UNIVERSITY OF 
 CAUFOftNlA 
 
 SAN DIEGO
 
 Ac
 
 FOR EVER AND A DAY."
 
 In Bohemia 
 
 with 
 
 Du Maurier 
 
 'The First of a Series of Reminiscences 
 
 Bv 
 
 FELIX MOSCHELES 
 
 With 63 Original 'Drawing* 
 
 Bv 
 
 G. Du MAURIER 
 
 Illustrating the tAr list's Life 
 in the Fifties 
 
 NEW-YORK 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 
 1897
 
 'The few introductory words to this volume were written, 
 and the last -proofs -posted, shortly before the fatal news 
 overtook me in lovely Venice. My world, resplendent 
 with sunshine, was suddenly lost in darkness. The 
 most lovable of men, whose -presence alone sufficed to 
 make life worth living to all those near and dear to 
 him, was gone from amongst us. His hand was no 
 longer to hold those -pens the finely-pointed one that 
 drew, the freely-flowing one that wrote. His well- 
 earned rest was not to be enjoyed on earth. 
 
 Now that all is changed, the joyous note of these pages 
 jars upon me. How differently would I attune the story 
 of our student days, were I to write it to-day in loving 
 memory of my friend ! 
 
 But as it stands, so it must go forth. <The book, 
 cordially endorsed by him, is printed and all but issued ; 
 he would not let me recall it, I know. He himself, in 
 his kindly, simple way, had enjoyed my resuscitation 
 of our early recollections, and had here and there lent a 
 helpful hand even to the correcting of the proofs. 
 
 7
 
 T0 write of him and of his qualities of heart and 
 mind as I would now venture to record them, I must 
 wait till the heavier clouds have cleared away and left 
 the -picture, I would draw once more to stand out brightly 
 in the background of "Time. 
 
 FELIX MOSCHELES. 
 October, 1896.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 YOU'LL see that I've used up all your 
 Mesmerism and a trifle more in my 
 new book," said du Maurier to me, some time 
 before he published his " Trilby " ; and that 
 remark started us talking of the good old times 
 in Antwerp, and overhauling the numerous draw- 
 ings and sketches in which he so vividly depicted 
 the incidents of our Bohemian days. It seemed 
 to me that some of those drawings should be 
 published, if only to show how my now so 
 popular friend commenced his artistic career. 
 In order that they should not go forth without 
 explanation, I wrote the following pages. 
 
 The Bohemia I have sought to coerce into 
 book shape, is not the wild country, peopled by 
 the delightfully unconventional savages, so often 
 described, but a little cultivated corner of the 
 land, as I found it in Antwerp, a mere back- 
 ground to the incidents I had to relate. Such 
 
 9 B
 
 Preface. 
 
 as it is, it may perhaps serve here and there to 
 point to the original soil from which were even- 
 tually to spring some of the figures so familiar 
 to us to-day. 
 
 To me it was a source of enjoyment to evoke 
 these memories, and if I publish them, it is 
 because I strongly feel that pleasures shared 
 are pleasures doubled. Sociably inclined as I 
 always was, I am truly glad to have the oppor- 
 tunity of giving a hearty welcome to those who 
 may care to join my friend and myself in our 
 ramblings and our "tumblings." 
 
 10
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 PART I. ..... .17 
 
 PART II. . . 69 
 
 i i
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 " FOR EVER AND A DAY " . . Frontispiece 
 
 THE ATELIER GLEYRE . . . . . l8 
 
 MY BLOUSE . . . . . .20 
 
 (From an oil-sketch by Matthew Marts.) 
 
 PEGGY AND DU MAURIER AT THE RAILWAY STATION 
 
 IN MALINES . . . . -27 
 
 FROM DU MAURIER'S PAINTING . . .30 
 
 MOSCHELES ET MOI SI NOUS AVIONS TE DU BEAU SEXE 32 
 SI NOUS AVIONS ETE BEAUX . . . -32 
 
 MOSCHELES ET MOI SI NOUS N'AVIONS PAS ETE ARTISTES 33 
 SI NOUS AVIONS ETE CHEVAUX . . -33 
 
 F. s'lL ETAIT CHEVAL . . . . -33 
 
 SI NOUS AVIONS ETE MILITAIRES . . -34 
 
 " CE SACRE VESICATOIRE " . . -35 
 
 ISABEL DU MAURIER . . . . -35 
 
 MOSCHELES, OR MEPHISTOPHELES ? WHICH . . 40 
 
 " INSPIRATION PAPILLOTIQUE " ... 42 
 
 DU MAURIER IMPROVISING . . . -43 
 
 13
 
 List of Illustrations. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 HOW RAG TRIES TO DESILLUSIONER CARRY ON BOBTAIL, 
 
 AND BOBTAIL TRIES TO DITTO DITTO ON RAG . 44 
 
 THE INGENIOUS USE WHICH RAG MAKES OF BOBTAIL'S 
 
 PLIABLE HAT . . . . .46 
 
 " BESHREW THEE, NOBLE SIR RAGGE ! LET US TO THE 
 
 FAIR TOBACCONISTE " . . -49 
 
 " SALUT A LA GENTE ET ACCORTE PUCELLE " . 50 
 
 A MESMERIC SEANCE IN MRS. L.'s BACK PARLOUR . 57 
 
 THE MIDNIGHT PRESENCE OF THE UNCANNY . . 60 
 
 FELIX LOOKS VERY SEEDY AFTER HIS BIRTHDAY . 64 
 
 " RACHEL" AND FRIENDS CELEBRATE BOBTAIL'S BIRTH- 
 DAY. . . . . . -65 
 
 RAG ....... 72 
 
 BOBTAIL. . . . . . 72 
 
 "WHAT THE DEUCE AM i TO DO WITH THIS CONFOUNDED 
 
 ROPE ? HANG MYSELF, I WONDER." . . 76 
 
 COFFEE AND BRASSIN IN BOBTAIL'S ROOMS . . 80 
 
 CLARA MOSCHELES . . . . -83 
 
 (< HERR RAG SCHICKT ZU FRAULEIN MOSCHELES SEIN 
 
 EMPFEHLUNG UND IHREN BRUDER." . . 87 
 
 CHER LIX . . . . . .88 
 
 "AN INDISCREET FELLOW LOOKING OVER MY " . 89 
 
 DU MAURIER AT WORK AGAIN . . . .90 
 
 " CLAUDIUS FELIX ET PUBLIUS BUSSO, CUM CENTURIONE 
 
 GUIDORUM, AUDIENTES JUVENES CONSERVATORIONI " 91 
 14
 
 List of Illustrations. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 DOUBLE-BEDDED ROOM IN BRUSSELS . . -93 
 
 THE HEIGHT OF ENJOYMENT . . . -95 
 
 YE CELEBRATED RAG TREATETH HIMSELF TO A PRIVATE 
 PERFORMANCE OF YE PADRE FURIOSO E FIGLIA 
 INFELICE . . . . . -97 
 
 AT THE HOFRATH'S DOOR . . . -99 
 
 " I SAY, GOVERNOR, MIND YOU DON'T GASH HIS THROAT 
 
 AS YOU DID THAT POOR OLD SPANIARD'S " . . IOO 
 
 MR KENNEDY, WHO IS QUITE BLIND, DISCREETLY IN- 
 FORMS THE PROFESSOR THAT CAPTAIN MARIUS 
 BLUEBLAST " IS NA BUT A SINFU' BLACKGUARD" IOI 
 
 MEETING IN DUSSELDORF .... 103 
 SCENE FROM MACPHERSON's OSSIAN . . . 106 
 
 PORTRAIT OF PICCIOLA . . . . . 115 
 
 "ON THEIR HONEYMOON" . . . .116 
 
 Also Illustration on pages 37, 88, 98, 102, 108, 109, no, 
 112, 114, 119, 123, 135, 144, 145.
 
 I. 
 
 "TUMBLINGS" 
 
 WITH DU MAURIER AND FRIENDS. 
 
 I WELL remember" my first meeting with 
 du Maurier in the class-rooms of the famous 
 Antwerp Academy. 
 
 I was painting and blagueing, as one paints 
 and blagues in the storm and stress period of 
 one's artistic development. 
 
 It had been my good fortune to commence my 
 studies in Paris ; it was there, in the atelier 
 Gleyre, I had cultivated, I think I may say, very 
 successfully, the essentially French art of chaffing, 
 known by the name of " La blague parisienne," and 
 I now was able to give my less lively Flemish 
 friends and fellow-students the full benefit of my 
 experience. Many pleasant recollections bound 
 me to Paris ; so, when I heard one day that a 
 " Nouveau " had arrived, straight from my old 
 
 17 c
 
 In Bohemia 
 
 atelier Gleyre, I was not a little impatient to 
 make his acquaintance. 
 
 The new-comer was du Maurier. I sought 
 him out, and, taking it for granted that he was 
 a Frenchman, I addressed him in French ; we 
 were soon engaged in lively conversation, asking 
 
 THE ATELIER GLEYRE. 
 
 and answering questions about the comrades in 
 Paris, and sorting the threads that associated us 
 both with the same place. " Did you know ' un 
 nomme Pointer ' ? " he asked, exquisitely Frenchy- 
 fying the name for my benefit. I mentally trans- 
 
 18
 
 with du Maurier. 
 
 lated this into equally exquisite English, my 
 version naturally being : "A man called Poynter." 
 
 Later on an American came up, with whom I 
 exchanged a few words in his and my native 
 tongue. " What the D. are you English ? " 
 broke in du Maurier. "And what the D. are 
 you ? " I rejoined. I forget whether D. stood 
 for Dickens or for the other one ; probably it 
 was the latter. At any rate, whether more or 
 less emphatic in our utterances, we then and 
 there made friends on a sound international basis. 
 
 It seemed to me that at this our first meeting 
 du Maurier took me in at a glance the eager, 
 hungry glance of the caricaturist. He seemed 
 struck with my appearance, as well he might be. 
 I wore a workman's blouse that had gradually 
 taken its colour from its surroundings. To 
 protect myself from the indiscretions of my 
 comrades I had painted various warnings on 
 my back, as, for instance, "Bill stickers beware," 
 " It is forbidden to shoot rubbish here," and the 
 like. My very black hair, ever inclined to run 
 riot, was encircled by a craftily conceived band 
 of crochet-work, such as only a fond mother's 
 hand could devise, and I was doubtless colouring 
 some meerschaum of eccentric design. My 
 
 19
 
 In Bohemia 
 
 fellow-student, the now famous Matthew Maris, 
 immortalised that blouse and that piece of 
 
 MY BLOUSE. 
 
 (From an oil-sketch by Matthew Maris.) 
 
 crochet-work in the admirable oil-sketch here 
 
 reproduced. 
 
 20
 
 with du Maurier. 
 
 It has always been a source of legitimate pride 
 to me to think that I should have been the tool 
 selected by Providence to sharpen du Maurier's 
 pencil ; there must have been something in my 
 "Verfluchte Physiognomic," as a very handsome 
 young German, whom I used to chaff unmerci- 
 fully, called it, to reveal to du Maurier hidden 
 possibilities and to awaken in him those dormant 
 capacities which had betrayed themselves in the 
 eager glance above named. 
 
 This was, I believe, in 1857 ; not feeling over 
 sure as regards that date, I refer to a bundle of 
 du Maurier's letters before me, but they offer me 
 no assistance ; there is but one dated, and that 
 one merely headed : " Dusseldorf, igth Cent." 
 Well, in 1857, then, let us take it, the Antwerp 
 Academy was under the direction of De Keyser, 
 that most urbane of men and painters. Van 
 Lerius, well known to many American and 
 English lovers of art, her Majesty included, was 
 professor of the Painting Class, and amongst the 
 students there were many who rapidly made 
 themselves a name, as Tadema, M. Maris, 
 Neuhuys, Heyermans, and the armless artist, 
 whose foot-painted copies after the Masters at 
 the Antwerp Gallery are well known to every 
 
 21
 
 In Bohemia 
 
 tourist. The teaching was of a sound, practical 
 nature, strongly imbued with the tendencies of 
 the colourist school. Antwerp ever sought to 
 uphold the traditions of a great Past ; in the 
 atelier Gleyre you might have studied form and 
 learnt to fill it with colour, but here you would be 
 taught to manipulate colour, and to limit it by 
 form. A peculiar kind of artistic kicks and cuffs 
 were administered to the student by Van Lerius 
 as he went his rounds. "That is a charming bit 
 of colour you have painted in that forehead," he 
 said to me on one occasion " so delicate and 
 refined. Do it again," he added, as he took up 
 my palette knife and scraped off the " delicate 
 bit." " Ah, you see, savez vous, you can't do it 
 again ; you got it by fluke, some stray tints off 
 your palette, savez vous" and, taking the biggest 
 brush I had, he swept over that palette and 
 produced enough of the desired tints to have 
 covered a dozen foreheads. 
 
 The comrade without arms was a most as- 
 siduous worker ; it was amusing to watch his 
 mittened feet step out of their shoes and at the 
 shortest notice proceed to do duty as hands ; his 
 nimble toes would screw and unscrew the tops of 
 the colour tubes or handle the brush as steadily
 
 with du Maurier. 
 
 as the best and deftest of fingers could have 
 done. Very much unlike any of us, he was most 
 punctilious in the care he bestowed on his paint 
 box, as also on his personal appearance. Maris, 
 Neuhuys, Heyermans, and one or two others 
 equally gifted, but whose thread of life was 
 soon to be cut short, were painting splendid 
 studies, some of which I was fortunate enough 
 to rescue from destruction and have happily 
 preserved. 
 
 Quite worthy to be placed next to these are 
 Van-der-something's studies. That (or something 
 like that) was the name of a wiry, active little 
 man who in those days painted in a garret ; there 
 everything was disarranged chaotically, mostly 
 on the floor, for there was no furniture that I can 
 recollect beyond a stool, an easel, and a fine old 
 looking-glass. He had a house, though, and a 
 wife, in marked contrast with his appearance and 
 the garret. The house was not badly appointed, 
 and she was lavishly endowed with an exuberance 
 of charms and graces characteristic of a Rubens 
 model. 
 
