Part 1 (1/2)

Aubrey Beardsley.

by Robert Ross.

Aubrey Beardsley was born on August 21st, 1872, at Brighton. He was a quiet, reserved child, caring little for lessons, though from an early age he shewed an apt.i.tude for drawing. He began his education at a Kindergarten. He was seven years old when the first symptoms of delicacy appeared, and he was sent to a preparatory school at Hurstpierpoint, where he was remarkable for his courage and extreme reserve. Threatened with tuberculosis, he was moved for his health to Epsom in 1881. In March 1883 his family settled in London, and Beardsley made his first public appearance as an infant musical phenomenon, playing at concerts in company with his sister. He had a great knowledge of music, and always spoke dogmatically on a subject, the only one he used to say, of which he knew anything. He became attracted at this time by Miss Kate Greenaway's picture books, and started illuminating menus and invitation cards with coloured chalks, making by this means quite considerable sums for a child.

In August 1884 he and his sister were sent back to Brighton, where they resided with an old aunt. Their lives were lonely, and Beardsley developed a taste for reading of a rather serious kind--the histories of Freeman and Greene being his favourite works. He could not remain a student without creating, so he started a history of the Armada! In November of the same year he was sent to the Brighton Grammar School as a day boy, becoming a boarder in January 1885. He was a great favourite with Mr King, the house-master, who encouraged his tastes for reading and drawing by giving him the use of a sitting-room and the run of a library. This was one of the first pieces of luck that attended Beardsley throughout life. The head-master, Mr Marshall, I am told, would hold him up as an example to the other boys, on account of his industry. His caricatures of the masters were fully appreciated by them, a rare occurrence in the lives of artists. He cultivated besides a talent for acting, and would often perform before large audiences at the Pavilion. He organized weekly performances at the school, designing and ill.u.s.trating the programmes. He even wrote a farce called ”A Brown Study,” which was played at Brighton, where it received serious attention from the dramatic critics of the town. He would purchase each volume of the Mermaid series of Elizabethan dramatists then being issued, and with his sister gave performances during the holidays. From the record of the ”Brighton College Magazine,” Beardsley appears to have taken a leading role in all histrionic fetes, and to ”The Pied Piper of Hamelin” he contributed some delightful and racy little sketches, the first of his drawings, I believe, that were ever reproduced.

[Ill.u.s.tration: SIEGFRIED _Reproduced from the original in the possession of Mrs. Bealby Wright_]

In July 1888 he left school, and almost immediately entered an architect's office in London. In 1889 he obtained a post in the Guardian Life and Fire Insurance. During the autumn of that year the fatal haemorrhages commenced; for two years he gave up his amateur theatricals and did little in the way of drawing. In 1891, however, he recuperated; a belief in his own powers revived. He now commenced a whole series of ill.u.s.trations to various plays, such as Marlowe's ”Tamerlane,”

Congreve's ”Way of the World,” and various French works which he was able to enjoy in the original. He would often speak of the encouragement and kindness he received at this period from the Rev. Alfred Gurney, who had known his family at Brighton, and who was perhaps the earliest of his friends to realize that Beardsley possessed something more than mere cleverness or precocity.

Several people have claimed to discover Aubrey Beardsley, but I think it truer to say that he revealed himself, when proper acknowledgment has been made to Mr Aymer Vallance, Mr Joseph Pennell, Mr Frederick Evans, Mr J. M. Dent, and Mr John Lane, with whom Beardsley's art will always be a.s.sociated in connection with the Yellow Book, that too early daffodil that came before the swallow dared and could not take the winds of March for beauty. To Mr Pennell belongs the credit of introducing Beardsley's art to the public; and to Mr Dent is due the rare distinction of giving him practical encouragement, by commissioning the ill.u.s.trations to the ”Morte d'Arthur,” long before critics had written anything about him, or any but a few friends knew of his great powers. Beardsley was too remarkable a personality to remain in obscurity. Though I remember with some amus.e.m.e.nt how the editor of a well-known weekly mocked at a prophecy that the artist was a coming man who would very shortly excite discussion if not admiration. Fortunately Mr Pennell, a distinguished artist himself, and a fearless critic, not only espoused the cause of the new draughtsman, but became a personal friend for whom Beardsley always evinced great affection, and to whom he dedicated his ”Alb.u.m of Fifty Drawings.”

