'But where can I get one?' Colin asked.
'There is one vacant five doors off,' Maragliano answered. 'I have been to see it, and you can have it for very little. It's so near, that I can drop in from time to time and assist you with my advice and experience. But indeed, Churchill, you need either very little; for I fear the time is soon coming when the pupil is to excel the master.'
'If I thought that, master,' Cohn replied smilingly, 'I should stop here for ever. But as I know I can never hope to rival you, I shall take the studio, and tempt2 fortune.'
It was one morning during the next winter that Cohn was hard at work upon his clay group of Autumn borne by the Breezes, then nearly completed, when the door of the new studio opened suddenly, and a plain, farmer-looking old man in a tweed suit, entered unannounced.
'Good morning, Mr. Churchill,' he said, in a voice of infinite condescension3. 'My niece sent me here to look at your statues, you know. You've got some very pretty things here, really. Some very pretty things indeed, as Gwen told me.'
'Oh, I see,' Colin answered, with a smile of recognition. 'It was Miss Howard-Russell, then, who told you where to find me.'
'Well, not exactly,' the visitor went on, peering at the Autumn with a look of the intensest critical interest; 'she told me I should find you at the studio of a man of the name of Miaragliano—or something—I think she called him. Well, I went there, ferreted out the place, and found a fuzzy-headed foreigner Italian fellow, all plastered over with mud and rubbish, who spoke4 the most ridiculous broken English; and he told me you'd moved to these new quarters. So I came on here to look you up and give you a commission, you know—I think you call it. My niece—she's really a first cousin once removed, or something equally abstruse5, I fancy—but I always speak of her as my niece for short, because she's a good deal younger than I am, and I stand to her in loco avunculi; in loco avunculi, Mr. Churchill. Well, she positively6 insisted upon it that I must come and give you a commission.'
'It was very good of her, I'm sure,' Colin answered, his heart fluttering somewhat; for this was positively his first nibble7. 'May I ask if you are also a Mr. Howard-Russell?'
The visitor drew himself up to his utmost height with much dignity, as though he felt surprised to think that Colin could for a single moment have imagined him to be nothing more on earth than a plain Mister. 'No,' he said, in a chilly8 voice; 'I fancied my niece had mentioned my name to you. I am Lord Beaminster.'
Colin bowed his head slightly. He wasn't much used to earls and viscounts in those days, though he grew afterwards to understand the habits and manners of the species with great accuracy; but he felt that after all the Earl of Beaminster, mighty9 magnate and land-owner as he was, didn't really differ very conspicuously10 in outer appearance from any other respectable fox-hunting country gentleman. Except that, perhaps, he looked, if anything, a trifle stupider than the average.
The earl considerately left Colin a minute or so to accustom11 himself to the shock of suddenly mixing in such exalted12 society, and then he said again, narrowly observing the Autumn, 'Some very pretty things, indeed, I must admit. Now, what do you call this one? A capital group. I've half a mind to commission it.'
'That's Autumn borne by the Breezes,' Colin answered, gazing up at it for the thousandth time with a loving attention. 'My idea was to represent Autumn as a beautiful youth, scattering13 leaves with his two hands, and upheld by the wild west wind—“the breath of autumn's being,” as Shelley calls it.'
'Quite so,' the earl said, assuming once more a studied critical attitude; 'but I don't see the leaves, you know—I don't see the leaves, Mr. Churchill.'
'It would be impossible, of course,' Colin replied, 'to represent any of the leaves as falling through the air unsupported; and so I didn't care to put any in Autumn's hands, even, preferring to trust so much to the imagination of the spectator. In art it's a well-known canon that one ought, in fact, always to leave something to the imagination.'
'But might I suggest,' Lord Beaminster said, putting his head a little on one side, and surveying the figure with profound gravity, 'that you might easily support the falling leaves by an imperceptible wire passing neatly14 through a small drilled eye into the legs of the Breezes.'
Colin smiled. 'I don't think,' he said, 'that that would be a very artistic15 mode of treatment.'
'Indeed,' the earl answered with some hesitation16 'Well, I'm surprised to hear you say that, now; for my father, who was always considered a man of very remarkable17 taste, and a great patron of art and artists, had a Triton constructed for our carp-pond at Netherton, blowing a spout19 of water, in marble, from his trumpet20, and the falling drops, where the spout broke into spray, were all secured by wires in the way I mention. Still, of course,' this with a deferential21 air of mock-modesty, 'I couldn't dream of pitting my opinion—a mere22 outsider's opinion—against yours in such a matter. But couldn't you at least make the leaves tumble in a sort of spire23, you know, reaching to the ground; touching24 one another, of course, so as to form a connected column, which would give support to the right arm, now so very extended and aerial-looking.'
