“Not that we have any objection to art,” Mrs. Burtwell was wont1 to explain in a deprecatory tone; “only we should have preferred to have Madge graduate first, before devoting herself to a mere2 accomplishment3. It seems a little like putting the trimming on a dress before sewing the seams up,” she would add; “I did it once when I was a girl, and the dress always had a queer look.”
But Mrs. Burtwell, though firm in her 66 own opinions, was something of a philosopher in her attitude toward the contrary-minded, and even where her own children were concerned she never allowed her influence to degenerate5 into tyranny. When she found Madge, at the age of sixteen, more eager than ever before to study art, and nothing else, she told her husband that they might as well make up their minds to it, and, at the word, their minds were made up. For Mr. Burtwell was the one entirely6 and unreasoningly tractable7 member of Mrs. Burtwell’s flock; in explanation of which fact he was careful to point out that only a mature mind could appreciate the true worth of Mrs. Burtwell’s judgment8.
The Burtwells were people of small means and of correspondingly modest requirements. They lived in an unfashionable quarter of the city, kept a maid-of-all-work, sent their children to the public schools, and got their books from the Public Library. Having no expensive tastes, they regarded themselves as well-to-do and envied no one. 67
If Madge Burtwell’s eyes had been a whit9 less clear, or her nature a thought less guileless, Ned would not have been so enchanted10 with his new name for her. Indeed, a few years ago she had been described by an only half-appreciative friend as “a splendid girl without a mite11 of tact,” and if she had succeeded in somewhat softening12 the asperity13 of her natural frankness, there was enough of it left to lend a delicate shade of humour to the name.
Artful Madge, then, was a student at the Art School, and a very promising14 one at that. At the end of three years she had made such good progress that she was promoted to painting in the Portrait Class, and since her special friend and crony, Eleanor Merritt, was also a member of that class, Madge considered her cup of happiness full. Not that there were not visions in plenty of still better things to come, but they seemed so far in the future that they hardly took on any relation with the actual present. Madge and Eleanor dreamed of Europe, of the old masters 68 and of the great Paris studios, but it is a question whether the fulfillment of any dream could have made them happier than they were to-day. Certain it is, that, as they stood side by side in the great barren studio, clad in their much-bedaubed, long-sleeved aprons15, and working away at a portrait head, they had little thought for anything but the task in hand. The one vital matter for the moment was the mixing and applying of their colours, and, in their eagerness to reproduce the exact contour of a cheek, or the precise shadow of an unbeautiful nose, they would hardly have transferred their attention from the most ill-favoured model to the last and greatest Whistler masterpiece.
The girls at the Art School had got hold of Ned’s name for his sister and adopted it with enthusiasm.
“If you want to know the truth, ask Artful Madge,” was a very common saying among them.
“Artful Madge says it’s a good likeness16, anyhow!” modest little Minnie Drayton would maintain, when hard 69 pressed by the teasing of the older girls.
The incongruity17 of the name seemed somehow to throw into brighter relief the peculiar18 sincerity19 of its bearer’s character, and by the time it was generally adopted among the students Madge Burtwell’s popularity was established.
It was well that Madge was a favourite, for in certain respects she was the worst sinner in the class. To begin with, her palette was the very largest in the room, and the most plentifully20 besmeared with colours, and woe21 to the girl who ventured too near it! As Madge stood before her easel, tall and fair and earnest, painting with an ardour and concentration which was all too sure to beguile22 her into her besetting23 sin of “exaggerating details,” she wielded24 both brush- and palette-arm with a genial25 disregard of consequences. Nor could one count upon her confining her activities to one location. Like all the students, she was in the habit of backing away from her natural anchorage from time to time, the better to judge of her 70 work, and not one of them all had such a fatal tendency to come up against an unoffending easel in the rear, sending canvas and paint-tubes rattling26 upon the floor.
Instantly she would drop upon her knees, overcome with contrition27, and help collect the scattered28 treasures, giving many a jar or joggle to neighbouring easels in the process.
