A Strange Trio of Artists

Front matter

SPECIAL NOTICE.— The New and Revised Edition contains Prefatory Remarks by the Right Hon. W. E. GLADSTONE, M.P., who has read and approved the volume. THE STANDARD WORK ON AUTHORSHIP. Crown 8vo, Cloth gilt, price 5s. ; postage, 4^cL (Fifth Edition. New and Revised.) THE AUTHOR'S MANUAL, Being a Complete, Practical Guide to all Branches of Journalism, Literary Work generally, and Book-producing, with special advice in reference to Imaginative Literature. By PERCY RUSSELL. Brief Extracts from some of the Reviews:— The Spectator says: — "The aspirant to literature may certainly read Mr. Russell's book with profit." The Graphic says : — " Mr. Russell has got up his subject with much cure, and supplies a great deal of useful information. His advice and suggestions are sound and to the point." St. Stephen's Review savft^-V : The Author's Manual' is clever to a fault.

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Chapter I

" Love is ever busy witb. his shuttle, Is ever weaving into life's dull warp Brigbt gorgeous flowers, and scenes arcadian, Hanging our gloomy prison house about With tapestries, which make the walls dilate In never-ending vistas of delight." — The Spanish Student. " Errol Lisle, you're a fool ! " was the not very complimentary remark of an elderly gentleman to his nephew, who sat opposite him at breakfast one summer morning. " Why don't you marry Violet Herbert ? Every one can see she is in love with you ; B and I might as well tell you every one is talking of it, too. Of course, as a foregone conclusion, you are deeply in love with the lady, or you wouldn't be eternally running after her." Lisle appeared annoyed beyond expression. " Miss Herbert and I are friends, sir," he replied somewhat coldly, — " we are friends, and nothing more.

She cares no more for me, in the sense in which you speak, than she does for any of her ordinary acquaintances." " There is no such thing as friendship under such circumstances." " I don't comprehend you," replied the young man. " Is it an absolute necessity, because a man and woman understand each other, and become intimate — in short, grow to be the best of friends — that of a necessity they must also fall in love ? Ton my word, it seems to me grotesque that per sons won't have more comprehension. Miss Herbert and I are artists, she an amateur to be sure ; we have tastes, and feelings, and sympathies alike ; we think alike on most subjects ; we have known each other all our lifetime ; for the most part we do not like the people round about here ; and therefore it so happens that we have grown to be most intimate friends.

She is not the average kind of woman. She is one of these rare creatures one knocks across once in a lifetime — a woman of whom you can make a friend." Old Lisle greeted his nephew's remarks with a cynical laugh. " How mighty philosophical you are ! " he said. " Don't you care sufficiently for the lady to marry her ? She is the loveliest woman I know. She has everything the world can give her — youth, beauty, and five thousand pounds a year. How mighty ro mantic you are ! Your profession, I suppose, is responsible for a good deal of it. Men of your propensities affect a good deal of what I call "rot," but what you very likely term romance. Take my word, the happiest mar riages are not those which have been made for love ; plenty of money, a healthy con stitution, and a good temper go farther towards constituting happiness in married life than all the sentiment that ever was known !

" Lisle laughed at the prosy remarks of his elderly relative, but on his face was a pained expression ; and instead of seeming flattered at being told of Miss Herbert's preference for him, it appeared to wound him inex pressibly. " Try your luck," went on his cynical old uncle. " Try your luck, man, and I'll tell you you'll win. It's afraid you are." " I must beg of you to refrain from refer ring to Miss Herbert in this manner. It's grossly unkind of you. I have an infinite respect for her, but I don't love her, as I have told you fifty times before." And then he thought of a sunny southern and dark lustrous eyes. " Was there ever known such fooling ? You go on from year to year daubing pic tures. You have not even the necessary income to enable you to get proper tuition in the idiotic profession you insisted on adopt ing, whilst all the time the loveliest and richest girl in the country is waiting for you.

