shaftesbury family, and a member
of Parliament. The marriage was an ideally happy one and she
bore him two children, both girls, the elder of whom, Edvina, recently
married Lord Mountbatten (a grandson of Queen Victoria) and last
year visited the " States " with him.
Many artists were permitted to work for Mrs. Ashley, for she
was devoted to art. Lszl6 and Zorn painted portraits of her, the
better of which was that done by Zorn, and I likewise was granted
this privilege, and made the bust of her as well. Alas! Like Lady
Alice Montagu, her visit to this world was of but short duration and,
in the prime of life, she left it. Her husband had a memorial placed
in Rumsey Cathedral which he asked me to design. The group
represents a woman seated on a cenotaph with a child on either side,
whom she has taken into her protecting arms. Above is a medallion
of Mrs. Ashley with the inscription:
Once didst thou shine a morning star among the living;
Now, no more, thou shinest an evening star among the dead.
The physician who cared for Mrs. Ashley as a child was Sir
Felix Semon, a friend of her father, Sir Ernest Cassd, He was a
throat specialist, esteemed as one of the best in his profession and
consulted by Queen Victoria and the other members of the Royal
Family. In a conspicuous position in his office a table had been
placed containing a mighty array of photographs of royalties as well
Mrs. Courtlandt Nicoll
Mrs. Henry Clews, Jr.
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 157
as of celebrities of the stage and the opera, each inscribed with a
flattering dedication to the physician. His wife was a singer of talent,
a pupil of the famous George Henschel, who himself sang with much
sentiment and understanding. Sir Felix was socially ambitious and
he and Lady Semon could be seen at all the first nights, big concerts
and public dinners of importance. He was an excellent after-dinner
speaker and had a remarkable memory for funny stories. Often when
he was called for attention to the King's throat which troubled him
sometimes as a result of excessive smoking, he took occasion to repeat
the latest jokes, to the keen amusement of those who happened to be
present. One day he regaled the King and the Duke of Connaught
with some of these stories, which were particularly funny and were met
with roars of laughter. Emboldened by their reception, he ventured to
tell of an incident at the Queen's Jubilee, when she raised one of the
professors of the medical college to the rank of Physician in Ordi
nary to the Queen. The man was exceedingly vain and anxious that
everyone should know of the event, so when he entered the lecture-
room he took a piece of chalk and under his name he wrote his new
title. After the lecture, when he was leaving, he turned again at
the door for a last, proud look, and saw that someone had added
"God save the Queen." This story was harmless enough in itself,
but not a muscle of the faces of his listeners so much as quivered,
and Sir Felix discovered himself in a painful extremity. He bowed
himself out and for some time his services at Court were dispensed
with. Poor Sir Felix was much distressed but he was helpless to
change matters, until one day Sir Ernest took occasion to tell the
King that Sir Felix was slowly fading away with grief; so the King
sent for him and forgave him. But he had had a useful lesson which
served him for the future.
This little story reminds me of another which I hope is not too
generally known to bear repetition. This occurred at Balmoral.
After dinner, while Queen Victoria was conversing with an ambas
sador, her attention was drawn to a far corner where her gentlemen-
158 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
and ladies-in-waiting were assembled and from whence floated
repeated outbursts of suppressed laughter, in which the Queen felt
she would like to participate; so she inquired what it was all about.
Dead silence. Again she asked the question. One of the ladies-in-
waiting stepped forward and explained the little joke which, though
also quite as harmless as that of Sir Felix, was not what the Queen
had expected. With a stern face she announced, "We are not
One of the most prominent women of that time was Lady Jetuxe,
the wife of Sir Francis Jeune, President of Probate, Divorce and Ad
miralty Division, later better known as Lord and Lady St. Helier.
Their house in Upper Wimpole Street was the rendezvous for many
illustrious people, mostly in public life. One might call Lady St.
Helier a Political Hostess. Her daughter, a really handsome girl,
assisted her admirably at her receptions, and afterward married that
Saint John Broderick so well known in Parliament and, later, as Sec
retary of State for War and for India. The marble bust I made of her
husband has been permanently placed in the Law Courts.
Lady Jeuae's sister Julia, Marchioness of Tweeddale (who exer
cised her prerogative to this title only by courtesy, even after her
marriage to Sir William Eden Evans-Gordon), was also actively en
gaged in politics but lacked that subtlety possessed by her sister. It
would seem that her one political achievement was the bringing about
of her husband's election to Parliament. She must have learned from
her sister the benefits of extensive hospitality. Her dinner parties were
far too large for the size of her dining room and she gathered together
all sorts of people. The present John Pierpont Morgan was a guest
at one of these crowded dinners and smiled good-naturedly at the
efforts of the servants to squeeze through the small remaining space.
There was no comparison between the culinary offerings of the
Marchioness and what one might confidently expect at the Bischoff-
sheim house in Park Lane, or in their country place, "Warren House,"
near Stanmore, where the viands approached the last word in gas-
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 159
tronomic creations. Mrs. Bischoffsheim modified the, probably to
her, slightly more vulgar saying, to " The way to people's hearts
leads through their throats." She understood better than many
hostesses the way to make her guests happy, the secret being to leave
them to their own devices. Some played golf, while others motored
or went on long walks with kindred spirits, or sat at cards the entire
day. Mrs. Bischoffsheim stipulated only that they return for meals.
I knew one councillor of the Austrian Embassy, Count B , who,
even after his transfer to Constantinople, spent his vacations at the
"fleshpots," except that he preferred Stanmore's to those of Babylon,
for which no one could possibly blame him.
It was at Stanmore that I first met Prince Francis of Teck, the
brother of Queen Mary, probably the handsomest man I have ever
seen. In all my recollection there was only one other who could
compare with him and that was the late Archduke Otto of Austria,
the heir presumptive to the crown. Prince Francis was not only
good to look at but was a most agreeable man to meet. Absolutely
democratic, he lived the life of a private gentleman in his flat in the
Marylebone section and, as may be inferred, was the most popular
bachelor in London. His interest in art brought him often to my
studio and, in his spare moments, he would sometimes pose for me.
I thought it a great pity not to preserve those manly features for
the future. When he died, quite unexpectedly, Queen Mary asked
to see the unfinished portrait, and bought it. Fortunately the face
was done and work on the hands sufficiently far advanced so that the
picture could be completed without much trouble.
"Kind hearts are more than coronets." (Tennyson.)
N April 22, 1901, I received the following note from
Sir Arthur Ellis:
DEAR MR. FUCHS:
The King wishes you to come with me on Thursday
next by twelve o'clock midday train from St. Pancras to Sandringham, for
one night, to go over the question of the Church monuments, etc., and I
am desired to let you know this.
His Majesty had expressed the wish to erect a memorial to the
late Queen, for which a space was to be cleared, and it was decided
that all that part at the left of the altar should be reserved for the
purpose, as this memorial would be more important than those which
When all these details had been settled, the King invited me to
stroll with him in the grounds. In the course of our walk he turned
suddenly to me and said:
"I would like to speak to you about the Coronation medal. The
time is approaching when the matter will have to be given consid
eration. Have you any views on the subject?"
"I have, Sir/ 1 said I. "A few days ago while visiting Sir Arthur,
I happened to notice a plain bronze medal which Napoleon the Great
had arranged to have issued from St. Helena after his death to his
former generals, the poetry of which impressed me: i Napoleon, to
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
his companions in glory, his last thoughts from St. Helena/ It bore
the date of his death, May 5th, 1 82 1 . A wreath of laurels was around
its border. This seemed a little heavy for the medal itself, but should
Your Majesty approve of the idea, I should be happy to submit designs
of what I have in mind/'
This was my first intimation that the King wanted me to design
the Coronation medal. I was commissioned also to make sketches
and drawings for medals for Art, Science and Music, all to bear
on the obverse the image of the King and Queen. In fact, the year
1901 brought me a great volume of work for my royal master. In
addition to all this sculpture I made two memorials of Empress
Frederick who died that September one for Sandringham and one
for Balmoral; and also a bust of Queen Victoria for Balmoral.
For the Coronation medal I had sittings from both their Majes
ties during the spring and summer. The reverse was to be plain,
with only the initials "E.R. VII." This medal was accepted just
as I submitted it. The border was composed of a delicately formed
wreath of laurel surmounted by a crown, through the cross of which
ran the ring to which the ribbon (dark blue with a purple stripe
162 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
through the center and two white stripes at the end) was attached.
The demand for a coronation medal to be sold to the public became
so universal that the firm of Elkington, who looked after the strik
ing and finishing of the official medal, asked and obtained permission
from the King to issue one for which they were allowed to use
my portraits reversed that is, they faced right instead of left.
The wreath around the border and the crown were omitted. This
medal gave me a chance at a more elaborate reverse side, although
naturally it had to be treated more or less conventionally. I depicted
Britannia resting on her shield ornamented with the royal arms,
with Westminster Abbey in the distance.
This popular medal was to be issued in different sizes in gold,
silver, copper and even tin and sold throughout the United Kingdom
and in the Colonies. Schools would offer it for prizes; some of the
gold specimens would be inserted in cups or plates to make distinc
tive and valuable gifts. Up to the time when it was announced that
the Coronation would be postponed on account of the illness of the
King, about 950,000 had been sold and, at the last moment, 40,000
The medal for Art, Science and Music gave me excellent scope
for the reverse. I had a free hand for the design and the one ac
cepted was of three figures grouped around a fountain of truth and
beauty, from which they drew their inspiration.
The medallion of Queen Victoria for Sandringham Church was
somewhat larger than the others and was supported by the figures
of two angels. When the legend for the inscription was submitted,
the King altered the wording, the autograph of which I reproduce
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 163
During the month preceding his coronation, the King's duties
pressed so heavily that those immediately about him wondered how
he managed to survive the tax upon his energies. But in spite of it
all, he took the keenest interest in the progress of the memorial to
When the day of the coronation approached, I received the
official invitation to attend the ceremonies in the Abbey; but what
immeasurably touched me was this note from Miss Knollys on June
DEAR HERR FUCHS,
The Queen thinks you may like to have one of her tickets for the Tri-
forium in the Abbey for the Coronation.
In greatest haste.
In consequence of which I believe I was one of few who could boast
of having two tickets for this rare and impressive ceremony.
One day, while painting Maud Ashley at her home, she received
the call of Lord and Lady Normanton, whose country seat was in
Somerley near Ringwood in Hampshire, where they spent the major
part of the year. My portraits pleased them to the extent that
they asked me to paint some for them, too. Subsequently I went
down to prepare for my work there. Somerley comprised an estate
of several thousand acres with an imposing manor in stone which
closely approached the Italian, renaissance ia design. It was built
by the father of the present peer who filled it with many beautiful
pieces of furniture, china and silver, but took especial pride in his
picture collection, which was so large and important that the walls
of the Gallery he added to the house for the purpose were covered
to the ceilings with paintings. He possessed the chiaroscuros for
the window of the New College Chapel at Oxford by Reynolds, as
well as his Miss Falconer by Moonlight. He had a large Sir Thomas
Lawrence and a Constable, several Gainsboroughs, Guardis and Can-
164 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
alettos. Each article of furniture in this vast gallery had been
selected with infinite patience and understanding and without regard
to the cost. The present peer married a Miss Byng of the Strafford
family, and she guarded all these treasures with jealous pride. She
it was who, wishing to add to the group of ancestors, had invited me
down to paint the Earl. The light coming into the gallery from
the top changed throughout the day with the sun, which made it
impossible to work there, inspiring as such a studio would have been;
but conditions in the billiard room were better and, as it was little
used, I painted there.
The generous permission accorded to inspect the pictures and
art objects attracted many visitors. One day while I was working,
Mrs. Herbert Asquith came over with a party from a neighboring
estate and, after having made a tour of the house and gallery, came
to have a look at the portrait. The sitter and Lady Normanton
welcomed an opinion from so keenly critical an eye, trained among
the priceless pictures of her father, Sir Charles Tennant. She cast
a cursory glance at it and remarked to the cMtelaine :
"Why don't you have your husband's portrait painted by a real
On September fifteenth I received this note from Balmoral:
DEAR HERR FUCHS,
The King desires me to say that he should be glad if you could come here
on Saturday next (leaving London on Friday evening), so that he may be
able to discuss with you the designs of Craithie Church memorials.
Yours very truly,
The two memorials in question were to Queen Victoria and to
Empress Frederick; the first a bust, to be placed in a niche cut in
one of the monumental granite columns, and the other a medallion.
Balmoral Castle in Aberdeenshire (Scotland) belonged originally
to the Gordons and then to the Farquharsons; it went afterwards
A Study in Blue and Gold
The Lady in Blue
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 165
to the Fifes, the last male descendant of whom was the Duke of
Fife, who married Louise, daughter of King Edward. Balmoral was
bought by the Prince Consort in 1852 and it was the favorite home of
the Queen. They built the castle of granite in Norman style and
completed it in 1856. The approaching visitor is greeted by the sight
of the big tower with its snow-white turrets many miles distant. It
is surrounded by mountains which protect it from the sudden on
slaughts of an inclement climate. The interior is decorated with
dignified simplicity and an eye to comfort rather than luxury, though
this may have been only the impression produced by the general eS ect
I spent most of my days preparing a series of rough sketches so
as to have them in readiness for the King when he should arrive-
There was a large house party including the Prince and Princess
of Wales; Count Mensdorff of the Austrian Embassy; Sir Michael
Herbert, British Ambassador to the United States, and Lady Her
bert, who was a Miss Wilson of New York; Reuben D. Sassoon, the
noted sportsman and friend of the King; Sir James Reid, private
physician to Queen Victoria; Lord Mount Edgcumbe; Lord Fax-
quhar and his deputy, Sir Charles Frederick and Eduardo de Mar-
tino, marine painter, who was a favorite with the Royal Family and
was often invited. Whenever the King went on a yachting trip or
to Cowes de Martino was asked. His art being so limited in scope,
the King's entourage would buy his marines or have him paint pic
tures of their yachts. Lipton was one of those firm friends "who
make salt sweet and blackness bright. " Although slightly paralyzed,
de Martino was always in good spirits and full of fun, always drawing
little marines on the menus with a few well chosen lines, which he
would present to a fair neighbor, adding a gallant phrase.
The night after my arrival, before going in to dinner the Royal
Family held their usual little circle. I was standing somewhat at a
distance, unobtrusively, when I noticed that the King, while address
ing someone in front of me, had fixed his glance on my coat. Before
166 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
I could investigate to learn the cause of it, he called me to him and
inquired why I did not wear the Coronation medaL I had to admit
that I had received none. At this moment, the doors were thrown
open and the party proceeded into the dining room. It was rec
tangular, as was the table. The guests numbered thirty-five or
forty. The King sat at the center with the Princess of Wales on
his right, while opposite sat the Prince of Wales with the Queen
beside him. There were more gentlemen than ladies so that de
Martino and I found ourselves together at the end of the table.
After we were seated a party of bagpipers entered, gaudily
dressed in their Scottish kilts, and, playing their weird airs, marched
three times around the table quite an impressive ceremony.
The favorite dish of the evening seemed to be marrowbones, of
a size such as I had never seen before. They were served daintily
wrapped in napkins tied with ribbon. The marrow had been de
tached from the bone and replaced in it, and was eaten with spe
cially made spoons with long handles. They seemed to delight
everyone. De Martino too thoroughly enjoyed his and had scarcely
finished when a servant placed before him a huge dish of spaghetti.
Poor de Martino ! He nearly fainted. At first he did not know what
to do, but when he saw the King looking at him and smiling, he had
to smile too and tackle his unwelcome course. Fortunately I alone
heard his comments in Italian and was glad, because they were not
suitable for everyone's ears.
This most considerate attention the King wished to pay him was
not quite fully appreciated because de Martiao, ignorant of the sur
prise in store for him, had helped himself twice to the marrowbones
which, in view of their size, was a brave undertaking.
Next morning the King sent for me rather early and, before dis
cussing the program of the day, he handed me a case containing
the Coronation medal, saying, "I am sorry you should have been
overlooked; it was an oversight and besides," with a twinkle in his
eye, "you ought to have one since it is your own work." That
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 167
evening at dinner, the other guests wore their miniature decorations
which is the correct thing to do when in civilian clothes, and I blazed
forth with my large medal, by Royal command, but not in accord
ance with my own wishes.
During this short visit, I crowded all I could into my sketch
book of portraits of the notables present, who I am sure must have
heaved a sigh of relief when I left.
There was an abundance of commissions for portraits, far exceed
ing my fondest expectations. They averaged twenty paintings to
one single bust, and that probably of someone already departed.
Not seldom had I to do the portrait in painting when I felt the sub
ject was an excellent one for sculpture and so informed the sitter.
But portraiture in sculpture somewhat resembles the taste for an
oyster, in that both are acquired, except that so far the oyster still
seems to have the preference. When people once learn to appre
ciate the difficulties represented by a likeness in marble or bronze
and the art in it when it is a success, then I am confident this method
will be more generally patronized. As to the difficulties a face on
canvas presents only one view which, if lifelike, is all that is expected
of it. But a portrait "in the round" is a multiplicity of present
ments from all angles. How frequent it is that the artist can obtain
a good likeness in profile when the bust would be hopelessly unlike
in full face, or the contrary; which explains why patronage is denied
to sculpture. The risk of failure is too obvious. In this branch of
art there is no possibility of impressionism. The few attempts to
introduce such practices have proved their fallacies. Those master
pieces of portraiture which gave to Rodin his name and just fame
were his early works, on which he spent extreme care and time to
finish them with that incomparable skill in caressing the marble,
which he understood better than almost any other sculptor. When, as
in later years, he left most of it in the rough, Nature's divine hand
was infinitely greater and preferable. One look at his Balzac will
illustrate my meaning.
168 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
Some time ago I visited an exhibition of portrait sculpture by a
man well-known here and abroad, all executed in that school which
attempts to express boldness by indistinctness and slurring. To
employ the chisel for an impression of sketchiness seems to me like
speeding in a Rolls-Royce over a country road filled with cobble
stones. Sketching is an art. It is the gift of expressing with a few
well-defined strokes a hasty impression; and if each of these strokes
testifies to the mastery of the artist, the sketch often stirs the imag
ination by its freshness and spontaneity to a greater degree than
the finished work. But to look at a sketch by a dauber is like hav
ing to read a sentence with every word misspelled.
Some of my sitters of that early period were Mr. and Mrs. Mo-
berly BelL Mr. Bell was the assistant manager of the Times, a big man
in stature and in mind. His head was large with an aquiline nose, a
firm mouth and a bold forehead. I enjoyed painting him, although
I wished myself sufficiently advanced in my technique to let myself
go as I did in black and white. His wife's portrait presented those
problems which confront each painter who tries to portray feminine
beauty in its maturer form, without adding to his palette the two
essential colors known as kindness and consideration. This pic
ture was not appreciated by the family and forms part of my own
collection. I console myself with the reflection that even the re
nowned Sir Joshua was not spared the disappointment of finding
that some of his sitters saw themselves with "that inward eye"
which differed so materially from his own.
An amusing old fellow was Martin Colnaghi, the picture dealer
from Pall Mall. He was a type; small, nearly eighty years old,
but as agile as a lizard; longish hair curled over his ears, full white
beard and moustache; and tiny eyes which saw far more than one
supposed. He had a remarkable flair for old masters and bought
up Franz Hals canvases long before they began to be coveted. In
fact,\ ^after he had accumulated them, he also understood how to
arrange for their distribution. I considered it a compliment that
The Call from the Beyond
" Where Strength and Tenderness Unite, there Sound the Truest Harmonies "
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 169
he should have cared to pose for me, and a greater still that the pic
ture should have been purchased by a client of his, who took it to
Germany with the intention of presenting it to a museum. If this
was ever done, the echo of its report has not yet reached my listen
With our new enterprises, there are always critics galore those
kind friends who are so concerned for our welfare that they will
stop at nothing to save us from failure and ridicule, for which they
feel certain we are destined. They are the same friends who will be
the first to welcome us into their outstretched aims if those pre
dicted failures should turn out successes.
