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Force and Fraud. Ellen Davitt
Читать онлайн.Название Force and Fraud
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9780992492588
Автор произведения Ellen Davitt
Издательство Ingram
Saunders drank off the wine, and then looking at his own portrait, exclaimed, “Dashed if I don’t think it’s like me! And you made it without putting my head into a frame, as the photograph-man does! I never could put up with that sort of thing; hang it!”
“Yes; you see I did not want the frame.”
“But it’s so natural like; just as a man does pull up a tree.”
“There’s nothing like nature. Now, I’m going to draw that cow, and I don’t suppose she would relish the frame more than you do.”
Saunders laughed again, but he seemed rather solicitous respecting the manner in which the cow should be permitted to gaze, as he twisted her about in a way neither to her satisfaction nor that of the artist. Nevertheless, the new friends soon understood each other well. Saunders admitted he had often thought that the bit of country just there would make a first-rate picture, particularly when the hills looked purple, and the sun shone on the water like it did then. Saunders was an artist at heart, though his occupation was that of a day-labourer. At length, after another glance at the sketch, he remarked, “That he liked coloured pictures best.”
“You shall see this coloured, if you can wait long enough,” replied the artist.
Saunders expressed his desire to witness the process, and Mr Lindsey, opening his case of water-colours, laid his camel-hair pencils in order, and prepared to moisten the paper with a sponge. Saunders, who was watching these preliminaries with eager curiosity, perceived that the stranger suddenly turned very pale, exclaiming, as if to himself, “How careless!”
Lindsey plunged the sponge into the creek, but on wringing it great heavy drops of blood trickled into the stream; it was rinsed again and again, and Mr Lindsey, at length satisfied that it was fit for use, applied it to the drawing-paper.
His natural colour had now returned, and his hand did not appear to tremble when set to work on his sketch. But Saunders, who was an acute observer, noticed that he had previously drunk off another glass of wine.
Perhaps the colouring of the drawing absorbed the attention of the artist more than the outline had done, for he remained silent; and Saunders, from some cause or other, ceased to ask questions.
The labourer, if he did not speak, watched the rapid movements of the skilful hand that transferred to paper the representation of the familiar scene. He admired those delicately shaped fingers and thought the diamond ring that sparkled on one of them very handsome; but he felt an involuntary distrust of the artist, as he saw on the wristband, which had been turned over the coat sleeve, dark red stains like those which had lately dripped from the sponge.
Herbert Lindsey appeared strong in health and sound in limb, and Saunders thought those stains had no business there. He did not like to ask any questions, but he began to fear that he had taken too sudden a liking to his new acquaintance. When Lindsey resumed his conversation, the idea was for a while dispersed; but again it returned because, on an inspection of the portfolio, one likeness was repeated in numerous sketches – this being a portrait of the greatest ruffian that had ever been known in the district.
At length Saunders’ curiosity got the better of his discretion, and he asked, “How did you come across this fellow, master?”
“By chance; just as I came across you, my friend,” replied the artist.
“There’s not much likeness between him and me, I hope,” answered Saunders proudly.
“I dare say not; but I don’t know anything about him. I said I met him by chance; and I met you by chance, you know.”
“A queer thing that he should let you draw his face; jail birds don’t often like to have their pictures taken.”
“O, that’s it, is it? But you know, my friend, that an artist sometimes takes a likeness of a man who is not conscious of the fact. This fellow was breaking in a vicious horse, and I thought his attitude would serve me for a particular purpose.”
“It must be a very ugly picture that he’s to be put into!” remarked Saunders, rather gruffly. But his good humour returned when Mr Lindsey said, “A fine handsome fellow like you would not serve for the part he is to represent.”
The sketch was now terminated and the artist, collecting his materials, rose, and holding out his hand to his companion thanked him for his civility, and hoped that they should meet again some day. The bright smile that illumined his face as he spoke, seemed to restore the impression it had first created, and Saunders replied, “Shall always be glad to oblige you, sir.”
They parted. Saunders went on his way thinking over the little incident that had broken in on the monotony of his usual occupations. He felt somewhat flattered at the recollection that he had been asked for his portrait, although his vanity was sorely diminished by knowing that the likeness of Dick Thrasham was in the same collection.
“There’s always something to spoil a man’s pleasure,” he exclaimed to himself. “It’s just like seeing that fine young fellow turn pale at the sight of a few drops of blood: and what the dickens they had to do on that sponge, I’m blest if I know.”
The young artist, on his part, gave a passing thought to his late companion who he regarded, physically speaking, as a fine model; and morally as a good-hearted fellow. But it will presently be seen that Herbert Lindsey had, at that moment, a subject for consideration more nearly affecting his welfare.
The scene where the meeting had taken place was on the outskirts of an Australian forest, a picturesque object – notwithstanding the monotony of its colour and outline – that formed the middle distance of the picture, and contrasted advantageously with the purple tints of the more remote mountains. Between mountains and forest a lagoon was perceptible, the mist arising from which lent the hazy line to the extreme distance; a view that impressed even the untutored eye of Harry Saunders with a sense of ‘the beautiful’.
On one side of his picture Mr Lindsey had skilfully managed to introduce a sharp outline of the steep bank; and, on the other a little cascade that fell into the creek, and sparkled beneath the sunbeams. Above all was the deep blue of the glorious Australian sky; but the sun, though shining brightly, was a little on the decline, and thus imparted to the scene that strange effect of chiaroscuro, which is one of the beauties of warm and brilliant climates. No dwelling was in sight, neither was there any trace of a made road or fence, nor anything that indicated the work of man. Though all around was wild, the scene was attractive; the glowing hue of the cattle, as well as the vigorous figure of Saunders, gave life and animation to the picture, without diminishing the effect of majestic grandeur conveyed by the dark forest and the trackless plain.
Herbert Lindsey, like all true artists, was an enthusiastic admirer of nature, and during that day he had greatly increased his collection of Colonial scenery. There was a sketch taken by sunrise; and the sparkling lights on the top-most trees might have been touched in by Claude de Lorraine himself. There was a scene in the depths of a gloomy forest where giant trees had either been blighted by lightning or scorched by a bush-fire; and rocks, upheaved by an earthquake, arose to form a design that would have delighted Salvator.
The portfolio contained several other drawings, slight and sketchy perhaps, but truthful nevertheless. Herbert Lindsey was satisfied that he had done a good day’s work, and yet these drawings had rather occupied his time than his thoughts.
After parting with Saunders he walked rapidly on; so rapidly indeed that he soon became heated, as well he might under the summer sun of Australia. He opened his vest which (for the season) he had worn rather closely buttoned to his throat; but, on glancing at a stain of blood on his otherwise unsullied linen, he once more closed his vest, and notwithstanding the heat, again quickened his pace.
Another hour brought him to a small township where he immediately took his way to the principal hotel. Mr Lindsey was well known to the landlord who came out to welcome him, as did