This is Chapter IX from Marks's Pen and Pencil Sketches, Vol. I, pp. 146-161, available on the Internet Archive. It has been formatted for the Victorian Web by Taylor Tomko — links and images were added by JB. Note that the St John's Wood Clique had no connection with the earlier group of painters whose sketching club was also called The Clique.
"Sketch of me by Herkomer," facing p. 146.
A PICTURE called “The Jester’s Text” was the last I painted in the little house in Camden Town, and not long after it was hung on the walls of the Royal Academy we left that neighbourhood for the more congenial regions of St. John’s Wood, where Calderon, Leslie, Hodgson, and Storey already resided. D. W. Wynfield lived with his mother and sisters on the Paddington side of Edgware Road, and W. F. Yeames, on his return from the Continent, where in Russia and Italy his early life had been passed, took a studio in the same thoroughfare. These seven were the original members of the St. John’s [146/147] Wood Clique — Calderon, Leslie, Hodgson, Yeames, Wynfield, Storey, and myself. Clique was an ill-chosen name, perhaps, but it was adopted thoughtlessly. Others talked of us as the St. John’s Wood School. This was not a correct definition, either, of what was really a bond of brotherhood. “The Gridirons” was another name we gave ourselves, and this was the best, and most descriptive of our object in forming this band, which was, while continuing to be the best of friends, to criticise each other’s works in the frankest and most unsparing manner. This is what he whom I must always consider the head of the Clique (Calderon) said at the time of our formation: “We have all of us now to work together, and do our very best, not caring who is first or last, but helping each other, so that all may come out strong. The better each man’s picture, the better for all.” In a short time the Clique became an established fact, and was recognised as such by the public press — though not always with enthusiasm.
A writer in Fraser's Magazine for July 1864, in an article reviewing the Academy for that year, wrote at some length on the St. John’s Wood Clique, and used these words: “In speaking of this group of artists as the ‘coming men,’ we have intended to indicate a fact, not to express an adhesion on our part.” But it is not my intention to discuss [147/148] the artistic merits of the Clique. It is rather late in the day to do that: I prefer to be the chronicler of their social acts. The relation of these will, I trust, afford more amusement to my readers than any dissertation on their art which I could offer them.
The Clique's badge, p. 148.
In course of time a few honorary members were added to the number of the Clique. These were F. Walker, G. du Maurier, Val Prinsep, and Eyre Crowe. We designed and had engraved a gridiron, with the motto “Ever on thee,” for our notepaper, &c., of which this woodcut is an enlarged version. The badge or order was a miniature brass gridiron, worn in the button-hole on all ceremonial or mock ceremonial occasions, as the installation of an associate or honorary member.
In the earlier years of the Clique, we would meet in the morning, after sending in our work to the Academy, and take a good country walk. We bought provisions on the road, leaving them at some roadside inn to be cooked by our return. [148/149] The old “Spotted Dog” at Neasden was a favourite resort. Returning at an appointed hour, we discussed our chops and sausages, and, if the weather was fine, would aid digestion afterwards by a gentle innocuous game of bowls on the tavern green, returning to St. John’s Wood by dusk. As our circumstances improved, we went farther afield; a little trip by rail would be indulged in, and more elaborate though still humble meals at the principal inn of the town we visited. On these days out, one of the members of the Clique stood treat, paying all expenses except that of the railway journey. The idea of these days originated with Leslie, who led off in July 1862 with a trip to St. Albans, and its fine old Abbey, of which the restorations had not then commenced. Nothing calling for special remark occurred that day. We dined at the “ Peahen,” then, and possibly now, kept by people of the same name as myself, but not related, so far as I know, to the writer. Not that I would vouch for the fact; for the Marks’s have increased and multiplied in a marvellous manner. I have more cousins than I know of, or care to count: many I have never seen, nor am I ever likely to see them.
"The 'Tap' of a Country 'Pub'" (p. 150)
The second day was given by Calderon. Walker was by this time an honorary member of the Gridirons, for he was one of the party. We spent the earlier part of the day in Cassiobury Park, [149/151] and, among other amusements, got up a swimming match between Yeames and Walker. Both performed in the most Beckwith-like manner, and the race was a dead-heat. We dined at the Lord Essex Arms, Watford. When the cloth was cleared, Calderon’s health was proposed and drank in what beverage history telleth not, but it certainly was not champagne. I then sang some verses in honour of our host, written for the occasion, but kept dark till the proper moment, to ensure their effect. They are somewhat personal, but my friend is good-natured enough to allow me to print an extract. The air, an old English one, will be found in “Chappell’s Ballads,” and was selected as being doleful and appropriate to the general sentiment.
CALDERON’S HEALTH.
Air . — “ The moon shall be in darkness.”
1.
Of all the lucky fellows
Who bask in fortune's sunshine,
None compare with Philip Calderon,
An old friend of mine;
And though in the country
He’s brought us out to tea,
Don't let us cease to growl at
His pop-u-lar-i-tee![151/152]
2.
