The Argosy — page 48: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

38 Princess Eleanor. Arsent hoped that I would some day work for him, and Werdan began reflecting, and stood silent for five minutes ; a thing I had never seen him do before. . Eleanor was the only unsatisfied one. ‘ Why do you waste your time in taking copies?” she whispered. Was not that the highest praise of all, Geoffrey? She seemed to claim a sort of right to me, to my talent. And yet—— After a quarter of an hour’s contemplation they all turned to go, intending to examine the Madonna della Seggiola on their way. Eleanor’s large blue eyes were turned up to the beautiful picture. The others had moved away : I alone stood by her side, anxious to hear what she would say, now she knew that this was the Fornarina, Her eyelids closed; then she spoke in a whisper. “T cannot understand the expression in the Madonna’s face, if it be not that of a mother’s love. Was the Fornarina a mother?” My innocent darling spoke this so naturally I could have kissed the hem of her garment, as a devotee kisses that of his special saint. Surely it was no business of mine to explain that that tender look of love-was intended for Raphael, and not for the child. When Prince Ernest called us I excused myself, saying I had still my copy to finish, As she gave me her hand, aslight shadow crossed her brow, and she said : “That copy is an excuse for staying away from us !” Had it only been possible, how willingly should I have left my picture to its fate! I was greatly astonished to see Werdan remain behind with me, and sit down on a chair near my easel. “T should like to watch you at work,” were the words with which he explained this extraordinary proceeding. Except once before, at home, he has never honoured me by taking any notice of me. I am a plebeian dauber to him, nothing else. I therefore suspected he had some special reason for spending a whole hour patiently at my side. He wished to know if I copied Titian alone, or other old masters besides. When I told him that not Titian but Rembrandt was my cheval de bataille, he started up and flung his arms round my neck in so violent a manner as to frighten two English ladies into dropping their opera-glasses to the ground. He then burst forth : “You must forgive my enthusiasm! I cannot help it, cannot con- ceal my joy, when I meet genuine talent! You shall see what a patron of the arts I will become from the moment my uncle’s fortune passes into my possession.” Since then he is continually at my side. Did I not know how very small his chances are with Eleanor, I should feel unhappy when listening to his conceited talk. He is so sure of obtaining her that even I should believe him, did I not feel daily more assured of her indifference to him. Arsent on the contrary daily‘m comlcbootes, com |