Steampunk Prime_ A Vintage Steampunk Reader - Mike Ashley [77]
“The picture is an order from a lady, who has herself sat for the principal figure,” said Durham. “I hope you may meet her also on Sunday. My impression is that the picture will do well; but if so, it will be on account of the remarkable beauty of my model. But I must not add more — you will see what I mean for yourselves.”
He walked briskly away.
“Poor Durham,” said Dufrayer, when he had left us. “I am glad that he is beginning to get over the dreadful catastrophe which threatened to ruin him body and soul a year back.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I allude to the tragic death of his young wife,” said Dufrayer. “They were only married two years. She was thrown from her horse on the hunting-field; broke her back, and died a few hours afterwards. There was a child, a boy of about four months old at the time of the mother’s death. Durham was so frightfully prostrated from the shock that some of his friends feared for his reason; but I now see that he is regaining his usual calibre. I trust his new picture will be a success; but, notwithstanding his remarkable talent, I have my doubts. It takes a man in ten thousand to do a good historical picture.”
On the following Sunday, about four o’clock, Dufrayer and I found ourselves at Durham’s house in Lanchester Gardens. A number of well-known artists and their wives had already assembled in his studio. We found the visitors all gazing at a life-sized picture in a heavy frame which stood on an easel facing the window.
Dufrayer and I took our places in the background, and looked at the group represented on the canvas in silence. Any doubt of Durham’s ultimate success must have immediately vanished from Dufrayer’s mind. The picture was a magnificent work of art, and the subject was worthy of an artist’s best efforts. It was taken from “The Lady of the Lake,” and represented Ellen Douglas in the guard-room of Stirling Castle, surrounded by the rough soldiers of James V. of Scotland. It was named “Soldiers, Attend!” — Ellen’s first words as she flung off her plaid and revealed herself in all her dark proud beauty to the wonder of the soldiers. The pose and attitude were superb, and did credit both to Durham and the rare beauty of his model.
I was just turning round to congratulate him warmly on his splendid production, when I saw standing beside him Ellen Douglas herself, not in the rough garb of a Scotch lassie, but in the simple and yet picturesque dress of a well-bred English girl. Her large black velvet hat, with its plume of ostrich feathers, contrasted well with a face of dark and striking beauty, but I noticed even in that first glance a peculiar expression lingering round the curves of her beautiful lips and filling the big brown eyes. A secret care, an anxiety artfully concealed, and yet all too apparent to a real judge of character, spoke to me from her face. All the same, that very look of reserve and sorrow but strengthened her beauty, and gave that final touch of genius to the lovely figure on the canvas.
Just then Durham touched me on the shoulder.
“What do you think of it?” He asked, pointing to the picture.
“I congratulate you most heartily,” I responded.
“I owe any success which I may have achieved to this lady,” he continued. “She has done me the honour to sit as Ellen Douglas. Mr. Head, may I introduce Lady Faulkner?”
I bowed an acknowledgment, to which Lady Faulkner gravely responded. She stepped a little aside, and seemed to invite me to follow her.
“I am also glad you like the picture,” she said eagerly. “For years I have longed to have that special subject painted. I asked Mr. Durham to do it for me on condition that I should be the model for Ellen Douglas. The picture is meant as a present