For twelve long years I've known him,
Ere his beard was yet well grown,
When he was thinner than a lath,
And came out strong in bone;
Then we studied art together
Under dear old Mr. Leigh,
And picked up a few wrinkles
Chez Picot à Paree!
3.
For ev’ry study that he made,
I finished at least four,
And while he loafed so merrily,
I always laboured sore ;
What “ cost me a groaning,”
He did quite easily,
And in language strong I oft described
His great fa-cil-i-tee!
4.
But I don’t his course by tracing
Your anger wish to rouse,
You all know what rot he painted,
And its climax — Broken Vows.”
Yet since that time he’s gone on
Improving rapid-lee,
And is hailed the next Associate
Of the Royal A-cad-e-mee ![152/153]
5.
I end my song by wishing him
Wealth, titles, honours, fame,
And may he prosper long and well
In life’s arduous up-hill game;
And may he ne'er forget the friends
Who don’t get on like he,
But give them all a treat sometimes,
And take them out to tea!
The metre is here and there elastic, but all came right in the singing. Verse four was prophetic. Calderon was not the next Associate actually, but in 1864 — a year after the date of this day — achieved that honour in company with F. Leighton, now president, and E. B. Stephens, the late sculptor.
"Election of A.R.A.'s, 1864," facing p. 152.
Yeames was host on the next occasion, when we went to Walton-on-Thames and Shepperton. This, I think, was the time when, once fairly out of Waterloo Station, we proceeded to get ourselves up as if we had been severely injured in some football or cricket-match, or other athletic sport. When we alighted at Walton, one had a patch over his eye, one walked lamely with two sticks, another with one; there were some arms in slings. I bought a quartern loaf, and Crowe a plum-cake. Leslie and Walker playing on tin whistles headed this procession of cripples, which walked, limped, [153/154] and hobbled into Shepperton. Though amused and puzzled, the people we met or passed refrained from chaff or jeers. One old lady, however, who saw through our shamming, reproved us by saying, “Ye ought to be ashamed of yourselves — you might be struck so!”
When we got to a convenient place, the whistles ceased playing, and I addressed the natives, assuring them that I was to be Member for the borough at the next election, and when that happy day arrived, the quartern loaf, such as I showed them, would be greatly reduced in price — in fact, all but given away. Crowe then cut up the plum-cake, and distributed the slices among the assembled children. We then hobbled away to a less populous spot — “a more removed ground,” — got rid of our complaints, and again became, in outward appearance at least, something like rational beings. We had other holidays together, but none, so far as I remember, in which there was such exuberant fooling. At Farningham — one of Leslie’s days — Yeames and Storey had a foot-race in the shallow little Darent, without shoes or stockings. As the bottom was covered with broken bottles and sharp stones, this rash proceeding might have been attended with dangerous consequences; but fortunately no feet were cut nor tendons divided. To be young is to be thoughtless. [154/155]
On the return journey, at each station we stopped, I harangued the people, asking, among other questions, if there were “any lady or gentleman for the diving-bell.” The guard came up to our carriage, and addressing me, said, “Well, sir, you are a cure!”
The last of these days was given by Walker. Always ambitious to be first in whatsoever he undertook, he allowed zeal to outrun discretion, and by the sumptuous and costly nature of his entertainment, put all previous ones into the shade, and precluded members of the Clique from giving another in future. It was a fine old-fashioned April morning that we of the gridiron met at Walker’s house in St. Petersburgh Place, where a private bus and a pair of greys awaited us. We drove to and lunched at Hampton Court, and had a costly dinner at the Castle, Richmond, with champagne galore. With the best, most generous, but mistaken intention, Walker thus put the extinguisher on these pleasant days, for it was found impossible after this to return to the old simplicity.
"Decorating Hodgson's Studio," facing p. 156.
On Sunday mornings the Clique was in the habit of assembling at Calderon’s studio, and, if the weather were fine, walking to Willesden, Neasden, and sometimes to Hendon. Our most frequent route was, I think, along West End Lane, then a rural solitude, now populous and covered [155/156] with the abortions of the jerry-builder. One winter season the Sunday mornings were devoted to the decoration of the walls of Hodgson’s painting-room, which was not a regular studio, but two ordinary rooms knocked into one. The house, which still exists, was then known as 5 Hill Road, Abbey Road. The road has since been renumbered. The subjects painted were all Shakespearian, with one exception. The figures were a little under life-size. The walls were covered with paper, and coloured in distemper of a uniform greenish-grey tint. On this ground the decorations were painted in oil colour, in flat tones, with the least possible amount of shadow, and a definite outline. Leslie painted the duel scene from Twelfth Night, Storey, Katherine and Petruchio. A scene from the Tempest, and Touchstone and Audrey fell to my share. The most elaborate composition, Rosalind, Celia, and Orlando after the wrestling in As You Like It, was by Yeames. Calderon occupied a space over the fireplace with portraits of Hodgson and Mrs. Hodgson in Elizabethan costume. It is a long time since I saw these works. Hodgson eventually built a studio adjoining his house, and the decorated room was devoted to domestic requirements; but when I last saw them, some years after they had been executed, they were in excellent condition, had [156/157] neither faded nor become lower in tone, but were as fresh and bright as they looked when first finished.
