TWENTY YEARS of MY LIFE 1867 to 1887 by LOUISE JOPLING (Mrs JOPLING-ROWE) with TWENTY-EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS
Total Page：16
File Type：pdf, Size：1020Kb
TWENTY YEARS OF MY LIFE 1867 to 1887 by LOUISE JOPLING (Mrs JOPLING-ROWE) WITH TWENTY-EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS [ONLINE EDITION, UNIVERSITY OF GLASGOW, 2015] LONDON: JOHN LANE THE BODLEY HEAD LIMITED NEW YORK: DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY First published in 1925 MADE AND PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY MORRISON AND GIBB LTD., EDINBURGH LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS Louise Jopling (from the painting by Sir John Millais) Frontispiece Louise Jopling-Rowe Bud and Bloom Four Sisters Lady Lindsay of Balcarres Louise Jopling, George Meredith, Lady Palmer, H. B. Irving, Oscar Wilde, Miss Meredith, David Bispham, Herman Herkomer and Johnston Forbes-Robertson J. M. and Louise Jopling, Lindsay Millais Jopling A Study presented to the National Art Gallery, Sydney, by its Purchaser [Five Sisters of York?] Louise Jopling, Lindsay Jopling, Percy Romer Mrs. Geoffrey Cockell The Far-away Heart Forlorn Isabella; or, The Pot of Basil “Paul said, and Peter said, And all the saints alive and dead vowed she had the sweetest head, Bonnie sweet Saint Bride” Mrs. Alexander Mrs. Langtry as Rosalind Walter Sickert Elaine An Indian Princess Correcting Pupil’s Work Hogarth’s House, Chiswick Gateway, Chiswick Horace Walpole’s House Chiswick Mabel Collins Louise Jopling as Handmaiden in “Helena in Troas” by J. Todhunter Lunch Time “The Song of the Shirt” TWENTY YEARS OF MY LIFE 1867 to 1887 Disclaimer: While the accuracy of this text has been checked as far as possible, it is not guaranteed to be free of error. Please let us know if you notice any typos or other inaccuracies. Note : Original page numbers are given in square brackets throughout the text. Patricia de Montfort University of Glasgow July 2015 TWENTY YEARS OF MY LIFE 1867 to 1887 CHAPTER 1 “Once upon a time” the editor of a weekly newspaper wrote and asked me to give him a description of my first picture. I relied: “You find me full of excuses, for not being able to accede to your request. You ask an impossible thing, to write about myself! So uninteresting! I would rather expatiate about the weather, the children even the servants, anything but about my first success. All I remember about it was, that it left me profoundly miserable. Such high hopes; such poor results!” After giving expression to these sentiments, here I am writing about myself! I have the feeling, however, that I am describing the life and adventures of some one else. I am like the old woman in the nursery legend, who did not know if she were she herself, or somebody else, after her petticoats were cut. I picture my readers in the same frame of mind as the French country servant who was brought by his employer to Paris, and told that he might go to the theatre. The next morning his master wanted to know how he enjoyed the play, and as he did not seem very enthusiastic about it he was asked to explain. “Well, sir,” he said, “I went to the theatre, and after I had been seated a little time a curtain [2] went up and two people came on the platform, and commenced talking of their own affairs. They didn’t interest me, so I got up and left.” I find it has interested me to review the past. I hope that my many friends (alas, fewer now in number!) may be interested also. Well, to begin my Reminiscences – or, as Mrs Kendal wittily calls them, Remi-nuisances – I was married in 1861 at the age of seventeen to Frank Romer, who at that time was in the Civil Service. Frank was one of the sons of a musical composer and publisher. Another became a Senior Wrangler, and ended his careers as the distinguished Judge, Robert Romer. We lived in London; had two children; and no thought of an art career entered my head. In 1865, Frank came home one day and said: “How would you like to live in Paris?” I opened wide eyes of astonishment. “Yes,” Frank continued. “Bob [my brother-in-law] is giving up his secretaryship, and Baron de Rothschild has asked him to find a successor, so he has offered the post to me.” “How splendid!” I ejaculated. “But you don’t know any French!” “Neither did Bob when he went. But that doesn’t matter, as the Baron, poor fellow, is blind. I have only to write letters, and read the English papers to him.” “Oh, let us go!” I cried. And so it was settled. One day, in 1867, Frank showed some pencil sketches of mine to the Baroness, who was a very