Learn to love her, sir. Make yourself love her." Errol Lisle looked at the old man and saw his whitening hair and worn face, and a feeling of great pity came into his heart, and a great desire to please him. Though the old cynic had been always peevish and despotic to him, he was too thoroughly good-natured and unselfish not to feel miserable over not being able to gratify his desires. There are few things in life which make one more un happy than having to disappoint those who depend on us, who look up to us and expect great things of us. When he found himself alone, he began to turn over in his mind all his uncle had been saying to him. " Could Violet Herbert really care for him?" he thought; and he tried to assure himself such was not the case. It is truly wonderful sometimes how much better others see, and take in, what is going on than yourself.

As a general rule, one likes to have some idea of the personal appearance of the hero in a novel. I do at least, and I'll take it for granted, dear reader, you are somewhat the same, and will therefore tell you the kind of individual this artistic friend of ours was. He happened to be about the average height, or perhaps a trifle more ; and was well pro portioned. He had the air of one who always did exactly as he thought fit, caring not for the world's praise or blame — that indifferent, deuce-may-care way which is always alike provoking and captivating. His head and nose a sculptor need not be ashamed of having cut; his eyes and hair were alike very dark ; and his mouth was made up of dimples and a very charming moustache. There was, too, a certain indi viduality about this Lisle which made him distinct from other masculine bipeds.

His voice was the most wonderful in the world, full of fascination and melody, singular in charm and richness. When he spoke it was as if there was music somewhere. And though he said the most commonplace thing possible, you vouched it was poetry from the very way he said it. And here, let me remark, is there anything which captivates and betrays one's innermost self like a voice ? A few hours after the above conversation Errol Lisle might be found wandering over to the abode of this particular friend of his — the charming Violet Herbert. It was May, joyous and beautiful, and as radiant and dazzling as that sweet month can be. By a splashing stream played a band of merry children, with chubby cheeks and dimpled chins, like so many wingless Cupids. They pelted one another with wild flowers, and paddled in the cool, limpid water, their tiny feet looking like quaint pink sea-shells.

All around was as fair as May can be when she chooses ; azure and gold, crimson and purple, and a hundred greens were suffused in the mystic glory of the noon-day sun, and were blended into an infinite harmony and superb unity with that mighty skill and stupendous power which makes such fools of all living imitators. It was a day on which no one should feel unhappy or preoccupied. Yet somehow Lisle felt slightly unhinged, after his uncle's cynical lecture.

CHAPTER LL

" There are words which sever hearts more than sharp swords ; there are words the point of which sting the heart through the course of a whole life." — Brewer. " The word that once escapes the tongue cannot be recalled; the arrow cannot be detained which has once sped from the bow." ■ — Italian. Errol Lisle made his way to Violet Her bert's boudoir. It was a superb room, in Oriental style. The quaint Moorish arches, silken curtains, and Indian draperies were all perfect of their kind. And in every available space china was placed, but not to overcrowding, which is always vulgar. Sat suma, that king of Eastern ware, and the charming Kosam were advantageously displayed in a priceless Chinese cabinet. There can be no greater error, and Miss Herbert was not likely to make it, than in the one apartment to mix European and Eastern things.

A Majolica vase placed near a Satsuma or Kaga instantaneously strikes a discordant note, and the showy Eastern importation makes the chaster Euro pean insignificant. But Violet Herbert's boudoir was perfect in style, and still more perfect in colouring. There were a hundred colours perhaps, but one led into or up to the other, and the result was a veritable dream of harmony. A distinguished artist once said : " When you enter a room, the idea should be colour, not colours." This idea was well carried out in Miss Herbert's sanctum. She herself was sitting therein, holding in her white hands a lute. She was very lovely, and had that indescribable air of perfect refinement which careful training and beautiful surroundings alone can give. Her golden head was resting amongst many soft hued cushions ; her eyes were forget-me-nots.

And nothing was ever so white as her throat, except perhaps a snowdrop in the spring time. But her lips were, oh, so thin, and a trifle hard, and a bit disdainful. A good judge of physiognomy would say she was cruel. But, all the same, she was very fair, undoubtedly very lovely. And was Violet Herbert happy ? No, she was not. For let nothing persuade you that wealth makes happiness, or beauty content ment, when the heart is ruffled. And there she sat, with the sun streaming; down on her golden head, on her white dress, and on the filmy lace about her throat. Ancl whilst she was yet thinking, a visitor was announced. It was a rather early hour for a call, no doubt, being only eleven in the morning; but there was no occasion for ceremony between Violet Herbert ancl her visitor, for it was Errol Lisle.