'Why,' Colin answered, beginning to fancy that perhaps even admission to the British peerage didn't naturally constitute a man a great art-critic, 'I don't think marble's a good medium in any case for representing anything so thin and delicate as falling leaves; and though of course a clever sculptor25 might choose to make the attempt, by way of showing his skill in overcoming a technical difficulty, for my part I look upon such mere mechanical tours de force as really unworthy of a true artist. Obedience27 to one's material rather than defiance28 of it is the thing to be aimed at. And, to tell you the truth, the pose of that right arm that you so much object to is the very point in the whole group that I most pride myself upon. Maragliano says it's a very fine and original conception.'
The earl stared at him intently for two seconds, in blank astonishment29. What a very-extraordinary and conceited30 young fellow, really! The idea of his thus contradicting him, the Earl of Beaminster, in every particular! Still, Gwen had specially32 desired him to buy something from this man Churchill, and had said that he was going to become a very great and distinguished33 sculptor. For Gwen's sake, he would try to befriend the young man, and take no notice of his extraordinary rudeness.
'Well,' he said slowly, after a long pause,
'I won't quarrel with you over the details. I should like to have that group in marble, and if you'll allow me, I'll commission it. Only, as we don't agree about the pose of the Autumn, I'll tell you what we'll do, Mr. Churchill; we'll compromise the matter. Suppose you remove the figure altogether, and put a clock-dial in its place. Then it'd do splendidly, you see, for the top of the marble mantelpiece at Netherton Priory.'
Colin leant back against the parapet of the wainscot in blank dismay. What on earth was he to say to this terrible Goth of a Lord Beaminster? He wanted a first commission, badly enough, in all conscience, but how could he possibly consent to throw away the labour of so many days, and to destroy the beauty of that exquisite34 group by putting a dial in the place of Autumn. The idea was plainly too ridiculous. It was sacrilege, it was crime, it was sheer blasphemy35 against the divinity of beauty. 'I'm very sorry, Lord Beaminster,' he said, at last, regretfully. 'I should much have liked to execute the group for you in marble; but I really can't consent to sacrifice the Autumn. It's the central figure and inspiring idea of the entire composition. If you take it at all, I think you ought to take it exactly as the sculptor himself has first designed it. An artist, you know, gives much time and thought to what he is working upon. Be it merely the particular turn or twist of the bit of drapery he is just then modelling, his whole soul for that one day is all fixed36 and centred upon that single feature. The purchaser ought to remember that, and oughtn't to alter on a moment's hasty consideration what has cost the artist whole weeks and months of patient thought and arduous37 labour. And yet, I'm sorry not to perform my first work in marble for you; for I'm a West Dorset man myself by birth and training, and I should have liked well to see my “Autumn and the Breezes” standing38, where it ought to stand, in one of the big oriel windows of Nether18 ton Priory.' That last touch of unconscious and unintentional flattery just succeeded in turning the sharp edge of Lord Beaminster's anger. When Colin at first positively refused to let him have the group with the dial in the centre, the earl could hardly conceal39 in his face his smouldering indignation. Such conceit31, indeed, and such self-will he could never have believed in if he hadn't himself actually met with them. It positively took his breath away. But when Colin so far relented as to touch his territorial40 pride upon the quick (for the earl regarded himself as the personal embodiment of all West Dorset), Lord Beaminster relented too, and answered with something like geniality41, 'Well, well! I'm always pleased when one of my own people rises to artistic or literary eminence42, Mr. Churchill. We won't quarrel about trifles. You come from Wootton Mande ville, don't you? Ah, yes! Well, I'm the lord of the manor43 of Wootton, as you know, of course, and I'm pleased to think you should have come from one of my own places. We'll take the figures as they stand; we'll take them as they stand, and I'll find a place for them somewhere at Netherton, I can promise you. Now how much will you charge me for this group, Autumn and all, in marble?'
Colin stood for a moment perfectly44 irresolute45. That was a question about which, in his abstract devotion to the goodness of his artistic work, he had never yet given the slightest consideration. 'Well, I should think,' he said hesitatingly—'I don't know if I'm asking too much—it's a big composition, and there are a good many figures in it. Suppose we were to say five hundred guineas?'
The earl nodded a gracious acquiescence46.
'But perhaps,' Colin went on timidly, 'I may have asked too much in my inexperience.' 'Oh, no; not at all too much,' the earl answered, with a munificent47 and expansive wave of his five big farmer fingers. 'I like to encourage art—and above all art in a West Dorset man.'
