Scene.—Just inside the door of a studio.
Time.—Last Sunday in March, 5 p.m.
1st Citizeness. O, thank you so much!
2nd do. So good of you to come!
1st do. I so dote upon art!
2nd do. So kind of you to say so!
1st do. Thank you so much for asking us!
2nd do. Delighted, I’m sure! Thank you for coming!
1st Citizeness. Not at all! Thank you for—for thanking me for—Well—good-bye. (Exit—with family group.)
Husband of 2nd Citizeness (with gloom). And who might those thankful bounders be?
2nd Citizeness (wearily). O, don’t ask me! I don’t know! From Addison Road way, I should think.
1st Citizeness (outside). Well! If that thing gets into the Academy!
Family Group. Did you notice the ridiculous way her hair was done? Did you ever taste such tea in your life? How yellow Mrs. General Wragg is getting to look in the daylight. Yes—there’s our four-wheeler. (Exeunt omnes.)
The above is not intended for presentation upon any stage—not even that of the Independent Theatre. It has been cast into the dramatic mould merely for convenience’ sake. It embodies3 what I chiefly remember about Picture Sunday.
It has come to be my annual duty—a peculiarly hardy4, not to say temerarious, annual—to convoy5 Mrs Albert Grundy and her party about sections of Chelsea and Brompton on the earlier of the two Show Sabbaths. I drifted into this function through having once shared an attic6 with a young painter, whose colleagues used to come to borrow florins of him whenever one of his pictures disappeared from any shop window, and so incidentally formed my acquaintance. My claim nowadays upon their recollection is really very slight. I just know them well enough to manage the last Sunday in March: even that might be awkward if they were not such good-natured fellows.
But it would be difficult to persuade Mrs Albert of this. That good lady is wont7, when the playfully benignant mood is upon her, to describe me as her connecting link with Bohemia. She probably would be puzzled to explain her meaning; I certainly should. But if she were provided with affidavits8 setting forth9 the whole truth—viz., that my entire income is derived10 from an inherited part-interest in an artificial-ice machine; that there are two clergymen on the committee of my only club; that I am free from debt; and that I play duets on the piano with my sister—still would she cling to the belief that I am a young man with an extremely gay, rakish side, who could make thrilling revelations of Bohemia if I would. Of course, I am never questioned on the subject; but I can see that it is a point upon which the faith of Fernbank is firmly grounded. Often Mrs Albert’s conversation cuts figure-eights on very thin ice when we are alone, as if just to show me that she knows. More than once I have discovered Ermyntrude looking furtively11 at me, as the wistful shepherd-boy on the plains of Dura might have gazed at the distant haze12 overhanging bold, unspeakable Babylon. I rarely visit the house but Uncle Dudley winks13 at me. However, nothing is ever asked me about the dreadful things with which they suppose me to be upon intimate terms.
It seemed for a long time, on Sunday, as if an easy escape had been arranged for me by Providence14. At two o’clock, the hour appointed for our crusade, a heavy fog overhung everything. Looking out from the drawing-room windows, only the very nearest of the neatly15 trimmed firs on the lawn were to be distinguished16. The street beyond was utter blackness.
At three o’clock the ladies took off their bonnets17. It was really too bad. Uncle Dudley, strolling in from his nap in the library, suggested that with a lantern we might visit some of the nearer studios: “not necessarily for publication, but as a guarantee of good faith.” Mrs Albert turned a look of tearful vexation upon him, before which he fled.
“There’s this consolation,” she remarked presently, holding me with an unwavering eye: “if we are to be defrauded18 out of our expedition to-day, that will furnish all the more reason why you should take us next Sunday—the Sunday. You have often talked of having us see the Academicians at home—but we’ve never been.”
“I remember that there has been talk about it,” I said; “but hardly that the talk was mine. Truth is, I don’t know a single Academician, even by sight.”
It was clear that they did not believe me. Mrs Albert continued: “Lady Wallaby expressed surprise, only last evening, that we should consent to go about among the outsiders. She and her daughter never do.”
“Outsiders!” I was tempted19 into saying. “Why, they can paint the head off the Academy!”
Miss Timby-Hucks simpered outright20. “You do say such droll21 things!” she remarked, somewhat obscurely. “Mamma always declares that you remind her of the Sydney Bulletin.”
“Whom do you take to the Academy Show Sunday?—or perhaps I oughtn’t to ask,” came from Ermyntrude.
“No, we have no right to inquire,” said Mrs Albert; and I turned to the window and the enshrouded lawn once more.
All at once the fog lifted. The bonnets were produced again. Nearly three hours of daylight remained to us. Tidings that the horse was too lame22 to be taken out only staggered Mrs Albert for the briefest fraction of time. There were still four-wheelers in Gilead. Besides, if the driver happened to be sober, he would know the streets so much better than their stupid coachman. This would be of advantage, because time was so limited. We should have to just run in, say “How-d’ye-do,” take a flying look round, and scamper23 out again, Mrs Albert said. By firmly adhering to this rule, she estimated that we might do sixteen or seventeen studios.