“It’s a shame, Miss Folsom!” she would cry, struggling to her feet again, still clutching her beloved palette, which seemed fairly to rain colours on every surrounding object. “It’s a shame! But if you will just cast your eye upon that thing of mine, you will perceive that it was the recklessness of desperation. Look at it! There’s not a value in it!”
Artful Madge was always forgiven, and no one ever thought of calling her awkward, and when, in the early autumn, a Saturday sketching30 club was organised, it was christened “The Artful Daubers” in honor of Madge, and she was unanimously elected president.
The girls were not in the habit of paying 71 much attention to chance visitors who came in from time to time and made the perilous31 passage among the easels, and lucky was the “parent” or “art-patron” who escaped without a streak32 of colour on some portion of his raiment. When Mrs. Oliver Jacques looked in upon them one memorable33 morning in February no premonition of great things to come stirred the company; only indifferent glances were directed upon her by the few who deigned34 to observe her at all. And this pleased Mrs. Oliver Jacques very much indeed.
Yet, if the girls had paused to consider,—a thing which they never did when there was a model on the platform,—they would have been aware that their visitor was a person of importance in the world of Art, for importance in no other world would have secured to her the personal escort of Mr. Salome, the adored teacher of their class. Yet Mrs. Jacques was a charming little old lady who would have commanded attention on her own merits in any less preoccupied35 assembly than 72 that of the studio. Her exceedingly bright eyes and her exceedingly white hair seemed to accentuate36 her animation37 of manner; there was so much sparkle in her face that even her silence did not lack point.
She had accomplished38 her tortuous39 passage among the easels without meeting with any mishaps40 in the shape of Cremnitz-white or crimson-lake. She had paused occasionally and had bestowed41 a critical nod upon the one “blocked-in” countenance42, or had drawn43 her brows together questioningly over a study in which the nose had a startlingly finished appearance in a still sketchy44 environment, but not until she had successfully avoided the last easel, planted at an erratic45 angle just where the unwary would be sure to stub his toe, did she make any remark.
“A lot of them, aren’t there?” she observed.
“Yes, the school is pretty full,” Mr. Salome replied. “In fact, we’re a little bothered for room.”
“Any imagination among them?” 73
“Well, as to that, it’s rather early to form an opinion. Our aim just now is to keep them to facts. Some of them,” the artist added with a smile, “are rather too much inclined to draw upon their imagination. Now there is one girl there who is, humanly speaking, certain to paint the model’s hair jet-black, or as black as paint can be made. And yet, you see, there is not a black thread in it.”
“I wonder whether you would object to my making an experiment?” Mrs. Jacques asked, abruptly46.
And from that seemingly unpremeditated question of Mrs. Jacques’, and from the consultation47 that ensued, grew the Prize Contest, destined48 to be famous in the annals of the school.
When, on that very afternoon, the students were assembled for the occasion, they had not yet had time to adjust their minds to the magnitude of the interests involved. Yet the conditions were simple enough. That student who should, in the space of two hours, produce the best composition illustrative of “Hope” was to 74 receive a prize of five hundred dollars! The conviction prevailed among them that the vivacious49 little old lady with the white hair could be none other than the fairy godmother of nursery lore50, and it was only too delightful51 to find that agile52 and beneficent myth interesting herself in the cause of Art.
When once the class was fairly launched upon its new emprise, a change in the usual aspect of things became apparent. In the first place, most of the students were seated; for, in a task of pure composition, there was no occasion either for standing53 or for “prowling,”—the term familiarly applied54 to the sometimes disastrous55 backward and forward movements of which mention has been made, and which ordinarily gave so much action to the scene. Furthermore, the use of watercolor, as lending itself more readily than oils to rapid execution, deprived the scene of one of its most picturesque56 features,—namely, the brilliant-hued palette which, with its similarity to a shield, was wont to lend its bearer an Amazonian air, not lost 75 upon the class caricaturists. Subdued57, however, and almost “lady-like” as the appearance of the class had become, hardly half an hour had passed before the genial spirit of creation had so taken possession of the assembly as to cast a glow and glamour58 of its own upon it. Here and there, to be sure, might still be seen an anxious, intent young face with eyes fixed59 upon vacancy60, or an idle, if somewhat begrimed and parti-coloured hand, fiercely clutching a dejected head; but nearly all were already busily at work, eagerly painting, or as eagerly obliterating61 strokes too hastily made. The subject, hackneyed as it certainly is, had pleased and stimulated62 the girls. There was a mingled63 vagueness and familiarity in its suggestion which puzzled them and spurred them on at the same time.