In our summer Sunday-morning rambles we often met the late Mr. Herbert, R.A., either on foot or driving a small pony phaeton, accompanied by Mrs. Herbert. As he walked or drove slowly along, he would discuss art and its professors in a half-humorous, half-oracular manner, rendered piquant by the adoption of a French accent, which was characteristic of him in later years. This and other little eccentricities had become by continual habit a second nature. In talking of some of the younger artists, he would say, “There is a great deal of meat in that young man’s pie;” of another, who could not conceal his desire to get into the Academy, he remarked, “That man blows his trumpet too loud;” and described one who too palpably imitated the style of a well-known Academician as “an antelope of the desert endeavouring to walk in the footsteps of the lion. He may tread in them, but the footprints are not the same.” Mourning apparel he called “the livery of death,” and described a cat as “a little animal of the tiger species, that you keep in your houses.” More witty was his assertion that the principal figure in Michael Angelo’s “Last Judgment” “is not our Lord, but a convulsive Jupiter.” He spoke of [157/158] the “Renaissance” with horror, and would counsel the young painter to avoid studying at Rome. “He may get honey from the flowers, but is more likely to get poison than honey.”
One afternoon, Calderon and I came upon Herbert in the shop of an artist’s colourman, with whom many of the painters dealt. He was selecting brushes — nodded recognition to us, and, having made his choice, said to the colourman, “You will send me these, then, to-morrow morning; do not forget.” Pausing for a moment, he continued, I had a cab somewhere,” looked round the shop, even under the counter; but not finding it, a sudden thought struck him. “Ah! it is outside. Good-bye!” and pressing our hands to his heart, as was his custom, he vanished into his four-wheeler. Once the French accent was dropped for a moment. Herbert was complaining of his treatment by the Hanging Committee in some particular year. “I sent a picture — a brown picture — and they hung it against a brown door” — (then in pure English undefiled), “the scoundrels!” Sir Edwin Landseer and Herbert were neighbours on opposite sides of the St. John’s Wood Road, and would play billiards together at Sir Edwin’s house. One evening whisky-punch was produced, and a glass being handed to Herbert, he tasted it, smacked his lips, and his thoughts [158/159] being in Paris as usual, said, “What is this? It is good. We don’t have it; but if we knew it, we should have it.” “What are you sending to the Academy ?” inquired Sir Edwin. “Oh, not much! a little thing, about as large only as your billiard table.” One evening he was walking home with Landseer from the Athenaeum Club. He saw a poor woman. “Stay a bit; I want to perform a charity. Can you lend me a sixpence?” Presently they came across another beggar woman, when Herbert exclaimed, “I must perform another charity! Have you another sixpence? But no; you shall do the charity this time; it will be good for your soul!”
Herbert was one of the best and most amusing talkers I have met among members of the Academy. When he left his house in St. John’s Wood Road, he went to live at the Chimes, Kilburn, built for him by the younger Pugin. Pettie lived for some years in the old house opposite to what was once Landseer’s, and since inhabited by H. W. B. Davis, R.A. Being such close neighbours, I saw a great deal of Pettie, and we became very intimate. On the night of his election as full member, some twenty years ago, we left the Academy together, when he asked me to convey the news to his family, as he had some business to see after on the way, which would occupy but a short time, when he would follow me. I readily consented. On [159/160] reaching his house, I found his wife, his father, and mother quietly awaiting the news, for his election was a foregone conclusion. Mrs. Marks was also present. I suggested we might have a bit of fun in welcoming the new R.A. There was no time to be lost, for he might come in at any moment. Some laurel leaves were hastily gathered from the garden and made into a wreath. It had scarcely been completed when we heard Pettie’s footsteps.
Uncaptioned sketch of a grey heron stalking its prey in the water, p. 160.
My wife struck up “See the conquering hero comes” with a comb and curl-paper, and Pettie on entering the room was at once crowned with laurel. As soon as there was some cessation in the merriment, I made a speech, proposing the health and long life of the newest Academician, the toast being drank in Scotch whisky and water. Pettie replied with the only speech I ever heard him make. At this distance of time, I cannot pretend to [160/161] give it verbatim, but remember in the course of it he used something like the following words: — “When I first came up to London, I had some vague idea of avenging Flodden, but I soon found everybody was so kind, so hearty, and so hospitable, that the idea grew fainter and fainter every day, and after awhile it disappeared, and I had no wish to avenge Flodden at all.” Poor Pettie ! he died at the comparatively early age of fifty-four. A kinder heart, a more generous nature, a friend more loyal and true, would be hard to find.
Bibliography
Marks, Henry Stacy. Pen and Pencil Sketches (I). London: Chatto & Windus, 1894. 145-161. Internet Archive, from a copy in the library of GardenofShyamal/JaiGyan. Web. 16 December 2022.
16 December 2022