He was privileged to come at any hour, and was always welcome. As he entered the room, a look of intense pleasure passed over her handsome face, that softened the hard line about her chin, and warmed the coldness of her lips. In that moment she looked absolutely perfect; but her beauty did not move him an iota — being an artist, he could not help admiring it, nothing more. " I should like to paint you as you look now," he said ; " that lute makes you quite poetic. And these daffodils and dark red wallflowers with which you have filled the room would make a delightful back ground." She was accustomed to hear such remarks from him. It was his way to be chivalrous ; he could not help it. He should have be longed to another age ; he was an ana chronism in our good rough and tumble times. In another moment they were talking of a hundred different things — this picture, that criticism, etc.

At last he said : — " I want to show you a sketch I have made of that pretty child you admired so much the other day." Saying which he showed the face of a little girl, immensely like that in Sir John Millais' picture of the " Orphans," with a pensive, tremulous mouth, sweet, sad eyes, and a tangle of pale golden hair. " Charming ! " responded Miss Herbert ; " very lovely indeed. I'd know one of your pictures amongst a thousand ; they have such a strange characteristic of their own. I can't very well explain what I mean, but they strike me as being very original. Aunt Caroline bought a picture from a dealer last week when she was in London. It has not yet arrived, but she tells me it is amazingly like your style. It is not signed, she says, but the title is ' Lucille.' " Errol was about to acknowledge that it was he who had painted it, but some evil phantom stopped him.

Second thoughts, people say, are best; not always. To his dying day he regretted not having told her who " Lucille " was, what she was, ancl everything about her. " I have been turning over for some time past a plan in my mind," continued Miss Herbert, not noticing his pre-occupied air. "You paint well, no doubt about that. Many say there is singular power and rare talent displayed in all you do ; but Raphael himself required a certain training." Lisle listened to all this, and wondered what on earth she was going to say ; but he never ventured to interrupt her. He always looked up to her — she knew so much, saw so much, and was so entirely unlike every one else. " It is absolutely necessary," she went on, " that you go abroad for a few years." " It is out of the question," he replied very hurriedly.

" I cannot afford it for a long time yet. The last visit I paid to Italy left me almost penniless." " But listen," she said. " I have more of that composition called money than I quite know what to do with. Do — allow — me to arrange — this matter — for — you." She was very white. She averted her glance from his ; and the room seemed to sway a bit. Though every one said she was a goddess, she was only a woman after all, with flesh and blood, ancl a heart, that most troublesome of all possessions, which very .often insists on us making fools of ourselves ! Lisle's eyes grew moist, for he had the best heart in the wide world, and he was deeply touched by the offer of this cold, proud girl. " I thank you," he replied, " thank you a thousand times over, but forgive me for saying I cannot do what you ask ; for deeply grateful though I am to you, I could not take your money, for such it would be."

And he took her hand in his — how cold it was ! — and kissed it very tenderly — (I thought this a very mawkish proceeding c when I heard it ; but I suppose there's no accounting for one's behaviour when in fluenced by certain feelings) — just in the same manner as he was wont to kiss the hand of his pretty girlish mother while he was yet a very small boy. " And," he continued, " won't we always be as good friends as we now are ? As you have no brother or I no sister, let us stand in that relationship to one another." Rather plain speaking, was it not ? Why, he was making matters worse with every word that fell from his lips — putting his foot right into it. But Miss Herbert stopped his rather gushing little speech, and said very quietly,— " Don't be so very romantic. I think you are taking my offer for more than it really is.

I assure you I would do the same for any one with talent. The French Government does it every day. I trust we shall always be friends ; I don't see why we shouldn't," These apparently indifferent remarks re assured Lisle a little ; for he was not vain. Soon afterwards he left her, as they were both ill at ease in spite of themselves. And then what did she do ? Well, she did not faint, or tear her hair, or even burst out crying; but she suffered a hun dred times more than a woman who would have done any of these things. " What have I done ? " she kept saying to herself. " Offered him my money ; I might as well have offered him my heart. And he knows it ; my God, he knows it ! Fool, idiot that I am to think he loved me, and wanted an opportunity to declare it ! Oh ! have 1 not given it to him with a vengeance ?