'You're very kind,' Colin murmured, rather humbly48, feeling as though he had much to be grateful for. 'I shall do my best to execute the group in marble to your satisfaction, so that it may be worthy26 of its place in the oriels at Netherton.'
'I've no doubt you will,' the earl put in with noble condescension: 'no doubt at all in the world about it. I'm glad to have the opportunity of extending my patronage49 to a Wootton sculptor. I'm devoted50 to art, Mr. Churchill, quite devoted to it.'
Colin smiled, but answered nothing.
The earl stopped a little longer, inspecting the drawings and models, and then took his departure with much stately graciousness, to Colin's intense relief and satisfaction. As he went out, the door happened to open again, and in walked Hiram Winthrop.
'My dear Winthrop!' Colin cried out in exultation51, 'congratulate me! I've just got a commission for Autumn and the Breezes!'
'What, in marble?' Hiram said, grasping his hand warmly.
'Yes, in marble.'
'My dear fellow, I'm delighted. And you deserve it, too, so well. But who from? Not that fat old gentleman with the vacant face that I met just now out there upon the doorstep!'
'The same, I assure you. Our great Dorsetshire magnate, the Earl of Beaminster!' Hiram's face fell a little. 'The Earl of Beaminster!' he echoed with a voice of considerable disappointment. 'You don't mean to say an earl only looks like that! and dresses like that, too! Why, one would hardly know him from a successful dry-goods man!—Besides,' he thought to himself silently, 'she must have sent him. He's her cousin.'
Colin had no idea what manner of thing a dry-goods man might be, but he recognised that it probably stood for some very prosaic52 and everyday employment. 'Yes,' he said, half laughing, 'that's an earl; and as you say, my dear fellow, he hardly differs visibly to the naked eye from you and me poor common mortals.'
'But, I say, Churchill,' Hiram put in with American practicality, 'what are you going to let this Beaminster person have the group for?'
'Well, I didn't know exactly what to charge him for it, never having sold a work on my own account before; but I said at a venture, five hundred guineas. I should think that wasn't bad, you know, for a first commission.'
Hiram raised his eyebrows53 ominously54. 'Five hundred guineas, Churchill,' he muttered with obvious mistrust; 'five hundred guineas! Why, my dear fellow, have you asked yet what would be the cost even of the block of marble?'
'The block of marble!' Colin repeated, blankly. 'The cost of the marble! Why, upon my soul, Winthrop, I never took that at all into consideration.'
'Let's go round to Maragliano's at once,' Hiram suggested, in some alarm, 'and ask him what he thinks of your bargain. I'm awfully55 afraid, do you know, Churchill, that you've put your foot in it.'
When the great sculptor heard that Colin had really got a commission for his beautiful group, he was at first extremely jubilant, clapping his hands, laughing, and crying out eagerly many times over, 'Am I a prophet, then?' with Italian demonstrativeness. But as soon as Colin went on to say that he had promised to execute the thing in marble for 12,500 lire, Maragliano ceased from his capering56 immediately, and assumed an expression of the most profound and serious astonishment. 'Twelve thousand lire!' he cried in horror, lifting up both his hands with a deprecatory gesture; 'twelve thousand lire! Why, my dear friend, the marble alone will cost you nearly that, without counting anything for your own time and trouble, or the workmen's wages. A splendid stroke of business, indeed! If I were you, I'd go and ask the Count of Beaminster at once to let me off the bargain.'
Colin's disappointment was, indeed, a bitter one; but he had too keen a sense both of commercial honour and of personal dignity to think of begging off a bargain once completed. 'Oh, no,' he said, 'that would never do, master. I shall execute the commission at the price I named, even if I'm actually out of pocket by it. At any rate, it'll be a good advertisement for me. But, after all, I'm really sorry I ever said I'd let him have it! Just think, Winthrop, of my spending so much loving, patient care upon every twist and fold of the robes of those delightful57 Breezes, and then having to sell them in the end to a monster of a creature who wanted me to replace the Autumn by a bronze dial. It's really too distressing58!'
'Ah, my friend,' Maragliano said sympathetically, 'that is the Nemesis59 of art, and you'll have to get accustomed to it from the beginning. It is the price we pay for the nature of our clientele. We get well paid, because we have to work chiefly for the very wealthy. But after we have worked up some statue or picture till every line and curve of it exactly satisfies our own critical taste, we have to sell it perhaps to some vulgar rich man, who buries it in his own drawing-room in New York or Manchester. The man of letters gets comparatively little, because no rich man can buy his work outright60, and keep it for his own personal glorification61; but in return, he feels pretty sure that those whose opinion he most wishes to conciliate, those for whose appreciative62 taste he has polished and repolished his rough diamond, will in the end see and admire the work he has so carefully and lovingly performed for them. We are less lucky in that respect; we have to cast our pearls before swine too often, and all for the sake of filthy63 lucre64.'
