Philip de Laszlo: A Royal Command

"Wilhelmina Cassel" by Philip de Laszlo

"For his honeymoon Philip de Laszlo took his bride to the English Lakes, new country to both of them, but while they were at Windermere he received a command from Queen Victoria to paint the portrait of General Sir George White, who had recently returned from the Boer War. De Laszlo had been hoping to obtain permission to paint the Queen, but her preoccupation with the war had made it impossible. Now that she had given him this commission instead, he could not decline it,even though it meant the honeymoon being interrupted.

A studio was found for him in London and the sittings began. The Queen took a great interest in the portrait and wished to see it immediately upon its completion. De Laszlo inquired whether it would be proper of him to show it to Her Majesty in person. But his contact replied, 'It will be the best if you send the portrait... It will remain in the Queen's room so that Her Majesty will be able to inspect it when she has time to do so.' So the portrait was sent to Windsor and de Laszlo was informed that Her Majesty was very pleased with it. 

But before he could obtain a commission from Queen Victoria, she died. Later when he asked the Austro-Hungarian Ambassador to help him gain a commission paint her successors, King Edward VII and Queen Alexandra, he was told, "I fear I cannot give you much hope. English artists complained so much that the late Queen preferred foreign painters, that I am afraid their Majesties will not easily be persuaded to sit to a foreigner.'

However, de Laszlo was not entirely preoccupied with the great. He could find spare moments to advise and encourage beginners, even though they were very young, as this letter shows:

'Dear Mr. Philip Laszlo, Artist-Painter,

I must apologize for again worrying you with my drawings. In December I received your very esteemed letter, for which I repeat my thanks. I have followed your advice and am diligently drawing all sorts of subjects. Now I again sending you some drawings and beg you to tell me your opinion of them. I am passing my examination for the 4th Class and shall be nine years old on 27th of October. Now I would beg you to tell me where I should study in order to develop my ability in drawing. Looking forward to your kind reply, I remain, Buchwald Laczi

There can be little doubt that this persistence, so like that of his own youth, warmed de Laszlo's heart towards the little boy."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Portrait of a Painter" by Owen Rutter.)

 

Philip de Laszlo: Marriage

"Philip de Laszlo and His Bride, 1900"

"After a visit to France to paint Count and Countess Jean de Castellane, Philip de Laszlo went to England, then crossed to Ireland to visit Lucy and her family. She drove the pony-trap to meet him and it was teatime when they reached the house. The garden was glowing in the sunshine and the family was on the lawn under the hawthorn tree. It must have been a difficult moment for de Laszlo, as he strode across the grass to greet them all. Certainly he was no longer the shabby artist. He  had painted kings and princes and was doing quite well financially. 

But he was ignorant of the ways of the Irish upper-middle classes to which the Guinnesses belonged. Some of the greatest families in Europe had welcomed him, but de Laszlo could not know that in the country houses of Ireland and England artists were considered scarcely respectable unless they were Royal Academicians. It meant that, despite his success, he still had to fight for recognition and to battle with the British prejudice against foreigners. 

But he had courage and persistence. He had shown his devotion to Lucy by respecting her family's wishes and waiting seven years for her. His behaviour had been impeccable. In the end he won over Lucy's mother. He may not have been the son-in-law she would have chosen, but she knew that her daughter's affection had been tried as well as his, and she bowed to the inevitable. When de Laszlo returned to England he was able to proclaim that he was engaged.

Their wedding took place at the parish church of Stillorgan, Ireland, on 7 June, 1900. De Laszlo wore the traditional gala dress of the Hungarian gentleman. It was of dark green velvet, trimmed with black astrakan, high boots, and a fur-trimmed hat decorated with an eagle's feather. With his sword at his side and his orders upon his chest he looked magnificent, and while he was waiting for the bride he turned towards the congregation to let his future wife's relatives and friends have a good look at him, without a vestige of self-consciousness.

