His companion only laughed.
“Go on, my friend, go on,” he said, blowing a cloud of cigarette smoke. “You pretend to be a cosmopolitan3 of cosmopolitans4, but you will remain insular5 to the day of your death. To you, a man who does not happen to be an Englishman must of necessity be dirty, and be possessed6 of a willingness to sever7 your jugular8 within the first few minutes of your acquaintance. With regard to the accusation9 you bring against me, I am willing to declare, in self-defence, that I like burrowing10 about among the small restaurants in this quarter, for the simple reason that I meet men who are useful to me in my work, besides affording me food for reflection.”
The taller man grunted11 scornfully.
“Conspirators to a man,” he answered. “Nihilists, Anarchists14, members of the Mafia, the Camorristi, and the Carbonari. Some day you will enter into an argument with one of them and a knife thrust between your ribs15 will be the result.”
“It may be so,” returned Victor Fensden, with a shrug16 of his narrow shoulders. “Better that, however, than a life of stolid17 British priggishness. How you manage to paint as you do when you have so little of the romantic in your temperament18, is a thing I can not for the life of me understand. That a man who rows, plays football and cricket, and who will walk ten miles to see a wrestling match or a prize fight, should be gifted with such a sense of colour and touch, is as great a mystery to me as the habits of the ichthyosaurus.”
And indeed, what Fensden said was certainly true. Godfrey Henderson, one of the most promising19 of our younger painters, was as unlike the popular notion of an artist as could well be found. He had rowed stroke in his ‘Varsity boat, had won for himself a fair amount of fame as a good all-round athlete, and at the same time had painted at least three of the most beautiful pictures — pictures with a subtle touch of poetry in them — that the public had seen for many years. His height was fully12 six feet one and a half, his shoulders were broad and muscular; he boasted a pleasant and open countenance20, such a one in fact as makes one feel instinctively21 that its owner is to be trusted. Taken altogether, a casual observer would have declared him to be a young country Squire22, and few would have guessed that the greater portion of his life was spent standing23 before an easel, palette and brush in hand.
Victor Fensden, his companion, was of an altogether different stamp. He was at least three inches shorter, was slimly built, and at first glance would appear to possess a highly nervous and delicate constitution. In his dress he also differed from his friend. His taste betrayed a partiality for velvet24 coats; his ties were usually startling, so far as colour went; he wore his hair longer than is customary, and further adorned25 his face with a neat little Vandyke beard and mustache. Like Henderson he was also a votary26 of the brush. His pictures, however, were of the impressionist order — pretty enough in their way, but lacking in form, and a trifle vague as to colouring. On occasions he wrote poetry. There were some who said he was not sincere, that his pictures were milk-and-water affairs, suggestive of the works of greater men, and only intended to advertise himself. If that were so, the success they achieved was comparative. Sad to relate, there were people in London who had not heard the name of Victor Fensden; while the walls of the Academy, which he affected27 so much to despise, had not so far been honoured by his patronage28. “The whole thing,” he would say, adopting the language of our American cousins, “is controlled by a Business Ring; the Hanging Committee and the dealers30 stand in with each other. If you prefer to do bad work deliberately31, or at any rate are content to be commonplace, then you’re safe for admission. But if you prefer to do something which may, or may not, please the multitude, but which will last longer than Burlington House, or the National Gallery itself, then you must be content to remain outside.” After this tirade32, regardless of the implied sneer33 at his work, Godfrey would laugh and turn the matter off by proposing dinner, luncheon34, or some other distraction35. He knew the value of his own work, and was content to estimate it accordingly.
Having reached the end of the street down which they had been walking, when the conversation already described occurred, they found themselves before the entrance to a small eating-house. One glance was sufficient to show that it was of the foreign order, so derided36 by Henderson a few moments ago before. They entered and looked about them. The room was long and narrow, and contained some ten or a dozen small tables, three or four of which were already occupied. Pictures of the German school, apparently37 painted by the yard, and interspersed38 with gaudy39 portraits of King Humbert with his mustache, Victor Emmanuel with his wealth of orders, the latter cheek by jowl with Mr. Garibaldi in his felt hat, decorated the walls. The proprietor40, a small, tubby individual, with the blackest of black hair and eyes, and an olive skin that glistened41 like the marble tops of the tables, came forward to welcome them. At his request they seated themselves and gave their orders.