It is far from my intention to give the impression that I was one
of those overwhelming successes. But once started on a clearly de
fined path, I persistently followed it, so far without regret. And my
failures have been useful in teaching me what to avoid the next time.
But in art, as in other walks of life, one has to go on satisfied with
the happiness which every branch of creative occupation offers in
such abundance and with the knowledge that when the time comes
that final judgment is pronounced, however adverse it may be, we
will at least be spared from hearing the decision.
But I must admit that I was filled with joy and pride and a
world of courage when, in the spring of 1903, the King commissioned
me to paint his portrait, which was to be presented to his German
regiment, of which he was the honorary colonel, for their messroom.
He offered me a studio in Buckingham Palace, where it would be
easier for him to give the necessary sittings. His valet brought
the uniform and decorations, and initiated me into their intri
cacies. But the uniform was of German origin; the sleeves were
broad and clumsy and did not fit properly. Therefore the King
suggested that Mr. French of Meyer and Mortimer, his tailors, come
and look at them and recommend the changes needed.
Mr. French came promptly to criticize and criticism it was!
After he saw my poor sleeves, he left not a shred of them. I had to
i 7 o WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
paint them over and over again. They gave me almost more work
than the rest of the portrait, because in his officiousness he took his
task too seriously and the suggestion to criticize too literally. How
I did wish that he would accept me as a customer of his so that I
might have my little revenge!
Morgan Medal (reverse)
"Pride in their port, defiance in their eye." (Goldsmith.)
| AY, the month of the opening of the Academy, saw the
King's portrait not quite finished. It is a long-estab-
Eshed custom that the Royal Family selects an evening
to visit the Academy privately and undisturbed. As
a matter of courtesy, the council, headed by the
president, assembles to receive its Royal guests and accompany them
through the galleries. On these occasions their Majesties invite
such of their friends whom they wish to honor in this manner. That
particular morning I had a sitting with the King who, before leaving,
handed me a ticket and said:
" We are going to the Academy after dinner at about nine o'clock.
Will you please use this ticket? "
I bowed and thanked him, but during the day could think of
little else. Knowing that since the incident of the postage stamps,
I was persona ingratissima with the Royal Academy, which I could
hardly explain to the King, I did not foresee an especially agreeable
meeting. Nor were my misgivings unfounded. Almost appre
hensively 1 presented my ticket at about a quarter to nine o'clock
at the landing to the big staircase, at the other end of which waited
in nervous suspense Sir Edward Poynter, in his presidential robes
with the chain, and the other members of the council. The outpost
in gold-braided uniform inquired my name, which he reported to
the group above. Consternation was noticeable, even at a dis
tance. But there was my ticket and my name, two indisputable
172 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
facts; and I was bidden to go up. The president bowed most for
mally to me; if the others did the same, it was imperceptibly. Sir
Edward obviously considered this an inopportune occasion for pre
senting me to them. Sir George Frampton, whom I had met at the
house of Lady Lewis, was present in his official capacity as a mem
ber of the council and came to shake hands with me, which was the
extent of our conversation. Meanwhile the president and his council
had retired to another position.
The next arrival was Sir Arthur Ellis, who was not long in dis
covering and appreciating the humor of the situation. Here was
I, a guest of the Academy, so to speak, left to myself in a remote
corner where I had to seek refuge in order to protect myself from the
chilling atmosphere which surrounded me. He joined me and we
went together to behold the exhibits pending the arrival of the
With the appearance of the King, all was changed. With that
exquisite savoir faire which was his own, he brought life into the
assemblage. He spoke to everyone and, of course, made no excep
tion of me. The Queen and Princess Victoria and their retinue all
showed me greater consideration than did my fellow artists. When
the visit came to an end and the Royal party had taken leave of
the proud Academicians, I felt tempted to say to the president what
a witty actress said once after a dinner to Hans Makart, known for
his taciturnity, who had neglected her during the whole meal, "Now,
Professor, let's talk of something else."
Not all artists took such an attitude toward me. The Royal Society
of British Artists, of which Whistler was a former president, invited
me to become a member, and I was happy to accept. The Langham
Artists' Society also elected me into their Council and I can recall
many pleasant hotirs spent with them. Even a few Royal Academi
cians kept up an intercourse which one should imagine to be nat
ural among a community of artists. One of these was Alma-Tadema,
known for his true fellowship. No artist was to him too small to
Mrs. Edmund C. Randolph
Mrs. Anthony J. Drexel y Jr.
When Marjorie Gould
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 173
extend his outstretched hand to. His studio was only a short
distance from mine and sometimes on his way to town he would
He was rather a short man with a large head; his hair and beard,
which had been golden, had turned almost completely gray. Always
amiable, jovial and happy he was liked by everyone. His art was
then at the height of its appreciation and at about this time he
sold one of his pictures for twelve and another for eighteen thousand
pounds, which contrasted sharply with the prices obtained by other
immortals. His house in Grove End Road was one of the sights of
London, probably even unique in the world. The studio was pan
eled in light wood richly carved; the ceilings coated with silver
toned down to an agreeable gray. The furniture had all been de
signed by himself. There were seats along the walls like Grecian
benches. There were vases, urns and colored glass in profusion.
Beautiful tissues, from the daintiest gauze to the heaviest bro
cades richly interwoven with threads of gold and silver, lay about
From the studio, three steps of highly polished bronze led to a
Httle atrium or cortile, in the center of which was a sunken basin
lined with colorful mosaic, the same material with which the floor
was laid out. At night this room was illuminated only by concealed
lighting; and in the daytime the rays filtered through the colored
glass windows lent it all that effect of Oriental richness which is
the dominant note of Tadema's pictures. Here were the oleander
trees with their blossoms of red or pink, which he liked so much to
introduce into his paintings and so offset the cold whites of his
marbles. A door of solid bronze, also highly polished, separated his
studio from the rest of the house; it led immediately to a smaller
semi-circled space, one half of it paneled in white wood, while
the other half formed a sort of conservatory leading into the
garden. These panels were covered with pictures, the offerings of his
host of artist friends, and included a Sargent, Solomon, Poynter,
174 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
Boughton, Seymour Lucas, J. J. Shannon, Luke Fildes, a Mesdag,
and many others. Through this miniature gallery one reached
the dining room, richly furnished in carved oak, with old Dutch
silver on the sideboards and shelves. The intimates of the house
were also permitted a glimpse of Lady Tadema's studio on the first
floor, a Dutch room with a high studio window, filled with a hundred
and one articles of bric-d-brac, for the accumulation of which I
should fancy that her friends were responsible.
Theirs was a happy family and a large one, too, because all their
many friends claimed the Tademas for themselves. Once a week
they would assemble there to feast the eye and delight the ear. It
was one of the few places where Paderewski would voluntarily sit
at the piano and caress the keys with his magic touch. The instru
ment was a masterpiece both as to quality of tone and decoration.
The case was of carved rosewood in harmony with the furniture,
and embodied those pure classical lines that appealed so strongly
to Alma-Tadema. The cover bore affectionate dedications from
Paderewski and those other artists who, unable to honor the host
with palette or chisel, brought their musical offerings.
After the death of Tadema the family endeavored to dispose of the
house in its entirety and it is a pity this could not have been done
successfully, instead of its contents being sold piece by piece and once
more scattered over the globe in all directions, to return perhaps
whence they had originally been brought to form the treasure house
of a reveler in colors.
Alma-Tadema's house was in the art colony to the north, in St.
John's Wood, the colony to the south being in Chelsea. Both har
bored great men, whose presence has made history and fame for
those suburbs. Chelsea was more densely built up and on lower
ground than St. John's Wood, which is on a higher, open plain,
where every home has still its small garden, which is such a com
fort to those who are compelled to remain in town throughout the
year. Most of my friends were in the northern colony. Not all of
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 175
them were artists. One of them was Dr. Ludwig Mond whose house
was quite near to mine.
I had known Dr. Mond since my early days in Rome. Like
Sir Ernest Cassel, he was a self-made man. Both came to England
from the Rhine province in their youth to seek better opportunities
than Germany held for them. Mond was a chemist and perfected
a process of manufacturing soda which made him rich at a time
when he could indulge his love for the old masters whose works were
then still at his bidding. He spent his winters in Italy, especially
in Rome, and each year added to his representative collection which,
now that his widow has passed away, has reverted to the National
Gallery. It contains an early Raphael, two Botticellis and a Titian
today priceless treasures. In the assembling of his gallery he
sought the advice and counsel of Doctor Richter, an accredited
authority, whose daughter is now a member of the scientific staff
of the Metropolitan Museum. With such a man to guide him, Doc
tor Mond was spared many of the pitfalls and disappointments now
adays so frequently encountered by collectors.
His son Alfred, later Sir Alfred Mond, became a pillar of the Liberal
Party and was Commissioner of Works under Lloyd George the same
position which Lulu (Lewis) Harcourt held before in the Asquith
The latter was ideally suited for the position. He had love for art
and understanding too. From the beginning of our acquaintance I
had done work for him and his family. It was through him that I
came to know the Sheridans, his cousins, whose mother was a daugh
ter of the eminent historian, Motley. He brought Mrs. Sheridan,
Senior (the mother-in-law of Clare Sheridan), to my studio and I de
signed for her a memorial to her two departed sons, which was placed
in the little church at Frampton.
During the early days of the World War, when I found myself
isolated and abandoned over night, Lulu Harcourt showed a sym
pathetic understanding and loyalty and stood by me in a manner
1 76 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
I shall never forget. The saying that "If once an Englishman is
your friend, he is your friend for life" has never been more strikingly
confirmed. Although then a member of the Cabinet, he never hes
itated about coming to my studio, thus affirming his belief in my
allegiance to England, which he had never doubted. When it became
evident that the strife would be prolonged, he advised me to return
to the United States to await his word to come back. He wrote
frequently and proved by word and deed his unshaken faith.
After the signing of the armistice, I became restless and home
sick for England and my studio, which I had religiously continued
to keep against the day when I should be able once more to resume
life in that abode which held enshrined my happiest memories. I
wrote to Harcourt about this. I also deputed a friend who was just
then returning to England, to discuss with and learn from Lulu his
opinion about my contemplated return. To my regret I soon re
ceived this letter from him:
MY DEAR PUCHS,
It was very kind of you to send me your peace medal, which was de
livered to me personally by Sir J. Leigh Wood. I wrote to him and I dare
say he will send you my letter, and said that you would be wise not to return
here till perhaps late in next year. By that time the anti-foreign feeling
will have begun to die down more than at present, and you will find things
more comfortable. . . .
But apparently the fates had decreed otherwise. A short time
after this, like a bolt from the blue sky, came a commission for a statue
of the late H. J. Heinz of Pittsburg, toward the erection of which
in the administration building, ten thousand workmen had con
tributed to honor the friend who had been a father to them. As
the sketches progressed, the work increased in importance, a veri
fication of those words of Schiller's:
And the much makes the more.
The late Howard W. Bed, MD.
Head of the American Red Cross Hospital, Peignton, England
Sir Johnston Forbes-Robertson
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 177
In the final form the design had expanded to a memorial with
architectural background and allegorical sculpture, and it took me
the greater part of three years to complete it. It overshadowed and
caused me to discard all my plans for the future. It made me feel
that after many years I was confronted with a propitious oppor
tunity to establish myself once more and, so to speak, take root
in this new country, which I had been learning to love more and
ever more. No flower will bear too frequent transplanting, and
I had had a diversified experience in countries and people, as
well as a variety of occupation. The time approaches when the
wanderlust should have abated, that rambling spirit of youth, and
we feel the longing for the calmer pursuits of life and for meditation
In the meantime two other occurrences influenced my decision
for the future; one was the loss, by death, of my friend Harcourt;
the other was the termination of the Crown-lease on my studio, of
which I had been the fortunate holder for twenty-one years.
Since the boundaries of my kingdom are the walls of my studio,
and since the sun shines here as it does elsewhere, I decided that
here I would remain. There are two forms of hospitalitythe
aggressive, perhaps the more welcome and, it may be, the more flatter
ing; and there is also the passive, which allows for one's inclinations
and respects one's idiosyncrasies, and it is that form which this
country has lavished upon me, and for which I am deeply grateful.
In the beginning of 1903 the memorial to Prince Christian Vic
tor, a sarcophagus surmounted by an obelisk, was completed in
marble and placed in the Braye Chapel at Windsor. On the sar
cophagus was seated the marble figure of the mourning Bellona.
Her hands were crossed and resting on a sword entwined with laurels,
the hilt of which was formed into a little " Victory." The monu
ment contains two inscriptions, one on the obelisk which reads as
178 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
PRINCE OF SCHLESWIG-HOLSTEIN
CAPTAIN AND BREVET MAJOR
KING'S ROYAL RIFLE CORPS
WHO DIED FOR HIS QUEEN
AND COUNTRY IN SOUTH AFRICA
BORN AT WINDSOR CASTLE
APRIL I4TH, 1867
DIED AT PRETORIA
OCTOBER 29TH, IQQO
HAS BEEN ERECTED BY
HIS DEVOTED GRANDMOTHER
VICTORIA R. Si I.
In the steps were engraved these lines:
SOLDIER OF QUEEN AND COUNTRY, WELL HAST THOU
ACQUITTED THYSELF, BELOVED BY ALL AND BLEST:
SOLDIER OF CHRIST, WELL HAST THOU FOUGHT AND NOW
LIFE'S BATTLE WON, CHRIST BIDS THE WARRIOR REST
DULCE ET DECORUM EST PRO PATRIA MORI.
"My wants are few, I only wish a hut of stone that I may call my own." (Holmes.)
| NE spring day as I was passingRegent's Park onmy way
to Hampstead I noticed a sign announcing an im
pending sale by auction of a property which seemed
to me desirable. Standing in its own grounds of
about four acres and surrounded by immense trees,
was a Gothic house, equally quaint outside and in. The floor was
on different levels on account of the many additions that had been
made at various times. The dining room was octagonal and looked
out upon the park, which delighted me. From it led a rather impos
ing terrace into the gardens a rare feature in a town house. The
roof was gabled, which alone was a considerable attraction and
added to the desirability of the house, and the whole impressed me
as an ideal spot for the home of an artist. For more than half a
century it had belonged to the distinguished Bunsen family, which
boasted Von Bunsen, the scientist and inventor, and many other
well-known members. Among these was a Prussian ambassador
to Great Britain, a friend of Bismarck. One of his descendants is
Sir Maurice de Bunsen, who concluded his many years in the diplo
matic service as ambassador to Austria at the beginning of the war.
I purchased the lease from his sister, Baroness Deichmann, whose
husband was a remarkable man. The head of the old banking house
of Horstman & Co., he possessed vast wealth, which permitted him
to indulge in his hobby of owning fine horses. His carriage horses
were so perfectly matched that he drove them four-in-hand at the
dub meets famous in Hyde Park.
i8o WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
His was a conspicuous figure; the thin, drawn face with short
cropped beard and his big black goggles made him an easy and
tempting subject for caricaturists. The possibilities in this direc
tion were not overlooked by Spy, of Vanity Fair, whose efforts
scored an unequivocal success. At their place in Belgravia were
lavished on his horses all the comforts and luxuries which he denied
At that time I thought that a lease for twenty-two years was almost
a lease for eternity and I readily built a studio for sculpture in a corner
of the garden. But when I look back and realize how the years have
flown, I only regret that I ever anticipated those troubles which never
materialized and thus put a cloud between the sun and myself, when
I knew how essential its rays are for my very existence. . . .
Like the telegraph poles flying by the window of the moving train,
so the events succeed each other in undisturbed reduplication. ' ' The
eternal landscape of the past." Few happenings stand out forceful
enough so as to detach themselves from the uniformity of everyday
Abbey Lodge with its surrounding garden and quaint layout offered
attraction to many friends and visitors ; they mustered in great variety;
they formed a motley crowd as only the artist's studio can unite suc
cessfully, imparting thus something to its atmosphere which blends
discords into harmonies.
One evening a friend, from an embassy, invited me to go with him
to see Isadora Duncan who was dancing nightly at the Duke of York
Theater. It was at the time when her classic interpretations, and
those of Maud Allen, were the vogue, and they drew crowded houses.
Isadora then still possessed her sylph-like figure.
After the performance we waited* in her dressing room, to
accompany her to the Savoy, where supper was served for four.
With her was Lady Scott, the sculptress and widow of the explorer
A Modern Juno
The Japanese Pupil
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 181
of the Antarctic. The fair dancer was in exuberant spirits, hardly
to have been augmented by the Pol Roger of choice vintage, to which
she helped herself rather generously. When closing time came she
refused to go home; to her the evening had just begun. According
to regulations, however, lights were turned out and we crowded
into a cab with the intention of driving to Lady Scott's studio. This
suggestion of Isadora's recalled the fact that my studio was close
by, so we descended and entered it. The dim lights of the large
room, outlining the statuary in a mysterious gloom, the ingratiating
airs which my companion wrung from the stoic pipes of my little
organ, and the balmy breezes pervading the garden, were all too
strong for the dancer's exotic temperament. She reached for some
of the draperies which lay about, disappeared behind a screen, to
emerge in an attire which even exalted purists would have excused
because of that atmosphere, and danced in a way to display her art
in its perfection. I never wished to see her dance again, so that I
might preserve this picture of her art in its undisturbed beauty.
At about this same time I met a most interesting man, Hector
von Baltazzi, a Hungarian by birth, whose brother was Aristide von
Baltazzi, the most important breeder of racehorses in Austria-
Hungary. While I was still in Vienna, this name figured in the
sporting columns every day. Hector was a dashing cavalry officer
and rode his brother's horses to victory. He was one of the inti
mates of Kronprinz Rudolph of Austria, and because he was a witness of
the tragedy at Meyerling, he had to leave Austria never to return
again. He first settled in Paris where his fortune and name per
mitted him to lead a life of leisure.
It was there that he discovered Lina Cavalieri and her beautiful
voice in a cabaret. At his expense she was educated and trained for
opera. When I met him in London, his star was already on the
wane. He had lost his nerve for riding; nothing could induce him
182 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
to mount a horse again. His money was all gone and his existence
was a precarious one. Once when I saw him in Paris, prior to this,
he invited me to go with him to see Cavalieri, who had just begun to
sing in grand opera. She occupied a charming fiat near Park Mon-
ceau. It was the first time I had seen her and I was struck by her
beauty and by her voice. As if we had been old friends, we went
through operas and songs, neither of us concerned with the hour
or the engagements we might have had. Baltazzi suggested that I
paint her and nothing would have pleased me more, but her engage
ment had just started and she was ambitious to make a real success,
and the sittings were deferred. During the London season she sang
at Covent Garden Opera. Her beauty made a favorable impression;
her voice, however, did not carry well in such an enormous building.
Still, she was fted by everyone, myself not excepted.
One day I gave a Bohemian luncheon in her honor at my studio
in Abbey Lodge, to which I invited some of her friends and admirers:
Lady Charles Beresford, the Duchess of Marlborough, the Duchess
of Sutherland, Soveral, Count Mensdorff, Prince Francis of Teck
and several others. It was the height of the season. London was
immersed in gayety and enveloped in sunshine, to enjoy the charm
of which luncheon was served under the great elm tree before the
house, whose outstretched branches formed one of the main attrac
tions of the property.
When we were seated and luncheon had commenced, the con
versation became animated. Jests flew back and forth, Several's
presence ensuring a goodly supply of them. No one was happier
than I, when, suddenly, there was a scream and Cavalieri jumped up
in evident terror. Nobody understood at first. I saw her counting
us again and again, and then she said:
"It's no use, I cannot stay; there are thirteen of us."