The bridegroom's English was still far from perfect, and, fearing that he might make a blunder, Lucy had taken him through the service very carefully beforehand. He did not make a single mistake in his responses, and after the ceremony, to the strains of Mendelssohn's Wedding March, he and his bride walked down the aisle, which was strewn with rose petals by four small boy and girl Guinness cousins. While a military band played 'The Sun was Shining' de Laszlo posed for his photograph with his wife. His expression suggests the triumphant satisfaction of a man who has found attainment after seven years of struggle, waiting and devotion, and her face glows with happiness and love."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Portrait of a Painter" by Owen Rutter.)

Philip de Laszlo: Making a Name for Himself

"Baroness Hugo von Reischach,
née Princess Margarethe von Ratibor"
by Philip de Laszlo

"Philip de Laszlo was now making his name. He was a gold medallist of the Paris Salon. No longer would he have to count his centimes. Never again would he have to travel fourth class. He had painted kings and princes. He had stayed in their palaces. They were glad to call him their friend, and he no longer felt awkward and abashed in their company.

In March, upon finishing the portrait of the German chancellor, he went to Vienna, where as he said, 'I rented a fine studio and became acquainted with many prominent people in that enchanting city. During the next five weeks I painted the portraits of Prince and Princess Max Egon von Furstenberg and another dozen portraits, all of great interest. Among my sitters were the beautiful Countess Aglya Kinsky, her husband, Count Ferdinand Kinsky, who was Master of the Horse; the Lord Marshal, Prince Rudolf Lichtenstein; the Hungarian Prince Tasillo Festetics, and the lovely Princess Montenuovo.'

In May he went to Budapest, where he painted the Hungarian Premier, Count Julius Szapary and made a sketch of Dr. Julius Wlassics, the Minister of Arts and Education. Then returning to Germany he painted Baron and Baroness Friedrich Diergardt and their two daughters. These contacts led to his painting the Empress later in the year, who, having no time to give sittings for oil portraits, was greatly impressed with the speed with which he executed his sketches and wanted one to give the Kaiser. It was a year of tremendous activity and hard work. 

He was being particularly successful in Germany, and was obtaining high prices for his work. Nowhere in the world do family portraits hold such an important place as in the noble families of Germany. Every member of each generation find a place on the walls of the ancestral castle. In the years before the war Germany was a fruitful field for the portrait painter. There were large families to paint, and the money forthcoming to employ artists of repute.

He  worked with amazing rapidity and concentration, and yet he seemed always to find time to develop lasting friendships with his sitters. Commissions were pouring in and de Laszlo could not refuse them. Apart from his personal ambition, he had determined to show Lucy Guinness' mother that he was no long a penniless art student, but a successful man who could give her daughter a comfortable home."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Portrait of a Painter" by Owen Rutter.)

Philip de Laszlo: Prince Chlodwig Hohenlohe-Schillingsfurst

"Chlodwig Hohenlohe-Schillingsfurst"
by Philip de Laszlo

Philip de Laszlo wrote: "Early in March, 1899, I arrived in Berlin, where I stayed at the German chancellor's palace. A delightful studio had been arranged for me in a covered verandah, and there I met the Chancellor's son, Prince Alexander. It was the family's wish to have the portrait of the Chancellor painted for his eightieth birthday. Prince Alexander wished to have his father painted standing as if delivering a speech. I could understand his desire to see his father perpetuated thus, yet the Chancellor was a very small man, exceptionally bent.

To paint him as I saw him would have been almost impossible, and I came to the conclusion that I must try to avoid doing what I had been asked to do. I wanted to reduce the picture so far as possible to a head-and-shoulders, to enable me to concentrate on his deep searching expression and noble features. I particularly admired the expression of his pale blue eyes, which seemed to become more brilliant, like large aquamarines.

The situation was too delicate to explain to his son. Happily circumstances helped me to achieve what I believed should be done. After my fourth sitting, I received from the Hungarian Minister of Art and Education an official letter in which he asked me if I could persuade the Chancellor to give me sittings for a head-and-shoulders portrait for the National Museum of Fine Arts, as a pendant to the famous portrait of Bismarck by Lenbach.

I immediately showed the letter to the Chancellor, who was visibly flattered, and asked him if he would mind my putting aside the portrait I had begun, and start the one I had been asked to do for Hungary. He good naturedly consented.

