John Leech, His Life and Work. Vol. 1 [of 2]

John Leech, His Life and Work. Vol. 1 [of 2]
William Frith

William Powell Frith

John Leech, His Life and Work. Vol. 1 [of 2]

PREFACE

I am very conscious of the many sins of commission and omission of which I have been guilty in my attempt to write the “Life and Work of John Leech”; but, that ingratitude may not figure amongst my shortcomings, I take advantage of the usual preface to acknowledge my obligations to friends and strangers from whom I have received assistance, and to express my warmest thanks for their kindness.

The time that has elapsed since Leech’s death has terribly thinned the ranks of his friends and contemporaries; but the leveller has spared and dealt tenderly with one of his earliest and most constant friends, Mr. Charles F. Adams, whose store of Leech’s letters, together with many pleasing reminiscences, have been placed unreservedly at my disposal. From Mr. Kitton’s memoir of Leech I have derived, through the author’s kindness, much advantage; and to Mr. Thornber, a well-known collector of Leech’s works, I owe the opportunity of selecting some of the best illustrations that grace the book.

I also desire to express my gratitude to the proprietors of Punch, who, though unable to comply with my unreasonable demand to the full extent of it, have given me most important help in my endeavours to do honour to the genius who was such an honour to Punch. I owe to those gentlemen no less than eight of the full-page illustrations, to say nothing of numbers of small cuts.

I take this opportunity of thanking Mr. Grego, my neighbour Mr. McKenzie, Mr. Willert Beale, and Mr. Maitland for their help in various ways; not forgetting the Eton boy, whose anonymity I preserve according to his desire.

To Sir John Millais, Mr. Ashby Sterry, Mr. Horsley, Mr. Holman Hunt, and Mr. Cholmondeley Pennel I also offer my warmest acknowledgment for the papers they have so kindly contributed.

In conclusion, I permit myself a few words in explanation of that which I know will be laid to my charge, namely, that my book tells too little of Leech and too much of his work, and that it is chronologically deficient. In excuse I plead that the life of Leech as I knew it from its early days was, like that of most artists, entirely devoid of such incidents as would interest the public; and that from the difficulty of acquiring certain information, and the varying times at which it was supplied, chronological accuracy was impossible.

PROLOGUE

“‘Leech’(spelt ‘leich’) is an old Saxon word for ‘surgeon,’” writes a friend to me. “Hence, as you know, the employment of the word ‘leech’ as a term applied in former times to doctors.”

Though Leech is not a common name, I have met with several bearers of it under every variety of spelling that the word was capable of – Leech, Lietch, Leich, Leeche, Leitch, etc. Only two of the owners of these names became known to fame – John, of immortal memory, and, longo intervallo, William Leitch, a Scottish artist, and landscape-painter of considerable merit, whose pictures, generally of a classic character, found favour amongst a certain class of buyers. A large subject of much beauty was engraved, and, I think, formed the prize-engraving for the year for the Art Union of London. I have no doubt William Leitch was frequently asked if he were related to John. The sound of the names was similar, and few inquirers knew of the difference inthe spelling. Whether William was asked the question or not I cannot speak to with certainty; but that John was I am sure, because he told me so himself, and, as well as I can recall them, in the following words:

”I was asked the other day if I were related to a man of the same name – a Scotchman – a landscape-painter. He spells his name L-e-i-t-c-h, you know. I said, ‘No; the Scotch gentleman’s name is spelt in the Scotch way, with the ’itch in it.’ Not bad, eh? I hope nobody will tell him!”

I met William Leitch several times (he died long ago), and was always charmed by his refined and gentle manner; but we never became intimate, so I cannot say I had the following anecdote from himself; but it was told me by an intimate friend of the artist, who assured me that he had it from Leitch direct.

Leitch had a considerable practice as a drawing-master, chiefly amongst the higher classes. He taught the very highest, for he gave lessons to the Queen herself. I have never had the honour of seeing any of her Majesty’s drawings, but I have had the advantage of her criticism, and I can well believe in the reports of the excellence of her work.

The story goes that one day, in the course of a lesson, the Queen let her pencil fall to the ground. Both master and pupil stooped to pick it up; and, to the horror of Leitch, there was a collision – the master’s head struck that of his royal pupil! and before he could stammer an apology, the Queen said, smiling:

”Well, Mr. Leitch, if we bring our heads together in this way, I ought to improve rapidly.”

CHAPTER I

EARLY DAYS

On the 29th of August, 1817, a boy was born in London gifted with a genius which, in the short time allowed for its development, delighted and astonished the world. The child’s name was Leech, and he was christened John. The Leech family was of Irish extraction. From information received, it appears that the father of Leech, also called John, was possessed of an uncle who had made a large fortune as the owner of the London Coffee-House, Ludgate Hill. With this fortune he retired, leaving his nephew to reign in his stead at the Coffee-House, not without a reasonable hope and expectation that the nephew would follow in the uncle’s prosperous footsteps. But times had changed. Clubs were being formed, and the customers of the Ludgate Hill place of entertainment preferred to be enrolled as members of the novel institutions rather than subject themselves to the somewhat mixed company at the Coffee-House. Leech’s establishment, however, struggled on into my early time, for I can well remember being advised, if I wished for a good and wonderfully cheap dinner, consisting – as per advertisement – of quite startling varieties of dishes, my desire might be gratified by payment of eighteen-pence to the authorities at the London Coffee-House, Ludgate Hill.