Great consternation. At first we thought she was joking and
wanted to tease us, but we soon realized that she was serious. I was
at my wits' end. An idea flashed through my mind. I went into
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 183
the conservatory near by and brought out a little marmoset which
had been given to me once on my departure from New York. He was
not larger than a teacup, but he saved the day. We seated him on a
chair at the table, where he partook of lunch with us, which for
him consisted of bananas; but he played his part and served the pur
pose as well as if he had been a full-fledged gorilla. First there was
some bewilderment, but when they recognized the erstwhile diminu
tive occupant of his small cage, there ensued a storm of laughter and
cheers, in which Lina led. And the merriment continued long after
the luncheon was over.
Soon afterward I commenced to work for Sir George and Lady
Cooper; I was to paint a portrait of his eldest son as well as of Sir
George, whose life story read like another fairy tale. In Chicago
lived an old bachelor named George Smith, a banker. After the big
fire, 1871, with singular discrimination he acquired land in the parts
of town where values later increased. He divided his time between
Chicago and London, where he occupied a small room at the Reform
Club and, altogether, spent a most frugal life. When he died it
was divulged that his estate was of a size transcending even Ameri
can conceptions of wealth. He had bequeathed it to two of his rel
atives a nephew in New York and a niece in England, a Mrs,
Cooper, whose husband was a lawyer in Scotland. Both of these
heirs understood better how to employ their uncle's money than he
had ever known. James Henry Smith, the nephew, bought for him
self a palatial mansion on Fifth Avenue and an estate in Tuxedo
Park, which in exclusiveness rivals Newport. Then he proceeded
to enjoy the life he had long craved.
His sister did likewise in England; her mansion was in Grosvenor
Square, her estate in Hampshire, and her husband's extensive shoot
ing grounds in Kingussie, Invernesshire. No less an authority than
Sir Joseph Duveen was responsible for the vast accumulation of art
treasures which filled their houses. James Henry in America was
184 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
equally fortunate in relying for his house and furnishing on the ex
quisite taste which made Stanford White such an outstanding figure
of his time. The Croesus-like entertainments of both were com
mensurate with their establishments.
Sir George's dinner parties were so elaborate that I sometimes
thought he wanted to compensate for their lack during his earlier
days. At one of these sumptuous functions, which reminded me
vividly of the state dinners at court, I sat next to an unassuming,
almost ascetic-looking gentleman with big eyeglasses and a demeanor
which contrasted sharply with the opulence of his surroundings. I
felt drawn toward my neighbor. His simplicity appealed to me.
During the meal he sat in deep thought, with little interest in what
was transpiring about him. Chance or intention made us regularly
neighbors; not so surprising when it is considered that we were
both present in a professional capacity only. Course after course
appeared and was removed without his having partaken of it. His
meal amid this epicurean feasting consisted of a few vegetables,
fruits and a small tray of nuts. When I knew him well enough to
venture to inquire about the cause of his abstemiousness, he ex
plained that he was a member of the scientific staff of the British
Museum and had been sent down to Hampshire to examine some
objects that had been taken from the ground there, and which Sir
George considered worthy of scientific investigation. He found his
work so absorbing in character that the day was always too short and
his strength insufficient for its accomplishment. His frail body
would often revolt; he would feel tired; he would have to rest and
lose much precious time; and so it occurred to him that a meager
diet would relieve the body of unnecessary effort and energy which
he could use to better purpose.
The logic of this struck me forcibly. I also had more than I
could crowd into a day. Although not by any means of delicate
physique, I nevertheless belonged to that class who are born tired.
There never was time enough for all I wanted to do, and consequently
The Artisfs Sister
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 185
I eagerly gave his diet a trial. It was not many months before I
became convinced of its soundness, and this conviction has increased
with the passing of the years. Material things of life meant less and
less to me in inverse ratio to the growth of the spiritual side. Such
living promotes well-being and contentment, and is of such funda
mental importance that if greater attention were given to it much
physical as well as mental and moral suffering would be obviated.
James Henry Smith spent his summers in Europe; when in Eng
land he often visited his sister, and it was there that I first met him-
The work he wished me to do for him brought him to my studio,
and he came there often. Doubtless the poetic quaintness of the
place attracted him more than the personality of the artist. Among
the friends he brought was the Gould family, with whom my ac
quaintance dated from that time. With the beginning of the
shooting season Mr. Smith went north to his Lodge Dunachton,
near Kincraig, and before leaving he invited me to be his -guest dur
ing my vacation and paint his portrait. He had a succession of
visitors belonging to the best-known families of both continents.
During my sojourn there, word came from the extreme north of
Scotland that another prominent American, Mr. William P. Clyde,
invited me to paint his likeness, should I have the inclination and
time. Painting under such conditions is delightful. After a few
hours of working assiduously, one feels entitled to a long walk in the
fields, filling one's lungs with refreshing air borne from the sea.
Nature is such a good companion; how resplendent the endless va
riety of her colors, how ever changing her light effects and glorious
The ants busily occupied with their lifework; the butterflies, the
bees, hirniming their paeans of praise and rejoicing over the nectar they
gather from the flowers; the birds twittering as they play about in the
sunlight all radiate content, supernal happiness. Why can we not
bring ourselves to enjoy life as they do ? Why should not our existence
be one long day of sunshine and our recall its crowning? Surely the
186 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
scheme of creation in its profound wisdom intended us to partake
equally of our allotment of unalloyed bliss!
The average man in the passing throng seems oblivious to beauty.
He chases a vague phantom which evades him like the horizon
which perpetually recedes as it is approached, because: Happiness
grows within ourselves. It is sown in us in childhood, but when we
do not nurture it, it dies of neglect.
Instead of using our garden for fashionable parties, which are
too numerous during the " season'' to be appreciated anyway, my
sister and I decided that our entertainments should be for the crippled
children in a nearby institution. There were about twenty-five of
them, all of tender age. In order not to be dependent upon the uncer
tainties of the weather, we held a Punch and Judy show under a big
tree and served tea in the garden studio. Two things I noticed which
illustrated the workings of the child mind. One was that as soon
as these kiddies entered the gate (some had even to be carried),
they would ask for Prinz, my great Dane, who was to them an even
stronger attraction than the Punch and Judy show. The animal was
so big that no adult stranger dared approach him, but it was touch
ing to see how he was transformed into a different being when he came
to greet these little tots, who could do whatever they pleased with
him and he not only never resented it, but actually enjoyed the
The other was a reflection on the psychology of human nature in
general. In the beginning we used to give each child a little present,
taking into consideration its age and small hobbies in the choice of
an appropriate, though not extravagant, gift. But we were obliged
to give up this idea. We heard from the nurse that when the chil
dren returned and compared gifts, each one preferred what the
others had, and this created unhappiness.
Poor Prinz! My trips to America were not at all to his liking.
He became more and more sad and I am grateful that I was not in
England when he died.
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 187
When I first began to live at Abbey Lodge, the novelty of the
grounds and the possession of a home all my own for the first time
in my life, may have caused me to assume more leisure than per
haps I should have. As in the good old days at the Villa Strohl Fern
in Rome, I lounged about in the garden, observing the growth of
the flowers and the budding of the fruit trees. We had many friends
among the little gray squirrels, who were so tame that they would
come up and help themselves to the nuts which we kept for them in
the dining room; with their heads they would raise the cover of the
mug which contained their food. Such confidence shown by a little
wild creature surpasses that of many humans. But animal intui
tion knows better.
'Like the eagle free away the good ship flies." (Cunningham.)
WAS tumble to complete the portrait of Mr. Clyde, and
when the fall came and he and Smith were about to
return to the States, James Henry invited me to join
him as his guest. As I still had that portrait to finish,
I accepted with alacrity. I had several of my sculp
tures and paintings packed and sent over, intending to hold a small
exhibition when the picture of Mr. Clyde should be ready, and at
the end of October we sailed.
One's sensations on a first long sea voyage are peculiar and varied.
For a while one seems content, probably induced by the pure salt
air, and the monotony of the water, to give oneself up to complete
relaxation with an utter indifference for the affairs of the world.
But after a few days to awake on a fine morning in a sea so calm that
the ship seems to glide along without semblance of motion, by and
by instills in you the urge to be up and doing, to resume activities,
an urge which increases in intensity with the approach to New York
and its crisp, invigorating air. When at last the distant land is dis
cernible with its imposing line of skyscrapers, like " Titans reaching
toward Heaven" and forming a bulwark against the horizon, you feel
like rolling up your sleeves and placing yourself on that powerful
wheel which turns this new world, and to the progress of which you
long to contribute your mite.
The formalities at the Custom House were speedily terminated,
one might almost say dispensed with, for at that time the " courtesy
'ffi/'^$$$fa. ' %^ &
"* ,',/*!!'/ , ,', ; , ' '/'' i
Captain Robert W. Hunt
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 189
of the port" was enjoyed by some prominent citizens, who could
drive off almost unchallenged and unmolested. A few reporters in
terviewed me about my impressions of art and artists, but apparently
my replies were not sufficiently controversial, for some of them did
not even take the trouble to write them down, but looked over the
passenger list to determine upon their next and more promising
The impressions I first received in this new world were so different
from any in my wanderings through the European countries that
they remain vivid in my memory.
Already at the landing the contrast was evident. There was
marked interest, if not to say curiosity, to learn the sensations which
the newcomer entertained; notwithstanding that the interviewer
could plainly read in the stranger's expression marveling and amaze
ment he nevertheless felt impelled to have this confirmed by a flowing
tongue. It looked to me like vanity; as pardonable a vanity as the
debutante displays in throwing a last look in the mirror, more to con
firm what in her mind she beholds than to discover any imperfections.
It was not only the scale and proportions of this new world which
made me gasp but also the alertness of these new-worlders. Almost
at the first day I was made to realize how much slower our brain
works in cases of emergency; on boarding a crowded streetcar I felt
a subtle hand deftly removing my wallet from my pocket. The man
behind who was the perpetrator of the abstraction quietly pointed at
a youth who precipitately left the car, prompting me in my bewilder
ment to start a hopeless pursuit. I feel sure that long before it dawned
upon me that these two were confederates, they already had feasted
on their spoils and over and above had a good laugh in the bargain.
Not seldom am I wondering about the cause of general hilarity in
a play when, whilst disentangling the joke, I hear the audience al
ready roaring at the next.
This smartness places me at a disadvantage. I would hardly dare
to decide if exuberance of youth is the only cause for living in that
i 9 o WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
lighter vein, but it did strike me forcefully how, even so, everything in
New York was brimming with life, progress, confidence, and hope.
My reaction to the first days of my American sojourn was one of im
mense gratitude for generous hospitality, astonishment at the ver
satility of this new and industrially active country and respect for a
wall of Puritan moral caution into which I bumped almost the first
When we reached the Fifth Avenue mansion the size of old George
Smith's fortune began to impress me properly. A marble hall with
a winding staircase led into the dining room in pure Renaissance, with
a ceiling transplanted in toto from a Florentine palace. Through the
adjoining conservatory with its little trickling fountain, the magnifi
cent Louis Fourteenth ballroom was entered. Every detail of the
house was executed with mastery and taste.
It was at the beginning of the New York season, of which the
Horse Show in Madison Square Garden was the opening event.
We were a large party and had our own box. During the intervals we
strolled about and our host greeted quantities of friends and acquain
tances. Even I, a stranger in this country, met a friend, a member
of an old noble Austrian family. He was with a small party in an
other box, the shining star of which was a lady of striking appearance
a veritable Juno with the features of a Venus. She was the Princess
, the family of whose husband, the Prince, is known to every
one who has lived abroad as one of the oldest and richest of the feudal
nobility of Austria, and the Prince was its head.
I was presented to the Princess and in turn presented my party.
James Henry was so delighted that he suggested showing them over
his mansion, of which the Prince said he had heard a great deal. To
make the occasion worthy of the guests, he invited them to a dinner
to be followed by a reception in their honor. The Princess asked me
to make a sketch of her before she left for Europe. I was the guest of
James Henry, so I begged to be excused from joining the house party
over the week-end at Tuxedo, so that I might paint instead.
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 191
Monday at breakfast I sensed that something was wrong; and
indeed there was. Soon the storm broke in all its fury,
"What do you mean by bringing such a woman into my house?"
inquired Smith. "Do you know what is being said of her? And to
spoil the Sunday of my servants and upset my household for such as
Here was an example of those subtle distinctions which separate
the grand seigneur to the manor born from him who acquires his
I quietly replied that the Princess was the wife of a man whose
family is known and respected over all Europe and that since she was
his legal wife, no one had the right or the privilege to delve into her
past for such a trifling cause as a dinner and reception. This calmed
him somewhat; he evidently appreciated the fairness of my argument.
''But/' he returned, "what shall I do about the dinner? What
will my guests say if they ever learn who it is they have been asked
I begged that he would let me relieve him of his anxiety and allow
me to provide the entertainment for the occasion. Feeling responsi
ble for any possible embarrassment, I decided to again resort to
"Music's golden tongue" and secured the services of a pianist, with
whom I practiced some duos for piano and organ, and when, following
the dinner, the guests assembled in the ballroom on the fateful even
ing, we gave our program. We had encore after encore until the ser
vants announced the carriages. James Henry was all smiles. He had
received many compliments for his novel and entertaining evening.
He was spared the embarrassment he had needlessly feared anyway.
And so all was well because it had ended well.
But that same day I had rented a studio in the Beaux Arts Build
ing and, next morning when he went out of his way to thank me, I
went out of mine to thank him for his hospitality. I added that artists
and their sitters are too uncertain factors to be reckoned with in a well
regulated household and that I was leaving for my studio that day.
192 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
He mtumtxred some regret but I feel certain that in his inmost heart
he was glad to be relieved of that touch of Bohemianism, obviously in
too sharp contrast with the atmosphere of Louis Fourteenth and the
Renaissance. When I was again my own master, I reveled in my re
gained independence which, after all, is one of our most treasured pos
And we continued our cordial relations unclouded until his death.
When I visited the palatial mansion of James Henry Smith for
the first time, I was impressed by the harmony and beauty of it as a
whole; also by the exquisite finish of each detail. There was but
one discordant note the pictures. Even a less well-trained eye
would have noticed that they were not in keeping with the remainder
of the appointments. No one would have dared to discuss it with
him, however, for it was the one feature of the house for which he
alone was responsible. When the place was sold to him completely
furnished, he probably saw no reason for paying enormous prices
lor the pictures it contained, when an acquaintance he had made
in Paris would buy for him aH the masters he needed purely as a matter
of friendship; consequently the paintings were eliminated in the sale
of the house.
Having bought the mansion, Smith went abroad to call on
Ms friend. He was very prosperous; he had a fine racing stable, and
Ms home was a gorgeous show place, furnished with perfect taste, to
attract the gullible American, The pictures on his walls were gems.
Also the reputation of Ms father-in-law as a collector was world-wide,
Here, thought Smith, was the man to locate some treasures for Ms
New York house. And in due course of time, one picture after an
other found its way across the sea. Of course no one cared to offer an
opinion as to their quality, for everyone knows that even when a
criticism, is asked it is expected to be one that will confirm the owner's
preconceived estimate. James Henry even presented a painting to
the Metropolitan Museum, where it adorns a wall, but in my modest
judgment it is not characteristic of the great master it represents, and
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 193
bears none of the attributes which distinguish his work. Since I am
not an expert and make no claim to expert knowledge, I trust no
importance will be attached to these comments.
But this I do know: The same art dealer that's what he really
was arranged a representative collection for one of the metal kings
of America, to contain all the best in art, and for which he received
an exorbitant price. I was invited one day to tea and to inspect the
pictures. When I left, the friend who had brought me asked what I
thought of them. There was no reason why I should withhold my
views, so I told him I believed they were all faked, with the exception
of one small Watteau, which appeared to be a genuine Pater. This
was on an easel, carefully inclosed in glass and in a frame of the
My bold and impudent remarks some time after must have
readied the ears of the metal queen. Years after, the man died, and
in his will bequeathed these treasures to the museum upon the death
of his widow. One day she came to my London studio and said she
wanted to ask me a point-blank question if 1 would promise to answer
it as truthfully as I knew how. I agreed, and she inquired if it were
true that I had so adversely adjudged her collection. I did not deny
it, but I stressed the fact that it was merely an opinion without ul
terior motive and which I had hoped would not be repeated. My
apprehensiveness evidently amused her, and she explained that be
fore leaving for Europe she had prepared for a long stay abroad and
had given up her Fifth Avenue mansion. To be certain that her
priceless paintings received proper care, she made arrangements to
have them insured. It was then that she had the first intimation that
they were not worth insuring. When she reached Paris, she had an
interview with the dealer-sportsman, who was sport enough to prefer
to settle the discussion out of court.
Such matters are not confined to America, One day after lunch
ing at the home of Mr. Alfred Beit, he displayed the latest addition to
his collection. He was the criterion in art among the South African
194 " WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
millionaires. He and Ms partner, Wemher, were among the first to
discover the rich gold reefs and the diamond fields. As they were
rivals in wealth, so were they rivals in the splendor of their homes.
The collection of Beit was small but unusually choice. His latest
purchase was a sketch of a young woman by Gainsborough, which
had been placed on an easel in the corner of his drawing-room, rather
against the light. He was so accustomed to having his friends rave
over his possessions that he instantly noticed my lack of enthusiasm,
and commented on it, and I willingly explained. In the time of
Gainsborough and Reynolds, for various causes many of their pic
tures remained unfinished. Some, nearly completed, were refused by
their sitters; others, the artists did not wish to continue further.
After the death of these men, an entire roomful of such canvases was
auctioned off. When their work became more sought after and rose
in value, dealers had these unfinished canvases worked over, and sold
them as authentic. Under such conditions it is difficult to tell where
the old master left off and the new one started. But to an experi
enced eye it was easily noticeable when the drawing was too amateur
ish for a master to do. This I was able to demonstrate on the
picture. And back it went to the dealer.
Another instance involving the name of a well-known house, con
cerned tibe sale of a Cosway to a collector of miniatures by the same
dealer. After a time the ivory began to warp. There was an artist
who made small repairs for the amateur, to whom he gave this
work. The artist looked in some surprise at the miniature and
at last asked if it would be too presumptuous to want to learn
more about it. The collector told him when and where he had
bought it, and even mentioned the price he had given, whereupon
the artist announced that it was he who had made it for the dealer.
Because of the prominence of all concerned, this was hushed up and
the thousand guineas promptly returned. The dealer was not greatly
injured, for when he died Ms estate still aggregated several million
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 195
The first portrait I undertook in New York was of a southern
beauty, Mrs. Edward R. Thomas, formerly Miss Linda Lee. She
was as considerate as she was lovely and her portrait gave me a rare
opportunity. With it and one of Marjorie Gould, then a charming
girl of eighteen, and another of Mrs. Marshall Field, who as Evelyn
Marshall was not less so, I had a small collection of American beauties.
These, added to the paintings of James Henry Smith and Mr. William
P. Clyde, formed the nucleus of an exhibition at Knoedler's, which
brought me publicity and commissions as well. That spring when I
returned to London to resume work there, I left behind so much un
finished here, that I decided to come back in the fall. After years of
London's foggy days, dark and gloomy, the American winter, abound
ing in sunshine, is an agreeable change.
The portrait I painted of Marjorie was the first I did for the
Goulds. There was no more hospitable house, nor family that cared
more for art, old and new, or who made an artist feel more at home.
Georgian Court, near Lakewood, was the scene of their hearty
hospitality. Once welcome, always welcome, and "no questions
asked/' Among the guests were many artists, musicians and actors.
Whenever an artist was introduced there, he received warm encourage
ment from the family.