 A fellow-student of mine was their lodger, a 
 handsome young German, brimful of talent, but 
 sadly deficient in health. He had always held 
 
 23
 
 In Bohemia 
 
 most rigid principles on questions of morality, 
 but unfortunately they failed one day in their 
 application, owing to the less settled views enter- 
 tained by Madame Van-der-something on such 
 subjects. She certainly gave him much affection 
 on the one hand, but on the other she so auda- 
 ciously appropriated those of his goods and 
 chattels that could be turned into money, that the 
 police had to intervene, and she eventually found 
 herself before a judge and jury. There, how- 
 ever, she managed so well to cast all responsi- 
 bility on her husband, who, to this day, I believe 
 was quite innocent, that " cherchez la femme " 
 she got off, and he was sentenced to a term of 
 imprisonment. 
 
 Now if Van Ostade or Teniers had risen to 
 prosecute him for forging their signatures, and he 
 had been found guilty and condemned to severe 
 punishment, it would have served him right. He 
 was a perfect gem of a forger. He picked up a 
 stock of those dirty old pictures painted on worm- 
 eaten panels that used to abound in the sale- 
 rooms of Antwerp. On these he would paint 
 what might be called replicas with variations, 
 cribbing left and right from old mildewed prints 
 that were scattered all about the floor. He would 
 
 24
 
 with du Maurier. 
 
 scrape and scumble, brighten and deaden with 
 oils and varnishes ; he would dodge and manipu- 
 late till his picture, after a given time spent in 
 a damp cellar, would emerge as a genuine old 
 master. I once asked a dealer whom I knew to 
 be a regular customer of his, at what price he 
 sold one of those productions. " I really can't 
 say," he answered ; "I only do wholesale busi- 
 ness. I buy for exportation to England and 
 America." If any of my friends here or over 
 there possess some work of Van-der-something's, 
 I sincerely congratulate them, for the little man 
 was a genius in his way. 
 
 Of my friend the German I have only to say 
 that, poor fellow, he spent but a short life of 
 pleasure and of pain. What became of his Circe 
 I never sought to know. It was a clear case of 
 " Ne cherchez pas la femme ! " 
 
 The first friend I made on my arrival in 
 Antwerp was Jean Heyermans (detto il Pegghi), 
 and a very useful one he proved himself, for he 
 at once took me in hand, helped me to find home 
 and hearth, and generally gave me the correct 
 tip, so valuable to the stranger. He lost no time 
 in teaching me some of those full-flavoured 
 Flemish idioms which from the first enabled me 
 
 25 D
 
 In Bohemia 
 
 to emphasise my meaning when I wished to 
 express it in unmistakable language. 
 
 He himself was a remarkable linguist, speaking 
 English, French, and German fluently, in addi- 
 tion to his native language, Dutch ; so he soon 
 chummed with du Maurier and me in several 
 languages, and became one of our set. He was 
 always ready to follow us in our digressions from 
 the conventional course, and we felt that many of 
 our best international jokes would have been lost 
 had it not been for his comprehension and appre- 
 ciation. His father, too, was a kind friend to us, 
 inviting us to his house to hear Music and talk 
 Art, to ply knives and forks, and to empty 
 glasses of various dimensions. That gentle- 
 man's corpulence had reached a degree which 
 clearly showed that he must have "lost sight of 
 his knees " some years back, but he was none 
 the less strong and active. There were two 
 daughters, one pathetically blind, the other sym- 
 pathetically musical. 
 
 How our friend came by the name of Peggy 
 none of us know, but he figures as such in many 
 of du Maurier's drawings. 
 
 "If Peggy," he says, in a letter from Malines, 
 " doesn't come on Sunday, may the vengeance of 
 
 26
 
 with die Maurier. 
 
 the gods overtake him ! Tell him so. I'll meet 
 him at the train." And then he sketches the 
 meeting and greeting of the two, and the railway 
 guard starting his train with the old-fashioned 
 horn-signal on the G.E.C. then in use. 
 
 My friend Jean soon started on his career as a 
 regular exhibitor in Belgium and Holland, besides 
 which he developed a remarkable taste and talent 
 for teaching. 
 
 PEGGY AND DU MAURIER AT THE RAILWAY STATION IN MALINES. 
 
 ''What would you advise about Pen's studies?" 
 said Robert Browning one afternoon as we sat in 
 my little studio, talking about his son's talents 
 and prospects. (This was a few years after my 
 final return to England.) "Send him to Antwerp," 
 I said, " to Heyermans ; he is the best man I 
 know of to start him." 
 
 27
 
 In Bohemia 
 
 i 
 
 Pen went, and soon made surprising progress, 
 painting a picture after little more than a twelve- 
 month that at once found an eager purchaser. 
 The poet took great pride in his son's success, 
 and lost no opportunity of speaking in the most 
 grateful and appreciative terms of the teacher. 
 Millais and Tadema endorsed his praise, and 
 Heyermans' reputation was established. A few 
 years ago he migrated to London, where he con- 
 tinues his work, pluckily upholding the traditions 
 of the Past, whilst readily encouraging the whole- 
 some aspirations of a rising generation. 
 
 Another man destined to find a permanent 
 home in England was Alma Tadema. He was 
 not much in the Painting Class in my time, but 
 had previously been hard at work there. I 
 mostly saw him in the room adjoining it, and he 
 always seemed to me exclusively interested in the 
 study of costume and history. The incident that 
 led to his leaving the academy rather abruptly is 
 characteristic. An uncle of his having given him 
 a commission for a picture, Tadema applied to 
 de Keyser for authorisation to make the neces- 
 sary break in his studies. The Director accorded 
 him three weeks, but, as Tadema put it when 
 lately recalling the circumstance, " I couldn't
 
 with du Maurier. 
 
 paint a picture in three weeks then, and I cannot 
 now." 
 
 I little thought that from his studies of costume 
 and history, the comrade of my Antwerp days 
 would evolve a long and uninterrupted series of 
 masterpieces, resuscitating the Past and present- 
 ing it with the erudition of the Student and the 
 genius of the Artist. Nor did anything fore- 
 shadow that my genial Dutch friend, to whom 
 the English language was a dead letter, was 
 destined in a not too distant Future to become a 
 shining light of England's Royal Academy. 
 
 Du Maurier was soon installed in the Painting 
 Class, and made a vigorous start. Of the things 
 he painted, I particularly recollect a life-size, 
 three-quarter group of an old woman and a 
 boy a pen-and-ink drawing of which is in my 
 father's album that showed talent enough and 
 to spare, but his artistic aspirations were soon 
 to meet with a serious check. His eyesight 
 suddenly gave him trouble, and before long 
 put a stop to his studies at atelier or academy. 
 He was not to become a painter, as he had 
 fondly hoped, but as we now know, he was to 
 work out his destiny in another direction. With 
 the simplest of means he was to delineate 
 
 29
 
 From J Mauriefs painting.
 
 In Bohemia with du Maurier. 
 
 character, and everyday drops of ink, when 
 filtered through his pen, were to emerge in 
 quaint or graceful shapes, wit, satire, and senti- 
 ment taking their turns to prompt and guide that 
 pen. 
 
 In those days we called all that caricaturing, 
 and caricature he certainly did ; mainly me and 
 himself. From the first he imagined he saw a 
 marked contrast between us. His nose was 
 supposed to be turned up, and mine down, 
 whereas really neither his nor mine much 
 deviated from the ordinary run of noses ; my 
 lower lip certainly does project, but his does not 
 particularly recede, and so on. But the imaginary 
 contrast inspired him in the earliest days of 
 our acquaintance, and started him on the war- 
 path of pen-and-inking. He drew us in all 
 conceivable and in some inconceivable situations. 
 " Moscheles and I," he says on one page, "had 
 we not been artists, or had we been artistically 
 beautiful ; then again, if we were of the fair 
 sex, or soldiers, or, by way of showing our 
 versatility, if we were horses." In that page he 
 seems to have focussed the essence of our 
 characteristics, whilst appearing only to delineate 
 our human and equine possibilities. Poor F., 
 
 3 1
 
 In Bo hernia 
 
 one of our German friends, fares badly, a 
 donkey's head portraying him "s'il etait cheval." 
 
 MOSCHELES ET MOI SI NOUS AVIOXS ETE UU BEAU SEXE. 
 
 SI NOUS AVIOXS ETE BEAUX. 
 
 In consequence of the growing trouble with 
 his eyes, du Maurier left Antwerp for Malines, 
 
 32
 
 with du Maurier. 
 
 to place himself under the care of an eminent 
 oculist who resided within easy reach of that 
 
 MOSCHELES ET MOI SI NOUS N'AVIONS PAS ETE ARTISTES. 
 
 v* 
 
 SI NOUS AVIONS ETE CHEVAUX. 
 
 *A 1 
 
 F. S'lL ETAIT CHEVAL. 
 
 city. That blessed blister "ce sacr^ vdsicatoire," 
 as he calls it, is one of the doctor's remedies. 
 
 33 E
 
 The sketch shows how it is being applied by a 
 devoted Sister of Mercy. 
 
 In those days railway travelling was not as 
 rapid as it is now, but one could get from 
 
 !> "K 
 
 ft M 
 
 rl 
 
 H 
 
 "^3 
 
 1 ^.p 
 
 t'/ \ A 
 
 
 Jr 
 
 r 
 
 s# / ' ^ 
 
 ^ ^7^- 
 
 !,y--/^ 
 
 
 ->/^ 
 
 r- / ' 
 
 SI NOUS AVIOXS ETE MILITAIKES. 
 
 Antwerp to Malines in about an hour, a circum- 
 stance which I frequently turned to account. 
 Du Maurier's mother had come to live with him, 
 his sister joining them for a short time, and the 
 home in quiet old Malines soon became a sort 
 
 34
 
 with du Maurier. 
 
 of haven of rest. I spent many a happy day 
 and night there, on which occasions I am bound 
 to say that the piano, requisitioned by me for 
 
 CE SACRE VESICATOIRE. 
 
 some special purposes of 
 musical caricature, detracted 
 somewhat from the restful- 
 ness of the haven. How- 
 ever that may have been, 
 such intrusion was never 
 resented ; my Swedish prima 
 donna, or my qualifications 
 as a basso profondo, or a brass-bandsman, were 
 always treated with the greatest indulgence by 
 the ladies, and my high soprano flourished and 
 
 35 
 
 ISABEL DU MAURIER.
 
 In Bohemia 
 
 positively reached unknown altitudes under the 
 beneficent sunshine of their applause. (For 
 all that I never attempted Chopin's "Im- 
 promptu.") 
 
 Then du Maurier would sing the French 
 "romance" or the English song, or he would 
 "dire la chansonnette," and what with his 
 sympathetic tenor and his intuitive knowledge 
 of music, he seemed to be able to express more 
 than many who had had the advantage of a 
 musical training. A few old letters of his remind 
 me that we were audacious enough to write 
 verses and music, he doing the former, I the 
 latter. 
 
 " Here's something I particularly want you to 
 do," he writes. "Take strong coffee, inspire 
 yourself, think of your ' Ideal,' and compose 
 some very pretty music to the enclosed words, 
 with which Rag's ideal flame has inspired Rag 
 surtout, let it be as good as possible, with 
 accompaniment a ravenant. An alteration in 
 the music of each stanza would render the 
 gradation of energy expressed in the words, 
 ' Je compte sur toi.' ' (How du Maurier 
 came by the name of " Rag " I must tell 
 later on.) 
 
 36
 
 with du Maurier, 
 
 Then follow the words : 
 
 CHANSON. 
 
 D'apres tin barde Britannique. 1 
 Les sources vont a la riviere 
 
 Et la riviere a 1'ocean ; 
 Les monts embrassent la lumiere, 
 
 Le vent du ciel se mele au vent ; 
 Centre le flot, le flot se presse ; 
 
 Rien ne vit seul tout semble, ici, 
 Se fondre en la commune ivresse. . . . 
 
 Et pourquoi pas nous deux aussi ? 
 Vois le soleil etreint la terre, 
 
 Qui rougit d'aise a son coucher 
 La lune etreint les riots, qu'eclaire 
 
 Son rayon doux comme un baiser ; 
 Les moindres fleurs ont des tendresses 
 
 Pour leurs pareilles d'ici-bas 
 Que valent toutes ces caresses 
 
 Si tu ne me caresses pas ? 2 
 
 Two slight sketches of " L'auteur de profil ' 
 and " Le compositeur de face " head the page. 
 
 Soon afterwards he sends me another poetical 
 effusion and writes : 
 
 " DEAR BOBTAIL, I send you the Serenade 
 
 1 See Shelley's " Love's Philosophy." 
 
 2 Pour bien apprecier la valeur artistique de cette 
 romance, il faut 1'entendre chanter par Rag en tenant 
 les yeux fixes sur le profil de Bobtail. 
 
 37
 
 In Bohemia 
 
 composed ' tant bien que mal ' last night, not 
 'entre la poire et le fromage,' but between the 
 tea and the pears. I am afraid you will not find 
 it as dramatic as you wished ; but I don't feel it 
 otherwise, and as Mahomet can't write words to 
 the mountain's music, the mountain must try and 
 adapt its music to the verses of Mahomet. 
 
 " SERENADE APRES LA SIESTE. 
 
 " Berthe aux grands yeux d'azur, ouvre done ta paupiere, 
 Chasse les reves d'or de ton leger sommeil 
 
 Us sont la, nos amis ; cede a notre priere 
 Le trone prepare n'attend que ton reveil ; 
 
 Le soleil a cesse de regner sur la terre, 
 Viens regner sur la fete et sois notre soleil. 
 
 Reponds a nos accords par tes accents plus doux 
 
 Au jardin des amours, viens 6 viens avec nous. 
 
 Au jardin des amours ta place est reservee, 
 Parmi des feux de joie et des lilas en fleurs. 
 Viens reveiller en nous de nouvelles ardeurs 
 Descends avec la nuit, ainsi que la rosee 
 Tant que 1'astre d'argent sourit a la vallee, 
 
 Toi, bel astre d'amour, viens sourire a nos coeurs ! 
 Reponds a nos accords par tes accents plus doux, 
 Au jardin des amours, Berthe, viens avec nous. 
 
 Viens avec ta couronne, et viens avec ta lyre, 
 
 Tes chants pour nos amis, tes doux regards pour moi ! 
 Deja j'entends les jeux de la foule en emoi 
 
 Sur des gazons fleuris . . . oh le joyeux delire ! 
 
 Si tu ne descends pas, helas ! on pourra dire : 
 
 38
 
 with du Maurier. 
 