I do not know the precise time at which the doors of the Coffee-House were finally closed and the father Leech, with his large family, was thrown upon the world; but it must have been some years after the subject of this memoir had been enrolled amongst the Charterhouse scholars, an event that took place when he was seven years old. Previous to this by about four years, some feeble buds of the genius that blossomed so abundantly afterwards are said to have shown themselves, and to have been observed by Flaxman as the child sat with pencil and paper on his mother’s knee. The great sculptor is reported to have said:

“This drawing is wonderful. Do not let him be cramped by drawing-lessons; let his genius follow its own bent. He will astonish the world.”

I venture to think that for this story a grain of salt would be by no means sufficient. No drawing done by a child of three years old, however gifted, could be “wonderful” in the estimation of Flaxman; and that such an artist as he was should have said anything so foolish as what is tantamount to advising a parent against “learning to draw” I take the liberty of disbelieving. Flaxman was a friend of the Leeches, and in after years, while John Leech was still a youth, the sculptor again examined some of his sketches, and, after looking well at them, he very likely said, as is reported:

“That boy must be an artist; he will be nothing else.”

A child of seven seems almost cruelly young to be subjected to the hardships of a public school.

“I thought,” wrote John’s father, “that I was not wrong in sending him thus early, as Dr. Russell, the head-master, had a son of the same age in the school, and John was in the same form with him.”

No doubt the elder Leech felt much the parting from his little son, but to Mrs. Leech the boy’s leaving home was a severe blow; the mother’s heart would no doubt realize and exaggerate the perils to mind and body arising from contact with something like six hundred fellow-pupils, scarcely one so young, and none so loving and lovable as her little boy. John was boarded at a house close by the Charterhouse, and only allowed to go home at rare intervals. The fond mother, however, could not live without seeing him, and to enable her to gratify her longing, a room was hired in a house overlooking the boy’s playground, from which, carefully hidden, she could see her little son as he walked and talked with the form-fellow, “the particular friend” to whom a sympathetic nature had attached him; or watch him as he joined heart and soul in some game – not too rough – for a fall from his pony, by which his arm had been broken and was still far from strong, made such rough sports as are common to schoolboys too dangerous to be indulged in.

The Charterhouse rejoiced in a drawing-master named Burgess. Upon what principles that master proceeded to train the youth of Charterhouse I am unable to speak; they were most likely those in vogue at the time of young Leech’s sojourn. If they were of that description, it was fortunate that Leech paid – as is said – little or no attention to them, finding a difficulty, no doubt, in applying them to the sketches that constantly fell from him on to the pages of his school-books.

It may be urged that when Flaxman warned the boy’s mother against teaching as being sure to cramp her son’s genius, he alluded to the Burgess method. That may have been so. But a man like Flaxman, who had possessed himself by severest study as a young man of the means by which his powers were developed, would, I think, have been sure to warn Mrs. Leech of the difference between the teaching that would be mischievous, and that which is proved to be indispensable by the universal practice of the greatest painters. I am aware I shall be confronted with the case of John Leech, who was, so to speak, entirely self-taught; but Leech was not a painter, and certainly never could have become a good one without training; besides, he was altogether exceptional – unique, in fact. In my opinion, we are as likely to see another Shakespeare or Dickens as another Leech.

This is a digression, for which I apologize. I cannot find that my hero – I may call him such, for he was ever a hero to me – paid much attention to classical knowledge. Latin verses were impossible to him, but they had to be done; so, as he said, he “got somebody to do them for him.” In spite of his weak arm, he fenced with Angelo, the school fencing-master; but, beyond the advantage of the exercise, the accomplishment was of no use to him.

Here I cannot resist an anecdote of which the fencing reminds me.

Some years before Leech’s death the editor of a newspaper, who was remarkable for the severity of his criticisms and for his extreme personal ugliness, had made some caustic remarks on Leech’s work in general, and on some special drawings in particular.

“If that chap,” said Leech to me, “doesn’t mind what he is about, I will draw and defend myself” – an idle threat, for nothing could have provoked that gentle, noble nature into personality, no trace of which is to be found in the long list of his admirable works.

Several letters, delightfully boyish, written by Leech to his father from the Charterhouse, are in my possession. Some of them, I think, may appropriately appear in this place.

    “Septr 19 1826

“Dear Papa

“I hope you are quite well. I beg you will let me come out to see you for I am so dull here, and I am always fretting about, because I wrote to you yesterday and you would not let me come out. I will fag hard if you will let me come out, and will you write to me, and the letter that you write put in when you are going to Esex and when you return for I want to very particularly

“How is Mamma, Brother and Sisters

“I hope Ester is quite well,

    “Your affectionate“Son
    “J Leech

“I am very sorry that I stayed away from School with – but I promise never to do it again and I beg you will let me come out on Sunday.”

    “Charter House October 2 1826

“My dear Papa.

“You told me to write to you when the reports where made out, they are made out now, and mine is, does his Best. I hope you are quite well, and Mamma the same. I hope Tom Mary Caroline, and Ester are quite well. I have not spoken to Mr Chapman yet about the tuter, and drawing Master, because I had not an oppertunity, send me a cake as soon as it is convenient

    “Your affectionate son
    “J Leech.”
    [No date.]

“My dear Papa.

“I write this note to know how poor little Polly is I hope she is better to day pray write to me before the day is over and tell me how she is. I hope you and Mamma Tom and Fanny are all well since I left you last night.