It is some years since I have seen any of them; an artist's life has
one great disadvantage. It might be compared to a greedy little child
who is taken into a toyshop by its mother. It wants to stop at every
thing, and wants to have everything it sees ; and its mother has to lead
it firmly away. And so with the artist; he cannot linger, much as he
would often like to. He must go on relentlessly, impelled by the force
of new impressions which come with every day; new people enter into
his life continually, but he must keep aloof so that his path shall re
main free and he can give himself up to his work entirely and un
Through some inexplicable causes, due perhaps to conditions of
196 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
the country, American women are among the most beautiful in the
world, among "earth's noblest things." They are as indigenous to
the soil of America as the grass of Ireland which is so beneficial to the
breeding of race horses. Or, again, they are not produced elsewhere
any more than the beer of Munich can be even approximated away
from " its native haunt/ 1 however carefully it is brewed. What forci
bly impresses one in New York is that beauty is not confined to the
tipper strata alone, but that all classes flaunt it in ever increasing pro
fusion. This augurs well for the future, for the loveliness is not of the
face alone but is shared by symmetrical bodies. With such material,
I believe that in America will be evolved a type to compare advantag
eously with the statues of the ancient Greeks. Probably on account
of the infusion of Spanish blood, the American girl has the smallest,
daintiest, best formed, gracefully arched foot. With it goes a good
hand, well groomed and with tapering fingers. In spite of what others
may have said and the fact that I myself may be considered as being
not in a competent position to judge, I believe she makes as capable
and sensible a wife as any. If when choosing, she would bear in mind
It is the secret sympathy,
The silver link, the silken tie,
Which heart to heart and mind to mind
In body and in sotil can bind
the unions might be still happier and more enduring. She is an
admirable wife, and the mother of those sturdy little chaps whom " but
to see is to admire." I often regret that I did not come here at an
earlier age, when I might have set up a hearthstone for myself. But
I have paid my tribute by placing my art at the service of her immor
talization to the best of my ability. I had many opportunities and
am grateful for every one.
Here I also painted the portrait of Ambrose Swasey of Cleveland,
who, from a humble beginning, without college education, has be
came one of the leading engineers of the country. With his life-
Mr. Fuchi First Portrait Commission in America
Mrs. Edward R. Thomas wko was the Beautiful Linda Lee from Louisville, Kentucky
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 197
long friend, W. C. Warner, they founded a company for the manu
facture of machine tools of precision. But their most important
accomplishments were in the realm of astronomy, in the building
of the telescopes for the Lick, Yerkes, IL S. Naval and other large
observatories. Toward the perfection of these achievements they
were assisted by the collaboration of Professor Brashier of Pittsburgh,
who with indefatigable patience constructed the mirrors and lenses.
When, after several years of hard work, he finally completed the
large lens for the Allegheny Observatory, the trustees offered him,
as a token of deep appreciation,, a vault in the foundation of the big
instrument which offer he accepted. To make certain that the epi
taph should be worthy of the occasion, he was asked if he cared to
make any suggestions, whereupon he wrote this line:
" We have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night."
In 1900, on the occasion of the visit of Prince Henry of Prussia
to the United States, a committee headed by Edward D. Adams
offered him a luncheon, to which one hundred of the most promi
nent men were invited. To avoid all possible chance of injuring any
one's feelings, they were seated in alphabetical order and the com
mittee had prepared a booklet enumerating the achievements of
each guest, which they handed to the Prince. After luncheon, the
Prince addressed a few words to each man. When Professor Brashier's
turn came, he said to him:
"I am glad to know you, Professor; we also make some very good
instruments at home and, should you ever come to P , let me
know and I will show you the observatory, which is one of our best."
"Thank you, Sir," was the reply, "I know it; I built it myself."
At that same luncheon, Brashier sat next to a brewer, to whom,
in the course of their conversation, he mentioned his collection of
photographs of the heavens, which had been gathered together with
great care and which, to his regret, were housed in a wooden shanty,
for want of something better. The brewer casually inquired what
he thought a fireproof building would cost. Brashier mentioned a
198 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
probable stun. In the next morning's mail he found a check for
I also met Forbes-Robertson again after such a long while. The
last time I had seen him was in London after the first night of The
Passing of the Third Floor Back. Following a series of failures he
had produced this play, and it made one sad to go back and congratu
late him, on its performance when, judging from its reception, it was
not expected to last either. But the extraordinary happened; owing
to its mysticism, it was discussed by the clergy from the pulpits and in
consequence attracted people who did not usually attend the theater.
They liked it. They found in the character of the stranger-guest
much more than the simple boarder. And the success of it was
assured* It ran for over three years. Nothing could have made
me happier than to know that he had found his " Passing of the third
floor back," though I have still to find mine.
As long as Mrs. Benjamin Guinness lived in New York, her house
was the meeting place for everyone who counted in art, science,
Eterature and the theater, and also for that portion of society which,
although belonging to the most select, did not disdain the touch
of Bohemianism they found at eight- Washington Square North.
I had known Mrs. Guinness years before when she and her friend,
Lady Colebrooke, had a studio together in Kensington, a suburb of
London, where they studied sculpture. She was always exceptional
as girl, wife, mother and as hostess, too.
Her husband, a member of the house of Guinness, the brewers,
of which Lord Iveagh is the head, is a partner of Ladenburg, Thai-
man & Co. The Guinness couple is unusually congenial, as their
tastes move in the same direction. Her first Tuesday night, which
I remember so well, was a strange mixture which only she could have
brought together. There were Mrs. W. Z. Vanderbilt, Senior, Mrs.
James A. Burden and Lina Cavalieri with her retinue of countrymen
the handsome Villarosa and his friend the Marquis Somni-Picci-
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 199
cardi and Bosco of the Metropolitan Opera Orchestra. Whenever
there was a lull in the conversation, Bosco would fetch his guitar and
sing Neapolitan airs to his own accompaniment and thus restore the
conviviality so essential in a motley gathering like this.
The Tuesday evenings became an institution, where one met
those one hoped to meet, and also some of those one did not care so
much about. But there were always so many people and so much
smoke and the buffet was so long, that one could hide behind a cloud
or a plate or a conversation when one felt the need.
One night I met there Doctor C B who came up to me
and said in an awed tone: "Do you know the latest?"
I confessed I didn't. "You don't?" he repeated reproachfully,
and I shook my head.
"Imagine," he went on, "Melchers has received from the Kaiser
the Order of the Red Eagle den rothen Adler Orden," he ^pt on
I must say I drew a deep breath of relief and replied jestingly:
"Thank Heaven, it could have been much worse." And he never
forgave my lack of appreciation of the solemnity of such an honor.
Dear B -, he took himself so seriously. When first I came
to this country he had just begun to write articles about artists which
were published in M 's Magazine. He had a facile pen from
which flowed the most elaborate phrases. He could write for Mr.
H a sparkling introduction for, say, the Sorolla exhibition,
when Zuloaga's followed he displayed equal eloquence; he did as
well for Paul Troubetskoy, and also for artists diametrically oppo
site, like Boris Anisfeld and some of the other modernists, whom
he would praise to the skies and whose art he would paint in even
more glowing colors than their own palettes contained. One day
when he reads through his many monographs, I wonder if he will not
be surprised at the amazing and varied revolutions that his views and
opinions have endured. In his hand "the pen became a clarion"
"that mighty instrument of little men."
200 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
Once a minister was asked to preach a funeral sermon. Conscien
tious man that he was, he said:
"I will tell you right now I have three grades. The first wiU
cost fifty dollars, when I shall give free rein to my eloquence which
will move you to tears. The second wiU. cost twenty and is not so
good, but I can still embellish the life of the dear departed to some
extent. But the third, my five dollar sermon, this, Sir, I myself
would not even recommend."
As the Tuesday evenings continued, the more interesting they
became. There I met Mark Twain in his white flannels, with his
inseparable cigar, removing it only to dance with Mrs. Burden or
other Mends, enjoying himself tremendously. There was also
Travers Jerome, then District Attorney and a great favorite with
everyone; Sorolla, the two Troubetskoys with their Princesses, and
many, many others.
The hosts have long since returned to England; their house is
closed, but the gap they have left is open still.
One of the portraits which I greatly enjoyed painting was Mrs.
Robert Goelet's, who was Elsie Whelen of Philadelphia. Looking
at her and her husband together at James Henry Smith's, one mar
veled at what these two could have had in common. She was tall,
he small ; she was stately and reserved in deportment, not he. When
she sat in her corner box at the Metropolitan Opera House, she was
an outstanding figure, in spite of the fact that jewels were denied to
her, such perfect ornaments to those who know how to wear them.
Although they were both lovers of music, her preference was for
opera, concerts and the nobler themes of life. Small wonder then
that "golden chains are heaviest."
Mrs. Goelet's sittings were recreation for me; she wished to know
about everything pertaining to art; in fact, all beautiful things in
terested her and she also wanted to know all the people who accom
plished them. They ware welcome guests at her house. It was
Awakening of Spring
Mr. Clarence M. Clark
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 201
amusing to note the expression of her husband's face when he found
dining at his ceremonious table a few artists or literary men in shabby
clothing, which perhaps had even been borrowed for the occasion.
One day I invited Doctor Alexis Carrel of the Rockefeller Insti
tute, to the studio. I met him almost daily at the Fencers' Club,
where we exercised at our favorite pastime. He was delighted to
meet Mrs. Goelet, and she seemed equally pleased. Naturally
everything he said enthralled her, so much so that he invited us both
to go over the Institute with him. He was then working on that
mighty problem of operation on the heart, which he said required an
absolutely new technic on account of the exceeding brevity of the
interval during which heart action might be suspended without
disastrous results to the patient. But he was confident that ulti
mately it could be accomplished.
What he performed before our eyes bordered on the miraculous.
He took a little dog which apparently had some valvular disease,
bared the heart to our gaze, did whatever was necessary, and sewed
it up again. The little animal he placed in a heated chamber, through
the glass door of which we were able to note its gradual awakening.
Before we left, after having inspected the building and the phenomenal
experimental hospital adjoining, then in process of completion, we
returned and found, to our relief, that the dog "felt as well as could be
The Rockefeller name naturally calls to mind that of Morgan.
It was in those dark days of 1907, after the Knickerbocker Trust
failure, when Morgan had held that remarkable all-night session in
his library, that a friend of his conceived the idea of having his por
trait painted and'presented to him, and suggested that I do it. He
introduced me to Mr. Morgan who consented to pose. But after
meeting him, I felt that the gulf between him and the mere outside
world was immeasurable, and that no one would ever be permitted
to bridge it. I should not have been able to approach close enough
to penetrate behind that concealing mask, to make anything more
202 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
than a superficial presentment of his featttres. And I felt he was
too important a personage for that. But his librarian obtained
pennission for me to sketch the interior of his treasure-house at night.
This was a task to my liking. To be surrounded by the art of by
gone days in the witching hours of the night, gave me far more pleas
ure than the dinner parties I thus missed.
Over the mantel in Mr. Morgan's study hung a portrait of his
father, Jttnius Morgan, the work of an English artist who, being in
need, showed his paintings to a picture dealer. He secured a couple
of commissions for him, one of which was for the elder Morgan. But
when he was expected to come and add the finishing touches, he had
disappeared and no trace has ever been found of him.
As was to be anticipated, the Goelet union could not endure. They
parted, to the lasting happiness of both. He clung so tenaciously to
the material things of life, that he refrained from sharing them with
even his wife. He probably consoled himself with the thought that
Nature had so prodigally endowed her that to attempt further to
beautify her would be but "to gild refined gold, to paint the lily, to
throw a perfume on the violet." . . .
Among those who came to me through my first exhibition were
the Van Nordens. Warner Van Norden was the head of a trust
company bearing his name. Of distinguished appearance, over six
feet tall, bald, but with snow-white moustache and whiskers and
smooth shaven chin, he resembled old Emperor William of Germany.
He was a cultured gentleman and I greatly enjoyed his talks on all
sorts of topics.
One day he spoke of himself and his favorite avocation, and then
I learned that he interested himself extensively in missionary work.
He was a friend and admirer of the late General Booth of the Salva
tion Army. But his hobby was the compilation of his family tree,
extending over tie continents and through the centuries. He carried
on a lively correspondence with people everywhere whose names were
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 203
similar, In an effort to ascertain their relationship. This made me
smile. I wonder if we have been as successful in breeding human
beings as in breeding animals. I should doubt it. Perhaps the
Orientals, who arrange the unions of their children, ignoring their
inclinations, obtain good results. But this is certain: we do not yet
raise thoroughbred humans.
Another client of mine was Edward D. Adams, one of the trustees
of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. All his life he has made friends
among the artists and if today he can boast of Innesses, Winslow
Homers and Blakelocks, he has moreover the satisfaction of having
acquired these pictures from the artists direct when his patronage
meant more to them than the advance in the value of their paintings
could possibly mean to him.
I painted a likeness of his only son who had just died in the full
ness of life, rich in promise and richer still in achievement in science
and music. He was the happy possessor of a famous Stradivarius. It
was one of the sorrows of the parents that the instrument remained
unused and as a consequence might deteriorate. Still there was too
much sentiment attached to it to permit it to be profaned by irreverent
hands. I therefore got in touch with Fritz Kreisler, whom I had known
in those early days in Vienna and again in London, and I invited him
and his wife to my studio, and Mr. and Mrs. Adams with the violin-
No sooner had Kreisler touched it than it began to sing under his
enchanted fingers, and it sang so heartrendingly that he had to pause
lest emotions overcome the grief -stricken parents. And the Adams'
Stradivarius went to the master, Fritz Kreisler.
In the fall of 1915, when crossing again, there was on board a dis
tinguished looking man to whom everyone paid respectful attention.
This was Doctor Howard W. Beal, Director of the American Red
Cross in England and chief surgeon of the American Women's Hospi
tal at Peignton. Before we landed, his wife spoke to me about a sketch
she wanted to have made of her husband during his vacation. He was
204 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
an interesting, a considerate and a patient sitter. His career of many
years in the army had disciplined him to accept all things cheerfully
even when not always to his liking. This was true of all my military
sitters. Such portraits progress more rapidly and to the mutual satis
faction of artist and subject. Melville Stone was the victim of my
inquisitive brush at about that time and if I make a comparison, it is
with no intention of reflecting upon the posing of Mr. Stone. Doctor
Seal's military precision was a contrast to Stone's conviviality. What
the one offered in patience the other offset in flow of spirits. Mr.
Stone is full of good stories. Small wonder that, at his fortress at the
Lotus Club, he is always surrounded by a wall of humanity.
A short time after America entered the war, instead of returning
to his administrative occupation at Peignton r Doctor Beal preferred
the more active form of soldiering. He enlisted with the regular
army and was one of the first victims on the battlefield. I am more
than glad that it was my privilege to immortalize the features of the
man who immortalized his name by his splendid patriotism.
During my many years in America I have had the opportunity
to express my art through its different media. Many of my por
traits have been executed in oil. However some heads were infinitely
better adapted to marble. A young girl from the West came with
her mother and posed for a bust which, after the exhibition at the
Academy, was shown and reproduced under the name of Sylvana.
Another girl appeared on the horizon with the features of a Greek
goddess. Her beauty was so striking that every artist who saw her
asked her to pose, and, during her meteoric existence on the artistic
fimaament (it lasted only a few months), many likenesses of her were
attempted. Her profile was purely classic. Her forehead and nose
were almost a straight line, a rarity. The oval of her face was as per
fect as the profile, and so was her mouth and her chin with its little
dimple. It was one of those heads whose beauty was so pronounced
from every different angle and view that justice could only be done to
A Portrait Bust
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
it in sculpture. This bust was shown at last year's Academy. I
called it Modern Juno, and, had I been able to arrange it, I should
have had a short film made and thrown on the screen.
I have often considered how instructive and interesting it would
be to show in this way the more important sculptures of the day.
Morgan Medal (obverse)
"The land where every weed is flaming and only man is black." (Chesterton.)
[T the beginning of 1912, 1 again sailed for America on
my way to Cuba. I had some work to do there and
also I was eager to visit the island of which I had heard
so much. I took the sea route all the way. On arriv
ing at Havana, although it was early morning, we
were met by a curious crowd. It was the first time the Hamburg-
American Steamship Company had sent such a large boat as the
Kronprincessin Victoria Louise to Havana; in fact, she was the
largest ship that had ever entered the harbor. The sight that
greeted us as we slowly steamed into port was an inspiring one. The
dark blue of the water against the objects on the shore gilded by
the rays of a blazing sun, a delight to the eye, was augmented by the
beautiful farewell airs played by the steamer band.
Our attention was first attracted to the wreck of the U. S. S.
Maine, which still lay athwart the harbor and interfered with ship
ping. They were already working on the raising of it, and I had
timed my stay so that I might be able to witness the impressive
ceremony. The family whom I was to visit lived about three hours
away by train from Havana. At the station I began to feel dis
couraged. It was nothing more than a shanty of most primitive
<xsnstruction. There were dirty wagons about, filled with a loud-
talking, gesticulating, smoking crowd. Outside and in the trains
as well were people carrying fighting cocks under their arms which
made nearly as much noise as their owners. Everywhere were
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 207
invitations to play the lottery, a vice rampant all over the country,
which prevents people from saving money. Little work is done and
that little tinder stress of necessity only, the majority trusting to the
fertility of the soil and its abundant productiveness.
To my surprise and relief I was met at the station by a carriage
drawn by a splendid pair of Kentucky steppers. This was encourag
ing. But here was an incongruity the equipage was superb, but
there was no road. We jolted over the stubble fields as well as we
could, but it was not easy. I shudder to contemplate the pilgrim
age during the rainy season through a red pool of mud. These cor
rugated furrows extended nearly to the house, but when we reached
it, we entered a paradise on earth. The viUa in Moorish style was
built around a court planted with tropical flowers. Palms that
reached far above the roof stretched out their shady leaves invit
ingly. The interior of the house was amazing. There were suites of
luxurious rooms that were the last words in decorations and furni
ture. The baths, hot and cold, were perfectly equipped. It was a
The owner and his beautiful wife met me at the entrance. With
them were a daughter and son-in-law. Mine was the agreeable privi
lege of painting Madame's portrait; and as I Eve over these enchant
ing days, they seem to have been all too brief and like a dream.
Sometimes we would drive to town to call at the villas of friends.
I had an opportunity to see the famous Villa d'Abreo situated at
the outskirts, and prominent in the distance* Every visitor to the
island coveted the favor of an invitation to inspect the place, so I
appreciated the honor of being shown over it by Madame d'Abreo
The garden luxuriated in those plants and trees characteristic
of the meridional countries, but the extraordinary feature of it was
her collection of monkeys of all sizes. Some were her personal
favorites. There was a gorilla and his consort inhabiting a truly
palatial cage. When they observed our approach, still distant,
208 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
they shook the bars with such force that I thought they would break.
Madame d'Abreo opened the door and invited them for a stroll in
the gardens. She offered them cigarettes to which the female
greedily helped herself with no sparing hand. She lighted them
gracefully and enjoyed each puff while walking at the side of their
indulgent friend. They slept in a room next to her bedroom and
their behavior was beyond reproach.
It was a novelty to note how the cigar-makers lighten their weary
hours of toil. "O thou weed, who art so lovely fair and smelTst so
sweet. 1 * On a platform in the center of a room of huge proportions,
a man with stentorian voice read fiction, poetry or history, to suit
their diversified tastes, while the workers kept at their tasks in unin
terrupted and flattering silence.
Each afternoon at a stated hour a saddle horse would be brought
around for me, and I would ride to a neighboring estate which re
sembled more a virgin forest than a garden. Fastening my horse to
a tree, I would penetrate into the thicket and listen to the thousands
of voices which seemed to greet me like a Mend. I walked amid
caimitoes, mangoes, tangerines, oranges and breadfruit, and rare or
chids crept along the trunks of trees. The -picture was as varied as
the songs of the birds.
When I returned, my hosts awaited me on the veranda in their
comfortable chairs. A dinner much too elaborate for the climate
would be partaken of to the music supplied by some exotic bird,
accompanied by the chirping from millions of crickets, while the
blue of the sky merged into night. . . .
After returning from Cuba I embarked on the Lusitania for
London to resume my work. It was that season of the year when
many interesting people are traveling. On shipboard the theater
was represented by Marc Klaw and Morris Gest. Mr. Gest's main
purpose in going over was to obtain the rights to the " Rosenkavalier "
of Richard Strauss ; Elaw's aspirations were in lighter vein. The men
Melville E. Stone
General Manager of the Associated Press
The Art Dealer
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 209
appeared to be on the friendliest terms, but in their personal conver
sations there seemed to be a constraint, a barrier, preventing either
from discovering the intention of the other in crossing which was evi
dent and highly amusing.