As it turned out, however, the group of Autumn and the Breezes, in spite of this unpromising beginning, really formed the foundation of all Colin Churchill's future fortunes. Colin worked away at it with a will, nothing daunted65 by the discovery that it would probably cost him something more than he got for it; and in due time he despatched it to the earl in England, at a loss to himself of a little over twenty guineas. Still, the earl, being a fussy66, consequential67 man, sent more than one friend during the progress of the work to see the group that Churchill was making for him. 'One of my own people, you know—a poor boy off my Dorsetshire estate—conceited I'm afraid, but not without talent; and I've taken it into my head to patronise him, just for the sake of the old feudal68 connection and all that sort of thing.' Some of the friends were better judges of sculpture than the earl himself, and when the Autumn was nearly finished, Colin was pleased to find that that distinguished connoisseur69, Sir Leonard Hawkins, was much delighted with its execution. Next time Sir Leonard came he looked over Colin's designs carefully, and was greatly struck with the sketch70 for the Clytemnestra. He asked the price, and Cohn, wise by experience, stipulated71 for time to consult Maragliano. When he had done so, he said 700L.; and this time he made for himself a clear 250L. That was a big sum for a man in Colin Churchill's position; but it was only the beginning of a great artist's successful career. Commissions began to pour in upon him freely; and before Gwen Howard-Russell returned to Rome, Colin was already making far more money than in his wildest anticipation72 he had ever dreamt of. He must save up, now, to repay Sam; and when Sam's debt was fairly cancelled, then he must save up again for little Minna.
END OF THE SECOND VOLUME.
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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tempt
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| vt.引诱，勾引，吸引，引起…的兴趣 | |
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condescension
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| n.自以为高人一等，贬低(别人) | |
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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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abstruse
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| adj.深奥的，难解的 | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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nibble
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| n.轻咬，啃；v.一点点地咬，慢慢啃，吹毛求疵 | |
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chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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conspicuously
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| ad.明显地，惹人注目地 | |
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accustom
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| vt.使适应，使习惯 | |
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exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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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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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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nether
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| adj.下部的，下面的；n.阴间；下层社会 | |
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spout
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| v.喷出，涌出；滔滔不绝地讲；n.喷管；水柱 | |
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trumpet
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| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
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deferential
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| adj. 敬意的，恭敬的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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spire
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| n.(教堂)尖顶，尖塔，高点 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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sculptor
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| n.雕刻家，雕刻家 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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conceited
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| adj.自负的，骄傲自满的 | |
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conceit
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| n.自负，自高自大 | |
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specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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blasphemy
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| n.亵渎，渎神 | |
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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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arduous
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| adj.艰苦的，费力的，陡峭的 | |
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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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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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territorial
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| adj.领土的，领地的 | |
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geniality
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| n.和蔼，诚恳；愉快 | |
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eminence
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| n.卓越，显赫；高地，高处；名家 | |
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manor
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| n.庄园，领地 | |
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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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irresolute
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| adj.无决断的，优柔寡断的，踌躇不定的 | |
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acquiescence
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| n.默许；顺从 | |
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munificent
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| adj.慷慨的，大方的 | |
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humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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patronage
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| n.赞助，支援，援助；光顾，捧场 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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51
exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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prosaic
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| adj.单调的，无趣的 | |
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53
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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54
ominously
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| adv.恶兆地，不吉利地；预示地 | |
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55
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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56
capering
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| v.跳跃，雀跃( caper的现在分词 )；蹦蹦跳跳 | |
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57
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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58
distressing
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| a.使人痛苦的 | |
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nemesis
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| n.给以报应者，复仇者，难以对付的敌手 | |
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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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61
glorification
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| n.赞颂 | |
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appreciative
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| adj.有鉴赏力的，有眼力的；感激的 | |
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filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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lucre
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| n.金钱，财富 | |
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daunted
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| 使（某人）气馁，威吓( daunt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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fussy
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| adj.为琐事担忧的，过分装饰的，爱挑剔的 | |
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consequential
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| adj.作为结果的，间接的；重要的 | |
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feudal
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| adj.封建的，封地的，领地的 | |
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connoisseur
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| n.鉴赏家，行家，内行 | |
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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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stipulated
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| vt.& vi.规定；约定adj.[法]合同规定的 | |
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anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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