 ' Berthe aux grands yeux d'azur, on a chante sans toi ! ' 
 Reponds a nos accords par tes accents plus doux, 
 Berthe aux grands yeux d'azur, viens 6 viens avec nous ! 
 
 " You see I have indulged in poetic license ; 
 for instance, the first tenor says he hears the 
 folks doing the light fantastic toe. One might 
 suppose they danced in sabots mere poetic 
 license, and besides, a first tenor ought to have 
 very good ears. ... So now, my lad, inspire 
 yourself." 
 
 What the result of his appeal to my inspira- 
 tion may have been, I do not remember, but I 
 find this is what he writes on the subject 
 
 " CARISSIMO, In vain have I taxed Rag's inven- 
 tive powers to alter the last stanza ; we must e'en 
 stick to 'Ce baiser-la.' The lines I have underlined 
 mean that I don't quite approve the part of the 
 music that comes just there, as in the musical 
 phrase you have set to it I fancy there is a want 
 of tenderness. All the rest is stunning ; the 
 more I hums it the more I likes it, but I can't 
 exactly come your accompaniment." 
 
 No wonder, for my accompaniments were 
 usually rather indefinite quantities, subject to 
 
 39
 
 In Bohemia with du Maurier. 
 
 the mood of the moment. " Moscheles or 
 Mephistopheles, which ? " he asks, as he depicts 
 me at the piano, perhaps evolving some such 
 accompaniment from the depths of " untrained 
 inner consciousness." " Eureka " he might have 
 
 put under that other sketch, where his own hands 
 have at last found some long-sought harmony or 
 chord on the piano. Another drawing there is 
 of a somewhat later period which he calls "In- 
 spiration papillotique." Again I am at the piano, 
 
 40
 
 " INSPIRATION PAPILLOTIQUE. '
 
 In Bohemia with du Maurier. 
 
 my eyes raised to the " She " in papillottes, who 
 floats as a vision in the clouds, issuing from my 
 ever-puffing cigar, whilst at my feet is stretched 
 the meditative form of my friend, and under 
 them is crushed some work of our immortal 
 colleague Beethoven. 
 
 DU MAURIER IMPROVISING. 
 
 And who was "She" thus to inspire us ? On the 
 supposition that most people are, like myself, 
 interested in the " Shes " that can inspire, I may 
 permit myself to say something about the attrac- 
 tive young lady who was able to lead us by easy 
 stages from the vague " inspiration papillotique " 
 
 43
 
 In Bohemia 
 
 to an admiration which might be said to culmi- 
 nate in flirtation. I don't remember either of us 
 ever trying to cut the other out, as the accom- 
 panying sketch seems to imply, where " Rag and 
 
 HOW RAG TRIES TO DESILLUSIONER CARRY ON BOBTAIL, AND BOBTAIL 
 TRIES TO DITTO DITTO ON RAG. 
 
 Bobtail fight a duel for Carry, using their noses 
 as double-barrelled pistols. Shows the way in 
 which Rag tries to ddsillusioner Carry on Bobtail, 
 and in which Bobtail tries to ditto ditto on Rag. 
 
 44
 
 with du Maurier. 
 
 Carry being on this side of the rivals is not 
 represented." 
 
 The truth of the matter is that we shared 
 fraternally in the enjoyment of her good graces, 
 he having the pull of me the greater part of the 
 week, and only suspending operations in my 
 favour when I came to Malines on a Saturday to 
 Monday visit. These occasions were productive 
 of a great number of drawings and sketches, 
 illustrating our little adventures, and all plainly 
 showing that the incidents recorded occurred to 
 us at that pleasant time of life, when bright 
 illusions and buoyant spirits lead the way, and 
 when sorrow itself has more of the rose colour 
 than many a rose of a later day. 
 
 Malines was, and perhaps is still, a dull, 
 deserted city, at best up to the date of last 
 century, beating the record for dry-as-dustiness 
 and growing dear little blades of grass between 
 its cobble stones. It boasts of a great many 
 churches and of a very great many more priests. 
 ( Vide : The ingenious use which Rag makes of 
 Bobtail's pliable hat.) In addition to these at- 
 tractions, there was, however, a factor of para- 
 mount interest to us. Then and there, just as 
 now and elsewhere, there were pretty girls about, 
 
 45
 
 In Bohemia 
 
 and I need not say that, as both of us were 
 studying art and devoting our best energies to 
 the cult of the beautiful, we considered it our 
 duty to take special notice of these pretty girls 
 wherever we came across them. It is probably 
 the conscientious performance of his duty in that 
 direction which enabled du Maurier to evolve 
 
 THE INGENIOUS USE WHICH RAG MAKES OF BOBTAILS PLIABLE HAT. 
 
 those ever-attractive and sympathetic types of 
 female beauty we are all so familiar with. Nor 
 would it have been becoming in me, who had 
 everything to learn, to lag behind, or to show 
 less ardour in the pursuit of my studies. 
 
 Thus, whilst du Maurier's facile pen was 
 throwing off black and white sketches of Miss 
 
 46
 
 with du Maurier. 
 
 Carry, it was reserved for me to paint her por- 
 trait in oils. Her real name was Octavie, not 
 Carry ; that appellation we had most unceremo- 
 niously and unpoetically derived from " Cigar." 
 All else about her we invested, if not with cere- 
 mony with a full amount of poetry. And cer- 
 tainly there was a subtle quality in Carry, well 
 worthy of appreciation, a faculty of charming and 
 being charmed, of giving and taking, of free 
 and easiness, coupled with ladylike reserve. She 
 seemed to be born with the intuitive knowledge 
 that there was only one life worth living, that of 
 the Bohemian, and to be at the same time well 
 protected by a pretty reluctance to admit as much. 
 In fact, to give a correct idea of her I need but 
 say her soul was steeped in the very essence of 
 Trilbyism. Having got to Carry's soul, it may 
 not be inappropriate to say something also about 
 her looks ; but to describe good looks is, as we 
 all know, deliberately to court failure ; far better 
 request every man to conjure up his own type of 
 beauty and he will be sure to be interested in the 
 picture he evolves. That man will be nearest 
 the truth whose young lady has a rich crop of 
 brown curly hair, very blue inquisitive eyes, and a 
 figure of peculiar elasticity. 
 
 47
 
 In Bohemia 
 
 Octavie L., dite Carry, was the daughter of 
 an organist who had held a good position at one 
 of the principal churches of Malines. When he 
 died he left but a small inheritance to his widow ; 
 with what she could realise, she purchased the 
 goodwill of a small tobacconist's store and set up 
 in business. Neither the mother nor the daughter 
 had much previous knowledge of the concern they 
 had started, and they were consequently not very 
 discriminating in the selection of their brands ; 
 but what was lacking in connoisseurship was fully 
 made up for by Mrs. L.'s obliging manners and 
 by Octavie's blue eyes. These had been steadily 
 gaining in expression since she first opened them 
 about seventeen years back. Customers soon 
 came in, and for a time the little business was as 
 flourishing as anything could well be in Malines. 
 The average citizen of so ecclesiastically con- 
 servative, and hereditarily stationary a city could 
 hardly be expected to encourage a new venture 
 of the kind. Still even there there were some 
 young men about town, a sort of "jeunesse dore," 
 not of i8-carat gold perhaps, but a "jeunesse" 
 quite equal to the pleasant task of buzzing around 
 the fair tobacconist. Mrs. L. did her share of 
 chaperoning ; du Maurier and I supplied the rest, 
 
 48
 
 with du Maurier. 
 
 and watched over her with chivalrous, if not quite 
 disinterested devotion. We differed in every 
 respect from the type of the young man of the 
 period above mentioned ; so naturally we were 
 bright stars in Carry's firmament ; she looked 
 upon us as superior beings, and, granting her 
 points of comparison, not without cause ; du 
 Maurier could draw and I could paint ; he could 
 
 " BESHREW THEE, NOBLE SIR RAGGE ! LET US TO THE FAIR 
 TOBACCOXISTE ! ' 
 
 sing and I could mesmerise, and couldn't we just 
 both talk beautifully ! We neither of us en- 
 courage hero-worship now, but then we were 
 " bons princes," and graciously accepted Carry's 
 homage as due to our superior merits. 
 
 There are two drawings illustrative of that 
 chivalrous devotion of ours. We are galloping 
 along on our noble steeds, richly attired, as true 
 
 49 G
 
 In Bohemia 
 
 knights and good should be when they go to pay 
 homage to beauty. 
 
 " Beshrew thee, noble Sir Ragge ! let us to 
 the fair tobacconiste ! " 
 
 " SALUT A LA GEXTE ET ACCORTE PUCELLE ! " 
 
 " Aye ! Gentle Sir Bobtaile ! By my halidome, 
 she's passing fair." 
 
 The second drawing shows our " Salut a la 
 Gente et accorte pucelle ! " and the winning smile 
 with which Carry would receive us. 
 
 50
 
 with du Maurier. 
 
 Mesmerism, or, as the fashion of to-day calls 
 it, Hypnotism, formed so frequent a topic of 
 conversation and speculation between du Maurier 
 and myself, that it takes a very prominent place 
 in my recollections. 
 
 In Paris I had had opportunities of attending 
 some most interesting stances, in consequence of 
 which I soon proceeded to investigate the mes- 
 meric phenomena on my own account. Now I 
 have not touched the fluid for some thirty years ; 
 I swore off because it was taking too much out of 
 me ; but I look back with pleasure on my earlier 
 experiments, successes I may say, for I was for- 
 tunate enough to come across several exceptional 
 subjects. Du Maurier was particularly interested 
 in one of these, Virginie Marsaudon, and had a 
 way of putting puzzling questions concerning her 
 faculties and my mesmeric influence. Virginie was 
 a "femme de menage" of the true Parisian type, a 
 devoted elderly creature, a sort of cross between 
 a charwoman and a housekeeper. I was not yet 
 eighteen when I first went to Paris, to study 
 under my cousin, the eminent painter, Henri 
 Lehmann. At his studio I found Virginie in- 
 stalled as the presiding genius of the establish- 
 ment, using in turn broom or tub, needle, grill or
 
 In Bohemia 
 
 frying-pan as the occasion might require ; the 
 wide range of her powers I further extended by 
 making a truly remarkable mesmeric subject of 
 her. My debut in Paris was that of the some- 
 what bewildered foreigner, speaking but very 
 indifferent French, and she had from the first 
 done what she could to make me feel at home in 
 the strange city, treating me with truly motherly 
 care and devotion. How completely she took 
 possession of me, is shown by a passage in 
 a letter she wrote when I was ill in Leipsic, 
 where I had gone on a visit to my parents. After 
 expressing her anxiety and her regret at not being 
 there to nurse me, she emphatically says : " Je 
 rends Madame, votre mere, responsable de votre 
 sante (I make Madame, your mother, respon- 
 sible for your health). It needed but little to 
 lead her on from a state of docile and genial 
 dependence to one of unconscious mesmeric sub- 
 jection, and so, a few passes shaping her course, 
 I willed her across the boundary line that sepa- 
 rates us from the unknown, a line which, thanks 
 to science, is daily being extended. Madame 
 veuve Marsaudon was herself an incorrigible dis- 
 believer in the phenomena of mesmerism, but as 
 a subject her faculties were such as to surprise 
 and convert many a scoffer. 
 
 52
 
 with du Maurier. 
 
 At the seances, to which I invited my friends 
 and a few scientific outsiders, I always courted 
 the fullest investigation, taking it as the first 
 duty of the mesmerist to show cause why he 
 should not be put down as a charlatan. So 
 we had tests and counter-tests, evidence and 
 counter-evidence ; there were doctors to feel 
 the pulse and to scrutinise the rigidity of the 
 muscles, experts to propound scientific ifs and 
 buts, and wiseacres generally to put spokes in 
 the wheel of progress, as is their playful way, 
 wherever they find that wheel in motion. It 
 was doubly satisfactory, then, that the good 
 faith of subject and mesmerist could be con- 
 clusively proved. 
 
 One of these seances led to a rather amusing 
 incident. One night I was awakened from first 
 slumbers by a sharp ring at my bell, and when, 
 after some parleying, I opened the door, I found 
 myself confronted by two individuals. One I 
 recognised as an " inquirer " who had been 
 brought to my rooms some time previously ; the 
 other was a lad I had not seen before. The 
 inquirer, I ascertained, having carefully watched 
 my modus operandi on the occasion of his visit, 
 had next tried experiments of his own. In this 
 
 53
 
 instance he had succeeded in mesmerising a lad, 
 but had found it impossible to recall him to his 
 normal condition. So, securing him by a leather 
 strap fastened round his waist, he led him through 
 the streets of Paris to my rooms. There we 
 both tried our powers upon him, the result 
 being very unsatisfactory. The youth, feeling 
 himself freed from one operator and not sub- 
 jected by the other, refused allegiance to either, 
 and, being of a pugnacious temperament, he 
 squared up and commenced striking out at both 
 of us. It was not without considerable difficulty 
 that I re-mesmerised him completely, and then, 
 having previously prepared his mind to account 
 naturally for his presence in my rooms, I 
 succeeded in awakening him, and all ended 
 happily. The inquirer was duly grateful, the 
 youth went home strapless and none the worse 
 for the adventure, and I proceeded to do some 
 very sound sleeping on my own account. 
 
 I would say more of my stances and all the 
 recollections they evoke, were I not impatient to 
 get back to du Maurier and to Malines. Once 
 on the experiences of those days, I have much 
 to relate pros and cons, if you please, for that 
 subtle magnetic fluid, which, without physical 
 
 54
 
 with du Maiirier. 
 
 contact, one human being can transmit to another, 
 is a ticklish one to handle. I cannot pack 
 my pen, though, and take train of thought to 
 the Belgian city without mentioning my friend 
 Allonge, the well-known French artist, then a 
 fellow-student of mine at the Ecole des Beaux 
 Arts. A chance contact of our knees as we sat 
 closely packed with some sixty other students 
 put me on the track of a new subject, perhaps 
 the most interesting one it was ever my good 
 fortune to come across. But of him another 
 time. 
 