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE WOMAN IN THE MOON _From ”Salome”_]

I shall never forget my first meeting with Aubrey Beardsley, on February 14th, 1892, at the rooms of Mr Vallance, the well-known disciple and biographer of William Morris. Though prepared for an extraordinary personality, I never expected the youthful apparition which glided into the room. He was shy, nervous, and self-conscious, without any of the intellectual a.s.surance and ease so characteristic of him eighteen months later when his success was unquestioned. He brought a portfolio of his marvellous drawings, in themselves an earnest of genius; but I hardly paid any attention to them at first, so overshadowed were they by the strange and fascinating originality of their author. In two hours it was not hard to discover that Beardsley's appearance did not belie him. He was an intellectual Marcellus suddenly matured. His rather long brown hair, instead of being ”ebouriffe,” as the ordinary genius is expected to wear it, was brushed smoothly and flatly on his head and over part of his immensely high and narrow brow. His face even then was terribly drawn and emaciated. Except in his manner, I do not think his general appearance altered very much in spite of the ill-health and suffering, borne with such unparalleled resignation and fort.i.tude: he always had a most delightful and engaging smile both for friends and strangers.

He grew less shy after half an hour, becoming gayer and more talkative.

He was full of Moliere and ”Manon Lescaut” at the time; he seemed disappointed that none of us was musical; but he astonished by his knowledge of Balzac an authority on the subject who was also present.

He spoke much of the National Gallery and the British Museum, both of which he knew with extraordinary thoroughness. He told me he had only been once to the New Gallery, where he saw some pictures by Burne-Jones, but had never been to the Royal Academy. As far as I know, he never visited the spring shows of Burlington House. He always, however, defended that inst.i.tution with enthusiasm, saying he would rather be an Academician than an artist, ”as it takes only one man to make an artist, but forty to make an Academician.”

Our next meeting was a few weeks later, when he brought me a replica of his ”_Joan of Arc_.” I was anxious to buy the first and better version, now in the possession of Mr Frederick Evans, but he refused to part with it at the time. He seemed particularly proud of the drawing; it was the only work of this period he would allow to have any merit.

In the early summer of 1892 he visited Burne-Jones and Watts, receiving from the former artist cordial recognition and excellent advice which proved invaluable to him. He attributed to the same great painter the criticism that ”he had learnt too much from the old masters and would benefit by the training of an art school.” A few days afterwards he produced a most amusing caricature of himself being kicked down the stairs of the National Gallery by Raphael, t.i.tian, and Mantegna, whilst Michael Angelo dealt a blow on his head with a hammer. This entertaining little record, I am sorry to say, was destroyed. Beardsley was always sensible about friendly and intelligent criticism. When he reached a position enjoyed by no artist of his own age, he was swift to remedy any defect pointed out to him by artists or even by ordinary friends.

I never met anyone so receptive on all subjects; he would record what Mr Pennell or Puvis de Chavannes said in praise or blame of a particular drawing with equal candour and good humour. This was only one of his many amiable qualities. When he afterwards became a sort of household word and his fame, or notoriety as his enemies called it, was established, he never changed in this respect. He made friends and remained friends with many for whom his art was totally unintelligible.

Social charm triumphed over all differences. He would speak with enthusiasm about writers and artists quite out of sympathy with his own aims and aspirations. He never a.s.sumed that those to whom he was introduced either knew or admired his work. His character was brisk and virile to an extraordinary degree. He made enemies, I believe, by refusing to revolve in mutual admiration societies or to support literary and artistic cliques. With the shadow of death always over him and conscious of the brief time before him, he never gave himself up to morbid despair or useless complaints. He determined to enjoy life, and, equipped with all the curiosity and gaiety of boyhood, he caught at life's exquisite moments. There was always a very deep and sincere religious vein in his temperament, only noticeable to very intimate friends. With all his power of grasping the essential and absorbing knowledge, he remained charmingly unsophisticated. He took people as they came, never discriminating, perhaps, sufficiently the issues of life. He was unspoiled by success, unburdened with worldly wisdom.

He was generous to a fault, spending his money lavishly on his friends to an extent that became almost embarra.s.sing.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE TOILETTE OF SALOME _From ”Salome”_]

His love and knowledge of books increased rather than diminished even after he devoted himself entirely to art. In early days he would exchange his drawings for ill.u.s.trated books and critical texts of the English cla.s.sics with Mr Frederick Evans, an early and enthusiastic buyer of his work. His tastes were not narrow. Poetry, memoirs, history, short stories, biography, and essays of all kinds appealed to him; but he cared little for novels, except in French. I don't think he ever read d.i.c.kens, Thackeray, and George Eliot, though he enjoyed Scott during the last months of his life. He had an early predilection for lives of the Saints. The sc.r.a.p-book of sketches, containing drawings done prior to 1892, indicates the range and extent of his taste. There are ill.u.s.trations to ”Manon Lescaut,” ”Tartarin,” ”Madame Bovary,”