Another passenger was the late Alexander J. Hemphill, of the
Guaranty Trust Company, to whom I was introduced. He pre
sented me to Sir Thomas Shaughnessy, president of the Canadian
Pacific Railway, and to his friends. During the voyage, Sir Thomas
consulted me about a portrait of himself, to be hung in the new
meeting room of the board of directors of his company, and asked
me to paint it. Before leaving London he repeated his offer, and I
promised that I would go to Canada that fall. If I needed any further
inducement, this was a new country which I was eager to visit. And
in the late fall of that year I started on my journey to Montreal.
Sir Thomas gave me the sittings in the large board room, adjoin
ing his private office, which was to be the permanent home of the
portrait. Since the railroad had been in existence, it had had but
five presidents. Paintings of the first two were posthumous works;
the third was a full length of Lord Strathcona; the fourth was of Sir
Robert van Home, and the fifth was to be by me, which honor I
thoroughly appreciated, trying to live up to it.
As the sittings occupied only the mornings, Sir Thomas suggested
that I paint in the afternoons, Sir Robert Holt, president of the Royal
Bank of Canada, for which he offered the use of my improvised studio
in his offices, and where I consequently spent some happy days.
I arrived in London at the end of that year and threw myself into
my work with the enthusiasm which comes of being one's own master
again! knowing that the likeness is not the chief desideratum, permits
of undivided attention to composition and execution. Under such
conditions the hardest work is done. The dawn of each day brings
new joys with that sense of independence and unrestraint which
makes one doubly appreciate Pope's poetic sentence:
Oh let me live my own and die so too.
210 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
But evidently unclouded happiness on earth has fallen to no hu
man's lot. When Bellona's trumpet blasted over the continents and
kindled the passions of mankind, its echo reverberated even in the
tranquillity of the studio; it resounded a thousandfold in that deli
cate instrument the euphonies of which we distinguish by the name
There was no more peace within oneself when everything outside
breathed strife; the walls of the studio seemed like the barriers of a
prison. The time had come when one felt that to linger on would
mean to overstay one's welcome.
And I returned to the States.
People had, rightly, placed patriotism above all else, so I knew
there were not many of my old friends who would have cared to see
Clare Sheridan and her husband were different, and on a bright
autumn day I went out into the country to bid them farewell.
Their home was about an hour from London, a little house with a
picturesque garden of wildflowers and rocks and a beautiful view.
There I found them with their baby daughter Margaret. Wilfred
Sheridan, had completed his training and was about to leave in a day or
two to join his regiment in France. A short time later when a son and
heir was born to him f Winston Churchill, Clare's cousin and then a
member of the cabinet, succeeded in sending a messenger to the
firing line with the dieering news. A few days later a bomb end
ed his fine life.
Shortly after, I received in America a letter from Harcourt, who
had retired and been made a lord. He told me about what had
occurred and later he wrote me again, saying that conditions were
such that Clare Sheridan would have to earn her living and was
going to try to do some modeling, which she had done all these years
as an amateur, and asked for the loan of my London studio. I was
happy to offer it f whereupon I received the following letter from her
dated July 2, 1916:
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 211
DEAR MR. Fucas,
I can't get over it, that you will lend me your heavenly studio this winter
to work in. It is too splendid and generous of you. My parents have taken
a dear little house just inside the North Gate of Regents Park, and I am
furnishing it with my furniture from "Mitchen" (as I am selling the little
place), and we are all going to live together, for as you know probably, I de
pend largely upon a Government pension, which isn't enough to do anything
I am earning with my humble modeling efforts enough to dress the chil
dren. And a little more besides. And I do want to work hard and get on.
I shall also go to a school of art this winter. It will be splendid having an op
portunity to work. Nothing else counts. The work and the children occupy
one's thoughts, and it is better not to look back, for even happiness hurts
to recall, when one knows it's past forever, and the future frightens one a
little. So I just work and live in the present, and enjoy the babyhood of the
children, and I thank God that we have not yet arrived at the education
The present isn't bad at all. The parents are perfectly dear to me and
they adore the babes, and they seem quite happy to have me back. Their
lives were rather lonely, and the babes make all the difference. I think we
shall all make ires bon menage together.
The kindness of friends is overwhelming. I never realized before that
friends really count in one's life. I thought friends were just incidents!
But I found, on the contrary, that they are the very furniture of one's
existence. . . .
I am. staying here a few days with our beautiful friend, Marianne.
Margaret is with me. I wish you could see her. She is growing too beau
tiful ! I will in a short time send you a divine photo of her.
Now about your studio. I will be most careful of everything. I shall
work there every day, starting at nine or ten every morning, just coming
home to lunch with the children, and then back again to work till dark. My
air and exercise will be the walks to and fro.
I hope you are happier in America, away from the war atmosphere that
used to make you so unhappy. I don't think it is so bad now in England, or
in London, as it used to be. One feels in the atmosphere a feeling of calm
confidence and optimism. It's a hard struggle and by no means over yet,
but one sees daylight ahead do you know what I mean?
Besides, we British are a curious race, very slow to awaken, slow to grasp
a situation, slow to move to action, hard to rouse, but once roused, once
awakened, we become active, very thoroughly so, and our hearts and souls
212 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
enter into business. We hardly talk of the end of the war now, or look for it.
It seems to have become a habit, the war does, and the sacrifice and re
straint and discomfort and the courage that are our everyday life now, we
have got used to it ; we are getting into a habit of it. One can hardly remem
ber what peace was like one can hardly fancy what peace will be like we
are battling, and we can go on battling ! Everything is working like clock
work. It's, so to speak, no trouble to go on!
People talk quite calmly of the pictures and heirlooms that will leave the
great families and be sold after the war to America, but no one cares, not
even those who may have to part with them. Beating militarism is all that
counts, and we will pay any price to accomplish it. Even the price of life.
I am so proud of my splendid Wilfred who, with everything to live for
love, happiness, children, and with so much beauty and charm just gave
it aH for duty. Having never had any military training, he set to work to
become a soldier, and became so efficient an officer that he was promoted to
Captain in a regular battalion (not the new army) and was ordered to lead
the bombing attack. He was splendid, bless him, and he is so much nearer
to me now than when he was in the trenches that I can sincerely say that I
am not lonely!
Oh, I wish you could see my son a real monarch among babes. I love
him passionately. I fed him for five months, all during those first miserable
days, and he just made the whole difference to my life, and helped me to be
calm and to have something still to live for. He has, in fact, already "done
But she could not make use of my workshop after all, much to my
regret. It was filled with all my belongings, and I suppose it lacked
the atmosphere conducive to work. So she took a studio nearby
and began making portrait busts. At first some of her friends,
mindful of the gallantry of her husband, gave her orders. Soon,
however, she encountered that prejudice which everyone experiences
who attempts to do anything, no matter how sincere his intentions
are. People prefer to patronize those who have "a reputation behind
them and a future before them* 1 I assume she had plenty of sitters
but no buyers. Moreover, portraiture in sculpture is not popular.
To many, the lack of color is a detriment; it makes them think of a
memorial. But Clare Sheridan possesses the necessary talent and
The Child Actress
Children of Mrs. Sidney Whelan
Portraits in Oil
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 213
can make a likeness, and a good likeness at that. Her work has
vigor and freshness and, as displayed in the little bust of her boy,
sentiment, too. Equipped with such gifts she has greater justifica
tion for selecting sculpture as her profession than many others have.
When I heard she was coming to the United States, I was more
than pleased. A couple of weeks had passed before she could find
time to come to my studio. When she did, she confided in me her
sorrows. People would not take her ambitions in art seriously
enough; and as that seemed to hurt her most, I took it upon myself
to write to people I knew could do something for her. One letter
was to the editor of a popular magazine which caters to the vanity of
the fair sex, who entertained her ostentatiously. Another was to a
lady well-known in society and as a sculptress. I had greater hopes
of her because she was known to be the patron of deserving artists
and understood how thorny the road is. Not so long ago I saw an
exhibition of her work. In some pieces are bared all the difficulties
with which she had to contend, while others show the execution of a
master's hand. It seemed hardly credible that the same fingers
should have fashioned these sculptures so different in quality, con
ception, execution and rendering of form. Appreciating from my
own experience that the incessant labor requires "a long pull, a
strong pull and a pull all together/' I had cause to feel that my en
treaties would not be in vain. But if silence is golden, theirs was
not of that kind which would have helped my poor Clare.
It makes me smile now when I remember how some of the busiest
persons wasted precious hours hanging about my studio when she
posed for her portrait, just as if they had nothing else in the world
to do. If instead, all the masters of the Renaissance had been alive
and assembled there, those same men would not have had a moment
of their valuable time to spare them.
She is a woman, therefore may be woo'd;
She is a woman, therefore may be won.
"To hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to nature. " (Shakespeare.)
HE mention of Clare Sheridan's posing brings me to
a rather engaging subject: sitters and sittings.
I would divide sitters into two classes: those
who know how and like to pose, and those who
do not. If a man has a family whom he tenderly
loves and they persistently beg him to have his portrait painted,
he will give thought to the subject and perhaps conclude that,
painful as the operation may promise to be and comparable only
to a -visit to the dentist, still he must go through with it. Since his
daily occupations do not allow for much more time outside of the
office than the trip there and back, with an occasional fling on the golf
course, he does not know how to go about selecting the artist. There
are two ways he may do this: consult a friend or a dealer. To go to
an exhibition would rarely occur to him. The friend will probably
advise him more impartially than will the dealer. He may refer
Mm to an artist who has done a portrait he can show him. In such
cases, the only consideration is the likeness; it does not matter if it is
painted over a photograph or is the work of a dauber; in fact, these
have the best chance.
Father will make a quite businesslike appointment to meet the
artist and will probably greet him with the remark that, "I don't
know much about art but my people want my portrait. How much
will it cost?" The artist names a sum which seems reasonable and
the poses begin. He is usually as prompt in his appointments for
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 215
sittings as he is in Ms other transactions. He will rush in, jump
right up on his martyr's throne and light a cigar. " You don't mind
if I smoke?" This is only a matter of courtesy, for the cigar is
already lighted and is securely imbedded in the corner of his mouth.
He pulls out a paper and, if the artist can allow him to, starts to
read. Generally at this point it is advisable to suggest deferring the
reading. All this places a sheet of ice between the sitter and the
artist. The sitting over, he rushes out as precipitately as he rushed
in, without even a glance at the canvas. It is not a subject of interest
but of necessity.
After a few sittings, he will bring his wife and kiddies along. The
first thing his wife says is: " Listen, John, but why do you. look so
serious? Mr. Artist, can't you make him smile? "
"Why, yes, of course I can," says the painter. And he takes
the brush and makes a feint at painting a few strokes. "Now, isn't
that better? "
"Just a little more, Mr. Artist, please." He smiles faintly and
does as he is directed. " Now, please stop; I don't want you to spoil
it." She holds up the baby and asks: "Who is that?" The baby
says "Popper," and that settles it* Everybody is happy, the artist
more than anyone else.
Then there is the other class those who know how. To them
the portrait is a matter of importance, of concern, and worthy of
consideration. They may consult with some dealer, obtain a few
names, make appointments and carefully scrutinize the work sub
mitted. They discuss it intelligently and at the same time measure
the mentality of the artist. Price is a matter of secondary importance
and is probably not even mentioned. The main item is the quality
of the work.
Once the question of the artist has been determined, the sitter
will subordinate everything else to that one all-important under
taking. He will give the artist an opportunity of becoming better
acquainted and to familiarize himself with his personality. He will
216 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
inspect the progress after each, sitting and discuss it. In fact, he
will go out of his way to convince the painter that he is his partner,
for the time being, and not merely a subject. These are the portraits
which compensate for the humiliations suffered from the first-
described type, and they give the artist his chance, if he knows how
to avail himself of his good fortune.
To choose portrait painting for a livelihood is quite different from
following it as a means of producing a masterpiece and less meritori
ous. The more strongly the sitter senses the independence of the
artist, the more anxious he will be that it be not exercised in his case.
When a portrait painter is great enough to be in a position to "pick
and choose' 1 from among the aspirants who consider it an honor to
sit for him, then he may be sure that they will endeavor to give him
that intelligent posing which in itself often constitutes success or
It is far more difficult to paint women than men. Their features
are less rugged and pronounced; if not, the artist must know how to
subdue them. While the portrait of a man should be a vigorous,
bold and fearless piece of charactemation, that of a woman must be
a more poetic and harmonious, composition of color and grouping.
Line is most important and receives less attention usually than
it should. So many portraits are ruined on account of the angular
placing of the arms, which prevents an agreeable flow of line. When
they are permitted to fall stiffly and unnaturally, they more plainly
show up the difficulties encountered in painting them.
The story goes that at a dinner his fair neighbor asked a famous
portrait painter: "Will you please tell me which is the most difficult
in a portrait, the mouth, the nose or the eye? "
"The other/' was his prompt reply, meaning the problem of
matching the two harmoniously.
Women are generally the better sitters because they seem more
patient, and also because of a certain pardonable vanity. One often
hears said: " I do not mind if it is not so like me, but please make me
Girl with Fan
Statuette in Marble
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 217
good looking. I want to be handed down to my children and grand
children as an attractive ancestor."
To satisfy some people is a task beyond the power of even the
gods. Apropos of that, a well-known portrait painter on the day of
final inspection arranges the canvas on the easel and leaves his studio.
He thus spares himself the necessity of listening to a distressing num
ber of unreasonable comments.
Sublime an art as it is, judging from the splendid examples handed
down to us, it becomes the lowest form if practiced by those who
mechanically turn jut one face after another, only because it finds
a ready and overpaid market on account of the appeal to humanity's
most sensitive trait vanity. And those are the artists to be pitied
most, for while the material profit may bring them even luxuries,
they are actually only lookers-on in that busy little community of
those who create and produce, who are a part of that noble edifice
whose spire soars ever upward 'til it reaches into posterity.
"Wrapped in the solitude of his own originality." (Charles Phillips.)
[N December, 1918, the entire Beaux Arts building was
in a state of "wild excitement, when it became known
that Mr. Maeterlinck was on his way to the United
States and had accepted an invitation to be the guest
of Mr. Anderson. The studio-suite he was to occupy
adjoined my own, so my eagerness increased as the day approached
when 1 might be permitted to peep behind the veil of mystery which
had always shrouded his personality. Long before his arrival, the
apartment resembled a flower-garden.
At last he came with his party, and after that there was no end
to the visitors and invitations. His manager was a man I had met
before. His name was Russell. Originally he had been a teacher
of singing in London where I had seen him last in the home of Mrs.
Carl Meyer. Through some chain of circumstances he became the
manager of Mr. Maeterlinck's American tour, and he was fully con
scious of the importance of his position. No one could see or talk
with Mr Maeterlinck without Russell's knowledge and consent, and
so Mrs. Maeterlinck was always and everywhere accompanied by
Mrs. Russell. No invitation was accepted unless it was extended
to his adlatus.
Soon differences developed between the American agent and the
European agent, and poor Maeterlinck was the sufferer.
On Christmas Day, Russell rang my bell and asked if he might
invite Mr. and Mrs. Maeterlinck and himself and his wife for lunch-
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 219
eon. I need not say that for such a pleasure, I would have offered the
RusseUs warm hospitality for the rest of their stay. Fortunately, I
had a French cook who was equal to the occasion of doing honor to
my illustrious guest. He entered shortly before the luncheon hour.
He is quite tall, fully six feet, just on the verge of portliness the
French so fittingly call it " embonpoint." He has a round, smooth
shaven face and grayish hair, apparently beginning to thin but so
combed over from the side as to cover the head. He has a well
shaped nose, determined mouth and a pair of eyes which look far
away into the distance. He wore a most attractive white flannel
coat with blue stripes, which was becoming to him.
His wife came in with him. She was very young, perhaps twenty-
three or twenty-four years old, dainty and petite. She reminded one
immediately of a little model from a dressmaker's shop. Her hair
was dark golden, but Nature seemed to have had a little assistance
here. She was well gowned, polite and rather shy. They all went
first into the studio where Maeterlinck showed a keen interest and,
in a quiet voice, made comments and asked questions. To the
others, the studio meant little beyond the fact that it was a well
Luncheon was announced, and I selfishly seated the guests so
that the poet faced me. It was a temptation to study that face
which was a world in itself. The conversation was in French. He
11 Monsieur, I am glad to have the opportunity to escape for once
from the round of festivities which are so trying to me."
And I: "I must apologize for the simplicity of my entertainment,
for which I have but one excuse to offer it is Christmas Day and
tonight I am dining out. But I do hope that there may be other
occasions when the master will permit me to show him some more
He became more communicative. He inquired about the sur
roundings of New York. One of his admirers had placed at Ms
220 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
disposal an automobile, but it was a closed one and used principally
by the ladies. I ventured to ask if lie would care to liave me take
him round in my little car and show him a few places of interest.
I told him of the beautiful open-air theater owned by a friend of
mine, near Huntington, Long Island, and of the performances given
there for the Red Cross during the war. I told him of the stage,
which is actually an island separated from the audience by a little
stream, on which there are swans majestically floating about; and of
the improvised curtains of steam rising from pipes concealed about
the stage, which is lighted by a multitude of cleverly arranged color
effects. He was eager to see it and ready to come with me. When
Russell learned that mine was only a runabout, he interposed an
objection right there and said: "The master cannot go. He must
use all the spare time to work on his English with my son."
There was no conversation between Mr. and Mrs. Maeterlinck.
He treated her as if she were a mere child; and indeed, she seemed
not to have the faintest idea of who and what he was.
The talk turned to Poldowska, which is the name under which the
gifted daughter of Weniawsky writes her charming songs. She had
just composed some lovely music to Maeterlinck's poem "Et s'il
revenait un jour/' far more beautiful than that written by others,
but he said he took little interest in music, that all the rights for
composing songs to his words had been disposed of and when she
came to his cloister for his permission, he had to refuse her.
When luncheon was over, Russell took me aside and asked me
not to invite Maeterlinck, as he could not arrange the time for it.
Obviously I had put myself in his bad graces when I suggested the
Soon after, the unpleasantness commenced for Maeterlinck.
Russell's jealousies placed him in awkward situations. One after
another the veils which had shrouded him in poetic mystery were
torn asunder by a ruthless hand. Poor Maeterlinck was not aware
of it until too late. The visitors became few and fewer, and to judge
Miss Reba Owen
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 221
from the peace on my floor, one would have assumed he had already
left. To my unspeakable joy I met him one evening in the <x>rridor
when we were both waiting for the elevator. It was about the
second week in February.
"Hello, Mr. Fuchs," he said. "How are you and what are you
doing? How is it that one never sees you? "
U I hardly ever move out of nay studio," I replied. "I find there
all my happiness in my work."
He heaved a deep sigh and said, "I can appreciate your feelings.
I only wish I were back home in my own studio, too."
While descending, I took advantage of the opportunity to ask
him to sign my album, which I explained I had not had the courage
to do after Russell's admonition. A few days later he came in and
did this for me.
In June of that year Clare Sheridan and I dined at a house where
the company was so dull that we entered into a conspiracy to leave
as soon as we saw a propitious moment. Poldowska was there too,
so we decided we should have a little music in my studio. On the
way, as we passed the Capitol Theater Building, I recalled that \
had promised a friend to go in and listen to some worthwhile singing
in his apartment. We all went in. As we entered we heard the
strains of a French song accompanied by the piano. The singer
was a lady of middle age with golden hair, artistically gowned in
two halves of blue velvet held together by silk cords. The tightness
of the lacing accentuated her graceful lines. She sang beautifully
but was unable to repress an emotion which emphasized the signifi
cance of the words. The audience was small and intimate. There
was atmosphere and understanding and, to the delight of her hearers,
she gave full expression to her feelings. She was Madame Georgette
Le Blanc, Maeterlinck's first wife, who, after twenty happy years
spent with him, gave him his freedom so that his happiness might
222 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
A most captivating man who was almost within reach of but who
still escaped my aggressive pencil, is Belasco. He received me in
his tusculum over his theater; and a museum it was. From the
instant I met him I was fascinated with the prospect of sketching
him among his treasures. His face is clean shaven with sensitively
marked features crowned by a wealth of silvery hair. He was in
black velvet and wore a collar which effectively denoted his position
of high priest in his temple of art.