I was so keen about it that I started the new picture next morning, hoping that when he compared my own conception with the desired portrait, in which his physical failing were so obvious, he himself might wish to be painted in that way. I went to work with all my heart and soul. At the second sitting he stepped down from his platform to look at the picture and asked, 'Why did you not paint the portrait I am to have like that?' So I had my way without being obliged to explain my reasons.

I never thought that this picture would mean so much to my career. On the day of the last sitting the Chancellor was giving an official dinner party in honour of the German Emperor, and afterwards showed the portrait to the Emperor. He was so pleased that he expressed the desire that it should be exhibited at the Schulte Gallery in Berlin. But I had intended to show the picture, with the Chancellor's permission, at the Paris Salon, and there were only a few days for it to reach Paris in time. I explained this to the Emperor, who insisted 'The picture cannot be shown in Paris before the Berlin public has a chance to see it. I will arrange for it to be sent by a special courier to Paris.'

And so it was, and when the picture was shown in the Salon of 1899 it received a Gold Medal, thus becoming hors concours, meaning in the future de Laszlo was free to enter works for the Salon without competition. Over the next few months the portrait was exhibited to similar acclaim in Baden-Baden, Budapest and Vienna, and commission after commission came his way."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Portrait of a Painter" by Owen Rutter.)

Philip de Laszlo: The Ratibors and Beyond

"Prince Maximilian von Ratibor"
by Philip de Laszlo

"Early in 1897 Philip de Laszlo became acquainted with Prince Max Ratibor, the German Consul-General in Budapest, and the meeting led to a long and happy friendship with the various members of this family. The Ratibors are large landowners in Germany and are related or connected by marriage with most of the German nobility.

His first Ratibor portraits were those of Prince Max and his wife. These and the picture of Princess Victoria, their daughter - which de Laszlo always maintained were three of his best portraits - were to bring him further fame and success.

'I am being begged to exhibit your pictures which we have here,' wrote Prince Max Ratibor from Weimar, where he was then German Minister at the Court of the Grand Duke of Saxe-Weimar, 'before you will need them for your coming exhibition in Berlin next year. They will be shown in the Museum here. The patron is the Grand Duke of Weimar.'

The Grand Duke was delighted with de Laszlo's work and commissioned a portrait of himself, which was painted immediately. The Grand Duke was so pleased with it that he decorated de Laszlo with the Order of the White Falcon. The exhibition was held in February, 1898, at the fashionable Schulte Gallery, and besides the German portraits de Laszlo showed, there were those of Count and Countess Albert Apponyi, Count Chotek, Dr. Alexander Wekerle, Herr Pretorious, and the Archimandrite Gregorius. The reception of the critics was all he could have wished.He was accepted no longer as a promising young artist, but as a fully-fledged painter with a great career before him.

In the spring of 1898 de Laszlo exhibited his portraits of Princess Max Ratibor and Daniela Grunelius at the Paris Salon. The portrait of Daniela aroused particular attention and was reproduced in colour on the front page of 'L'Illustration.' The National Art Gallery of Adelaide, South Australia, wished to buy it for their collection, but it was not for sale. 

An American gentleman, Mr. Minot, saw the portraits in the Salon and wanted de Laszlo to return with him to Boston to paint a picture of his daughter-in-law and her son. On learning that de Laszlo's outstanding commissions made this impossible, he suggested that as he was taking a house in the Isle of Wight, the portrait might be painted there. He offered a fee of 500 pounds and travelling expenses. This offer de Laszlo accepted.  

He wrote to Lucy Guinness to tell her of his forthcoming visit to England. He had not heard from her for two years and even though his letter was written in formal terms, it did not disguise his excitement at the possibility of seeing her again."

To be continued

(Excerpt from "Portrait of a Painter" by Owen Rutter.)