“What enjoyment42 you can find in this sort of thing I can not imagine,” repeated Henderson, almost irritably43, as he looked about him. “If you take a pleasure in macaroni and tomato, and find poetry in garlic and sauer-kraut, the divine instinct must be even more highly developed in you than your warmest admirers believe. We might have gone to the club and have had a decent meal there.”
“And have had to listen to a lot of supercilious44 young idiots chattering45 about what they are pleased to call ‘their work,’” the other replied. “No, no, we are better off here. Set your imagination to work, my dear fellow, and try to believe yourself in Florence, with the moonlight streaming down on the Ponte Vecchio; or in Naples, and that you can hear the waves breaking up on the rock under the Castello del Ovo. You might even be listening to Funiculi-Finicula for the first time.”
“Confound you! I never know whether you are serious or not,” replied Godfrey. “Is it a joke you’re bringing me here to-night, or have you some definite object in view?”
He looked across the table at his companion as if he were anxious to assure himself upon this point before he said anything further.
“What if I had an object?” the other answered. “What if I wanted to do you a good turn, and by asking you to come here to-night were able to help you in your work?”
“In that case,” Henderson replied, “I should say that it was very kind of you, but that you have chosen a curious way of showing it. How a low Italian restaurant in Soho can help me in the work I have on hand I can not for the life of me understand. Is it possible for you to be more explicit46?”
“If the critics are to be believed you ask too much of me,” Fensden returned, with one of his quiet laughs. “Are they not always declaring that my principal fault lies in my being too vague? Seriously, however, I will confess that I had an object in bringing you here. Have I not heard you grumbling47 morning, noon, and night, that the model for your new picture is about as difficult to find as, well, shall we say, an honest dealer29? Now, I believe that the humble48 mouse was once able to assist the lion — forgive the implied compliment — in other words, I think I have achieved the impossible. It will take too long to tell you how I managed it, but the fact remains49 that I have discovered the girl you want, and what is more, she will be here to-night. If, when you have seen her, you come to the conclusion that she will not answer your purpose, then I shall be quite willing to confess that my knowledge of a beautiful woman is only equal to your appreciation50 of an Italian dinner in a cheap Soho restaurant. I have spoken!”
“And so you have really brought me here to eat this villainous concoction,” Henderson answered, contemptuously regarding the mess before him, “in order to show me a face that you think may be useful to me in my work? My dear fellow, you know as well as I do that we think differently upon such matters. What you have repeatedly declared to be the loveliest face you have ever seen, I would not sketch52 upon a canvas; while another, that haunts me by day and night, does not raise a shadow of enthusiasm in you. I am afraid you have had your trouble in vain. But what abominable53 stuff this is to be sure! Order some wine, for pity’s sake.”
A flask54 of chianti was brought them, and later some goat’s milk cheese. Upon the latter, bad as it was, Henderson elected to dine. He had barely finished what was placed before him when an exclamation55 from his companion caused him to turn his head in the direction of the door. Two women were entering the restaurant at the moment, and were approaching the table at which the young men sat. The elder was a stout56 and matronly party, dark of eye, swarthy of skin, and gorgeous in her colouring, so much so, indeed, that not the slightest doubt could have existed as to her nationality. She was a daughter of Italy from the top of her head to the soles of her ample feet. Her companion, however, was modelled on altogether different lines. She was tall, graceful57, and so beautiful, in a statuesque way, that Henderson felt his heart thrill with pleasure at the sight of her. Here was the very woman he had been so anxious to discover. If he had hunted the Continent of Europe through, he could not have found any one better suited to the requirements of the work he had in hand. Since it was plain that it was she for whom Fensden was waiting, it looked as if their tastes, for once, were likely to be the same.
“What a perfect face!” exclaimed Godfrey, more to himself than to his companion. “At any hazard, I must induce her to sit to me.”
Fensden looked at his friend’s face, made a note of the admiration58 he saw there, and smiled to himself.
“What did I tell you?” he inquired with a note of triumph in his voice. “You pooh-poohed the notion that I should ever be able to find you a model. What do you say now?”