He greeted me with cordiality, saying, "I have recently had a
sort of premonition that an artist was coming into my life and that
he would do something of me/'
I was naturally elated, and replied, "I am happy to have the
privilege of placing my art at the service of such an eminent man,
a prince in Ms domain/ 1
He bade me follow into his anteroom, where he presented me to
his secretary in these words: "Curry, this is Mr. Fuchs who wishes
to make a portrait of me. Please see that the necessary time is made
available, and that the sittings are undisturbed."
His behavior was so adulatory that the suspicion arose within me
that perhaps he was confusing my name with that of another artist
whose work was much before the public just then. But to make
certain that such was not the case, I invited him to my studio to see
some of my accomplishments. He accepted and named day and
hour. When the time came, some important matter prevented him
from keeping the appointment. Another date was named by Curry
but not quite so definitely. In fact, the visit never materialized,
nor did the portrait for my album. The excuses became more
vague engaged on a new manuscript, or a new production or out
of town, or indisposed, or any of a thousand and one reasons which
every portraitist recognizes as the product of an unwilling sitter's
fertile brain and finally they ceased altogether. One member of
his staff, a young woman of unusual ability, afterwards came to the
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 223
studio frequently and tried to impress upon me what a busy man
Mr. Belasco was, working day and night. . . .
I regretted the chance I had missed, or rather, that had not been
quite within my grasp. Upon making inquiries about my qualifica
tions as an artist, Mr. Belasco must have been advised to let me
alone. I was after all not the subject of his dreams. And shrouding
himself once more in that mystery which so well becomes him, he
drew the curtain between him and me which separates our two
worlds and relegated each back into its own.
It is a lofty vocation to impart to the rising generation what has
been handed down to us as a sacred patrimony, but comparatively
few possess the gift of expressing themselves with sufficient com
prehensiveness so as to enable the pupil to derive the fullest benefit
from, the teachings of his master. Many great artists are quite
incapable of adequate expression and teach solely by demonstration.
Some however can explain how to do things altho" unable to do them
themselves. For the beginner, it would seem to me that this latter
type is preferable, and the former for the advanced student. But
the most we learn from our fellow-student, inferior as he may be.
The Beaux Arts Institute of Design maintains a free school of
sculpture for beginners and advanced students. Well-known artists
are invited to visit and give their services during a period covering
three months, and this has been productive of excellent results. It
induces the student to "be himself/'
One of my pupils was a Japanese. Viscount Kato, the present
Prime Minister of Japan, sent me the son of a friend who wished to
study in England. It was an interesting experience. He, like so
many of his countrymen, had a facility for copying most minutely
and precisely, but he showed little imagination. After six months
he returned to Japan. I came to America. A few years later he
revisited Europe and traveled via New York. He brought several
pictures which were so incomprehensible that lie found it expedi-
224 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
ent to issue an explanatory pamphlet, from which I quote a few
We are now standing at the critical moment of humanity. There are
few born now whose spiritual and intellectual capacities represent the ages
of a thousand years hence. ... In my art I have attempted to reveal
the processes that have led my art from artificial creations to super-artificial-
growing creations, and so I have styled it a mediumistic school.
The more advanced painting of the present age has so far progressed as
to be able to delineate mental phenomena. But these schools of painting
axe unable to exhibit anything decisively and analytically as to the origin of
all things, and the substance of the mind. I who found it impossible to corn-
form to this state of unreason have at last arrived at this, my art, Reitherism
or Spiritico-etheric art; I was thus saved.
Reitherism is an artification of human life, a beautification of all things
material and immaterial. It is a beautiful manifestation of Spirit, et cetera,
He came from a distinguished family, spoke and wrote the English
language fluently with a touch of poetry. He was one of the few
playmates of the Crown Prince during his schooldays, and while he
was our guest in London, he received many calls from prominent
Japanese who vindicated what some one had said about each country
being almost like every other when judged by its upper ten thousand.
Being of independent means, he was unhampered in working out his
own salvation in art. Here is one of his letters to me:
MY BEAU SPIRITUAL FATHER,
I am more than sorry I worried you so much. I hope you will forgive
me, I have found much courage through your letter. The man ought to
stand indipendently on this world. It is more respectable to wear broken
jackets by one's own hand than beautiful dress by other's help. Please for
give me to ask you so many troubles. I hope you will understand my inner
truth. And let me come and see you soon.
La Dame aux CEillefs
The Beautiful French Model
Little Jane and Her Mother
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 225
The " troubles " were that, after his return from Japan, I advised him
to work more and play less. I must admit that when I saw the re
sults of my teachings, I decided to give up. My little pupil had given
He gave an exhibition in New York, which no one could under
stand. All day he waited for visitors and when one would finally
arrive, he would try to explain what his weird pictures meant, only
to have the person disappear before he was well started.
One Christmas Day he brought me what he considered a spiritual
representation of myself, which I reproduce herewith because, not
only do I think it is a good likeness of my features but, in so far as
I am able to divine, of my soul as well.
He wandered restlessly over the globe; when I last heard from
him he was at home once more. Since then, I have learned that he
was one of the earthquake victims. But long before, he was morally
lost to art. He belonged to one of those numerous societies which
sprang up in Japan and wanted to modernize everything, adapting
Europe as their standard. Sometimes he would send me an illus
trated catalog of the Imperial Academy Exhibition in Tokyo. Looking
through all these reproductions of paintings and sculptures, done with a
Japanese mind and a European surf ace, causes me to appreciate the
importance of every country, like every human being, preserving its
own individuality. If Europeans were to work in the spirit of the
Orientals, the same feelings would no doubt be produced in their
minds. It would seem that the whole movement is to be regretted;
they may lose their own art without gaining another worthy of cul
"Earth's noblest thing, a woman perfected." (Lowell.)
[FTER my return to the States I felt that the time had
come when I should get away as much as possible from
commissions. Generally our best work is that done by
inspiration instead of to order. I was also anxious to
know the influence of my many years of painting on
my sculpture and if it would have the effect I hoped for. I had several
sketches for pieces of scope. One was for a group of two figures, which
presented a problem that I had rarely seen successfully solved: When
is a composition suited to the round and when for execution in the
flat? It seems to me that when a group or a single figure has more
than one view worthy of perpetuation, on account of its flow of line,
distribution of masses, or its expression, then the round is the form
dearly indicated. Where the theme presents one good view, all the
varieties of bas-relief are offered, from the highest, bold, masses like
the frieze at the Parthenon to the lowest, the flattest, almost a mere
Rodin's Kiss and Ms Hand of God will illustrate my meaning.
These are a splendid solution of a composition in the round. Fully
to appreciate it, one must go carefully around it and admire the
multiplicity of lines which are intertwined in endless variations.
His Age of Bronze and The Thinker, although single figures only, are
no less admirable compositions for the round ; but I doubt if his Citizen
of Calais or Ms Three Shadows would not have been better suited to
Mgh relief, emphasizing the one view as its excuse for existing.
The Laocoon group, and The Dance by Carpeaux, at the Opera in
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 227
Paris, are other examples of groups in the round, the first perhaps
showing the more superb harmony of line and grouping*
In my composition which I called The Group and which I decided
to execute in almost life size, this was the problem which interested
me most. And as it has always been my habit to work on a variety
of subjects at the same time and so preserve the freshness of eye, I
chose a few friends for portrait busts, the men mostly for bronze and
the women for terra cotta or marble. A girl of about eighteen, who
posed professionally and had excellent features, sat for a head for me
which I executed in pink marble. This stone, which really is of granite
formation, very hard and brittle, came from the quarries which fur
nished the walls for the Dome of Milan. From time to time a piece
sufficiently free from black veins would find its way into the sculptor's
studio. Such pieces have a beautiful pink shade almost flesh color,
which is still further enhanced by a certain transparency. In order to
work such stone, one must resort to the drill whenever feasible, on
account of the extreme brittleness, but the result recompenses a
hundredfold for all the hardships it entails. This head I called
Tamara and set it on a base of Parian marble, whose bluish-gray still
further enhanced the warmth of the pink.
Almost simultaneously, I chiseled a Mother and Child. Though
the generations succeed each other with monotonous regularity, the
beauty of this relation retains its purity throughout the ages. It has
ever been the refuge of the artist, the poet, the musician when he seeks
a nucleus around which to spin his tissue of lines or rhymes or
chords. To Melchers it offered countless motifs for his paintings and,
old as it is, somehow the Interpretation is always new and young.
A vital question to an artist is, quite naturally, his models. What
studies of nudes could Rembrandt not have made if he had had the
use of one such model as we have today in such number. Even with
out this assistance, however, his etchings are incomparable and we
look at them with unmixed delight. The lifting of art to a higher
228 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
plane tends more and more to place artists in a class by themselves,
through whose eyes we are learning to see and understand Nature.
Ever since the beginning of civilization, the development of mind
and body has been the primary aim. The Greeks were the first whose
intellectual development soared so high that their influence in art is
still felt. To them the human body was the Ultima Thule of beauty.
If their statues are still beyond our comprehension, it is because they
viewed nature differently. Their custom of transacting their affairs
in their vast bathing establishments, was the means of familiarizing
them, with the entire body as completely as we are now acquainted
with only the head and hands.
But they were not content merely to reproduce the body; they
aimed at its idealization. The result was a product of knowledge,
science, and imagination. In construing their gods, they created a
type far beyond the reality. With their remarkable intellects, they
built a figure with all the natural and actual characteristics, but in
such manner as to indicate the road to perfection. Their facial angle
of almost ninety degrees indicated that the largest space was reserved
for the brain,
Of equal importance was their establishment of the relation be
tween head and body which they fixed at the scale of one to eight, and
that is the standard at which we aim today, imparting the sense of
harmony, so noticeable in their statues.
With all due reverence to our models and their beauty, youth and
intelligence,, we are not yet arrived at that stage where in simply copy
ing them, we can produce perfection. As a race we are no doubt im
proving. Since we have taken up the culture of the body with gusto,
the human figure has shown marked advancement, due to the differ
ence in climatic conditions, although not in equal degree in every
In Italy most of the models come from a little village called Sara-
cinesco, situated on the slope of the Alban, hills. The act of ascending
and descending these hillocks has produced a superb race.
Mrs. Lewis Chandler
When Mrs. Philip Benkard
Mrs. Edward W. Clark, 3rd
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 229
The closer we approach the Poles, the slower the development.
Girls of Sweden and Norway preserve their youthful figures in a re
In Rome I was fortunate in that among the callers at my studio
was a young French girl, who was willing to help me out. The pathos
of my Mother-Love group made a strong appeal to her and, although
the pose was too severe a tax to be held for more than a few minutes,
she gave me ample time to make a study of its main points.
As to the child in the group, as soon as the word was passed that
an. artist needed a baby model, Italy being the land of children, my
studio was the scene of an actual invasion.
If the baby seems to rest naturally and easily in its mother's arms,
it is chiefly attributable to imagination and studies. To behold the
group in its entirety as I had conceived it was not possible on account
of the arduity of the pose.
The English girl has generations behind her who went in for some
sort of sport and bequeathed her a slender and supple body, though
her feet and hands are more generous in size than those of other
countries, where golf and tennis came into vogue much later.
The French model is quite another type. In France the masses
are just beginning to show an interest in physical development and
sport. Prior to this it was limited to some few men who restricted
their exercise to fencing. Consequently the bodies of French girls are
not yet so well proportioned as are those of the English. In speaking of
proportion, I refer chiefly to two items the length of the limbs in com
parison to the whole body, and the relation of the head to the figure.
What the French model lacks in perfection of form is fully offset
by the quality of her posing. I do not mean that she sits motionlessly
or more quietly, but I allude to her grasp of the spirit the artist wants
to inject into his work, and for the expression of which the model is
half responsible. The French girl with her inborn love for art, in
herent in the entire nation, will put herself out to help the artist, and
so identify herself with his work and his success, if possible.
230 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
Of course there axe exceptions. Occasionally in one individual
will be united all those attributes of mind, face and physique which
constitute the embodiment of the perfect model. Such a one came
into my studio one day. She was a French girl who had been famous
as a dancer in Paris. Shortly after the war broke out she came with
her mother to America to escape some of those hardships of a war-
ridden country which were already affecting her profession.
Owing to her meager knowledge of English she was unsuccessful
in securing an engagement, so she joined the ranks of the desperate
ones who, unable to earn a living otherwise, knock at the artist's door,
certain of sympathy, understanding and help. She was of a rare
beauty; ivory skin, a symmetrical body, even lovelier than suggested
by her youth; her golden hair contrasted with dark brown eyes, her
sensitive mouth and finely chiseled nose all conspired in the con
summation of one of Nature's masterpieces.
Strangely enough, beauty of face and figure are seldom combined
in one person. An artist who has a good model for the head will often
waste time and effort in persuading her to pose for the figure, only to
be sadly disappointed at the imperfections disclosed. It would seem
to be the operation of that fundamental law of compensation toward
an equal distribution of gifts. With the return of that happy day
when we shall have learned to look upon the body with the un
prejudiced eye of the ancient Greeks, the hidden beauty revealed to
us will be startling, and the admiration hitherto denied to its pos
sessors will be meted out to them in fullest measure.
My French model posed with understanding; even her criticism
had a value on account of its spontaneity and unpretentiousness, be
cause she had that flair for the best in art, peculiar to the French and
Italians. And she was prompt and regular in keeping, her appoint
ments. A girl with such qualities was an offering from the gods, but
I felt that they would not let me have her long. In France she could
not have come my way at all, and I knew that it was only a matter of
time when the enterprising eye of some manager would espy her. And
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 231
so it was. The genial Morris Gest, that blending of vision and expedi
ency, discovered her all too soon and made a place for her in his pro
duction of the Cocoanut Grove on the Century Theater roof. For
him no obstacle to her appearance existed. What need for Semone
to speak in halting English when she could smile in perfect French?
Again, why try to adorn a figure that required no embellishment, that
was in itself an exquisite garment? She lay in a hammock as the cur
tain arose, and played her silent r61e so attractively, and she so com
pletely filled the eye of the spectator that he hardly noticed anything
else on the stage.
When the theatrical manager shows an interest, the artist may as
well resign himself to the loss of his model. The mere sound of the
word " rehearsal" is like a call to arms ringing through the studio.
At this word of command the poor girl gives up everything else to
spend weary hours, days and weeks holding down, a chair in the
breezy atmosphere of the stage if she is a newcomer there. At the end
of four or five weeks the munificent reward is a glorious thirty-five or
forty dollars a week, out of which she must repay what she has bor
rowed to keep her going during all her idle time. That insidious lure of
the boards, and the fervent hope of some day being discovered as a
Pavlowa or a Galli-Curci! Still one must admire these brave, strug
gling souls who go on year after year, keeping up their courage, spirits
So many artists complain of the dearth of good models, but the
fault is largely in themselves. There is a proverb "A good name
goes far and a bad one farther." If an artist has a reputation for
sincerity he may have all the models he needs, and more. They are
numerous and come from everywhere. Jealousy seems not to exist.
A girl who enjoys her work in a studio will bring her friends, and so,
one way and another, one may choose from all types and ages. Some
times a sylph from the opera ballet or even from Ziegfeld's company
finds her way into the artist's workshop. Not all are attracted by the
monetary compensation; some have a genuine liking for the artistic
232 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
side of life. They may have a figure which they feel is " here today
and gone tomorrow " and are willing to have it perpetuated through
the medium of art.
Quite recently I worked with a young dancer from the Follies who
delighted in the most difficult poses and in her eager enthusiasm in
sisted on curtailing the periods of rest. To such a girl the fee is a
The remuneration for posing varies in different countries and for
different models. Like everything else, it has increased materially in
the last few years. As students in Rome, we paid five francs a day,
which was generous, at that time equivalent to about a dollar. For
this sum the models cheerfully devoted a few hours to cleaning the
studio or cooking, if need be. As time went on, the price increased to
three or four dollars a day, and is now five to ten. On account of
the scarcity of really good models, some artist would engage one to
work for him exclusively. I was never in favor of this custom, not
solely because of the selfish feature of it but also because of the
rapidity with which the figure alters in its youthful transitions.
Sometimes even before a big statue is completed the model's features
have changed, Too slavishly copying from life, however excellently
executed, imparts to the finished work the character of a study and
does not reveal the freedom it should. As in riding a bicycle where
absolute equilibrium is essential to prevent vacillation, so too in art
complete coordination is necessary in living up to the dictum: "The
perfection of art is to conceal art."
The sculptor who cannot draw has to make his sketch in some
what unwieldly material. Alterations are complicated, tiring and
costly, so that not infrequently he resolves to compromise with his
conscience, to the detriment of the quality of his work. Were he
accustomed to chalk and pencil, he could fix on paper with a few
lines some good features of a new model, as well as contemplated
changes for comparison with the work as far as it has progressed.
Often the criticism of a friend in whose opinion we have faith
From a Lithograph
, - >^;V
Studies of Nudes
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 233
will prompt us to dig right into the clay and make changes we after
America supplies the best and most useful models; here one finds
that delightful admixture of beauty, proportion and intelligence.
This can only be attributed to the climate, which is responsible for
many differences in the various countries.
In the Latin countries the tendency is still toward bodies too long
for harmonious proportion, but in this respect each generation shows
a marked improvement in the American girl.
With all due respect to Mr. Ziegf eld and his judgment of feminine
pulchritude, I should not like to be obliged to accept as the epitome of
perfection any member of his ballet or chorus chosen at random, any
more than he would care to have me choose his galaxy. Dancing has
made their legs rather muscular, and their breasts tend often to over
development, which in the English girl are among her chief beauties.
For years I had cherished an idea which I hoped some day I would
be able to put into form. I only awaited the advent of a suitable
model. My conception was of a young girl standing with arms out
stretched and eyes closed, listening to a distant voice "The Call
from the Beyond.' 1
It was at the beginning of the war when I was working hard in my
London studio in the attempt to dispel my unhappiness, that a frail
little woman entered, accompanied by a girl of about fourteen with
blue eyes, red cheeks and a wealth of dark hair flowing over her shoul
ders. She was a widow with three daughters, who had brought her
youngest child in the hope of obtaining some posing for her. While
painting a study of the girl's sadly beautiful features, I became more
and more convinced that here was the longed-for model.
One day I mentioned this to the mother. I explained my idea and
then hesitatingly showed her my sketches. After consulting with the
other daughters, to my intense joy the little girl came in and took
the pose, without even a word. It was so momentous to me that I
234 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
could hardly await each coining day to restime where I had left off the
day before. Like an apparition she would arrive, take her pose, her
face enveloped in unspeakable sadness, her thoughts far away, and
rarely uttering a word.
While still at work on my model in day, a lady with her young
daughter visited me. She seemed to take a lively interest in the va
rious objects about my studio, but for the young girl there existed only
the statue on which I was working, and in which she was completely
absorbed. She asked question upon question about it and the title
and its meaning. Next morning I found a note slipped tinder my
door, with these verses:
Listen, through the woodland valleys
Comes a whisper to my ear,
Like some fairy voices calling
From a wondrous higher sphere,
Calling softly, ever softly.
Let me follow, O my heart,
To hear the tale of mystic beauty
Of which this world is but a part,
Let me follow and respond
To the Call from the Beyond.