 Using the privilege of a mesmerist, I elect 
 to will the reader that is, if natural slumber 
 has not ere this put him beyond my control- 
 across the frontier, into the back parlour of 
 Mrs. L.'s tobacco store. There I am operating 
 on a boy such a stupid little Flemish boy that 
 no amount of fluid could ever make him clever. 
 How I came to treat him to passes I don't 
 remember ; probably I used him as an object- 
 lesson to amuse Carry. All I recollect is that 
 I gave him a key to hold, and made him believe 
 that it was red-hot and burnt his fingers, or that 
 it was a piece of pudding to be eaten presently, 
 thereby making him howl and grin alternately. 
 
 55
 
 In Bohemia with du Maiirier. 
 
 In the middle of our stance Carry is called 
 away by a customer, one of the swells of Malines 
 much addicted to a poetical expression of his 
 admiration for the fair sex in general and for 
 Carry in particular. Greatly to our edification, 
 she was pleased to improve the occasion by 
 leading him on, within our hearing, to make 
 what is commonly called a fool of himself. 
 The pleasant incident is recorded in the accom- 
 panying sketch. 
 
 But mesmerism meant more than incidental 
 amusement or even scientific experiment to us 
 in those Antwerp and Malines days. When 
 one stands on the threshold of a world of 
 mysteries one cannot but long to bridge over 
 the chasm that separates one from the gods, 
 the fairies, or the fiends. To be sure, we 
 should have been glad if we coulcl have got 
 " light, more light " thrown on our steps, but, 
 failing that, we tried to find our way as best 
 we could in the mist. We loved that never- 
 attainable Will-o'-the-Wisp, "Truth," for its own 
 dear Bohemian sake ; so, guided by Fancy and 
 Fantasy, we made frequent inroads into the 
 boundless land where unknown forces pick up 
 our poor dear little conception of the Impos- 
 
 56
 
 In Bohemia with du Maiirier. 
 
 sible, and use it as the starting-point of never- 
 to-be-exhausted possibilities. 
 
 Such a land was particularly well suited to 
 the state of our outward-bound minds and our 
 excelsior appetites. It was on one or the other 
 of these excursions, I feel confident, that du 
 Maurier was inoculated with the germs that 
 were eventually to develop into Trilbyism and 
 Svengalism. No wonder, then, if in more than 
 one of his letters and sketches the future de- 
 lineator of those characters embodies bold dreams 
 and fancies, or if on one occasion he depicts 
 himself, with fixed gaze and hair erect, sitting 
 bolt upright on my hospitable sofa, thrilled 
 and overawed by the midnight presence of 
 the uncanny, which I had evoked for his 
 benefit. 
 
 "Yes, governor, it's all very well to ask a 
 nervous fellow to Antwerp and amuse him and 
 
 make him ever so jolly and comfortable But 
 
 why, when the bleak November wind sobs against 
 the lattice and disturbs the dead ashes in the 
 grate, when everything is damned queer and 
 dark, and that sort of thing, you know why 
 should you make nervous fellows' flesh creep by 
 talk about mesmerism, and dead fellows coming 
 
 59
 
 In Bohemia 
 
 to see live fellows before dying, and the Lord 
 knows what else ? Why, Gad ! it's horrid ! " 
 
 My rooms in Antwerp were the scene of many 
 a festive gathering. We always spoke of them 
 in the plural ; it sounded better, but in reality 
 
 THE MIDNIGHT PRESENCE OF THE UNCANNY. 
 
 there was only one room with two small alcoves. 
 Studies and sketches covered the walls or littered 
 the floor, and the genial figure of a skeleton, in 
 very perfect condition, stood in the corner by the 
 piano. At first it came with a view to instructing 
 
 60
 
 with du Maumer. 
 
 me in the Science of Anatomy, but soon, putting 
 aside any didactic pretensions, my bony professor 
 became quite a companion and friend ; it was 
 thus natural that on those occasions when guests 
 had been convened to my rooms, he would take 
 a leading part, generally appearing gracefully 
 draped and appropriately illuminated, and thus 
 forming a fitting background to the gay pro- 
 ceedings of the evening. We had music, recita- 
 tion, and acting, mostly of an improvised, home- 
 made character. The sounds thereof were not 
 confined, however, to the narrow limits of home, 
 but spread far beyond it, a fact which the neigh- 
 bours, I am sure, would have been at any time 
 ready most emphatically to attest. 
 
 In justice to myself I may say that I was 
 primarily answerable for the magnitude of the 
 sound waves, but I am bound to add that my 
 example was followed and even improved upon 
 by the more lung-gifted of my companions. 
 Amongst the milder forms of entertainment was 
 my impersonation of Rachel. That grand actress 
 I had often seen in Paris, and had, more than 
 once, shivered in my shoes as she annihilated 
 the Tyrant, pouring forth the vials of her wrath 
 and indignation in the classical language of 
 
 61
 
 In Bohemia with du Maurier. 
 
 Racine and Corneille. With those accents still 
 ringing in my ears I came to Antwerp, and there, 
 when surrounded by sympathetic friends, the 
 spirit would sometimes move me, and I would 
 feel excuse the conceit of youth as if I too 
 could have been a great female Tragedian, 
 had Fate not otherwise disposed of me. In 
 such moments I would seize the blade of 
 the paper-knife, and use the blood of the beet- 
 root, drape myself in the classical folds of the 
 bed-sheet, and go for the Tyrant, hissing fearful 
 hexameters of scorn and vituperation into his 
 ears, and usually winding up with a pose so 
 magnificently triumphant that it would bring 
 down any house which was not of the most solid 
 construction. 
 
 Another time the cushion yonder would be my 
 child the orthodox long-lost one " It is ! It 
 is not! It is! Let me clasp it to my other 
 cushion!" " Toi mon fils cheri. Ange de mon 
 enfer, douleur de mes loisirs ! " 
 
 The celebration of one of my birthdays was an 
 event rescued from oblivion by du Maurier's 
 pencil. He illustrates our lively doings on that 
 day and my appearance the next morning. 
 '* Felix's mamma," he says, had worked a very
 
 FELIX LOOKS VERY SEEDY AFTER HIS BIRTHDAY.
 
 In Bohemia with du Maurier. 
 
 pretty cap for Felix, and Felix had it on the 
 morning after his birthday, and Felix found that 
 though the cap was very pretty, it made him 
 look very seedy." 
 
 In the other drawing he gives striking likenesses 
 of the friends assembled to celebrate the festive 
 occasion. They had come together in the 
 evening, much in the same spirit that had led 
 them under my windows in the morning, with 
 a brass band and an enormous bouquet of 
 cabbages, carrots, and cauliflowers. There, on 
 the left, is Van Lerius with his hands in his 
 pockets, next to him du Maurier ; then Heyer- 
 mans, Bource, and all the other chums, and, 
 though last not least, the proud bearer of the 
 steaming punch-bowl. What a set of jolly good 
 fellows ! It is quite a pleasure to pore over the 
 sketch and contemplate du Maurier's phiz, ex- 
 pressing his unbounded capacity of enjoyment. 
 I can see him taking points that fell flat with 
 the other fellows. Quite a pleasure, too, to 
 think of Huysmans' big nose and Van Lerius' 
 bald head, of the tall and the short, of spindle 
 shanks and chubby face. 
 
 Where are they all now ? Some thirty-five 
 years have elapsed, and the whirligig of time has 
 
 67
 
 In Bohemia with dit, Maurier. 
 
 been revolving with unfailing regularity, dropping 
 us here and there, as caprice dictated, some to 
 stand, some to fall. What has become of the 
 threads of friendship, picked up at the studio or 
 the cafe*, perhaps whilst puzzling over the chess- 
 board, or when harmonising in four-part song ? 
 Golden threads ; some destined to be spun out 
 and to become solidly intertwined ; others to be 
 hopelessly entangled or cruelly snapped asunder 
 by the inexorable Fates. Where shall I find 
 them now, those friends and boon companions of 
 my Bohemian days ? Here, there, and every- 
 where perhaps nowhere ! Some I see trotting 
 briskly along the high - road of life, others 
 dragging wearily through its tangled bypaths. 
 Yet again others resting under a big, cold stone 
 that bears an inscription and a couple of dates, 
 fixed just above their heads. 
 
 68
 
 II. 
 
 I WELL remember a certain " barriere that 
 protected the level crossing just outside the 
 Malines Station. It was but an ordinary piece 
 of hinged timber, but we, that is, du Maurier and 
 I, can never forget it ; for, as we stood by its 
 side we vowed that come what might, we would 
 never travel along that line and past the old 
 gate without recalling that summer evening and 
 re-thinking the thoughts of our early days. 
 
 It was also there, one evening, that we 
 adopted our never-to-be-forgotten aliases Rag 
 and Bobtail. We had chanced upon a chum of 
 ours named Sprenk lounging across that old 
 barriere, and some fortuitous circumstance 
 having revealed the fact that his initials were 
 T. A. G., we forthwith dubbed him Tag. Out of 
 that very naturally grew the further development : 
 Rag, Tag, and Bobtail. 
 
 69
 
 In Bohemia 
 
 T. A. G. was an Englishman, strong and 
 hearty and considerably taller than either of us. 
 That alone would have sufficed to secure him 
 the friendship of du Maurier, who ever wor- 
 shipped at the shrine of physical greatness. He 
 loved to look up to the man of six-foot-some- 
 thing, or to sit in the shadow of the woman of 
 commanding presence, his appreciation of size 
 culminating in the love of " Chang," that dog of 
 dogs, whom we have all learnt to admire, as we 
 followed his career through the volumes of the 
 immortal Weekly, presided over by Toby and 
 his master. 
 
 I somehow associate Tag with whisky and 
 water ; not that he took it much or often, but he 
 gave one the impression that whatever others 
 might do when amongst the benighted foreigner, 
 he, for one, would not let a good old English 
 custom drop into disuse. Looking at Tag one 
 intuitively felt that his father before him had 
 taken his moderate glass of W. and W., and 
 that, if he married and had sons, they would do 
 likewise. I do not think that he was particularly 
 fond of art or artists, unless inasmuch as they 
 were brother Bohemians. He was engaged, or, 
 at least, he was generally just about to be 
 
 70
 
 with du Maurier. 
 
 engaged, in some business, and whilst waiting 
 for the opportune moment to commence opera- 
 tions, he would settle down to an expectant 
 present. The golden opportunity he was looking 
 for was plainly visible on his horizon, but it had 
 a way of remaining stationary, and as it was con- 
 trary to Tag's nature to move unless under great 
 pressure, the two never met. 
 
 In the meanwhile Tag was one of our trio of 
 chums ; he was a good deal with us when we 
 were out and about, bent on storming the world, 
 or climbing Parnassus ; we did the climbing, he 
 the looking on, the parts thus being distributed 
 to our mutual satisfaction. He was always 
 pleasantly acquiescent, and had the rare gift of 
 making himself useless agreeably ; a common 
 bond of interest we had in the Colorado claro 
 and oscuro, whether the fair or dark, applied to 
 the friendly weed or the still more friendly fair 
 sex. 
 
 He describes himself pretty correctly in a letter 
 he wrote to us from Paris, when he says : 
 
 " Since my arrival here my notes of what I 
 have to do represent what I have not done, and 
 if it be true that the infernal regions are paved
 
 In Bohemia 
 
 with good intentions, I shall be received on my 
 arrival by a deputation of souls to thank me for 
 my contribution to the pavement." 
 
 There are sketches in which Tag's eloquence 
 
 RAG. 
 
 is confined to one exclamation, " Matilda ! " But 
 whether that name was coupled with present 
 felicity or future hopes I do not recollect. But 
 du Maurier's lines describe him and our chumship 
 
 72
 
 with du Maiirier. 
 
 much better than any words of mine could do. 
 He says : 
 
 " To BOBTAIL. 
 
 Oh, fortunatos nimium, sua si bona norint 
 All lazy beggars like me " 
 
 " In the sunshine of April, the April of life, 
 
 You and I and our Tag make three ; 
 And few will deny that for such close chums 
 A queer set of fellows are we. 
 
 For I walk slowly, and you walk fast, 
 
 And Tag lies down (not to fall) ; 
 You think of the Present, / think of the Past, 
 
 And Tag thinks of nothing at all. 
 
 Yet who shall be lucky, and who shall be rich ? 
 
 Whether both, neither, one, or all three ; 
 Is a mystery which, Dame Fortune, the witch, 
 
 Tells neither Tag, Bobtail, or me ! 
 
 (RAG)." 
 
 The portraits of Rag and Bobtail head the page. 
 A space was left for Tag's, but never filled. 
 
 Apropos of plans and prospects on Tag's 
 distant horizon, I find a passage in one of his 
 letters, dated November, 1857, which is well 
 worth recording. I quote it to give myself and 
 my fellow Europeans an opportunity of rejoicing
 
 In Bohemia with du Maurier. 
 
 that Tag's scheme belonged to those that were 
 not to be realised. It runs thus : 
 
 " As du Maurier's eye, though better, will, most 
 probably, not allow him to resume his profession 
 as a painter, we have determined to try our 
 fortune together in Australia, and mean to start 
 from here early in February. He hopes to 
 obtain employment by drawing sketches, carica- 
 tures, &c., for the Melbourne P^^,nch, and other 
 illustrated papers. You know how eminently 
 suited he is for that kind of work, and we hear 
 that an artist of talent of that description is much 
 wanted out there, and would be sure to do 
 exceedingly well. I, of course, do not intend 
 to start in that line, but hope to be able to 
 support myself for the first few years, after 
 which I shall establish myself in business on 
 my own account, and I trust, with luck, I may 
 return home in the course of from ten to fifteen 
 years, if not with immense riches, at all events 
 with enough to enable me to pass the remainder 
 of my ' old age ' in peace and comfort." 
 
 Did Tag ever go, I wonder ? Did he come 
 back, and has he perhaps been enjoying his " old 
 
 74
 
 WHAT THE DEUCE AM I TO DO WITH 
 THIS CONFOUNDED ROPE ? HANG 
 MYSELF, I WONDER."
 
 In Bohemia with du Maurier. 
 
 age " somewhere over here for the last thirty 
 years ? I wish you would say what has become 
 of you, my dear Tag. I'm sure we should be 
 chums again, if you're anything like the dear 
 old stick-in-the-mud of former days ! Don't you 
 recollect that sketch of Rag's? I had nearly 
 forgotten to mention it, the one with the three 
 ropes of life. I am climbing ahead with fiendish 
 energy. Rag follows, steadily ascending, weighted 
 as he is with a treasure, a box marked " Mrs. 
 Rag, with care," and your noble form is squatting 
 on the floor, a glass of the best blend at your 
 feet, and a cigar you are enjoying from which 
 rises the legend that makes you say, " What the 
 deuce am I to do with this confounded rope ? 
 Hang myself, I wonder ? " Nonsense, to be 
 sure ; but do come and tell me what you have 
 done with the rope, or say where I can find you 
 still squatting. 
 