" She had fancied it was because he had no position to offer her (for fame had not yet come to him) that he hesitated so long about asking her to become his wife, — in short, as his uncle thought, that he wanted courage. Perhaps it would be unjust not to attach some blame to Lisle in the matter. He should, very likely persons will say, have had his eyes open, and have seen the possibility of misconception. But you see (as I think I have already said), from the nature of circumstances, they were very much thrown together. The families had always been friends, he and she were artists (the latter in a small way, to be sure), their tastes were identical, and the commonplace society of their neighbours round about was wearisome to both. He was one of those who cannot get along without some one to talk to, to associate with, and to sympathise with.

Such natures are perhaps not the noblest or most heroic, or, for that matter, the most powerful ; but unquestionably they are the most affectionate. It seems a strange thingthat Errol Lisle did not fall in love with this lovely Violet Herbert, of the broad lands and boundless wealth, whom he really liked so much. Had he been left to himself, it is more than likely he Avould have clone so ; but his uncle always spoke of her as a splendid " catch," ancl other of his relatives made similar remarks. And there it was ; here was the fruit of their stupid interference ; for you can dic tate love to the commonplace, and you may advise the vulgar on that all-important sub ject, but the artistic and high-souled are always best left to themselves. At last Violet Herbert rose ancl looked down the long sweeping lawn, which slanted away towards the river.

The water was like liquid gold in the blaze of the noon-day sun, and the primroses and violets lay hidden in the downy moss by the river's bank ; but the sun had gone down for her never to rise again, and in her eyes all things appeared cold, limp, and withered ; the birds had ceased their singing, and the flowers had lost their lustre. There were great beads of perspiration on her white brow. She had suffered much in that short space. " He has been making a fool of me all this time," she told herself. " He made me love him," she persuaded herself; "but I will make him pay dearly for it. I will yet find a means to break his heart." Her aunt entered the room soon after wards, and found her the same as thoug-h o nothing more than usual had happened on that balmy summer morn ; for Violet Herbert had stowed all her misery away down in her heart, to live and exist there while she herself existed.

Chapter III

" As to the burden, be content to bear it until thou comest to the place of deliverance ; for there it will fall from thy back of itself." — The Pilgrims Progress. Twenty years before our story opens the dead bells were ringing out their weird and pitiful tones in the town of H , near which the actors of this story resided, for a lady of high rank lay dead. She was a pretty lady, and her husband loved her very much. And she worshipped her little daugh ter of two ; but, very strange to relate, the little girl's father disliked the child. He was one of those phenomena in nature who are luckily rare. He hated animals even more than children, and if he found a dog near his gates he kicked it into the highway. Let nothing ever impress you favourably of any one unkind to animals. But this is a digression.

Yet he was desperately grieved for the death of his pretty wife, so much so that he locked him self up for days and ate nothing. People said he would go mad of grief ; ancl doctors insisted he should leave his native home. So he went to the sunny land of the South, and buried his sorrow in its golden sunshine. He went from place to place, spending as much money as he could manage, vainly striving to forget for a long time. But at last forgetfulness did come to him. It is only the very noble and unselfish who never can forget, and hold a memory ever sacred, and think it a sacrilege to replace it. It is not the fault of mortals that such is the case ; it is the way they are constituted. A year or so passed, and his heart grew very restless and fidgety ; for it had seen through its windows (the eyes) a new thing to fascinate it.

Oh, thou wanton, ever changing piece of human structure, why canst thou not be faithful and constant ? This new creature, his heart fancied, was as different from the lady who lay at home in the vault as were their respective nations. His new love was an Italian, dark like her countrywomen, with two big balls of dazzling jet for eyes, and a poppy for a mouth. But his heart wanted this new plaything. It teased, worried, and tor mented him to get it. This object of his devotion was a woman who sang minor parts in the opera-house at Nice. Her name was Carmen; and, though she had a very lovely, light soprano, she could never hope to be what the world recognises as a star. Her father was an artist, and she loved the old man with all the love of her fiery nature. She had cherished the idea of being famous.