The little girl who posed for the statue has died long since, a vic
tim of the malady that carried off her father and her mother "that
dire disease, whose ruthless power withers the beauty's transient
flower. 1 '
A few years ago when the Architectural League held its spring ex
hibition in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, I ventured to send my
Call from the Beyond. It was assigned a flattering position and
commended by those who distinguish between sentiment and senti
mentality. Also, the membership committee of the League extended
to me an invitation to join, a compliment which I fully appreciated
because, in the old country, we have learned to wait for these honors
to be offered to us. It may take a lifetime or two, but their value
seems the greater for having been, presented.
"And Beauty draws us by a single hair/* (Pope.)
was in May, 1914, that I became restless and decided
tliat it would be an excellent plan to take a hurried
trip through Europe, stopping only at the principal
centers of art to bathe my eyes in beauty. I would
take in Berlin, Munich, Vienna, Venice, Milan,
Genoa and back through Paris, which should be sufficient to en
lighten me about the progress of art and free me from those prejudices
which we so easily form in our own favor if we work too long without
At Berlin my old master, Schaper, was still alive, and welcomed
me warmly. Since I had met him in Pittsburgh, where he had been
sent by the Kaiser as his representative at the opening of the first in
ternational exhibition at the Carnegie Institute, our relations had
changed from master and pupil to that of brethren in art. In his
studio, to my regret, I noted that he had altogether discontinued his
work. He had outlived himself in his art. His classic style, which
found its supreme expression in his monument of Goethe in the
Tiei^arten, brought him not only the order of the Red Eagle but the
order of Merit as well. This order was not conferred in approval of
the taste of the All-Highest War Lord, but was bestowed by the chap
ter itself. The membership is limited to treaty-three, and whenever
a vacancy occurs they choose the successor. It can readily be com
prehended what an unusual honor this is, because the selection is the
judgment of artists, themselves appointed in like manner.
236 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
I found Schaper depressed, and I pitied him* He was like many
other sculptors who regard their profession solely from a commercial
viewpoint, and he had continued to build monuments to Emperors
William and Frederick, which, in his prime, were erected all over the
country and were now, one by one, sinking into oblivion. Also, his
primary objective, the vast fortune he had set aside for his family,
after the war dwindled to almost nothing with the depreciation of
His most gifted pupil, a classmate of mine, looked much farther
ahead and soon aligned himself with the modernists. All of Germany
was already imbued with a sense of its greatness. In school the Ger
mans were taught that they were the leaders of the world. They also
wanted to prove that they were the leaders in art. The good old art
was not good enough. France was starting all sorts of isms. It must
be outdone. Everything had to be superlative. In fact, the word
11 superman " originated in Germany. And this young man, with his
opinions and his genuine talent, forged ahead. At a comparatively
early age he had surpassed his master in honors, commissions and
popularity. When I went to see him, after years of separation, he was
polite, but with that air of superiority which is better concealed even
After exchanging a few opinions about art in general, he ex
claimed, "How can you talk about art? Last spring I went to London
to see the National Gallery with my own eyes, but it made me so sick
that I left it hurriedly, and I never want to see it again."
Well, that precisely expressed my feelings about him, too, and
that's just what I did. I left for Munich the next day. But these
views of his extended to music, the stage, and even architecture.
Only a few weeks ago an architect from Berlin sent me here some de
signs for furniture, and asked if I could not give him the names of
some other architects in America whom he would regularly supply
with new ideas. He was also willing to consider accepting a chair in
modern architecture at one of the leading universities if I could se-
Portrait of Mr. Fuchs by his Japanese Pupil
This is not only a likeness of his features but supposed to be of Ms soul as well
Etching of an Italian Woman
i^y< ""'"r |E>4 t ,',), ( i >1
^' ? ' ^ U* rM V^*wA.^4w, k.l
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 237
cure a contract for a period of years. That it might prove interesting
for those who engage such services to see what he had to offer did not
occur to him. I sent him the last catalogue of the Architectural
League, with a few lines saying that he evidently thinks because this
country is young, that it still sleeps like a baby, so I thought it might
interest him to see for himself just how wide awake they are here.
I haven't heard from him since. . . .
About thirty years ago a movement started in Germany, the
main objective of which was the elimination of detail as much as pos
sible. This big reaction was inevitable after the baroque with its
overdecorativeness, followed by that era, especially noticeable in
Germany, when there was difficulty in procuring enough sculptors to
produce all the patriotic monuments which were springing up like
mushrooms, or the period of revival of mythological statues of the
Greeks and Romans. Most of them were so bad that the mediocre
ones shone by comparison. The older sculptors were still under the
influence of Thorvaldsen and Canova, who, after all, did no more than
imitate the classics. These puppets are as discouraging to look at
as are those monuments in the Genoa and Milan cemeteries, where the
figures have been clothed in modern fabrics and laces, carefully copied
in marble. All of which proves what a great and difficult art sculpture
is and how poorly prepared the students are who enter its career.
Last year when the National Sculpture Society arranged its
memorable exhibition, it was the intention to set aside one room for the
display of studies and sketches in drawing. Of more than two hun
dred exhibitors only a dozen availed themselves of this opportunity.
This lack of the fundamentals is one of the reasons why sculpture is so
Since the Renaissance I believe I would have difficulty in naming
half a dozen sculptors who knew how to make a portrait. Those few
who did make good busts stand out so prominently that they are
numbered among the best of all time Carpeaux, Houdon, Reinhold,
238 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
Begas and Rodin. As for Rodin, I long for the time when a sound and
sane appreciation of his work will understand how to differentiate be
tween his sublime and his ridiculous achievements. The group of ad
mirers of his early, magnificent work which had secured him a per
manent position among the great ones who conceived the idea of
assigning to him one entire pavilion at the 1900 French Universal
Exhibition, did him a poor service, because in trying to fill it they
stuffed it with everything, good, bad and indifferent, that he had
ever done. Why not have selected his masterpieces and let him be
remembered by those alone?
When as students we went to Rome, we arrived with those pre
conceived notions obtained in schools, which at first proved only a
constraint to the admiration of what was really good, though in many
instances we had our personal doubts and misgivings. We stayed on
and talked these questions over among ourselves, which led to the
discovery that our unbiased opinions were by no means so isolated as
we had feared. This was our first rude shock as to the infallibility of
those who, for what reason I cannot conceive, decree the fashion in
art, as Worth, Poiret or Callot Soeurs of the Rue de la Paix are the
arbiters of style in women's clothing.
In the present tendency in sculpture in America I notice a leaning
of a group of gifted young sculptors towards Byzantinism, if I may so
caJl it. I believe it as great a waste of their energies, their time and
their talents as it was for Thorvaldsen and Canova with their imita
tions of dassidsm. In both, in my humble opinion, there is nothing
on the part of the leader beyond a desire to be different, and an
obliging servility on the part of the followers. It cannot lead to any
thing good or useful because the fundamental conditions which created
the huge monuments, like the Sphinx, the Niobe or the frieze of the
Parthenon no longer exist. The artists of those times produced
them, under the prevailing influence, religious or aesthetic or both.
Hie result was stupendous because it was a homogeneous product
and a monument to the times. To create such works after the lapse
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 239
of several thousand years is like warming over a meal; no matter
how well it may be cooked, I shall prefer plain bread and butter, and
it would be more wholesome too.
Since my early days at the academy in Berlin I have realized the
futility of aesthetic discussions on art. We had so many of them during
class and after. Some of them waxed so hot that a large sign was put
up at the classroom, which read: " By high order: No discussion in art,
religion or Richard Wagner." Also in Rome at the Trattoria delle
Colonette, the pensionnaires of the German Government assembled
each night to settle the important questions in art tinder the influence
of Chianti. They ended in nothing more than a few scraps, into one
of which I was drawn against my will, and it was my first intimation
that it would be better to continue with my work and keeo my views
Hans von Marees, the artist, who was really nothing more than an
sesthetician, held his daily exchange of views on art in the Trattoria.
They formed the foundation of a school which produced a Hildebrandt,
Lenbach, BoecMin and Tuaillon, since which no one has had much suc
cess with such discussions. But it must be admitted that these were
the greatest artists Germany could boast of thirty or forty years ago.
In America, where I have been able to follow the art movement
during the past twenty years, I have noticed great changes. The
first year after I arrived, Chartran, the portrait painter, was my
neighbor in the studio building. His success had been phenomenal,
due to his speed, his achievement at a likeness, but chiefly on ac
count of Ms happy affiliations with a well-known art dealer. His star
had then set, or was in the descendant, and one day he came in for a
He sat down and, after watching me for some time while I labored
painstakingly over a detail, he said regretfully, "I wish I had kept at
such methods and did not do as I did. Never crowd too much work
into your day, for the quality is bound to suffer."
240 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
His advice was sincere, but I did not need the warning.
The public attitude has changed considerably toward visiting
artists from abroad, my reference being chiefly to painters. A while
ago the simple term "foreigner" was magic to many; and if an artist
could secure a commission to paint one notable lady or gentleman,
this would bring him in enough orders to keep him busy an entire
season. Before the sitters discovered that they had been duped, the
artist had disappeared. Although such cases are rare now and be
coming more so all the time, I was much amused to be in close
proximity to the happenings of the following incident:
One morning the papers announced on the front page the arrival
of an artist who had come over here to paint fifteen of our most beauti
ful girls. This was a novelty. He was besieged with applications
from willing sitters, as well as for interviews. My curiosity as to his
work was aroused.
One evening I attended a reception, where I was presented to the
foreigner, who was just holding forth on his views to an admiring
circle. I welcomed the opportunity to learn. Later, when he heard
that I was an artist, he invited himself to see my studio. We ar
ranged a little luncheon for the following Sunday, to which we in
vited another painter whose work interested him. That Sunday
in the rotogravure section of one of the papers appeared the repro
ductions of three of his beauty series. They were dreadful. And it
was very painful during the meal to juggle the conversation, so that
neither art nor newspaper nor anything else was referred to which
might have touched on, the delicate subject. My relief when it was
over was pronounced. Immediately after this, he left for California
on an important " err-and," and he also left a splendid studio behind.
He is probably still "err-ing."
Rarely does the artist know how his work affects the public, for
he is not confronted with it as the musician is. Sometimes, however,
little notes are received which are very amusing. Here is one:
Corner in Mr. Fucks' Studio in New York
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 241
DEAR MR. FUCHS,
Please pardon a stranger writing you. Today I went up to the
R Gallery to see your picture and they told me it had gone to your
studio, and that perhaps if I wanted to see it, you would allow me to do so.
Briefly the picture solved a rather big difficulty for me when I saw it
first. I have had a story waiting for a beginning and a satisfactory ending
for nearly a year. When I saw your canvas, immediately the entire story came
to me. By chance, I saw the original head in R 's window and it
deepened all I had hoped for from it. Coming to a rather difficult point in
my story today, I went up to R 's with the result as I have given it to
you. Could I please see it again ? If I were able, I would buy the painting
from you, but I am a horribly poor person and on but the very first rung of
the steep ladder to attainment in writing. If I am asking an entirely im
possible thing, I am sorry, but I would like to see the picture once more.
I would very much appreciate permission to do so.
Of course I wrote her that she might draw all the inspiration she
wished from my sketch, and I sincerely hope it did not prove to be a
disappointment after all.
"... So rtms the round of life from hour to hour." (Tennyson.)
WENTY years is a long time to a country so vigorous
and enlightened, so accustomed to forge ahead as
America is. Many artists of distinction have ap
peared on its horizon. The one-sided partiality for
foreign art has given place to a preference for native
artists. It is right that this should be. Prejudice formerly obscured
the vision to the merits of their own younger generation, just growing
up. But this is no longer so.
For half a century American artists lived abroad, where they re
ceived more ready recognition ; but one af ter another, like the prodigal
son, they returned to their native soil to the country of unlimited
possibilities. From now on I believe they will take the lead in other
branches, as they already have as illustrators. A few of these, like
Maxfield Parrish, Charles Dana Gibson and Joseph Leyendecker, are
in a class by themselves and have developed styles striking in their
America was the first to use art to beautify its posters, which are
in themselves an education. While riding in a crowded subway train
the eye longingly seeks the relaxation denied to the body, and finds it
in the advertisements, in which the fine arts and commerdalism are
drawn together. The combination should prove to be helpful to both.
England was quick to grasp its importance and followed right in line.
Recently a campaign was inaugurated there for the improvement of
their posters in railways, to which the leading artists lent their as-
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 243
sistance. What was started during the war as a matter of patriotism
is now continued for a cause no less important to posterity, the awak
ening of aesthetic feelings in the masses. This is not so vastly different
from the olden times, when art was enlisted to enhance the beauties
of the Gospel and its teachings, and I hope I may not be guilty of
profanation for so closely linking the two.
New York has advanced another step in promoting intimate col
laboration between the arts and crafts, which, because of its excel
lence, will doubtless be followed all over this country as well as
abroad. It is the founding of the Architectural League, an institution,
whose members are architects principally, but which includes also
sculptors, painters and men prominent in the allied crafts. Their ex
hibitions compete with those of the National Academy and are per
haps more generally patronized. The variety of their exhibits per
mits of a rich display of form and color. Large architectural drawings
and models are set off by precious tissues, the finest that home in
dustry can produce. Skillfully wrought iron objects and statues in
bronze are cleverly interspersed with exquisite glass, stained and
moulded into delicate shapes. Fttmiture, fashioned in such perfection
as to defy the criticism of the artist eye, is arranged against a back
ground of modern tapestries in harmonious colors and of infinite
variety. There are also drawings, murals and cartoons from the hand
of the best artists in the land.
There is an entire room reserved for the Prix de Rome students,
who use every endeavor to make a feature of it. Recently the League
extended its usefulness by inviting architects from other countries to
join in making the exhibitions a more complete survey of the activi
ties and progress in architecture during the year. Last year there was
a splendid consignment from England, containing the work of some of
the foremost men in the profession. Next year, according to an ad
vance notice just sent out, there will be an architectural and allied
arts exhibition at the Grand Central Palace, international in char
244 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
These are important steps toward giving this country the coveted
lead in art.
Today America is fertile soil for the delicate plant, art, to grow
into a tree of importance. It may even become the Renaissance of the
twentieth century. Here is wealth, and quantities of it, which, al
though in itself it has nothing to do with art, can and does create the
opportunities for the study and practice of it, such essential factors
in its growth. Here are also many appreciative people, increasing in
number each day, who return from the Old World where they have
noted what an important part art plays in culture and civilization.
Religion invokes its assistance in reaching that tenderness within us
which prepares us to listen to our better selves, to that voice we all
hear faintly, but which is too frequently drowned in the clamor of
Here are the museums. Their rapid growth, due to the generosity
of many high-minded collectors, makes me feel that the day is not far
distant when they will be the shrine of art worshipers of the world.
Visit the Metropolitan Museum on Sunday afternoons and be con
vinced that art and beauty will be the gospel of the future, and the
museum its place of worship. Its teachings can never be made a sub
ject of controversy, because the facts are before our eyes, tangible
and intelligible to the meanest understanding. But we must watch
the high priests in whose charge we place the temple.
To many people music is nearer, more comprehensible. The con
stant increase in the number of classical concerts and in the size of the
audiences, testifies to the fact that they are more and more becoming
an institution, ready to take hold of one's mind and exert that influ
ence which makes us better beings. And music is that form of art
which reaches the heart through the ear instead of the eye.
In the past fifty years or so there were many deflections from the
big straight road. The Old World, in its desire to revive interest in
art, indulged in many forms which, under as many isms, found small
groups of adherents chiefly because to many of them contradiction is
The Artist's Studio in New York
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL 245
a necessity. These deviations from the great movement are nothing
more than little outlets, which will never alter the steady course of
the majestic stream.
In 1915, just before returning to America, I visited an art gallery
in New Bond Street, in London, which had been hitherto crowded be
cause it showed the modern and the newest in art. To my surprise
the rooms were nearly empty. Near the entrance I recognized a
couple who had been noted for their interest and support of the latest
movements. I was curious to hear their comments, and was aston
ished when the lady said to her husband, after having looked at a few
of the exhibits, "Let's go away; I can't stand it any longer."
Today we hear far too much about technics, surface and brush-
work. It gives rise to the impression that these are the final aims in
art. A cleverly brushed canvas stands an infinitely greater chance of
being hung in an exhibition than one which expresses a thought, an
In music the reaction has come. Not so very long ago a pianist
with nothing beyond a brilliant technic, still had a fair chance of suc
cess. Today the reproducing piano, with its faultless and even
rendering of a composition, has taught us to appreciate the artist who
can offer us something besides mere pyrotechnics.
Because a man is a good landscapist does not make him a good
judge of figure subjects, and to be compelled to submit such canvases
to a jury, the majority of the members of whom are landscape paint
ers, would seem to be unfair. Just as sculpture is passed upon by
juries of sculptors, so should paintings be judged by two distinct types
The brilliance and ease of Sargent's brush have produced a host
of imitators; I could name a dozen well-known artists who have sup
pressed their own individualities to cater to fashion and the fleeting
humor of public taste. And while they might have succeeded super
ficially, closer inspection reveals that that genius is lacking which,
combined with untiring industry, is shown by every stroke of the
246 WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
master hand. They would have served art better had they remained
true to themselves.
The institution abroad of the master-studio seems to me worthy
of consideration. Most of the academies there invite the prominent
artists to accept a few pupils who wish to round out their education
under such guidance. The tuition is free; the academy provides
studios and material and a variety of teachers, all of first rank. To
teach under such conditions is an honor that but few would decline.
But all these matters are insignificant in relation to the main
issue. It is like pushing a train in motion to make it go still faster.
And this country does move.
Looking back over the years, I experience the thrill of ascending a
Mil on a bright spring day and being caressed by the gentle zephyrs.
In the distance we observe the sun rising from behind the mountains,
slowly enveloping the country in its rays. Its warmth pervades us.
We would like to embrace the universe. Hope and happiness, those
essential factors so often dimmed in our everyday life, return with
renewed force and vigor, and we feel better because we have again
worshiped at Nature's shrine Nature, the great friend, the great
By and by the American will draw away from the material side of
life. Having acquired all his worldly needs, he will drift toward the
spiritual environments. He feels the impulse of bettering himself,
and instinctively he does this by contributing to the betterment of
the world- Hence men like Rockefeller, Morgan, Frick, Huntington,
Altaian, Albright, and others, are mile-stones in America's existence.
Highmindedness and generosity on such a scale have never before
been known. There have been and there are rich people on the other
side, rich indeed, but what they do for others is infinitesimal in com
parison to what is done by Americans for America. The cause of the
contrast is obvious and simple. Europe is old and lacks the super
abundant confidence of youth, that impulse which is its mainspring
WITH PENCIL, BRUSH, AND CHISEL
and causes it to act without much premeditation. How otherwise
would it have been possible that some philanthropists went so far in
their generosity that they themselves suffer today?