Heaven alone knows how many we did “do.” Nor have I any clear recollections of what we saw. A confused vision remains24 to me of long hall-ways lined with frames and packing-cases; half-an-acre, more or less, of painted canvas, out of which only here and there a pair of bright eyes, a glowing field of poppies, or the sheen from a satin gown, fixed25 itself disconnectedly on the memory; hordes26 and hordes of tall young women helping27 themselves to tea and cakes; and always the pathetic figure of the artist’s wife, or sister, tired to very death, standing28 by the door with a wearied smile on her lips, and the polite falsehood, “So good of you to come!” on her tongue. I wondered, I remember, if she never forgot herself and said instead, “So kind of you to go!” But under Mrs Albert’s system there was no time to wait and see.
Once, indeed, we dallied29 over our task. Mrs Albert encountered a lady from Wormwood Scrubs of her acquaintance, who was indiscreet enough to mention that she had been asked to stop here for supper. The news spread through the petticoated portion of my group as by magic. Miss Timby-Hucks came over and asked me, so audibly that the artist-host had to blush and turn away, if I didn’t think it would be a deliciously romantic experience to sup in one of these lofty studios, with the gaslight on the armour30, and the great, solemnly silent pictures looking down upon us as we ate. Mrs Albert lingered for some time looking at this artist’s work with her head on one side, and eyes filled with rapt, dreamy enjoyment—but nothing came of it.
It was after we had been back in Fern-bank for an hour or more—our own cold repast nearly over—that Mrs Albert thought of something. She laid down her fork with a gesture of annoyance31. “It has just occurred to me,” she said; “we never went to that Mr Whistler’s, whose pictures are on exhibition in Bond Street. Everybody’s talking about him, and I did so want not to miss his studio.”
“I don’t think he has a Show Sunday,” I said. “I never heard of it, if he has.”
“O no, it is only these last few weeks that anybody has heard of him,”
Mrs Albert replied. “I read the first announcement about his beautiful pictures in The Daily Tarradiddle only the other day.”
“Whistler? Whistler?” put in Uncle Dudley. “Why, surely he’s not new. Why—I remember—he was mixed up in a law-suit, wasn’t it, years ago?”
“O no, Dudley,” responded Mrs Albert; “I was under that same impression, till Lady Wallaby set me right. It seems that was another man altogether—some foreign adventurer who pretended to be able to paint and imposed upon people—don’t you recall how The Tarradiddle exposed him?—and Mr Burnt-Jones had him arrested, or something—O, quite a dreadful person. But this Mr Whistler is an Englishman. I read in The Illustrated32 London News that he represented modern British Art. That alone would make it quite clear it was a different man. I did so want to see him! Lady-Wallaby tells me she has heard he is extremely amusing in his conversation—and quite presentable manners, too.”
“Why don’t you ask him to dinner?” said Mr Albert Grundy. “If he’s amusing it’s more than most of the men you drum up are.”
“You seem to think everybody can be asked to dinner, Albert,” the lady of the house replied. “Artists don’t dine—unless they are in the Academy, of course. Tea, yes—or perhaps supper; but one doesn’t ask people to meet them at dinner. It’s like actors—and—and non-commissioned officers.”
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1 annotating | |
v.注解,注释( annotate的现在分词 ) | |
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2 sundry | |
adj.各式各样的,种种的 | |
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3 embodies | |
v.表现( embody的第三人称单数 );象征;包括;包含 | |
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4 hardy | |
adj.勇敢的,果断的,吃苦的;耐寒的 | |
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5 convoy | |
vt.护送,护卫,护航;n.护送;护送队 | |
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6 attic | |
n.顶楼,屋顶室 | |
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7 wont | |
adj.习惯于;v.习惯;n.习惯 | |
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8 affidavits | |
n.宣誓书,(经陈述者宣誓在法律上可采作证据的)书面陈述( affidavit的名词复数 ) | |
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9 forth | |
adv.向前;向外,往外 | |
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10 derived | |
vi.起源;由来;衍生;导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 );(从…中)得到获得;源于;(从…中)提取 | |
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11 furtively | |
adv. 偷偷地, 暗中地 | |
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12 haze | |
n.霾,烟雾;懵懂,迷糊;vi.(over)变模糊 | |
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13 winks | |
v.使眼色( wink的第三人称单数 );递眼色(表示友好或高兴等);(指光)闪烁;闪亮 | |
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14 providence | |
n.深谋远虑,天道,天意;远见;节约;上帝 | |
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15 neatly | |
adv.整洁地,干净地,灵巧地,熟练地 | |
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16 distinguished | |
adj.卓越的,杰出的,著名的 | |
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17 bonnets | |
n.童帽( bonnet的名词复数 );(烟囱等的)覆盖物;(苏格兰男子的)无边呢帽;(女子戴的)任何一种帽子 | |
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18 defrauded | |
v.诈取,骗取( defraud的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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19 tempted | |
v.怂恿(某人)干不正当的事;冒…的险(tempt的过去分词) | |
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20 outright | |
adv.坦率地;彻底地;立即;adj.无疑的;彻底的 | |
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21 droll | |
adj.古怪的,好笑的 | |
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22 lame | |
adj.跛的,(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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23 scamper | |
v.奔跑,快跑 | |
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24 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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25 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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26 hordes | |
n.移动着的一大群( horde的名词复数 );部落 | |
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27 helping | |
n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的,辅助的 | |
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28 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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29 dallied | |
v.随随便便地对待( dally的过去式和过去分词 );不很认真地考虑;浪费时间;调情 | |
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30 armour | |
(=armor)n.盔甲;装甲部队 | |
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31 annoyance | |
n.恼怒,生气,烦恼 | |
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32 illustrated | |
adj. 有插图的,列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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