clever water-colour artist. “Your wife ought to take lessons,” was her verdict. So, stipulating that I should study as a professional and not as an amateur, I entered the State Technical School near. There I discovered that I was short-sighted, which fact, however, was rather a help than a hindrance to my studying [3] Art, the tendency of beginners being rather to see too much than too little. When fitted with glasses, I realized, alas, that the world was not so beautiful as I had thought it! And, to my great regret, I also found blemishes in people I had hitherto admired. A friend, hearing that I was studying seriously, gave me a letter of introduction to Monsieur Charles Chaplin, whose Studio for women students was the fashion just then. I found the great man in his Studio, palette in hand, before one of his decorative subjects – probably intended for the Tuileries. Monsieur Chaplin was tall and elegant. His fair hair and blue eyes showed his English origin. His other was a Frenchwoman, and her son could only speak his mother-tongue. When he attempted English, the result was rather amusing. I remember he asked me one day, before the whole class: “Est-ce que vous allez quelquefois aux ‘zee bars’?” I thought the two last words were in the French language, and not understanding them, I must have looked puzzled, for he impatiently said: “Bains de mer!” Monsieur Chaplin had a large following, for his was the only atelier at that time where all the students were women, so that careful mothers could send their daughters there without any fear of complications arising between the sexes. Many of Monsieur Chaplin’s pupils made their mark in the artistic world – notably Henriette Browne, an exceptionally gifted woman, who painted with a vigorous touch, placing her colours direct on to the canvas. Her work had brilliancy, but looked at closely, it had a spotty appearance. One of her pictures was called “L’Enfant malade.” 1 It represented a Sister of Mercy holding a sick child wrapped in a blanket. I was at an Exhibition where this picture was exhibited. A peasant and his wife were looking at it. [4] “Qu’est-ce qu’il a, le pauvre petit?” said the man. “Mais on voit bien qu’il a la rougeole,” the wife answered. Henriette Browne would have been amused at her artistic touch being taken for the rash of measles. When I entered the Atelier Chaplin I did so with all the trepidation of a novice, but I was soon put at my ease when a charming girl came forward; told me where I could sit; and procured me paper and charcoal. On my telling her that I had never drawn from life, she advised me that I must take care to make my portrait of the model the size of life. Beginners generally make their first drawings much too small. To prove this mistake of theirs, take a piece of soap and draw your face, as you see it, in a looking- glass. You will be surprised to see how ridiculously small it looks. I fell into the opposite error, for I drew my head as if it were the portrait of a giant, much to the amusement of the whole Atelier. Having only had a month’s training” from the flat,” I found drawing from the “life” very difficult. Later my Mater said to me: “Vous faisiez des horreurs! But,” he continued, “I noticed that you were the first to come to the Studio and last to leave, and I said to myself, ‘Ah! elle est sérieuse, cette petite, elle arrivera’!” I shall never forget the moment when he let me perceive that he thought I was really improving. He looked at my drawing, and then at me, and said: “Qu’est-ce que vous avez ce matin?” “Mais, monsieur, rien!” I answered. “C’est bien!” he said, tapping the drawing. “allez, continuez.” ‘Praise from Sir Charles Grandison was praise indeed!’ After Monsieur Chaplin had left the Studio, the other pupils crowded round my easel to see the drawing that he [5] evoked the magic word “Continuez” from the lips of our severe Master. Studio life was a strange experience to me. I had never been to a school of any sort, having always learnt with a governess at home. I had not worked with other girls, save my own sisters, and it took me a little time to acclimatize myself. However, my companions were charming, and the fact of my being a foreigner, and the mother of the two pretty little boys who, with their nurse, used to fetch me from the Studio, made the other students take an affectionate interest in me. It was glorious having so much opportunity for serious work. Only abroad can a working and a domestic life be carried on simultaneously with little efforts. In France one is expected to cultivate what little talent one possesses.