At this time we were able to be of the right use to each other.  Henry could never have worked with a very strong woman.  I might have deteriorated, in partnership with a weaker man whose ends were less fine, whose motives were less pure.  I had the taste and artistic knowledge that his upbringing had not developed in him.  For years he did things to please me.  Later on I gave up asking him.  In “King Lear” Mrs. Nettleship made him a most beautiful cloak, but he insisted on wearing a brilliant purple velvet cloak with spangles all over it which swamped his beautiful make-up and his beautiful acting.  Poor Mrs. Nettleship was almost in tears.

“I’ll never make you anything again—­never!”

One of Mrs.  “Nettle’s” greatest triumphs was my Lady Macbeth dress, which she carried out from Mrs. Comyns Carr’s design.  I am glad to think it is immortalized in Sargent’s picture.  From the first I knew that picture was going to be splendid.  In my diary for 1888 I was always writing about it: 

     “The picture of me is nearly finished, and I think it magnificent. 
     The green and blue of the dress is splendid, and the expression as
     Lady Macbeth holds the crown over her head is quite wonderful.

     “Henschel is sitting to Sargent.  His concerts, I hear, can’t be
     carried on another year for want of funds.  What a shame!

     “Mr. Sargent is painting a head of Henry—­very good, but mean about
     the chin at present.

     “Sargent’s picture is talked of everywhere and quarreled about as
     much as my way of playing the part.

“Sargent’s ‘Lady Macbeth’ in the New Gallery is a great success.  The picture is the sensation of the year.  Of course opinions differ about it, but there are dense crowds round it day after day.  There is talk of putting it on exhibition by itself.”

Since then it has gone over nearly the whole of Europe, and now is resting for life at the Tate Gallery.  Sargent suggested by this picture all that I should have liked to be able to convey in my acting as Lady Macbeth.

My Diary.—­“Everybody hates Sargent’s head of Henry.  Henry also.  I like it, but not altogether.  I think it perfectly wonderfully painted and like him, only not at his best by any means.  There sat Henry and there by his side the picture, and I could scarce tell one from t’other.  Henry looked white, with tired eyes, and holes in his cheeks and bored to death!  And there was the picture with white face, tired eyes, holes in the cheeks and boredom in every line.  Sargent tried to paint his smile and gave it up.”

Sargent said to me, I remember, upon Henry Irving’s first visit to the studio to see the Macbeth picture of me, “What a Saint!” This to my mind promised well—­that Sargent should see that side of Henry so swiftly.  So then I never left off asking Henry to sit to Sargent, who wanted to paint him too, and said to me continually, “What a head!”