Philip de Laszlo: Artist to Royalty

"Archimandrite Gregorius of Philippopolis"
by Philip de Laszlo

Philip de Laszlo wrote: "Since the portraits of the Prince Ferdinand and Princess Marie Louise were required for official purposes I had to paint both sitters in full court dress with all their decorations. To save them from sitting too long I had two life-sized dummies dressed up, so that I could paint in the details by myself. One day, after spending the morning struggling with the intricacies of Ferdinand's brilliantly-coloured orders, I saw on my return from luncheon that the position of one of the stars on the Prince's dummy had been changed. Later on the Prince came in and asked me, with his knowing smile, if I had noticed the alteration. I replied that I had. 'I did it,' said His Royal Highness. 'It was not in its correct place.' The result was that the whole star had to be painted again. 

The Prince also asked me to paint a three-quarter length portrait of the Archimandrite Gregorius of Philippopolis, who was then visiting. A splendid studio was arranged for me at the palace, and I could not have wished for a more inspiring and intelligent subject. He had perfect classic features. When he first entered the studio in his simple black robe and black headdress, I was deeply impressed by the dignity of his bearing and the calmness of his presence. I painted him as he sat in his chair and finished the portrait in twelve sittings.

Besides this work I was also asked to paint a copy of my portrait of Princess Marie Louise, then one of their infant son, Boris, and a small picture of the only child of the Prince's personal secretary, M. Stancioff.

My experience at the Court of Sofia was very helpful to me in my future career. I learned how carefully one has to move, not so much in the presence of the sovereigns themselves, but amongst their entourage. Young though I was, I learnt the value of discretion. 

Before I left Sofia, Princess Marie Louise presented me with a very beautiful tie pin, in the form of a fleur-de-lys and her crown set in rubies and sapphires. This was my first Royal present, and Prince Ferdinand honoured me with his Order for Art and Science. It will not be difficult to imagine what it meant to me at that age to receive the first tokens of appreciation of this kind, and I left Bulgaria happy to feel that I had fulfilled the expectations of the Royal family."

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Portrait of a Painter" by Owen Rutter.)

Philip de Laszlo: Alexius de Lippich

"King Ferdinand I of Bulgaria"
by Philip de Laszlo

"In 1893 Philip de Laszlo became closely associated with Mr. Alexius de Lippich, who was then secretary of the Fine Arts Department of the Ministry of Education. Lippich was some ten years older than de Laszlo, and was a typical member of the exclusive Hungarian landed gentry class. It is remarkable, therefore, that he should have made friends with a young artist whose name, when thefriendship began, was scarcely known even in Hungary.

Lippich's letters show that he was a shrewd man of business.It is reasonable to suppose that he recognized de Laszlo's unusual talent and thought it worthwhile to help in the shaping of his career. At the same time there seems no doubt that he was sincerely fond of de Laszlo, and he commissioned him to paint a portrait of Mrs. Lippich which was exhibited at the Winter Exhibition of 1894. In February he got him a commission to paint the portrait of the daughter-in-law of a famous poet, Janos Arany. 'I believe that this commission will give you the entree into a new society set,' wrote Lippich, 'which may be of great advantage to your future career.'

It is clear from this letter that Lippich had constituted himself de Laszlo's mentor, and when de Laszlo had to write letters to those in a higher social sphere, Lippich would even make a draft for him to copy. Thenceforward he had a profound influence on de Laszlo's career and it seems highly probably that it was through Lippich that de Laszlo obtained his first royal commissions - the portraits of Prince Ferdinand of Bulgaria and of his consort, Princess Marie Louise of Bourbon-Parma. 

De Laszlo spoke of his experience: 'I had brought with me all the necessary materials for painting the portraits and the Prince allowed me to use one of the aide-de-camps' rooms, on the north side of the palace, as a studio. On the day I was to start the picture the Prince entered the studio in uniform, with all his magnificent decorations. 

'Look at my forehead,' he said to me solemnly. 'You can see that it is the forehead of a thinker, who has many sorrows and much trouble. Look at my hands. They are the hands of a sovereign who often sits through the night when all the world is asleep, working hard at his desk, at that desk where all the wires of Europe concentrate for me to pull.' Such were the words with which Ferdinand introduced himself. It was difficult for me to keep and solemn face and not burst out laughing.'" 

To be continued

(Excerpts from "Portrait of a Painter" by Owen Rutter.)