I wish I might glance into this world a hundred years hence and
revel in the realization of a dream which I see, as an apotheosis of
our present life * * in vision beatific ! ' '
Plaquette In the Pedestal of a Portrait
Bust of a Lawyer
Abbey Lodge, 180, 182
Abreo Villa, 207, 208
Adams, Edward Dean, 187, 203
Aird, Sir John, 154
Albany, Duke of, 148
Albert Edward, Prince of Wales, 32, 37, 39,
48, 50, 60, 64, 67, 69, 70, 71, 72, 73. 75, 76,
77, 78, 80, 81, 84, 97, 102, 115, 118, 119, 121,
122, 123, 124, 155
Alexander, Lady, 57
Alexander, Sir George, 57
Alexandra, Princess of Wales, 70, 71, 73, 75,
77, 8 1, 82, 83, 84
Alexandra, Queen, 132, 133, 134, 135, 162, 163,
Alfred, Duke of Edinburgh, Duke of Saxe-
Coburg and Gotha, 67, 69
Allen, Maud, 180
Alma-Tadema, Lady, 174
Alma-Tadema, Sir Lawrence, 48, 62, 78, 97,
172, 173, 174
Anderson, A. A., 218
Angelo, Michael, 22, 62, 86, 94
Anisfeld, Boris, 200
Appleton House, Sandringham, 77
Architectural League of New York, 234, 237,
Art, Science, Music Medal, 161, 162
Ashley, Maud, 151, 163
Ashley, Wilfred, 156
Asquith, Herbert, 175
Asquith, Mrs. Herbert, 164
B , Count of the Austrian Embassy, 159
B 1 C , Doctor, 199
Baden-Powell, General Sir Robert, 150, 151
Baker, Sir George, 154
Balcarres, Lord, M.P., 142
Balcombe Place, 38
Balmoral, 105, 157, 161, 164, 165
Bancroft, Sir Squire, 57
Bayreuth, 148, *49
Beal, Dr. Howard W. 203, 204
Beatrice, Princess, IO2, 103, 108
Beaux Arts Building, New York, 191, 218
Beaux Arts Institute of Design, 223
Begas, Reinhold, 237
Beit, Alfred, 193, 194
Belasco, David, 222, 223
Bell, Mr. Moberly, 168
Bell, Mrs. Moberly, 168
Beresford, Lady Charles, 91, 182
Beresford, Lord Charles, 91, 95
Beresford, Lord Marcus, 74, 76, 80, 95, 96
Beresford, Lord William, 95
Berlin, 13, 107, no, 235, 236, 239
Bernhardt, Sarah, 8, 9, 10
Birchoffsheim, Mr., 153
Birchoffsheim, Mrs., 158, 159
Birchoffsheim & Company, 153
Bismarck, 14, 20, 86 T 179
Blanford, Marquis, 51, 53
Boecklin, Arnold, 239
Booth, General, 202
Botticelli, Sandro, 175
Boucicault, Dion, 57
Boughton, George, 174
Bourget, Paul, 51
Brahms, Johannes, n, 12
Brakespeare, William A, in
Brashier, Professor, 197
British Artists, Royal Society of, 172
British Museum, 137, 184
Broderick, St John, 158
Brough, 113, 126
Brown, Harris, 113
Buckingham Palace, 105, 169
Burden, Mrs. James A, 198, 200
Burne- Jones, Sir Edward, 32, 44, 47, 64, 92, 97
Burne-Jones, Sir Phillip, 92
Busoni, Feruccio, n, 46, 56
Cadogan, Earl, Lord Lieutenant ofilreland,
CaHfrom the Beyond, 233, 234
Callot Sceurs, 238
Calnaghi, Martin, 168
Campbell, Mrs. Patrick, 56, 125
Caoova, 237, 238
Carnegie Institute, Pittsburgh, 235
Carpeatss, 227, 237
Carrel, Dr. Alexis, 201
Cassel, Maud, 153, 156
Cassel, Sir Ernest, 151, 152, 153, 154, 155, 156,
Cavalieri, Lina, 181, 182, 183, 198
Cellini, Benvenuto, 28, 48
Chamberlain, Austen, 142, 143
Charles, Prince of Denmark, 75, 78, 80
diaries, Princess of Denmark, 75, 78, 80
Christian of ScMeswig-Holsteia, Princess, 128,
129, 132, 135, 148
Christian Victor of Schleswig-Holsteia, Prince,
108, 128, 177
Churdiill, John, 50, 51
Qrarchili, Lady Norah, 52
Churchill, Lady Randolph, 49, 52, 53 } 54> 85,
Churchill, Winston S., 50, 51, 210
Clarence, Duke of, 48, 79
Clarke* Sir Stanley, 37
Clinton, Lord Edward Peliatn, Master of
Queen Victoria's Household, 101. 104, 130
Clyde, William R, 185, 188, 195
Coburg, 147, 148
Cobtug, Dudhess of, 77, 129, 146, 147
Colebrooke, Lady, 198
Connaiiglit, Duke of, 50, 136, 146, 157
Constable, John, 163
Cooper, Lady, 183
Cooper, Sir George, 183, 184
Coronation, 145, 163
emanation Medal* 160, 161, 162, 166
ComwalMs-West, Colonel, 124
Comwallis-West, Mrs., 124, 125
ComwaJii&-West 9 Geoige, 125
Crane, Walter, 47
Crown Prince of Germany, 18
Culm visit, 206, 208
Cost, Sir Charles, Equerry to the Duke of
Dalm, We&L, 3
Davfe, Arthur, 1,
De Btoiseoy Sir Maurice. BritMi Ambassador
Be Ja Riie, Thc& & Co,, Ltd., 138,, 139
De Martino, EdtardOj 165, i^
De Pacfamaim, Vladiimr, n, 46'
De Vigneaa, Ommberlajii of &e Ducii^s of
Devonshire^ Duchess of, 121, 122
Devonshire, Duke of, 119, 120
Deym, Count Franz, Austrian Ambassador at
the Court of St. James, 99, 151
D'Herlys, Semoae, 231
Di Lavaggi, Maichesa, 27
Doria PampMIy, Prince, 27
Drammoad, Sir Eric, 51
Dudley, Lady Georgiana, 119
Duncan, Isadora, 180, 181
Duveen, Sir Joseph, 184
Edward VII, 67, 108, 129, 131, 132, 134, 135,
J3^, 137. 138, 139, 140, 141. 142, 143, 144,
148, 152, 155, 156, 157, 160, 161, 162, 163,
164, 165, 166, 169, 171, 172
Edward, Prince of Wales, 82, 83
Eitel Frederick, Prince, 18
Elkington & Company, 162
Ellis, Alexandra, 31, 32, 37
Ellis, Sir Arthur, 32, 37, 38, 39, 64 69, 70, 74,
141, 146, 160, 172
Ellis, Miss, 37, 64, 65
Ephrussy, Mme. Maurice, 86
Evans-Gordon, Sir William, M, P., 158
Farquhar, Lord, Master of the King's House
hold, 59, 60, 165
Farquharson, Dr., M. P., 142, 143
Faur<, Felix, 58
Field, Mrs. Marshall, 195
Fildes, Sir Luke, 174
Frampton, Sir George, 97, 172
Francis Joseph, Emperor, 7, 22, 26
Frederick, Emperor, 19, 20, 236
Frederick, Empress, 20, 137, 164
Frederick, Sir Charles, 165
French, Mr., 169
Prewen, Moreton, 57
Prey tag, Gustave, 31
Priedheim, Arthur, n
Porbes-Robertson, Sir Johnston, 42, 56, 198
Po^cue Seymour, 37, 69, 73
Fyfe, Duchess of (Princess Louise), 7?, 164.
Fyfe, Duke of, 75
jainsborough, 98, 194
jauthier, Theophile, 3
jeorge of Greece, Prince, 119, 120
jeorge V, 144
3est, Morris, 208, 231
jibson, Charles Dana, 242
^f^^Ifred, 48, 49, 79
Uoelet, Mrs. Robert, 121, 200. 201
Godet, Robert, 121, 202
Gordon, General, 91
Gorlitz, Hugo, Manager of PaderewsH, 61
Gorska, Madame, 61
Gould, George, 185
Gould, Kingdon, 185
Gotdd, Marjorie, 195
Greenfel, Lady Sybil, 52
Griffiths, Colonel, 36
Griffith, Ellis, M.P., 142, 143
Guiness, Benjamin, 198
Guiness, Mrs., 198
Halin, Rinaldo, 38
Halle*, Chas. E., 47, 48
Hals, Franz, 113, 114
Hamilton, Sir Edward, 121
Hanslick, Edward, 90
Harcourt, Lewis (Lulu), 55, 57, I75 *76, 177*
Harcourt, Sir William, 55
Heinz, H. J., 176
Hellmer, Prof. Edmund, 8, 13
Hemphill, Alexander J., 209
Henschel, George, 157
Henry, Prince of Prussia, 197
Herbert, Sir Miclaael, 165
Herbert, Lady, 165
Hervey, Canon, 81
Hervey, Mrs., 81
Hervey, Miss, 8 1
Hirsch, Baron, 153
Hohenzollem Museum, Berlin, 19
Holbein, Hans, 97
Holford, Captain George, 37, 65, 115, Il6
Holland House, 41
Holt, Sir Herbert S., 209
Homer, Winslow, 203
House of Commons, 141, 142, 145
Howe, Earl, Lord in Waiting to Queen Vic
Rowland, Mrs., 89, 90
Hughes, Edward Robert, 47, 48
Hunt, Holman, 47
Huntington, A. M., 246
Huntington, H. E., 125
Ikhester, Lord, 121
International Society of Painters, Sculptors
and Engravers, 127
Irving, Sir Henry, 10, 42
Iveagh, Lord, 198
Jerome, Travers, 200
Jeune, Lady, 158
Jeune, Sir Francis, 158
"ulian II, Pope, 22
"uno, The Modern, 205
Kahiocky, Count, Austrian Minister of For
eign .Affairs, 29
ato, Viscount, Prime Minister of Japan, 223
Sombolton Castle, 40, 41, 42, IO2
Slaw, Mark, 208
Enoedler Galleries, 195
Kjiollys, Lady, 73
Knollys, Lord (Sir Francis), Private Secretary
to Albert Edward and King Edward, 67,
73. l6 4
Knollys, Louvima, 67, 69, 73, 82
Knollys, Miss, 70, 73, 116, 122, 163
Kteisler, Fritz, n, 46, 59, 203
Ladenburgh, Thalman & Company, 198
Langham Artists Society, in
L&szl6, Phillip, 97, 9%> 99 II2 W *&
Lavery, Sir John, 127
Lawrence, Sir Thomas, 163
Leblanc Maeterlinck, Mme. Georgette, 221
Lee, Linda, 195
Lefebvre, Julian, ill, 172
Leslie, Mrs. Jack, 54
Lewis, Lady, 97, 172
Lewis, Mrs., 58, 59, 97
Lewis, Sam, 58, 59. 97
Lewis, Sir George, Bart., 96, 97
Leyendecker, Joseph, 242
Lipton, Sir Thomas, 91, 165
Lister-Kay, Lady, 38
Liszt, Abbe, 46, 147
Lloyd-George, David, 175
London, 33, 35, 38, 4* 4^, 43, 44* 4^, 49. 6 4>
69, 88, 98, 102, in, 114, 125, 126, 130, 135,
142, 143, 145, 153, 159, *73> i&? 183, 193,
195, 198, 203, 208, 209, 210, 224, 236, 245
Londonderry, Marchioness, 119, 121
Londonderry, Marquess of, Postmaster Gen
eral, 119, 120
Lowther, Mr. James, 119, 12 1
Lucas, Seymour, 174
M 's Magazine, 199
Maeterlinck, 218, 220
Makart, Hans, 12, 172
Manchester, Duchess of, 38, 40, 42, 105, 153
Manchester, Duke of, 39, 41
Mancini, Antonio, no, HI, 126
Margerita of Savoy, Queen of Italy, 31, 32, 33
Marlborough, Duchess of, 51, 52, 53, 182
Marlborough, Duke of, 51, 52, 53, 95
Marlborough House, 69, 114, 137
Marshall, Evelyn, 195
Mary, Queen of England, 159, 161
Matthews, Miss Ethel, 36
Maud, Queen of Norway, 67
Melchers, Gari, 199, 227
Mensdorff, Count Albert, Austrian Ambassa
dor at the Court of St James's, 98, 99, 100,
Mesdag, W. H., 174
Metal King, 193
Metal Queen, 193
Metropolitan Museum of New York, 137,
175, 192, 203, 234, 244
Meyer, Mrs. Carl, 32, 33, 35, 37, 38, 219
Meyer & Mortimer, 169
Mend, Sir Alfred, 175
Mond, Dr. Ludwig, 175
Montagu, Lady Alice, 39, 41, 49, 101, 102, 103,
105, 106, 156
Monte Parioli, 24.
Morgan, John Herpont, 55, 201, 202
Morgan, John Herpont, Jr., 158, 246
Morgan, Junius, 202
Marges, Lausanne, 61, 62, 64
Mother and Child, 227
Mother-Love, 25, 30, 49, 229
Mountbatten, Lord, 156
Mount Edgecombe, Lord, 165
Munich Art Association, 30
Muther, Private Secretary to Queen Victoria,
101, 103, 108, 109
Napoleon, 24, 160, 161
National Academy, New York, 243
National Gallery, London, 127, 236
National Sculpture Society, 237
Nehdim Mahmud Bey, 27
New English Art Club, 48, 127
New Gallery, 47, 48
New York, 183, 188, 190, 192, 195, 196, 198,
219, 223, 242
Nicholas II, 87
Normanton, Countess, 163, 164
Normanton, Earl, 163, 164
Nossfk, D., 62
Osborne, 108, 129, 136, 146
Otto of Austria, Archduke, 159
Baar, Count Charles, 26, 27
PaderewsM, 11, 33, 34, 46, 56, 61, 62, 63, 64,
9, 97, 174
Pagam Restaurant, 45, 46
Parlaghy, Irma, 15
Pamsh, Maxfield, 242
Persimmon, So, 81, 82
Phillips, Sir Claude, 92
Pinero, Lady, 56
Pinero, Sir Arthur, 56
Pisa, 22, 24
Pless, Prince of, 125
Pless, Princess of, 125
Pope, A., 209
Poynter, Sir Edward, Bart., President of Royal
Academy of Arts, London, 171, 172, 173,
Pre-Raphaelites, 32, 44, 45, 48
Primrose, Hon. Neil, 86
Prince Consort, 132, 165
Princess Royal, 67, 75
Prix de Rome, 13, 24
Probyn, General Sir Dighton, 73, 122, 137
Queen's Hall, 45
Reid, Sir James, 165
Reid, Whitelaw, 115
Rembrandt, 87, 98
Renaissance, 27, 190, 192, 237
Revertera, Count, 26
Reynolds, 98, 163, 195
Richter, Dr., 175
Rockefeller, 201, 246
Rodin, August, 167, 227, 238
Rome, 24, 25, 29, 30, 31, 33, 37, 42, 47, 65, 88,
89, 102, 107, no, in, 175, 187, 229, 232, 238,
Ronald, Mrs., 58
Rosebery, Lord, 86
Rosenau, Castle, 148
Rosenifoal, Moritz, n
Rosetti, 32, 44, 47
Rothschild, Alfred, 85
Rothschild, Anthony, 85
Rothschild, Baron Alphonse, 86, 87, 88
Rothschild, Baroness Alphonse, 88, 89
Rothschild, Edouard, 88
Rothschild, Evelyn, 85
Rothschild, Leopold, 85, 86
Rothschild, Lord, 48, 49, 85, 154, 155
Rothschild, Mrs. Leopold, 85
Rou.ma.nia, Queen of, 148
Roxburgh, Duke of, 119, 121
Royal Academy, 32, 37, 39, 42, 47, 48, 49, 101
in, 113, 127, 144, 145, 171, 17 2
Rubinstein, Anton, n
Rudolf of Austria, Crown Prince, 181
Russell, Henry, 218, 219, 220
St. Cecilia, 30
St. George's Chapel, 48, 128
St. Helier, Lady, 158
St HeHer, Lord, 158
Sandringham, 67, 69, 70, 73, 75, 77, 79, 95
99, 116, 117, 118, 119
Sargent, John S., 32, 35, 47, 48, 95. 97, no,
112, 114, 126, 127, 173, 245
Sassoon, Reuben D. t 165
Schaper, Fritz, 13, 20, 235
Schiller, 148, 176
Schuster, Frank, 58
Sciarra, Prince, 86
Scott, Lady, 180, 181
Seipel, Monsignore, Prime Minister of Aus
Semon, Lady, 157
Semon, Sir Felix, 157, 158
Shannon, J. J., 47, 48, 174
Shaughnessy, Sir Thomas, 209
Sheridan, Clare, 54, 55, I75> 2 i> 2I2 2I 4 22 *
Smith, George, 183, 190
Smith, James Henry (Silent Smith), 183, 185,
188, 189, 191, 192, 195, 200
Solm, Count Bernhardt, German Ambassador
in Rome, 26
Solomon, J. S., 173
Somni-Hcenardi, Marquis, 198
Sorolla, Joaquin, 97, 199, 200
Several, Marquis de, Portuguese Minister at
the Court of St. James's, 151, 152, 182
Spanish Academy, 24
Speyer, Lady, 90
Speyer, Sir Edgar, Bart, 90
"Spy" of Vanity Fair, London, 180
Stavordale, Lord, 121
Steinbach, Dr. Emtt, 7, 12, 21, 22, 29
Stone, Melville, 204
Strathcona, Lord, 209
Strauss, Johann, n
Strauss, Richard, 208
Sutherland, Duchess of, 182
Swasey, Ambrose, 196
Teck, Prince Francis of, 159, 182
Tennant, Sir Charles, 164
Thomas, Mrs. Edward R. f 195
Thorvaldaen, 237, 238
Times, the London, 142
Tosti, Francesco Paolo, 38, 45
Trattoria, Vicolo delle Colonette, 25
Tree, Sir Herbert Beerbohm, 57* 5&
Tourbetsky, Prince, Paul, 199, 200
Truth, London, 143
Twain, Mark, 200
Tweeddale, Julia, Marchionness of r 158
Tweedmouth, Lord, 155
Vanbrough, Irene, 57
Vanbrough, Violet, 57
Vanderbilt, Consuelo, 51, 95
Vanderbilt, Mrs. W. K, 198
Van Dyck, 98, 113
Van Norden, 202
Velasquez, 98, 113, 153
Venezia, Palazzo, 26
Victoria and Albert Museum, 137, 146
Victoria, Louise, Empress of Germany, 17
Victoria Melitta, Grand Duchess of Hesse, 148
Victoria of Schleswig-Holstein, 148
Victoria, Princess of Wales, 67, 70, 75, 77, 84,
Victoria, Queen, 35, 45, 101, 102, 103, 104, 105,
106, 107, 108, 109, 128, 129, 130, 131, 132,
133, 134. 136, 137, 150, 156, 157, 158, 160,
161, 162, 164, 165
Victorian Order Royal, 109
Vienna, 4, n, 12, 29, 30, 181, 203, 235
Villa Medici, 24
Von Angeli, Heinrich, 104
Von Baltazzi, Aristide, 181
Von Baltazzi, Hector, 181, 182
Von Bentinek and Waldeck, Linapurg, Count,
Von Bruck, Baron, Austrian Ambassador in
Rome, 26, 27, 29
Von Bunsen, 179
Von Deichman, Baron, 179, 180
Von Deichman, Baroness, 179
Von Glehn, 1 13
Von Herkomer, Hubert, Prof., 135, 136, 137
Von Hildebrandt, 239
Von Home, Sir Robert, 209
Von Lenbach, 15
Von Mare"es, Hans, 239
Von Moltke, 20, 86
Von Pasetti, Baron, 29
Von Pfyffer, 108, 130
Von Reischach, 16
Von Trauttenberg, Baron, 99
Von Virchow, Prof., 21
Von Wallot, 15
Von Werner, 13, 14, 20, 24
Wagner, Richard, 94, 239
Wales, Prince of, 165, 166
Wales, Princess, of 165, 166
Walker, Mrs. William Hall, 55
Walker Art Gallery, Liverpool, 42, 54
Wallace, Sir Edgar, 74
Ward, Humphrey, 92
Warner, W. C., 197
Watts, G. T., 54
Wernherr, Sir Julius, 193
Wertheimer, Asher, 126
Wertheimer, Mrs. Asher, 126
Westminster, Duchess of, 125
Westminster, Duke of, 125
Whelen, Elsie, 200
White, General Sir George, 150
WMte, Stanford, 184
Wilde, Oscar, 152
William I, Emperor, 86, 202, 236
William II, Emperor, 14, 17, 18, 19, 20, 50,
67, 120, I25 r 130, 133, 136, 199, 235
Windsor, 88, 99, 101, 103, 104, 105, 107, 108,
128, 141, 152, 177
Witte, Count, 87, 88
Wolseley, Viscount, 36, 49, 101, 102, 103
Wood, Sir J. Leigh, 176
York, Duchess of, 75, 78, 80, 123, 124
York, Duke of, 75, 78, 80, 123, 124
Ysnaga, Miss, 38, 42
Ziegfeld, Florenz, 231, 233
Zom, Anders, 156