 That music of a certain spontaneous kind, the 
 music within us which we were ever longing to 
 bring to the surface, was a bond of union between 
 du Maurier and myself, I have already mentioned ; 
 but that bond was to be greatly strengthened by 
 the music that great musicians on more than one 
 occasion lavished on us. First came Louis 
 
 77
 
 In Bohemia with du Maurier. 
 
 Brassin, the pianist. He had studied under 
 Moscheles at the Conservatorio of Leipsic, the 
 city of Bach and Mendelssohn fame ; and there, 
 from the days of his boyhood, he had belonged 
 to the little circle of intimates who frequently 
 gathered around the master at his house. 
 
 When, a few years later, he came to Belgium 
 on a concert tour, he and I found no difficulty 
 in taking up the old friendship contracted in my 
 father's house, just where we had left it. The 
 boy had become the man, the student had 
 developed into the artist and thorough musician. 
 He was the boonest of boon companions, and his 
 jokes were so broad that they often reminded one, 
 in their crudeness and their rudeness, of certain 
 passages in Mozart's early letters. To say that he 
 spoke French with a German accent a la Sven- 
 gali would be putting it very mildly ; Teutonic 
 gutturals would most unceremoniously invade 
 the sister language ; d's and t's, b's and p's would 
 ever change places, as they are made to do in 
 some parts of the Fatherland. With all that, he 
 rejoiced in a delightful fluency of speech, con- 
 veying quaint and original thought. There was 
 something decidedly interesting about Brassin's 
 looks, but his figure gave one the impression of 
 
 78
 
 In Bohemia with du Maurier. 
 
 having been very carelessly put together ; when 
 he walked his head went back on his shoulders, 
 and his hat went back on his head ; his long 
 arms dangled, pendulum-like, by his sides, while 
 his lanky legs, dragging along anyhow, were 
 ever lagging behind one another. But when he 
 opened the piano and put hands and feet to keys 
 and pedal, he was not the same individual. He 
 would turn on nerve and muscle-power, and 
 would hurl avalanches of music and torrents of 
 notes at his audience till he, in his turn, was 
 overwhelmed with thunders of applause. And 
 those were the days, we must remember, when 
 but few men could play at a greater rate than 
 twenty to twenty-five miles an hour ; when grand 
 pianos were not yet ironclad and armour-plated, 
 or had learnt proudly to display the maker's 
 name on their broadside when they went forth 
 to do battle on the concert field. 
 
 Brassin used to draw inane caricatures of him- 
 self, which he would present to us with a 
 triumphant laugh of immoderate calibre. I have 
 preserved some of these, but decidedly prefer 
 du Maurier's rendering of our common friend. 
 In the accompanying drawing he shows him at 
 the piano, entertaining us on " A rainy day." 
 
 81 L
 
 In Bohemia 
 
 "Ah! Felix, amico mio," he says, "may thy 
 room be always as jolly, thy coffee be ever so 
 sweet, as on that happy morning ! May Brassin's 
 fingers be ever as brilliant and inspired ! May 
 Tag be ever as lazy, and with equal satisfaction 
 to himself, and may I never be blinder ! Amen." 
 
 That sketch admirably pourtrays the lankiness 
 and flabbiness of Brassin's figure, contrasting as 
 it did with the strength of the wrist and the grip 
 of the fingers. He was certainly a fine subject 
 for du Maurier, whom I always looked upon as 
 a sort of vivisector of music and musicians, of 
 their methods and their moods. A brilliant career 
 awaited Louis Brassin, but it was to be suddenly 
 and unexpectedly cut off. He died some ten 
 years ago at the age of forty-four. 
 
 In 1858 my father came on a visit to Antwerp 
 with my mother and my youngest sister, Clara. 
 Wherever my father took up his abode, even 
 temporarily, a grand piano would in the natural 
 course of events gravitate towards him, and a 
 select circle of art lovers would soon be grouped 
 around it. Amongst the friends in the Antwerp 
 circle were Van Lerius, Tadema, Baron Leys, 
 Heyermans, and Bource. My sister at that 
 time was a bright and happy creature, not long 
 
 82
 
 with du Maurier 
 
 out of her teens, full of hopes alas ! never to be 
 realised, and of talents never to be matured. 
 The large dark eyes they seemed the gift of he 
 
 CLARA MOSCHELES. 
 
 godmother, the famous Malibran reflected the 
 artist's soul, and a grand soprano voice spoke its 
 powerful language. Du Maurier and she were 
 
 83
 
 In Bohemia 
 
 soon on a brother and sisterly footing, and they 
 ever remained so. 
 
 Of the pleasant evenings we of the circle spent 
 together I recall one in particular. My sister had 
 been singing one song after another ; my father 
 was engaged in an animated conversation with 
 Stefani, the pianist, on the relative merits of 
 Mendelssohn and Schumann. Du Maurier and I 
 had been sitting at the farther end of the room, 
 talking of his eyes. At that time one doctor 
 held out hopes ; another, a great authority, had 
 considered it his painful duty not to conceal the 
 truth from his patient, and had, with much unction 
 and the necessary complement of professional 
 phraseology, prepared him for the worst. The 
 sight of one eye had gone, that of the other 
 would follow. Those were anxious days, both 
 for him and for his friends ; but, whatever he 
 felt, he could talk about his trouble with perfect 
 equanimity, and I often wondered how quietly he 
 took it, and how cheerfully he would tell me that 
 he was " fearfully depressed." That evening I 
 had been putting the chances of a speedy re- 
 covery before him, and making predictions based, 
 I am bound to admit, on nothing more sub- 
 stantial than my ardent hopes. But du Maurier 
 
 84
 
 with du Maurier, 
 
 was too much of a philosopher to be satisfied 
 with such encouragement as I could give, and 
 said : " No, I had better face the enemy and be 
 prepared for the worst. If it comes, you see, my 
 dear fellow, there is Nature's law of compen- 
 sation, and I firmly believe that one cannot lose 
 one faculty without being compensated by some 
 great gain elsewhere. I suppose one gets to see 
 more inside as things grow darker outside. If 
 one can't paint, one must do something else- 
 write perhaps ; that is, as long as one can, and 
 then, if the steam accumulates, and one wants a 
 safety valve to let it off, dictate." Happily, to 
 this day he writes, and need not have recourse to 
 dictation. 
 
 When we joined our friends we found Van 
 Lerius and Heyermans had been pressed into the 
 service, and were making sketches for my 
 sister's album. Du Maurier took up a pencil, 
 and, with a few characteristic touches, drew that 
 sister's eyes. " Quand je les vois," he wrote 
 underneath, "j'oublie les miens. (Reflexion 
 d'un futur aveugle.) When I see them I 
 forget my own. (Reflections of a man going 
 blind.)" 
 
 Soon the main business of the evening was 
 85
 
 In Bohemia 
 
 resumed. Was it Beethoven's sonata for piano 
 and violin, or a mighty improvisation on classical 
 themes that came first ? I do not recollect ; but 
 I remember that du Maurier's rendering of 
 Balfe's "When other lips and other hearts," 
 with my scratch accompaniment, was warmly 
 greeted by all lips and hearts present. 
 
 When these pleasant evenings had come to an 
 end, the friendly intercourse was not allowed to 
 drop, and so a number of sketches by her new 
 friends found their way into Miss Clara's album. 
 
 In the following winter, when I left on a short 
 visit to Leipsic, he sent her a few lines through 
 me. I quote from his letter because the wording 
 is peculiar, and illustrates his capacity for express- 
 ing himself in a language that he had to evolve 
 from his inner consciousness : 
 
 " Herr Rag schickt zu Fraulein Moscheles 
 sein empfehlung und ihren bruder ; es wird 
 horlicht gebeten das sie wird die sach reciprokiren, 
 und in fiinftzen dagen ihr empfehlung und seinen 
 freund zuruck schicken." 
 
 For the benefit of those whose inner conscious- 
 ness is not in touch with the above, I give the 
 English version : 
 
 " Mr. Rag sends his greeting and her brother 
 86
 
 with du Maurier. 
 
 to Miss Moscheles, and kindly requests her to 
 reciprocate the proceeding in a fortnight by re- 
 turning her greeting and his friend." 
 
 HERR RAG SCHICKT ZU FRAULEIN MOSCHELES SEIN EMPFEHLUXG 
 UND IHREN BRUDER." 
 
 When I think how easily and spontaneously 
 such sketches dropped from his pen, I am 
 reminded of a passage in one of Mendelssohn's 
 letters to my mother ; he sends her the Mailied 
 and says : " This morning a song came to me. 
 I really must write it down for you." So, too, 
 from the first the pen-and-ink compositions came 
 to du Maurier. His talent manifested itself not 
 only in a desire to illustrate this or that incident 
 or adventure, but also in his inexhaustible capacity 
 
 87
 
 In Bohemia 
 
 for making something out of nothing, and as the 
 nothing was never lacking, he might well say : 
 " Dear Bobtail, I will never write 
 without sending my compliments 
 to thine album." His rendering 
 of " Cher Lix," for instance, 
 takes the shape of a graceful 
 monogram, or diplogram, or whatever I ought to 
 call a combination of our two profiles and my 
 name. 
 
 He starts a short missive with a sketch of 
 himself seated in his trunk, pipe in mouth, and 
 
 88
 
 with du Maurier. 
 
 says : " Dear Bobtail, I write to you out of 
 sheer idleness, so as to have an excuse not to 
 pack up for the next half-hour." Or he draws 
 himself looking over my shoulder whilst I am 
 
 AX INDISCREET FELLOW LOOKING OVER MY- 
 
 writing to my sister and puts the supposed 
 context of my letter : 
 
 " Bobtail writes (in German of course) : 
 " I won't write any more, for there's an in- 
 discreet fellow looking over my 
 
 M
 
 In Bohemia 
 
 "Rag. It's not true, I swear. (For Miss 
 Clara.)" 
 
 Another time he wants me to send him some 
 brushes and various other painting materials he 
 
 DU MAURIER AT WORK AGAIN. 
 
 enumerates : " Oh, and a little thing like this for 
 oil to do the thing cheesy." He depicts himself 
 quite elated ; his eyes seemed so much better 
 that he had once more resumed work in the 
 
 90
 
 with du Maurier. 
 
 studio of his friend Goyers. " Gruss from 
 maternal and self," he ends; "ganz hertzlich ; 
 come soon, or write soon, or do something soon, 
 hang it. Thy RAG, jusqu' a la mort." 
 
 Monsieur Staps, Sous-Chef of the " Guides, 
 the best military band in Brussels, was a friend of 
 
 - J 
 
 " CLAUDIUS FELIX ET PUBLIUS BUSSO, CUM CENTURIOXE GUIDORUM, 
 AUDIEXTES JUVENES CONSERVATORIONI." 
 
 ours. He had invited us to one of the famous 
 Concerts du Conservatoire, a treat in anticipation 
 of which du Maurier at once takes to the pen, 
 and shows us in classical garments and dignified 
 attitudes listening to the " young men of the 
 Conservatorio." " Sketch represents," he says, 
 
 9 1
 
 In Bohemia with du Maurier. 
 
 " Claudius Felix et Publius Busso, cum centurione 
 Guidorum, audientes juvenes Conservatorioni, 
 A.D. CCLVIII." The " Busso" derived from his 
 full name George Louis Palmella Busson du 
 Maurier. 
 
 In striking contrast with the last drawing is 
 the next. Here we are decidedly anything 
 but conventional in our attire, as he depicts 
 us in " Double-bedded room, Brussels. Time 
 ii a.m. (train starts 11.20). Bobtail's face 
 being rather smutty, he washes it, and Rag's 
 boots being rather tight, he puts them on at 
 leisure, during which process he has time to 
 smoke three pipes. Bobtail. Bub-bub-bub- 
 bub . . . whew . . . pouf! . . . Rag. How 
 many ? " 
 
 A favourite theme of his was his supposed 
 inability to shine on occasions when I had intro- 
 duced him to friends of mine, and was particu- 
 larly anxious to show him off to advantage, and 
 then, again, the unrelenting fate that would 
 swiftly overtake him if he ventured to put him- 
 self forward. I need not say that the inability 
 and the discomfiture existed only in his imagina- 
 tion, for in all circles he was ever appreciated 
 and admired. But he would have it other- 
 
 92
 
 In Bohemia with dit Maurier. 
 wise, and pourtrays us side by side with the 
 
 legend 
 
 " The height of enjoyment. 
 
 Rag thinking of his eyes, in a pair of tight boots, with 
 Bobtail whispering : ' Say something clever, you stupid 
 muff ! ' 
 
 Another drawing shows what happened when 
 for once in a way he presumed to accept the 
 
 homages of the fair. 
 
 95
 
 In Bohemia 
 
 "One fine morninge, earlie, at ye Cafe de la 
 Plage, Blankenberghe, ye celebrated Rag, deem- 
 ing himself alone, treateth himself to a private 
 performance of ye Padre furioso e figlia infelice, 
 in imitatione of his illustrious friende, Felix Bob- 
 tailo. Presentlie a voice exclaimeth behind him, 
 ' Monsieur, permettez moi de vous feliciter,' and 
 a ladie politelie maketh him complimente on his 
 talente. Rag replieth that she must not be sur- 
 prised thereat, as hys life has been spent among 
 ye great musicians, and that therefore he can 
 scarcelie helpe being a consummate musician 
 himselfe. Shortly after as he lighteth hys cigarre 
 at ye barre, he enquireth bumptiously, ' Who 
 might that good ladie be ? ' ' She is the prima- 
 donna of the Munich Opera, Monsieur.' Where- 
 upon ye soul of ye humiliated Rag sinketh into 
 hys bootes, and he retireth for ever under a 
 perpetual extinguisher. 
 