“She is perfect,” Henderson replied. “Just look at the eyes, the beautiful contour of the face, the shapely neck and the hands! Great Scott! what is a woman of her class doing with such hands? Where did you meet her?”
“In another of my contemptible59 restaurants,” Fensden answered. “Directly I saw her, I said to myself: ‘This is the model for Godfrey!’ I made inquiries60 about her, and, finding that she was willing to sit, made an appointment to meet her here this evening.”
By this time Godfrey’s antagonism61 had entirely62 left him. His only desire now was to secure this woman, and, with her assistance, to complete his masterpiece. As soon as the doors of Burlington House were thrown open, that face should look down upon the picture-lovers of England, or he’d never touch a brush again.
The two women, by this time, had seated themselves at another table; and it was almost with a sense of disappointment that Godfrey observed his ideal commence her meal. To watch her filling her pretty mouth to overflowing63 with steaming macaroni was not a pleasing sight. It was too human and too suggestive of a healthy appetite to harmonize with the poetic64 framework in which his imagination had already placed her.
When the ladies had finished their meal, the two young men left their own table and crossed the room to that at which they were seated. Fensden said something in Italian, which elicited65 a beaming smile from the elder lady, and a gesture of approval from her companion. It was not the first time in his life that Godfrey Henderson had had occasion to wish he had taken advantage of the opportunities he had had of acquiring a knowledge of that melodious66 language.
“The signora declares that there is no occasion for us to speak Italian, since she is an accomplished67 English scholar,” said Fensden, with a sarcastic68 touch that was not lost upon Henderson.
“The signorina also speaks our villainous tongue as well as if she had been born and bred within the sound of Bow Bells.”
At this supposed compliment, the elder lady smiled effusively69, while her daughter looked gravely from one man to the other as if she were not quite sure of the value to be placed upon what Fensden had said. Having received permission, the two men seated themselves at the table, and Henderson ordered another flask of wine. Under its influence their acquaintance ripened70 rapidly. It was not, however, until they had been talking some little time, that the all-important subject was broached71.
“And it is Teresina’s portrait that your friend would paint, signor?” said the elder lady, turning to Fensden. “And why not? ’Tis a beautiful face, though I, her mother, say it. If the signor will make the — what you call it —‘rangements, it shall be as he wishes.”
Less than a minute was sufficient to place the matter on a satisfactory basis, and it was thereupon settled that the Signorina Cardi should attend at the studio at a certain hour every week-day until the picture was finished. Matters having been arranged in this eminently72 friendly fashion, the meeting broke up, and with many bows and compliments on Fensden’s and the signora’s parts, they bade each other adieu. A few minutes later, the two young men found themselves once more in the street.
“My dear fellow, I don’t know how to thank you,” said Henderson. “I’ve been worrying myself more than I can say at not being able to find the face I wanted. I owe you ten thousand apologies.”
But Fensden would not hear of such a thing as an apology. His only desire was that the picture should be successful, he said.
“I had no idea that he was so fond of me,” Henderson remarked to himself that night when he was alone in his bedroom. “Fancy his hunting through London for a model for me. He is the last man I should have thought would have taken the trouble.”
Next morning Teresina entered upon her duties, and Godfrey set to work with more than his usual enthusiasm. The picture was to be his magnum opus, the greatest effort he had yet given to the world. The beautiful Italian proved to be a good sitter, and her delight as the picture grew upon the canvas was not to be concealed73. Meanwhile Fensden smoked innumerable cigarettes, composed fin-de-siècle poems in her honour, and made a number of impressionist studies of her head that his friends declared would eventually astonish artistic74 London. At last the picture was finished and sent in. Then followed that interval75 of anxious waiting, so well known to those who have striven for such honours as the Academy has to bestow76. When it was announced that it had passed the first and second rejections77 great was the rejoicing in the studio.
“It is your face that has done it, Teresina,” cried Godfrey. “I knew they wouldn’t be able to resist that.”