Among the most impetuous workers, almost from the outset, was Artful Madge. She had instantly conceived of Hope as a vague, beckoning64 figure, which was to take its significance from the multitude and variety of its followers65. She chose a large 76 sheet of paper and quickly sketched66 in the upper left-hand corner a very indefinite hint of a winged, luminous67 something,—it might have been an angel or a bird or a cloud, seen from a great distance, against a somewhat threatening sky. Without defining the form at all she very cleverly produced an impression of receding68 motion;—she ventured even to hope that there was something alluring69 in the motion. That, however, must be made unmistakably clear through the pursuing figures with which she proposed to fill the foreground.
She glanced at Eleanor, who had not yet mixed a colour.
“What are you waiting for?” she asked.
“I don’t seem ready to begin,” said Eleanor, in an absent tone of voice.
“Have you got an idea?”
“I think so.”
“Then do hurry up and go ahead, or you’ll get left.”
Madge sat a moment, looking straight before her. 77
“What are you going to put in there?” asked Eleanor.
“What I want is all the people in the world,” Madge replied, with perfect gravity. “But there is not room for them.”
A moment later she was working furiously, with hot cheeks and shining eyes and breath coming faster and faster.
First she would have a soldier. Madge had always loved a soldier; her father had been one in the great and splendid days before she was born. Yes, a soldier must come first. And forthwith a very sketchy warrior70 stepped, with a very martial71 air, upon the paper. Then an artist ought to come next;—only she could not think of any way of indicating his calling without the aid of some conventional emblem72. A mere look of inspiration might belong to a poet or a preacher as well as to an artist. Besides which, she was by no means sure that she knew how to paint a look of inspiration. And then it came to her that, unless she could paint just that, her picture must be a failure; and so she fell upon it, and began sketching in figures of 78 old and young, rich and poor, trying only to put into each face the eager, upward look which should focus all, in spirit as well as in actual direction, upon the flying, luminous figure. In some attempts she succeeded and in some she failed. There was one old woman, with abnormally deep wrinkles, and shoulders somewhat out of drawing, whose face had caught a curiously73 inspired look; Madge did not dare touch her again for fear of losing it. Her artist, on the other hand, the young man with the ideal brow and very large eyes, grew more and more inane74 and expressionless the more eagerly his creator worked at him.
On the whole, the production as a two-hour composition by a three-year student was rather good than bad. When time was called Madge felt pretty sure that she should not win the prize; she had undertaken too much, both for the occasion and for her own ability. And yet it was borne in upon her to-day that she was going to make a better artist than she had ever before dared hope. 79
So absorbed had she been in her own work, that she had completely forgotten Eleanor, and had not even been aware that her friend had begun painting an hour ago. Now she turned to her with compunction in her heart. Eleanor held her finished sketch29 in her hand, but her eyes had wandered to the high, broad north window which was one great sheet of radiant blue sky.
Eleanor’s composition was very simple, but extremely well done, and in the glance Madge was able to give it before the sketches75 were handed in she saw that it was delicately suggestive. It represented a curving shore, a quiet sea, and a saffron sky,—no sails on the sea, no clouds in the sky. Upon the shore stood a solitary76 pine-tree, almost denuded77 of branches, and against the tree leaned the slender figure of a youth, looking dreamily across the sea to the horizon, where the saffron colour was tinged78 with gold. That was all, but Madge felt sure that it was enough; and, as she thought about it, she felt herself very small and crude and 80 confused, and she was conscious of a perfectly79 calm and dispassionate wish to tear her own sketch in two. She did not do so, however. There was no irritation80, nor envy, nor even displeasure, in her mind. She had not supposed that either she or Eleanor could do anything so good as that sketch,—since one of them could, why, that was just so much clear gain.