 "Ye hero of ye above unfortunate adventure 
 presenteth hys compliments to Miss Clara 
 Moscheles, and beggeth she will deigne to 
 accepte ye sketche in acknowledgment of ye 
 last box of ' acidulated lemon-flavoured droppes ' 
 entrusted to her brother's care (need he remark 
 that they have not yet reached their destination). 
 
 96
 
 with, du Maurier. 
 
 " Miss Clara is invited to observe how cun- 
 ninglie ye profile of Rag is made to imitate that 
 of her talented brother." 
 
 Du Maurier's stay in Blankenberghe was but 
 short. He soon went to Diisseldorf to put him- 
 
 YE CELEBRATED RAG TREATETH HIMSELF TO A PRIVATE PERFORMANCE 
 OF YE PADRE FURIOSO E FIGLIA IXFELICE. 
 
 self under the treatment of a famous oculist, 
 Hofrath de Leeuwe, who resided not far from 
 there at Grafrath. He wrote, in high spirits : 
 " Spent yesterday in Grafrath ; jolly place, lots 
 of beauties, plenty of singing and sketching and 
 that sort of thing, you know. Long walks in 
 
 97 N
 
 In Bohemia 
 
 beautiful valleys, most delightful. The fact is, 
 I'm so beastly merry since I've been here that 
 I don't think I'm quite sane, and altogether only 
 want your periodical visits and permission to 
 have my fling on Saturday nights to be in 
 heaven. Doctor says he'll do me good ; have 
 to go to Grafrath once a week. Qa me bote 
 joliment. Good-bye, my old. Thine ever 
 
 He had met some old acquaintances and frater- 
 nised with some English and American artists, 
 had got into the swim of Grafrath society, such 
 as it was, and was soon placed on a pedestal, 
 whilst sundry beauties sat at his feet and, to the 
 best of my belief, sighed. " They all want me 
 to make etchings of the little can-cans and lick- 
 spittlings going on here. Splendid study ; shall 
 
 98
 
 witk du Maurier. 
 
 think about it. Carry novel, of course, adjourned 
 sine die ; haven't got time just now you know 
 what a fellow I am. Just got her letter ; very 
 naive and amusing but don't tell her so, or else 
 she will pose for that and spoil it. Here is a 
 
 AT THE HOFRATH'S DOOR. 
 
 " SHE. REALLY I DON'T SEE THE SLIGHTEST MOTE IN YOUR EYES." 
 " HE. NO, BUT I CAN SEE THE BEAMS IN YOURS." 
 
 little drawing for you. Do all honour to it, since 
 it has met with a little ovation here." 
 
 He calls it "a new adaptation from the New 
 Testament." He and a charming "she" sit 
 waiting their turn at the Hofrath's door. He is 
 
 99
 
 In Bohemia 
 
 looking into her eyes and she into his. " Really 
 I don't see the slightest mote in your eyes," says 
 she. " No, but I can see the beams in yours," 
 he replies. 
 
 " I SAY, GOVERNOR, MIND YOU DON'T GASH HIS THROAT AS YOU DID 
 THAT POOR OLD SPANIARD'S ! " 
 
 Did du Maurier ever attempt to shave any- 
 body, I wonder ? According to one of the 
 sketches he sent me from Dlisseldorf he did, 
 and was so engaged on a blind man Kennedy, 
 
 100
 
 with du Maurier. 
 
 when a Captain Marius comes on the scene and 
 says, in discreet whisper and with much con- 
 cern, " I say, governor, mind you don't gash his 
 throat as you did that poor old Spaniard's ! (Out 
 loud] How d'ye do, Kennedy ? " 
 
 The same Mr. Kennedy figures once more, 
 
 MR. KENNEDY, WHO IS QUITE BUND, DISCREETLY INFORMS THE PRO- 
 FESSOR THAT CAPTAIN MARIUS BLUEBLAST "IS NA BUT A SINFU* 
 BLACKGUARD." 
 
 when, unaware of the presence of the captain, 
 he discreetly informs the professor that Captain 
 Marius Blueblast " is na' but a sinfu' blackguard." 
 A portrait he drew of the doctor was a great 
 success. " I have done the old cock's portrait 
 
 101
 
 In Bohemia with du Maurier. 
 
 stunningly," he says; "nine crosses of the Legion 
 of Honour, &c. Not a sou into my pocket ; all 
 for poor-box. Fancy a fellow like me making 
 presents to the poor-box (vide sketch) ! But as 
 
 the portrait will be very much spilt about 
 (rtyandu], I may fish a stray order or two. I 
 have followed your advice for a whole week 
 and done a magnificent Framboisy. Shall not 
 attempt to go on until you are here to give me 
 another stirring-up. Am going to Antwerp next 
 week (always am). Shall you be moving too ? 
 Journey together great fun. Take care of my 
 
 102
 
 SCENE FROM MACPHERSOX'S OSSIAX : 
 
 " Dark was the sun ! Heavy the clouds on the cliffs of Oithona 
 when the fair-headed son of the Maurialva crossed his claymore with 
 the stern dark-browed Bobthailva and swore friendship on the names 
 of Carry and Damask."
 
 In Bohemia with du Maurier. 
 
 purse and passport, and see my trunks are 
 locked." 
 
 I was moving, and as du Maurier kept on 
 being about to go to Antwerp, I went to pay him 
 a flying visit at Dusseldorf on my way to Paris. 
 We sat into the small hours of the morning (as 
 he depicts us), talking of the past, present, and 
 future, a long-necked Rhine-wine bottle and two 
 green glasses beside us, our hopes and aspirations 
 rising with the cloud that curled from my ever- 
 glowing cigar. We talked till his fertile imagina- 
 tion took us across the sea, and " Ragmar of the 
 Maurialva and Bobthailva, the son of Moscheles, 
 swore eternal amity on their native heath." 
 
 Damask was another beauty whom we appre- 
 ciated, perhaps all the more because we knew she 
 was dying of consumption. 
 
 In Paris I was probably absorbed in some 
 work I had in hand and must have neglected du 
 Maurier, for he writes urging me to answer by 
 return of post and give an account of myself. He 
 had been visited, he says, by an alarming night- 
 mare, which he forthwith sketches for my benefit. 
 Carry, the Circe, had captured the lion. The 
 noble beast that was me had succumbed to the 
 
 107
 
 In Bohemia 
 
 wiles of the enchantress, and sub- 
 mitted tamely to being combed 
 and brushed and to having his 
 claws clipped by her hand. Like 
 birds of a feather, so do lions of 
 a name, flock together. And so 
 another noble beast that was he 
 is seen approaching, presumably 
 to claim his share of the combing 
 and clipping and of whatever other favours may 
 be forthcoming. 
 
 Another time when, I suppose, I was again 
 letting him wait for an answer, he writes from 
 Dusseldorf : " DEAR BOBTAIL, Est-ce que tu 
 te donnes le genre de m'oublier par hazard ? I 
 
 1 08
 
 with du Maurier. 
 
 have been expecting 
 a letter from you 
 every day, running 
 thus : ' DEAR RAG, 
 Come to Paris 
 immediately, to illus- 
 trate thirty-six peri- 
 odical papers which 
 I have got for you. 
 In haste, Bobtail.' 
 My old pal, Tom 
 
 Armstrong, is here, working 
 hard ; eyes the same as ever. 
 Write soon and tell all about 
 that portrait. Diisseldorf 
 rencontre was jolly." The | 
 letter is headed by 
 a drawing repre- 
 senting me soar- 
 ing heavenwards, 
 whilst he, chained 
 to the spot, is philo- 
 sophically consult- 
 ing the cards on his 
 prospects of release. 
 
 109
 
 In Bohemia 
 
 Then comes a postscript : " Going in for this 
 sort of thino"." 
 
 " Will you come old fellow and be 
 
 I suppose I answered saying that I only put 
 off writing till I had mustered the full complement 
 of periodicals. If I was in a prophetic mood I 
 may have added that it was all right, and that 
 very shortly thirty-six editors would be clamour- 
 ing for his work, and perhaps thirty-six States 
 hallooing for him to come over immediately. 
 
 no
 
 with du Maurier. 
 
 Hoping to be punch'd at an early date, I probably 
 remained his, &c., &c. 
 
 The early date came, for, before his final return 
 to England, we met once more in Antwerp and 
 Malines. And that takes me back to Carry. 
 She was changed to her advantage, so, at least, 
 the world of Malines thought. We were not 
 quite so sure that the change would prove 
 altogether to her advantage. She had been quite 
 pretty enough before, and we thought she could 
 well have done without developing further 
 physical attractions. She had always known how 
 to use her eyes, not unfrequently shedding their 
 beneficent light on two persons at the same time, 
 and we considered that that number should not 
 be exceeded. But now their activity seemed 
 daily increasing, and it was not without concern 
 that we noticed in her a certain restlessness and 
 a growing tendency to discuss with the serpent 
 questions relating to the acquisition of prohibited 
 apples. After a while, and perhaps in conse- 
 quence of the good advice we gave her, she 
 sobered down and surprised us by her docility ; 
 but at best her moods were uncertain and she 
 puzzled us much. 
 
 " Now, Bobtail," said Rag, as we walked along 
 in
 
 In Bohemia 
 the sober old streets of Malines, discussing; the 
 
 o 
 
 state of Carry's mind and heart. (He has 
 
 omitted the streets, but has put us into our very 
 best mediseval suit.) " Now, Bobtail, what do 
 
 112
 
 with du Maurier. 
 
 you think ? Is she in love ? And if so, with 
 whom ? " 
 
 " She may be, or she may be not," said Bobtail, 
 with oracular discretion ; " but, if she is, it can 
 only be with one of us. She would not waste 
 her sentiment on a native whilst we were within 
 reach." 
 
 " But which of us is it? " asked Rag, somewhat 
 alarmed. 
 
 ' I know not ; but I hope neither," answered 
 the oracle thus appealed to ; " but the state of her 
 mind, I believe, is this : If she were to marry 
 you, she would fall in love with me ; and if she 
 were to marry me, she would fall in love with 
 you." 
 
 This dictum must have impressed du Maurier, 
 for it started him on a series of drawings, with 
 accompanying text in illustration of it. There 
 were to be two volumes. The first, in which I 
 figure as the husband, was rapidly produced ; the 
 second, in which he was to be the husband, never 
 saw the light of day. It was shelved sine die, a 
 proceeding I always thought particularly unfair, 
 as he never gave me a chance of being loved. I 
 am compensated, however, by the possession of 
 the first volume of the " Noces de Picciola," or 
 
 113 p
 
 In Bohemia 
 
 " Cari-catures," as they are called. On the title- 
 page Bobtail is made to say : 
 
 " If Carry were to marry one of us, 
 I'd give thee any odds she would be safe, 
 O Rag, to love the other " 
 
 (Shakespere. " Two Swells of Antwerp.") 
 
 " Varium et mutabile semper femina," he adds, 
 and his story illustrates the truth of the poet's 
 words. His points will be so much better under- 
 stood later on, when some of the problems con- 
 nected with our matrimonial laws have been 
 solved, that it would be a pity to publish them 
 prematurely. Suffice it to show how Felix and 
 Georges produced the portrait of Picciola. 
 " Fe"lix put all his talent and Georges all his good 
 will into it, for, once completed, Picciola was to 
 select a husband from the two suitors. After 
 much cogitation she decides for Felix, whilst 
 offering her friendship to Georges, who seems 
 
 114
 
 with du Maurier. 
 
 but moderately satisfied with this arrangement ; 
 and then, when husband and wife leave for distant 
 countries, Georges, who cannot bear the thought 
 of being parted from his dear Picciola, enters the 
 service of the young couple and accompanies them 
 
 \ 
 
 PORTRAIT OF PICCIOLA. 
 
 on their honeymoon." This mythical journey 
 gives the author opportunities for the subtle 
 psychological analysis of a young lady's heart, 
 strongly inclined to revolt against some of the con- 
 ventions laid down by Society for its regulation.
 
 In Bohemia 
 
 We had fondly hoped we might escort and 
 protect her on the thorny path of life, as perti- 
 nently shown in the drawing, 1 where we are all 
 three going along, our arms and hands fraternally 
 
 "ON THEIR HONEYMOON." 
 
 intertwined and linked together in perfect sym- 
 metry, as if therewith to tie the knot of friendship 
 and make it fast for ever and a day. 
 
 But it was not to be. A big wave intervened to 
 
 1 See Frontispiece. 
 116
 
 with du Maurier. 
 
 separate us, and swept away all traces of the road 
 before us. Poor Carry ! Yes, she had a story. 
 Sad. Bright. Then sad again. First she gave 
 to Amor what was Amor's, and then to Hymen 
 what was Hymen's. She tasted of the apple her 
 friend the serpent had told her so much about. 
 Then " la femme a une chute est rare comme 
 le Niagara" and there are more apples than one 
 in the Garden of Eden she tried another; such 
 a bad one unfortunately. It was a wonder it 
 didn't poison her, body and soul, but it didn't. 
 There was a moment when the Angel with the 
 flaming sword threatened to cast her adrift, and 
 it would have fared badly with her had not a 
 helping hand come to save her. But sound as 
 she was at the core, and true, she rallied and 
 rose again to new life and unhoped-for happiness. 
 It was a young doctor who came to the rescue ; 
 a mere boy he seemed to look at ; but a man he 
 was in deed and word. He worked hard and 
 walked fast ; he defied convention and challenged 
 fate. With a stout heart he laboured to raise 
 Carry to the level of his affections, and with a 
 strong hand he tightened his hold upon her. 
 He loved her passionately, devotedly, and she, 
 clinging to him as to the instrument of her 
 
 117
 
 In Bohemia 
 
 salvation, gradually regained her better self, and, 
 slowly but surely, learnt to find in her own heart 
 the greatest of treasures that woman can bestow 
 upon man. But he was a Southerner of the 
 French meridional type, excitable and impulsive, 
 and, so, alas ! he was jealous of Carry's northern 
 friends and snapped the thread asunder that 
 bound her to them. We only knew, and that we 
 learnt in a roundabout way, that she was the 
 happiest little wife in Paris. Once, and only 
 once, she wrote to us, to tell us how complete was 
 her happiness. A crowning glory had come ; a 
 little glory to nurse and fondle, to cry over- 
 tears of joy ; to smile to the prettiest, foolishest 
 of mother's smiles ; to pray for and to worship 
 from the bottom of her little blossoming soul. It 
 was not till three years later that I was in Paris 
 and succeeded in picking up the thread of Carry's 
 story. Hale and hearty, overflowing with health 
 and happiness, the young doctor had gone to his 
 work at the hospital. He came home blood- 
 poisoned, to die in his wife's arms. It was a 
 case of self-sacrifice in the cause of science, of 
 heroic devotion to a fellow-creature. And the 
 young widow was left alone again, with none to 
 weep over (tears of anguish this time) but the 
 
 118
 
 with du Maurier. 
 
 little glory, who, poor thing, could only wonder, 
 but not soothe. What can have become of 
 Carry once more cast adrift in Paris to fight the 
 battle of life in this hard ever love-making world ? 
 