“Nay, nay,” said the signora, who was present, “such compliments will turn the child’s head. Her face would not be there but for the signor’s cleverness. Well do I remember that when Luigi Maffoni painted the portrait of Monsignore ——”
No one heeded78 her, so she continued the narrative79 in an undertone to the cat on her lap. The day, however, was not destined80 to end as happily as it had begun. That evening, when they were alone together in the studio, Fensden took Godfrey to task.
“Dear boy,” he said, as he helped himself to a cigarette from a box on the table beside him, “I have come to the conclusion that you must go warily81. There are rocks ahead, and, from what I see, you are running straight for them.”
“What on earth is the matter now?” Godfrey asked, stretching himself out in an easy chair as he spoke51. “I know the poise82 of that head is not quite what it might be, but haven’t I promised you that I’ll alter it to-morrow? Teresina is the very best model in the world, and as patient as she’s beautiful.”
“That’s exactly what I am complaining of,” Victor answered, quietly. “If she were not, I should not bother my head about her. I feel, in a measure, responsible, don’t you see? If it hadn’t been for me, she would not be here.”
The happiness vanished from Godfrey’s face as a breath first blurs83 and then leaves the surface of a razor.
“I am afraid I don’t quite grasp the situation,” he said. “You surely don’t suppose that I am falling in love with Teresina — with my model?”
“I am quite aware that you’re not,” the other answered. “There is my trouble. If you were in love with her, there might be some hope for her. But as it is there is none.”
Henderson stared at him in complete surprise.
“Have you gone mad?” he asked.
“No one was ever saner,” Fensden replied. “Look here, Godfrey, can’t you see the position for yourself? Here is this beautiful Italian girl, whom you engaged through my agency. You take her from beggary, and put her in a position of comparative luxury. She has sat to you day after day, smiled at your compliments, and — well, to put it bluntly, has had every opportunity and encouragement given her to fall head over ears in love with you. Is it quite fair, do you think, to let it go on?”
Godfrey was completely taken aback.
“Great Scott! You don’t mean to say you think I’m such a beast as to encourage her?” he cried. “You know as well as I do that I have behaved toward her only as I have done to all the other models before her. Surely you would wish me to be civil to the girl, and try to make her work as pleasant as possible for her? If you think I’ve been a blackguard, say so outright84!”
“My dear Godfrey, nothing could be further from my thoughts,” answered Fensden in his usual quiet voice, that one of his friends once compared to the purring of a cat. “I should be a poor friend, however, if I were to allow you to go on as you are going without an expostulation. Can not you look at it in the same light as I do? Are you so blind that you can not see that this girl is falling every day more deeply in love with you? The love-light gleams in her eyes whenever she looks at you; she sees an implied caress85 even in the gentle pats you give her drapery, when you arrange it on the stage there; a tender solicitude86 for her welfare when you tell her to hurry home before it rains. What is the end of it all to be? I suppose you do not intend making her your wife?”
“My wife?” said Godfrey, blankly, as if the idea were too preposterous87 to have ever occurred to him. “Surely you must be jesting to talk like this?”
“I am not jesting with you, if you are not jesting with her,” the other replied. “You must see for yourself that the girl worships the very ground you walk upon. However, there is still time for matters to be put right. She has so far only looked at the affair from her own standpoint; what is more, I do not want her to lose her employment with you, since it means so much to her. What I do want is, that you should take hold of yourself in time and prevent her from being made unhappy while you have the opportunity.”
“You may be quite sure that I will do so,” Henderson replied, more stiffly than he had yet spoken. “I am more sorry than I can say that this should have occurred. Teresina is a good girl, and I would no more think of causing her pain than I would of striking my own sister. And now I’m off to bed. Good-night.”
True to his promise, his behaviour next day, so far as Teresina was concerned, was so different that she regarded him with surprise, quite unable to understand the reason of the change. She thought she must have offended him in some way, and endeavoured by all the means in her power to win herself back into his good graces. But the more she tried to conciliate him, the further he withdrew into his shell. Victor Fensden, smoking his inevitable88 cigarette, waited to see what the result would be. There was a certain amount of pathos89 in the situation, and a close observer might have noticed that the strain was telling upon both of the actors in it, the girl in particular. For the next fortnight or so, the moral temperature of the studio was not as equable as of old. Godfrey, who was of too honest a nature to make a good conspirator13, chafed90 at the part he was being called upon to play, while Teresina, who only knew that she loved, and that her love was not returned, was divided between her affections for the man and a feeling of wounded dignity for herself.