A moment later the studio was in a tumult81. The sketches had been handed over to the three judges, who had gone into instant consultation over them. Mrs. Jacques had decreed, with characteristic decision, that the judges were bound to be as prompt as the competitors, and the award was promised within half an hour. What wonder if the usual tumult of dispersion was increased tenfold by the excitement of the occasion? The voices were pitched in a higher key, the easels clattered82 more noisily than ever, there was a more lively movement among the many-hued aprons, as they were pulled off and consigned83 with many a shake and a flourish to their respective pegs84.
“Eleanor’s eyes had wandered to the high, broad north window.”
81
“What did you paint?” asked one high voice, whose owner was enthusiastically shaking the water from her paint-brush all over the floor.
“I painted you—working for the prize.”
“Not really!”
“Yes, really! You were just at the right angle for it, and you did look so hopeful!”
“You can’t make me believe you played such a shabby trick upon me, Mary Downing!”
“Shabby! If you knew how good-looking you were at a three-eighths’ angle you would be grateful to me! You did have such an inspired look for a little while,—before you got disgusted, and began to wash out.”
“Jane Rhoades did an awfully85 pretty thing—a white bird with a boy running after it. But I felt perfectly certain that the little wretch86 had a gun in his other hand!”
“What a fiery87 head you gave your angel, Mattie Stiles! He looked like Loge in Rheingold!”
“I don’t care,” said Mattie, in a tone of 82 voice that showed that she did care very much indeed. “I do like red hair, and we haven’t had a chance to paint any all winter.”
“Red hair wouldn’t make Titians of us,” sighed Miss Isabella Ricker, who was of a despondent88 temperament89.
“It wouldn’t be any hindrance90, anyhow!” Mattie insisted.
Meanwhile the half-hour was drawing to a close. A general air of rough order had descended91 upon the studio. The girls were sitting or standing about in groups, their remarks getting more disjointed and irrelevant92 as the nervousness of anticipation93 grew upon them. Madge and Eleanor had found a seat on the steps of the platform. The former was making a pencil sketch of Miss Isabella Ricker, who had abandoned herself to dejection in a remote corner of the room. Madge looked up suddenly, and found that Eleanor was watching her work.
“Your thing is very interesting,” she remarked, in a reserved tone, which, nevertheless, sent the colour mounting slowly 83 up her friend’s sensitive cheek. They both understood that no more commendatory adjective than “interesting” was to be found in the art-student’s vocabulary.
“You’re partial, Madge.”
“Not a bit of it. But I know an interesting thing when I see it. If you win the prize,” she asked abruptly, “what shall you do with the money?”
“If you go to the moon next week, what shall you do with the green cheese?” Eleanor retorted, with an unprecedented94 outburst of sarcasm95.
“I think you might answer my question,” said Madge; and at that instant the door opened and a hush96 fell upon the room.
The suspense97 was not painfully prolonged. The Curator of the Art Museum, who had been associated with Mrs. Jacques and Mr. Salome as judge, stepped upon the platform, from which Madge and Eleanor had precipitately98 retreated, and made the following announcement:
“We have, on the whole,” he said, “been very well pleased with the work we 84 have had to consider. In fact, several of the sketches were better than anything we had looked for. Nevertheless our decision was not a difficult one, and our choice is unanimous. The prize which Mrs. Jacques has had the originality99 and the generosity100 to offer has been awarded to Mary Eleanor Merritt.”
“And now will you answer my question?”
Madge and Eleanor were walking home together through the light snow which had just begun to fall. They had been curiously shy of speaking, and, before the silence was broken, a pretty wreath of snow had formed itself about the rim4 of each of their black felt hats, while little ribbons of it were decorating the folds of their garments.