 We never knew. 
 
 Back to England. The time had come when 
 
 ' Who was to be lucky and who to be rich, 
 Who'd get to the top of the tree ; 
 Was a mystery which 
 Dame Fortune, the witch, 
 Was to tell du Maurier and me." 
 
 What with the boxing- 
 gloves and one thing and 
 another, he had been "get- 
 ting English again by 
 degrees." In a drawing 
 he shows us how he is 
 going through the process 
 arm-in-arm with his old 
 friend, Tom Armstrong, 
 now the Art-Director of 
 that very English insti- 
 tution, the South Ken- 
 sington Museum. Armstrong and T. R. 
 Lamont, the man who to this day bears such 
 a striking resemblance to our friend the Laird, 
 
 119
 
 In Bohemia 
 
 had presented du Maurier with a complete edition 
 of Edgar Allan Poe's works. His appreciation 
 of that author is expressed in a letter which he 
 addressed to Armstrong, and it needs not much 
 reading between the lines to gather what was 
 the literary diet best suited to his taste. It is 
 amusing, too, to notice the little shadows cast 
 here and there by coming events. 
 
 (Billy Barlow was, I really don't know why, for 
 the time being, synonymous with George du 
 Maurier.) 
 
 " Gulielmus Barlow, Thomasino Armstrong, 
 Whom we hope is ' gaillarclement ' getting along 
 And salubrious, ave ! 
 
 You'll wonder, I ween, 
 
 At Barlow's turning topsy-tur poet I mean. 
 I take odds you'll exclaim, 'twixt a grunt and a stare, 
 ' Gottferdummi ' the beggar's gone mad, I declare, 
 And his wits must have followed his ' peeper ' not so ; 
 He will give you the wherefore, will William Barlow 
 Viz : he's so seedy and blue, he's so deucedly triste, 
 
 He's so d d out of sorts, he's so d d out of tune, 
 
 That for mere consolation he cannot resist 
 The temptation of holding with Tommy commune. 
 Then that he should be bothered alone, isn't fair, 
 So he'll just bother you a bit, pour se distraire, 
 This will partly account for the milk then the fact is 
 That some heavy swell says that it's deuced good practice, 
 And then it's a natural consequence, too, 
 Of the classical culture he's just been put through. 
 
 120
 
 with du Maurier. 
 
 I'll explain : T'other day the maternal did say, 
 
 ' You are sadly deficient in reading, Bill ; nay 
 
 Do not wrinkle your forehead and turn up your nose 
 
 (That elegant feature of William Barlow's !) 
 
 You've read Thackeray, Dickens, I know ; but it's fit 
 
 You should study the classical authors a bit. 
 
 Heaven knows when your sight will be valid again, 
 
 You may throw down the pencil and take up the pen, 
 
 And you cannot have too many strings to your bow.' 
 
 ' A-a-amen ! ' says young William to Mrs. Barlow. 
 
 So we're treated (our feelings we needn't define) 
 
 To a beastly slow book called the ' Fall and Decline ' 
 
 By a fellow called Gibbon, be d d to him ; then 
 
 Comes the ' Esprit des lois et des moeurs/ from the pen 
 
 Of a chap hight Voltaire un pedant qui je crois 
 
 Ne se fichait pas mal et des moeurs et des lois. 
 
 After which just to vary the pleasures, Rousseau 
 
 By Emile no : Emile by Rousseau ? Gad ! I know 
 
 That which ever it be it's infernally slow, 
 
 And I'm glad Billy's neither Emile nor Rousseau 
 
 Such my fate is to listen to. longing to slope 
 
 Then come horrid long epics of Dryden and Pope, 
 
 Which I mentally swear a big oath I'll confine 
 
 To the tombs of the Capulets, every line i 
 
 Not but what the old beggars may do in their way, 
 
 Gad ! Uncommonly fine soporifics are they ; 
 
 But they seem after Tennyson, Shelley, and Poe 
 
 Just a trifle too Rosy for Billy Barlow 
 
 Oh, dear Raggedy, oh ! 
 
 Ulalume and ^Enone for William Barlow. 
 
 Erst, they're short. Then they breathe in their mystical tone 
 
 An essence, a spirit, a draught which alone 
 
 Can content Billy's lust, for the weird and unknown 
 
 121 Q
 
 In Bohemia 
 
 (Billy's out of his depth) they've an undefined sense 
 
 Of the infinite 'mersed in their sorrow intense 
 
 (Billy's sinking ! A rope ! Some one quick ! Damn it ! 
 
 hence 
 
 That mystical feeling so sweetly profound 
 Which weaves round the senses a spell (Billy's drowned) 
 (Here run for the drags of the Royal Humane !) 
 A mystical feeling, half rapture, half pain, 
 Such as moves in sweet melodies, such as entrances 
 In Chopin's ' Etudes,' and in Schubert's ' Romances.' 
 
 Ah ! Chopin's ' Impromptu ' ! Schubert's ' Serenade ' ! 
 
 Have you ever heard these pretty decently played ? 
 
 If you haven't, old fellow, I'll merely observe 
 
 That a treat most delicious you have in reserve. 
 
 Lord ! How Billy's soul grazes in diggins of clover, 
 
 While Stefani rapidly fingers them over, 
 
 Feelingly, fervidly fingers them over. 
 
 Illusion that enervates ! Feverish dream 
 
 Of excitement magnetic, inspired, supreme, 
 
 Or despairing dejection, alternate, extreme ! 
 
 Gad ! These opium-benumbing performances seem, 
 
 In their sad wild unresting irregular flow 
 
 Just expressly concocted for William Barlow. 
 
 Oh ! dear Raggedy, oh ! 
 
 Why, they ravish the heart, sir, of Billy Barlow." 
 
 Du Maurier's stay on the Continent had come 
 to a close some time before mine, and to that 
 circumstance I owe several letters in which he 
 speaks of his first experiences in London. He 
 revelled in the metamorphosis he was going 
 
 122
 
 with du Maurier. 
 
 through, and illustrated the past and the present 
 for my better comprehension. There on one side 
 of the Channel he shows the dejected old lion of 
 Malines gnawing his tobaccoless clay pipe, and 
 then on the other the noble beast stalking along 
 
 jauntily with tail erect and havannah alight, 
 wrote in high spirits : 
 
 He 
 
 " DEAR BOBTAIL, I need not tell you how 
 very jolly it was to get your letter and to hear 
 good news of you. My reason for not writing 
 was that I intended to make my position before 
 giving of my news to anybody. I was just funky 
 and blue about it at first, but fortunately I was 
 twigged almost immediately, and, barring my 
 blessed idleness, am getting on splendaciously 
 just now. Lots of my things have been out. 
 I'm going in for becoming a swell. 
 
 " How strange to think of such a change. I'm 
 123
 
 In Bohemia 
 
 leading the merriest of lives, and only hope it will 
 last. Living with Henley, No. 85, Newman 
 Street ; very jolly and comfortable. Chumming 
 with all the old Paris fellows again, all of them 
 going ahead. There's Whistler is already one 
 of the great celebrities here Poynter getting on. 
 This is a very jolly little village, and I wish you 
 were over here. They do make such a fuss with 
 an agreeable fellow like you or me, for instance. 
 But I suppose Paris is just as jolly in its way. 
 My ideas of Paris are all Boheme, quartier latin, 
 &c., et si c'etait a recommencer, ma foi je crois 
 que je dirais 'zut.' This is a hurried and absurd 
 letter to write to an old pal like you, but I hardly 
 ever have time for a line out late every night 
 and make use of what little daylight there is in 
 Newman Street to draw. ' S'il faisait au moins 
 clair de Lune pendant le jour dans ce sacre pays ' 
 I daresay I shall treat myself to a trip over to 
 Paris as soon as the weather is jollier. I intend 
 to go abroad this summer to do some etchings 'qui 
 seront aux pommes.' Is there any chance what- 
 ever of your coming over here before ? You 
 mustn't form your opinion of my performances 
 by what you may happen to see, as half of what I 
 do is spoiled by bad engraving (that's why I intend 
 
 124
 
 with du Maurier. 
 
 to etch), and what I have done, bar one or two 
 things, are merely little chic sketches for money. 
 I have many plans ; among others I intend to 
 bring out a series in Punch, with which I shall 
 take peculiar care something quite original. I 
 think you would precious soon get more portraits 
 than you could paint here, but if you are getting 
 on so well in Paris, of course it would be madness 
 to leave. But I do not like the idea of your not 
 being one of us such a band of brothers full of 
 jolly faults that dovetail beautifully. It was quite 
 a freak of mine coming over here; I did it against 
 everybody's advice came over with a ten-pound 
 note and made the rest. ' Your friend Bobtail 
 seems to be the only man who had no doubt of 
 your talent,' writes my mother. ' Enfin c'est 
 prouve que je suis au moins bon a quelque chose.' 
 Do you go much into the world ? I go knocking 
 about as happily as possible, singing and smoking 
 cigars everywhere. Jimmy Whistler and I go 
 ' tumbling ' together, as Thackeray says. Would 
 you were here to tumble with us ! Enfin, mon 
 bon, ecris moi vite." 
 
 When at last I too returned to London I was 
 privileged to take my humble share in the 
 " tumbling," as also in the steady process that 
 
 125
 
 In Bohemia. 
 
 was gradually to wean us from Bohemia. We 
 tumbled pretty regularly into the Pamphilon, a 
 restaurant within a stone's throw of Oxford 
 Circus, of the familiar type that exhibits outside 
 its door a bill of fare with prices appended, to be 
 studied by those who count their shillings and 
 pence as we did. We had got beyond the days 
 when no wines are sour and when tough meat 
 passes muster, if there is only plenty of it ; we 
 wanted a sound dinner, and we got it at the 
 Pamphilon ; to wind up we adjourned to the 
 coffee-room and talked and read and smoked. 
 
 Stacey Marks, Poynter, Jimmy Whistler, and 
 Charles Keene were among the crew, and others 
 not so well known to fame. Pleasant hours those 
 and gemlithliche, as the Germans say ; how diffe- 
 rent the after-dinner clay pipe or cheap weed of 
 those times to the post-prandial havannah we 
 now complacently whiff at our friend's Maecenas' 
 hospitable table ! Yes, things have changed, my 
 dear Rag, since the day we were paying our bill, 
 and you addressed the waiter with superb affa- 
 bility : " Here, Charles, is a penny for you. I 
 know it isn't much, but I can't afford more." 
 
 It is hard to fancy anything less like Bohemia 
 than Regent Street, but a little incident that 
 
 126
 
 with du Maurier. 
 
 occurred as I walked down that busy thorough- 
 fare one afternoon recalls the best traditions of 
 the land in which practical jokes abound. I was 
 going along without any definite aim, killing time 
 and gathering wool, flaneing, in fact ; perhaps 
 there was a touch of the foreigner about me, for 
 I had only lately returned from abroad; anyway I 
 suddenly found myself singled out as a fit subject 
 to be victimised. I felt a hand stealthily sliding 
 into my pocket ; on the spur of the moment I 
 grasped that hand in as much of an iron grip as 
 I could muster. Then I hardly know why I 
 waited quite a number of seconds before I turned 
 round. When I did, it was du Maurier's face that 
 I beheld, blanched with terror. Those seconds 
 had been ages to him. Good heavens ! had he 
 made a mistake ? Was it not Bobtail's but 
 another man's hand that was clutching his wrist ? 
 Thank Heaven, it was Bobtail's ! 
 
 There never was an occasion, before or after, 
 I feel absolutely sure, when du Maurier was more 
 truly glad to see me. His colour rapidly returned, 
 and he swore that of all the bonnes blagues this 
 was the best ; but for all that, one thing is certain 
 he has never since attempted to pick pockets 
 in Regent Street. 
 
 127
 
 In Bohemia 
 
 A delightful compromise between Bohemia 
 and the land where well-regulated Society rules 
 supreme, was the ground on which stood Moray 
 Lodge, the residence of Arthur Lewis, the head 
 of the well-known firm of Lewis and Allenby. 
 
 \Ye have read of him before : 
 
 " Sir Lewis Cornelys, as everybody knows, 
 lives in a palace on Campden Hill, a house of 
 many windows, and, whichever window he looks 
 out of, he sees his own garden and very little 
 else. There was no pleasanter or more festive 
 house than his in London, winter or summer." 
 
 I quote this, as probably it may not be known 
 to everybody that Sir Lewis was knighted on 
 the memorable occasion of Trilby's birthday, 
 when she was presented at the drawing and 
 every other room. With much kindly fore- 
 thought his friend and biographer allows him to 
 be eighty years old in the early sixties, thereby 
 enabling him to have attained to-day the ripe old 
 age of one hundred and fourteen. 
 
 Well, he was one of du Maurier's earliest 
 friends, and when Taffy the Laird, and Little 
 Billie, "a-smokin' their pipes and cigyars," told 
 the cabby to drive to Mechelen Lodge, I found 
 my way to what I called Moray Lodge, and met 
 
 128
 
 with du Maurier. 
 
 them there. And there too, to be sure, was 
 Glorioli, " the tall, good-looking swarthy foreigner 
 from whose scarcely parted, moist, thick, bearded 
 lips issued the most ravishing sounds that had 
 ever been heard from throat of man or woman 
 or boy." 
 
 As we now empty one or the other of the 
 million bottles that are about, marked " De 
 Soria, Bordeaux," we often think with gratitude 
 of the great wine-grower and still greater singer, 
 so correctly described as " singing best for love 
 or glory in the studios of his friends." 
 