“I wish to goodness I could raise sufficient money to get out of London for six months,” said Godfrey, one evening, as they sat together in the studio. “I’d be off like a shot.”
Fensden knew why he said this.
“I am sorry I can’t help you,” he replied. “I am about as badly off as yourself. But surely the great picture sold well?”
“Very well; for me, that is to say,” Godfrey replied. “But I had to part with most of it next day.”
He did not add that he had sent most of it to his widowed sister, who was very badly off and wanted help to send her boy to college.
A short silence followed; then Fensden said: “If you had money what would you do?”
“Go abroad,” said Godfrey quickly. “The strain of this business is more than I can stand. If I had a few hundreds to spare we’d go together and not come back for six months. By that time everything would have settled down to its old normal condition.”
How little did he guess that the very thing that seemed so impossible was destined to come to pass!
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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digestion
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| n.消化，吸收 | |
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cosmopolitan
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| adj.世界性的，全世界的，四海为家的，全球的 | |
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cosmopolitans
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| 世界性的( cosmopolitan的名词复数 )； 全球各国的； 有各国人的； 受各国文化影响的 | |
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insular
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| adj.岛屿的，心胸狭窄的 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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sever
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| v.切开，割开；断绝，中断 | |
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jugular
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accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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burrowing
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| v.挖掘（洞穴），挖洞( burrow的现在分词 )；翻寻 | |
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grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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conspirator
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| n.阴谋者，谋叛者 | |
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anarchists
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| 无政府主义者( anarchist的名词复数 ) | |
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ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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shrug
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stolid
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temperament
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promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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countenance
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instinctively
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squire
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standing
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velvet
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adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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votary
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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patronage
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| n.赞助，支援，援助；光顾，捧场 | |
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dealer
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| n.商人，贩子 | |
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dealers
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| n.商人( dealer的名词复数 )；贩毒者；毒品贩子；发牌者 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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tirade
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| n.冗长的攻击性演说 | |
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sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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luncheon
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distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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derided
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| v.取笑，嘲笑( deride的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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interspersed
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| adj.[医]散开的；点缀的v.intersperse的过去式和过去分词 | |
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gaudy
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proprietor
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glistened
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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enjoyment
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irritably
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supercilious
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| adj.目中无人的，高傲的；adv.高傲地；n.高傲 | |
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chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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explicit
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| adj.详述的，明确的；坦率的；显然的 | |
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grumbling
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| adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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flask
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| n.瓶，火药筒，砂箱 | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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contemptible
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| adj.可鄙的，可轻视的，卑劣的 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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antagonism
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| n.对抗，敌对，对立 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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overflowing
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| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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elicited
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| 引出，探出( elicit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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melodious
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| adj.旋律美妙的，调子优美的，音乐性的 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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sarcastic
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| adj.讥讽的，讽刺的，嘲弄的 | |
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effusively
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| adv.变溢地，热情洋溢地 | |
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ripened
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| v.成熟，使熟( ripen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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broached
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| v.谈起( broach的过去式和过去分词 )；打开并开始用；用凿子扩大（或修光）；（在桶上）钻孔取液体 | |
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eminently
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| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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bestow
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| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
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rejections
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| 拒绝( rejection的名词复数 )； 摒弃； 剔除物； 排斥 | |
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heeded
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| v.听某人的劝告，听从( heed的过去式和过去分词 )；变平，使（某物）变平( flatten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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warily
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| adv.留心地 | |
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poise
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| vt./vi. 平衡，保持平衡；n.泰然自若，自信 | |
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blurs
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| n.模糊( blur的名词复数 )；模糊之物；（移动的）模糊形状；模糊的记忆v.（使）变模糊( blur的第三人称单数 )；（使）难以区分 | |
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outright
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| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
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caress
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| vt./n.爱抚，抚摸 | |
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solicitude
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| n.焦虑 | |
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preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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chafed
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| v.擦热（尤指皮肤）( chafe的过去式 )；擦痛；发怒；惹怒 | |
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