“What are you going to do with your green cheese?”
“I shall go to Paris next autumn,” said Eleanor, tightly clasping the check which she held inside her muff. 85
“That’s what I thought,” said Madge; and if her eyes grew a trifle red and moist it was perhaps natural enough, since the snow was flying straight into them.
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1
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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accomplishment
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| n.完成，成就，（pl.）造诣，技能 | |
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rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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degenerate
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| v.退步，堕落；adj.退步的，堕落的；n.堕落者 | |
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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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tractable
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| adj.易驾驭的；温顺的 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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whit
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| n.一点，丝毫 | |
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enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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mite
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| n.极小的东西；小铜币 | |
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softening
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| 变软，软化 | |
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asperity
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| n.粗鲁，艰苦 | |
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promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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aprons
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| 围裙( apron的名词复数 )； 停机坪，台口（舞台幕前的部份） | |
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likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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incongruity
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| n.不协调，不一致 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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plentifully
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| adv. 许多地，丰饶地 | |
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woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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beguile
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| vt.欺骗，消遣 | |
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besetting
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| adj.不断攻击的v.困扰( beset的现在分词 )；不断围攻；镶；嵌 | |
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wielded
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| 手持着使用（武器、工具等）( wield的过去式和过去分词 )； 具有； 运用（权力）； 施加（影响） | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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contrition
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| n.悔罪，痛悔 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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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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sketching
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| n.草图 | |
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perilous
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| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
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streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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deigned
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| v.屈尊，俯就( deign的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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accentuate
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| v.着重，强调 | |
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animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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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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tortuous
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| adj.弯弯曲曲的，蜿蜒的 | |
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mishaps
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| n.轻微的事故，小的意外( mishap的名词复数 ) | |
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bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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sketchy
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| adj.写生的，写生风格的，概略的 | |
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erratic
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| adj.古怪的，反复无常的，不稳定的 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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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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vivacious
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| adj.活泼的，快活的 | |
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lore
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| n.传说；学问，经验，知识 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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agile
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| adj.敏捷的，灵活的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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disastrous
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| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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glamour
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| n.魔力，魅力；vt.迷住 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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vacancy
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| n.（旅馆的）空位，空房，（职务的）空缺 | |
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obliterating
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| v.除去( obliterate的现在分词 )；涂去；擦掉；彻底破坏或毁灭 | |
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stimulated
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| a.刺激的 | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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beckoning
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| adj.引诱人的，令人心动的v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的现在分词 ) | |
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followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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sketched
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| v.草拟（sketch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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receding
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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alluring
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| adj.吸引人的，迷人的 | |
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warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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martial
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| adj.战争的，军事的，尚武的，威武的 | |
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emblem
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| n.象征，标志；徽章 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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inane
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| adj.空虚的，愚蠢的，空洞的 | |
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sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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denuded
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| adj.[医]变光的，裸露的v.使赤裸( denude的过去式和过去分词 )；剥光覆盖物 | |
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tinged
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| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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clattered
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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consigned
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| v.把…置于（令人不快的境地）( consign的过去式和过去分词 )；把…托付给；把…托人代售；丟弃 | |
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pegs
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| n.衣夹( peg的名词复数 )；挂钉；系帐篷的桩；弦钮v.用夹子或钉子固定( peg的第三人称单数 )；使固定在某水平 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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fiery
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| adj.燃烧着的，火红的；暴躁的；激烈的 | |
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despondent
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| adj.失望的，沮丧的，泄气的 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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hindrance
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| n.妨碍，障碍 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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irrelevant
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| adj.不恰当的，无关系的，不相干的 | |
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anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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unprecedented
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| adj.无前例的，新奇的 | |
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sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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97
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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98
precipitately
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| adv.猛进地 | |
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99
originality
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| n.创造力，独创性；新颖 | |
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100
generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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