Balzac (”Le Cousin Pons,” the ”Contes Drolatiques”), Racine, Sh.e.l.ley's ”Cenci.” He retained his love of the drama, and began to write a play in collaboration with Mr Brandon Thomas. While dominated by pre-Raphaelite influences, he read with great avidity ”Sidonia the Sorceress,” and ”The Shaving of s.h.a.gpat,” a favourite book of Rossetti's; and it was with a view to ill.u.s.trate Mr Meredith's Arabian Night that he became introduced to Mr John Lane, who divides with Mr Herbert Pollit the honour of possessing the finest Beardsleys still in this country. He read Greek and Latin authors in translations, and often astonished scholars by his acute appreciation of their matter. He approached Dantesque mediaevalism through Rossetti and, later on, at the original source. Much of his early work ill.u.s.trated incidents in the ”Divine Comedy.” He was a fervent admirer of the ”Romance of the Rose” in the original, and several mediaeval French books, but he once told me that he found the ”Morte d'Arthur” very long-winded.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE DANCER'S REWARD _From ”Salome”_]

For one so romantic in the expression of his art, I should say his literary and artistic tastes were severely cla.s.sic, though you would have expected them to be bizarre. He was ambitious of literary success, but any aspirations were wisely discouraged by his admirers. His writings, however brilliant--and they often were brilliant--shewed a dangerous cleverness, which on cultivation might have proved disastrous to the realization of his true genius. ”Under the Hill” is a delightful experiment in a rococo style of literature, and it would be difficult to praise sufficiently the rhythm and metrical adroitness of the two poems in the Savoy Magazine. Though I cannot speak of his musical attainments, it may be regarded as fortunate that so remarkable a genius was directed to a more permanent form of executive power.

His knowledge of life, art, and literature seemed the result of instinct rather than study; for no one has ever discovered where he found the time or opportunity for a.s.similating all he did. Gregarious and sociable by nature, he was amusingly secretive about his methods and times of work. Like other industrious men, he never pretended to be busy or pressed for time. He never denied his door to callers, nor refused to go anywhere on the plea of ”work.”

He disliked anyone being in the room when he was drawing, and hastily hid all his materials if a stranger entered the room. He would rarely exhibit an unfinished sketch, and carefully destroyed any he was not thoroughly satisfied with himself. He carried this sensitive spirit of selection and self-criticism rather far. Calling on friends who possessed primitives, he would destroy these early relics and leave a more mature and approved specimen of his art, or the _edition de luxe_ of some book he had ill.u.s.trated. Some of us were so annoyed that we were eventually obliged to lock up all early examples. For though friends thus victimized were endowed with a more valuable acquisition, they had a natural sentiment and affection for the unsophisticated designs of his earlier years.

[Ill.u.s.tration: TAILPIECE _From ”Salome”_]

His life, though many-sided and successful, was outwardly uneventful.

In the early summer of 1892 he entered Professor Brown's night school at Westminster, but during the day continued his work at the Guardian Fire Insurance until August, when, by his sister's advice, he resigned his post. In December he acquainted with Mr Pennell, from whose encouragement and advice he reaped the fullest advantage. After commencing the decorations to the ”Morte d'Arthur,” he ceased to attend Professor Brown's cla.s.ses. In February 1893 some of his drawings were first published in London in the Pall Mall Budget under the editors.h.i.+p of Mr Lewis Hind, but one of the most striking of his early designs appeared in a little college magazine ent.i.tled The Bee. When The Studio was started by Mr Charles Holme under the able direction of the late Gleeson-White, Beardsley designed the first cover and Mr Pennell contributed the well-known appreciation of the new artist.

Towards the end of 1893 he commenced working for Mr John Lane, who issued his marvellous ill.u.s.trations to ”Salome” in 1894. In April of the same year appeared the Yellow Book. To the first four volumes Beardsley contributed altogether about eighteen ill.u.s.trations. From a pictorial point of view this publication had no other _raison d'etre_ than as a vehicle for the production of Beardsley's work, though Henry Harland, in his capacity as literary editor, revealed the presence of many new writers among us. Throughout 1894 Beardsley's health seemed to improve, and his social success was considerable. In the previous year he had been ridiculed, but now the world accepted him at Mr Pennell's valuation. The Beardsley type became quite a fas.h.i.+on, and was burlesqued at many of the theatres; his name and work were on everyone's lips. He made friends with many of his contemporaries distinguished in art and literature. At the house of one of his friends he delivered a very amusing lecture on ”Art” which created much discussion.