Ellen Percy; or, The Memoirs of an Actress — page 288: what you’re looking at

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| | ) ELLEN PERCY; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF AN ACTRESS. nished. Her mother was there—a lady of about fifty years of age, with a serene and benevolent expression of countenance, and still with the lingering traces of a beauty which must have been great in her earlier years, and which her daughter kad fully inherited. The moment I en- tered the room, I saw that Mrs. Barron surveyed me with earnest attention : then she gave a sudden start—she flung a look of inquiry upon her daughter —and again she fixed her eyes upon me. “Ob, I know you !—yes, I recognise you !” she now exclaimed, hastening forward to welcome me: ** the likeness is truly wonderful! Ah,my daugh- ter told us that she had met you in London the other day—and we cannot tell you how much we longed to form your acquaintance likewise! Oh how rejoiced Reginald will be!” At this moment the door opened; and a thin, pale, interesting young man, about four-and- twenty years of age, made his appearance. He was good-looking certainly, but not so handsome as a man as his sister was beautiful as a woman ;—for this was Reginald Barron. The instant he saw me, he gave vent to a wild cry of delight—joy flashed in his eyes—a kindred animation glowed on his cheeks—he was the very personification of enthusiasm at that moment! ** My dear Miss Percy,” said Sarah Barron, “ I am afraid that all this must be more than mys- terious to you!—it must even be annoying, and may appear rude! Come, let us explain it, all in @ moment!” + Thus speaking, she led the way up-stairs to a room on the first floor; and as she threw open the door, I perceived that it was an artist’s studio to which I was being introduced. I crossed the threshold—I found myself face to face with a portrait which made me start: I glanced around —likeness upon likeness met my eyes—and on four distinct pieces of canvass was my countenance represented, just as if I beheld it reflected in so many mirrors! CHAPTER CXILI. THE ARTIST. YzEs~— there were the portraits representing me in four of the principal characters which I was in the habit of personating on the stage. As Portia in the “ Merchant of Venice” I was depicted with the forensic cap and gown; and the likeness in- stantaneously struck me as being most admirable. Next I contemplated myself in the character of the heroine in “Romeo and Juliet:” but on this piece of canvass there were two heads—for I was drawn in the act of discoursing with the old nurse, this latter face being an imaginary one, The third picture represented me as Lady Macbeth, when, as a@ somnambulist, she walks with a light in her hand. The fourth picture represented me as Mrs, Beverley in “The Gamester;” and this portrait was as perfect as the rest. On raising my eyes from the contemplation of the series, my looks en- countered those of Reginald Barron; and I felt a biush rise up to my cheeks at the intentness with which he was regarding me. Tor it instan- taneously struck me that it was not only with the ————e ee LLL LLL LL LL LL LE LLL LL tt ta, 275 studying gaze of an artist that he was surveying my features in order to catch any peculiar expres- sion, but that he was inspired with another senti- ment. Yes—I felt the colour glow upon my cheeks; and quickly averting my face, I affected to be again contemplating the portraits. “Oh! now do you understand, my dear Miss Perey,” exclaimed Sarah Barron, “when I said that you could do mea favour? My brother was anxious to survey you close—to catch the expres- sion which might best be transferred to the can- vass 2 * And I am sure Miss Percy cannot be annoyed or offended,” cried Mrs. Barron; “for her talents have no worshipper more devout than Reginald!” “ And will Miss Percy pardon me my boldness,” said Reginald meekly, “in having dared thus to make these poor attempts to transfer her counte- nance to the canvass ?——will Miss Percy forgive me, I ask, that I should have taken such a liberty without in the first instance beseeching her cone sent P” ** Every one,’ I said, “has a perfect right to employ his talents according to his inclination or ability. You have taken no liberty, sir.” “And you are not offended with me,” interposed Sarah, “for having brought you to the house for the purpose which I have named? Reginald was not satisfied with his portraits. Pardon him his vanity—but he declared that if he could only be in the same room with you for a few minutes, ho could render his work so life-like “ Mr. Barron might have called upon me for such a purpose,” I said: “ other artists have done so; and I have assisted their labours to the utmost of my power. I hold that every public character must submit to certain claims that can be made upon him or her; and perhaps I shall not incur the imputation of vanity while confessing that if there must be portraits, engravings, and litho- graphs taken of my countenance, I would rather they should be as true to nature as possible, than owe anything to the imaginations of the de- signers.” While I was thus speaking, I addressed myself particularly to Miss Barron and her mother: yet for courtesy’s sake I glanced once or twice towards Reginald, so as not to have the appearance of ignoring his presence altogether: but my looks were quickly averted again, for his eyes were fixed upon me with a most impassioned ardour. When a woman is the object of such a gaze, and comprehends the feeling which inspires it, she may notice it much more speedily than any casual bystanders might do: and thus I verily believe— indéed I am perfectly sure, that Mrs. Barron and her daughter did not comprehend the true mean- ing of Reginald’s looks. They fancied that he was merely surveying me with that admiration for my talents which they supposed to have been the sole and simple motive for painting me in go many different styles. “ Yes—I might have called upon you, Miss Perey,” said Reginald: “ but how could I tell in what manner I should be received P I had no means of obtaining an introduction to you; and I feared to intrude as a stranger without a warrant for presenting myself, I might have told you that I was an artist and explained my object: but ob- scure and utterly unknown as I was—and still am i a ee ‘ eee SSS ssl sss esses — —-. GoOmiiGcdsoo SS (EO)