 To return to Arthur Lewis : 
 
 He occupied an exceptional position, inasmuch 
 as he had made his house a centre towards which 
 intellectual London gravitated. When he had 
 done this, that, and the other to make his 
 bachelor days memorable to a host of friends, 
 he wound up by marrying one of England's 
 fairest women, our great actress, Kate Terry. 
 It was in those early days that Ellen, the 
 debutante, was introduced to the dramatic world 
 as " Kate Terry's sister." Since then Kate, 
 having elected to rest on her laurels, is proud 
 to be referred to by the younger generation as 
 " Ellen Terry's sister." 
 
 129 R
 
 In Bohemia 
 
 In early life Lewis had various roads open to 
 him. Born, as he was, with the capacity of a 
 man of business, the means and opportunities of 
 a man of leisure, and the talents of an artist, he 
 managed to follow the three roads at the same 
 time, and they all led to well-deserved success. 
 He was to be found at his desk in Regent Street, 
 at his easel in the studio, or on the threshold of 
 that big billiard and reception room which he had 
 built to entertain his friends. Himself an artist, 
 and for many years a regular exhibitor at the 
 Royal Academy, he was on terms of close friend- 
 ship with the men who had made their mark in 
 the art-world, and with many who were destined 
 to become famous. He was a Maecenas of the 
 right sort, knowing a good thing when he came 
 across it, and frequently acquiring it before the 
 sleepy w r orld awoke to its merits. 
 
 I well recollect the enthusiasm with which he 
 welcomed the first pictures Joseph Israels ex- 
 hibited in England in 1862. Neither in the 
 English nor in the Dutch department of the 
 Exhibition could he ascertain whether these two 
 pictures, " The Drowned Fisherman " and 
 " Washing the Cradle," w r ere for sale. But luck 
 would have it that he was introduced to Israels 
 
 130
 
 with du Maurier. 
 
 at the Academy soirde, and the artist, assuring 
 him that the pictures were " certainly for sale," 
 Lewis secured the coveted works, and was thus 
 the first to establish Israels' fame in England. 
 
 The gatherings in Moray Lodge were unique 
 in their way. It was characteristic of the master 
 and the house that they made everybody feel at 
 home, from the titled aristocrat in the dress-suit 
 to the free-and-easy brother-brush or pen, and 
 the sometimes out-at-elbow friend Bohemian. 
 
 There was the Duke of Sutherland, the Mar- 
 quis of Lome, Lord Dufferin, Mr. Frederic 
 Leighton, Associate of the Royal Academy, Fred 
 Walker, who on several occasions designed the 
 cards of invitation for Lewis, and his namesake, 
 the musician Fred Walker, who sang tenor in the 
 choir, of which more presently. There was Lord 
 Hough ton, Charles Dickens, Wilkie Collins, Ros- 
 setti, Landseer, Daubigny, Gustave Dore, Arthur 
 Sullivan, Leech, Keene, Tenniel, &c., &c. It is 
 as hard to pass those names over without com- 
 ment as it must have been to run the gauntlet of 
 Scylla and Charybdis, for every one of them brings 
 back some recollection, and calls upon the pen to 
 start a paragraph with an " I well remember." 
 
 But that would lead me away from Moray
 
 In Bohemia 
 
 Lodge and the famous Saturday evenings, and I 
 never was, and am not now, in a hurry to get 
 away from that hospitable mansion. 
 
 The billiard-table was boxed over on the gala 
 nights and transformed into a buffet. It was 
 covered with bottles and glasses, pipes and cigars, 
 and towards the close of the evening with moun- 
 tains of oysters. The amount we consumed on 
 one occasion was 278 dozen, as I happen to 
 know. But the great attraction at these gather- 
 ings was the part-singing of the twenty-five 
 " Moray Minstrels." John Foster was the con- 
 ductor, and led them to such perfection that the 
 severest critic of the day, dear old crabbed 
 Henry F. Chorley, proclaimed them the best 
 representatives of the English school of glee- 
 singing. 
 
 Another no less interesting feature was the 
 performance of small theatrical pieces. Du 
 Maurier and Harold Power had given us charm- 
 ing musical duologues, like " Les Deux Aveu- 
 gles," by Offenbach, and " Les Deux Gilles," 
 with great success, and that led to further 
 developments and far-reaching consequences. A 
 small party of friends were dining with Lewis. 
 " What shall we get up next? " was the question 
 
 132
 
 with du Maurier. 
 
 raised. " Something new and original," suggested 
 the host. " Now, Sullivan, you should write us 
 something." "All right," said Sullivan, "but 
 how about the words ? Where's the libretto ? " 
 "Oh, I'll write that," said Burnand. And thus 
 those two were started. "Cox and Box," a 
 travesty of " Box and Cox," was read, re- 
 hearsed, and performed within a fortnight, at 
 Burnand's house and at Moray Lodge. Du 
 Maurier was " Box," Harold Power " Cox," and 
 John Foster " Sergeant Bouncer." Du Maurier's 
 rendering of " Hush-a-by, Bacon," was so sym- 
 pathetic and tender that one's heart went out to 
 the contents of the frying-pan, wishing them 
 pleasant dreams. 
 
 Then there was his famous duet with " Box," 
 reciting their marriage to one and the same 
 lady, and the long recitative in which the 
 printer describes his elaborate preparations for 
 suicide. 
 
 How he solemnly walked to the cliff and 
 heard the seagulls' mournful cry and looked all 
 around there was nobody nigh. Then (dis- 
 posing his bundle on the brink) " Away to 
 the opposite side I walked." ("Away" on the 
 high A, that Sullivan put in on purpose for du 
 
 133
 
 In Bohemia with du Maitrier. 
 
 Maurier, who possessed that chest-note in great 
 fulness.) 
 
 I must skip a few years and speak of a 
 drawing that appeared in Punch in 1875,* and 
 which has a special interest for me ; it brings 
 back to my mind a happy thought of du 
 Maurier's, which is closely connected with a 
 particularly happy thought of my own, that took 
 root then and has flourished ever since. 
 
 I must explain that there was a time when 
 had to console myself with the reflection that 
 the course of true love never runs smooth. A 
 lady whom in my mind I had selected as a 
 mother-in-law, by no means reciprocated my 
 feelings of respect and goodwill. But the young 
 lady, her daughter, fortunately sided with me, 
 and had, in fact, given her very willing consent 
 to the change in her mother's position which 
 I had suggested. I was naturally anxious to 
 assure that young lady as frequently and as 
 emphatically as possible how much I appre- 
 ciated her assistance, and how determined I 
 was never to have any other mother-in-law but 
 the one of my choice ; nor could there be 
 
 1 Published by kind permission of the proprietors of 
 Punch.
 
 In Bohemia with du Maurier. 
 
 anything obscure in such a declaration, as 
 of three sisters in the family that particular 
 one was the only unmarried one. But neither 
 in obscure nor in explicit language was I 
 allowed to approach her ; a blockade was de- 
 clared and rigorously enforced, and we were 
 soon separated by a distance of some few 
 hundred miles. 
 
 I can look back complacently on the troubles 
 of those days now that twenty years have elapsed 
 since I emerged victorious from the contest ; but 
 then the future looked blank and bleak, and I 
 felt nonplussed and down-hearted. Knowing, 
 however, what a faint heart is said never to 
 win, I w r as anxious to keep mine up to the 
 mark, and with a view to stimulating its 
 buoyancy I went to make a friendly call on 
 du Maurier. He would, I felt sure, be sym- 
 pathetic, and, whatever else might be wanting 
 in that troublesome eye of his, there would be 
 a certain vivifying twinkle in it that could always 
 set me up. 
 
 It was as I expected, and I had the full benefit 
 of the eye, and of an ear, too, that he lent 
 willingly as I told him how matters stood. 
 
 "Well," he said, "if you can't smuggle in a
 
 In Bohemia with du Mauricr. 
 
 letter, let's smuggle in your portrait. It will 
 be rather a joke if she comes across you in 
 Punch. I've just got a subject in which I can 
 use you." 
 
 To be sure, I jumped at the idea, only 
 beseeching him to make me as handsome as 
 he possibly could, without losing sight of the 
 main object, viz., that the young lady should 
 be able to recognise me. Her mother too, I 
 felt sure, would not fail to be duly impressed, 
 for to ficnire in Punch would raise me in her 
 
 o 
 
 estimation as a person of no small importance. 
 
 The drawing was made and published, and 
 the scheme worked well ; coupled, perhaps, with 
 a few millions of other influences, and with the 
 assistance of the Fates, it achieved the desired 
 result, and before a year had elapsed the original 
 drawing could be presented by du Maurier to 
 the young lady, now become a bride, as a 
 memento of bygone troubles. 
 
 One more digression suggested by the name 
 of Arthur Sullivan ; it shall be the last. I am 
 not going back to the time when . we were 
 boys together in Leipsic, but will only mention 
 him in connection with Carry ; this time Carry 
 in another form. 
 
 138
 
 - l 
 
 / ''"^ 
 
 --
 
 In Bohemia with du Maurier. 
 
 Shortly after that big wave intervened that 
 separated her from us a happy chance put me 
 in possession of a dog, the most affectionate 
 and lovable of Skye terriers. 
 
 I named him Carry. 
 
 That dog, his qualities and virtues, and espe- 
 cially his musical gifts, deserve more than a 
 passing mention ; but, trusting that he, like every 
 dog, will have his day, I will here only transcribe 
 a letter of his that he wrote with the assistance 
 of his friend, Arthur Sullivan, who, attracted 
 perhaps by the gifts above named, had kindly 
 taken charge of him during my temporary 
 absence on the Continent. Poor dog! He is 
 dead now ; so that there can be no indiscretion 
 in publishing his bark and its translation. The 
 former is best given in its original setting. The 
 latter, purporting to be a "Translation of the 
 foregoing by A. S.," runs as follows : 
 
 " MY DEAR AND ESTEEMED MASTER, My kind 
 
 friend, Mr. Sullivan, who pretends to be as fond 
 of me as you are, has taken me away from the 
 enjoyment of a delicious mutton bone, in order 
 to answer your letter ; and as I cannot find a 
 pen to suit me well, he is writing whilst I dictate. 
 
 141
 
 In Bohemia 
 
 I was very low-spirited the other day after 
 leaving you, and appeared to feel the parting 
 very much, but it soon wore off under the 
 influence of biscuit, bones, and kindness ; indeed, 
 I must do Sully and his family the justice to say 
 that they try to do the utmost to make me happy 
 and comfortable, although they don't always 
 succeed, for sometimes I appear dissatisfied 
 (hoping, entre-nous, by that means to get more 
 out of them). 
 
 " I have several idiosyncrasies and failings, 
 of which my master (pro tern.'] is trying to 
 correct me, but finds it rather hard work, for 
 I am not so easily brought out of them. I 
 have a will of my own, but Sully says : ' Train 
 up a dog in the way it should go, and he will 
 not depart, &c., &c.' and Sully is right. 
 
 " Don't you think it is a bad plan to wash me 
 with soap ? I think it deters me from licking 
 my skin, and consequently from having those 
 ideas of cleanliness engendered within me which 
 are so necessary to every well-bred dog moving 
 in good society ! 
 
 " I w r ant to get back to my bone, but Sully 
 says I must first deliver a message from him. 
 You are to give his love to your dear parents 
 
 142
 
 with du Maurier. 
 
 (in which I heartily join), and tell them how 
 grieved he was that he did not see them to 
 wish them ' God speed ' before they left England, 
 and how it hurt him to think that a long, long time 
 would perhaps elapse before he should see them 
 again. 
 
 " And now, my dear master, I must say 'Good- 
 bye.' Much love in few words, in which Sully 
 joins me. 
 
 " Believe me, ever your 
 
 " Attached and faithful dog, 
 
 " F. MOSCHELES, Esq." 
 
 And now I come to du Maurier's last letter 
 the best, as I am sure every right-minded person 
 will admit. I have kept it " pour la bonne 
 bouche " (excuse my quoting French. " Will me 
 not of it," as our neighbours say ; there are 
 unassailable precedents for such quoting, you 
 know or ought to know). The letter in ques- 
 tion speaks of an event so momentous, that of 
 
 H3
 
 In Bohemia 
 
 all events it is the one most worthy to "be 
 marked with a white, white stone " ; and marked 
 it was, if not with a stone, with satins and laces 
 and a veil and white orange blossoms. 
 
 " Come and be introduced to the future Mrs. 
 Kicky," it said. " She intends to celebrate her 
 
 fr 
 WS 
 
 //r '^^ffV 
 
 /f ^-s~i -<<-- I 
 // ^i ^2>\ / j I 
 
 </ A * + L '\\ 
 
 2ist birthday by a small dance. There will be 
 friends and pretty girls, 'en veux tu, en viola.' 
 So rek-lect, olf'lah, Tuesday, at half-past seven." 
 
 The drawing shows how I was introduced, and 
 how graciously I was received. 
 
 The letter needs a word of explanation, as it 
 144
 
 with du Maurier. 
 
 speaks of the " future Mrs. ' Kicky,' " and I have 
 not yet mentioned that Kicky was but another 
 name for du Maurier. He got it at an early 
 period of his life. Just as any other baby less 
 favoured by " Dame Fortune the witch " would 
 have done, he gave himself his nickname. He 
 picked it up in Brussels when he was two years 
 old, and under the care of Flemish servants. 
 They called him " Mannekin " (little man), and 
 
 that he converted into " Kicky." I append one 
 of the numerous varieties of his signature. 
 
 The Rag, Tag, and Bobtail had its day, and 
 was shelved soon after we bid adieu to Bohemia ; 
 but the Kicky survived and flourished, and to- 
 day not only his old chums, but those nearest 
 and dearest to him, feel that they could not do 
 without that particular appellation, associated as 
 it is with a thousand and one happy memories. 
 
 145 T
 
 In Bohemia witk du Maurier. 
 
 And having arrived at that busiest of stations, 
 the Matrimonial Junction, where the converted 
 bachelor alights and changes for Better or for 
 Worse, these pages fitly come to a close, meant 
 as they were only to sketch some of the pleasant 
 recollections that I, in common with so many of 
 his friends, have of du Maurier's bachelor days. 
 
 UXWIX BROTHERS, THE GRESHAM PRESS, \VOKIXG AXD LONDON 
 146
 
 
 University of California 
 SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY 'f *C. L ITY 
 405 Hilaard Avenue, Los Angeles, CA 900^ 
 Return this material to the library 
 
 from which it was borrowed.
 
 ; SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRAR 
 
 A 000 672 337 3