Why ? because fame would give her money. It is painful to think that an artist would be guilty of such a degrading notion of her profession, but I suppose it came from the fact that the woman's qualifications were mediocre. The Englishman paid her every atten tion, sending her rare flowers and costly jewels. " Win her with gifts, if she respect not words ; Dumb jewels often in their silent kind More than quick words do move a woman's mind, has been the advice of one who ought to know. One day he told her of his love for her ; and that his wealth was as deep as the blue Adriatic, and that he would give it all to her to do with it as she pleased. She was dazzled at the thought of the gold that should be hers, though the sight of the man was worse to her than that of a leper. You know these beings, reader, don't you, from whom you shrink without knowing why ?

They never injured you, or did the remotest thing to cause you pain ; yet their presence makes your blood creep in your veins ; and the very thought of them is like a glimpse of something hideous. It is one of those unexplored and — if I might use the word — unexplorable mysteries in our natures which never will be come at. Such, at any rate, was the effect this lean, cold man had on the warm blood of the Italian singer ; but he had money, that mighty god who tramples love, and effaces beauty, and reigns supreme in this droll world of ours. So she married him, hating him all the while. It is hard to believe human nature can be so depraved, yet here is a standing illustration. And now* let us draw a hazy veil over that portion of their lives ; for methinks the theme would not be a pleasant one to pursue.

At length he returned home alone, and all thought he still mourned for his golden haired wife, who lay quietly sleeping in the family vault, as his looks were, if possible, more miserable than when he left home. And he was pitied and admired for his con stancy ; for his second marriage had been known to no one.

Chapter IV

" The world is a looking-glass, and gives back to every man the reflection of his own face. Frown on it, and it will in turn look sourly on you ; laugh at it and with it, and it is a jolly, kind companion." — Thackeray. One day, after Mr. Herbert (for it is the story of his life I have been telling) had been at home a few months, he called his agent, who was also his secretary, and whose name was James Grant. Grant was a good-looking young man of about two or three-and-twenty, with clear grey eyes in which there was a good deal of (if one is to judge by outward appearances) sincerity. His moustache was fair, and thinnish, but promised better things in the near future. " I have mauy things to say to you, Grant," began Mr. Herbert ; "I am think ing I shall have to bid farewell to the world rather soon.

I shan't be very sorry, I assure you," he added, somewhat cynically ; " the world never treated me kindly. On the contrary, it went out of its way to blackguard me." Grant tried to edge in a word of a con trary nature here, but the other rudely stopped him. " AVhen you have seen as much of the world, young man, as I, you'll hate and curse it. It's one gigantic fraud, one living mass of deception. Take my advice and never put your trust in any one, ancl, above all, never love any one." These last words were hissed out ; ancl his face was so full of anguish and despair that he frightened Grant. Yes, he found the world so ; and it was as he deserved to find it. He gave no kindness to his fellow-creatures ; then how dare he expect kindness from them? By what right or title did he claim it ? What audacity ancl presumption the man had !

But the world turned round on him and said, without mincing matters, " What do I owe you, pray ? You were churlish to all my individuals, except those two women whom, at different portions of your life, bore your name. Why weren't you kind to your poverty-stricken tenants when they told you their little ones were famishing ? You were brutal to your animals. You beat your horses. You kicked your dogs when you were in bad temper. In short, you were a good-for-nothing, selfish mortal. You wish to be rid of me. Well, then, upon my word, I won't shed many tears after you when you go over to the vast majority." And the recording angel, too, had a bit of gossip with the world on the subject. " I, too," said the angel, " had been squar ing up accounts some time ago, and I found this man's record in such an unsatisfactory state, that I determined, for the sake of Justice, who had called my attention to the matter, to have something out of him in the way of affliction in this world, as well as in the next.

And I have had it." Whilst Mr. Herbert and his agent were talking, they were interrupted by the en trance of a child, who came through the low French window. It was a little girl of about three or four years of age, with eyes like the blue harebells she held in her chubby hands, and a head that looked as if perpetual sunshine was playing upon it, and the love- D best tiny pink legs. And with the child's entrance there came a breath of violets and honeysuckle, very faint and lovely. She came right to Grant, and appeared not to notice her father's presence. But Grant tried to motion her, without being observed, to go to her father. But Mr. Herbert caught him in the act, and said, — " Don't distress yourself, Grant ; I assure you I don't in the least mind being slighted by the young lady. There's no use in being unreasonable ; I acknowledge I don't deserve anything else from her."