The Last Chronicle of Barset

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER XXVI.

  THE PICTURE.

  On that same afternoon Conway Dalrymple rolled up his sketch ofJael and Sisera, put it into his pocket, dressed himself with someconsiderable care, putting on a velvet coat which he was in the habitof wearing out of doors when he did not intend to wander beyondKensington Gardens and the neighbourhood and which was supposed tobecome him well, yellow gloves, and a certain Spanish hat of which hewas fond, and slowly sauntered across to the house of his friend Mrs.Dobbs Broughton. When the door was opened to him he did not ask ifthe lady were at home, but muttering some word to the servant, madehis way through the hall, upstairs, to a certain small sitting-roomlooking to the north, which was much used by the mistress of thehouse. It was quite clear that Conway Dalrymple had arranged hisvisit beforehand, and that he was expected. He opened the doorwithout knocking, and, though the servant had followed him, heentered without being announced. "I'm afraid I'm late," he said, ashe gave his hand to Mrs. Broughton "but for the life I could not getaway sooner."

  "You are quite in time," said the lady, "for any good that you arelikely to do."

  "What does that mean?"

  "It means this, my friend, that you had better give the idea up. Ihave been thinking of it all day, and I do not approve of it."

  "What nonsense!"

  "Of course you will say so, Conway. I have observed of late thatwhatever I say to you is called nonsense. I suppose it is the newfashion that gentlemen should so express themselves, but I am notquite sure that I like it."

  "You know what I mean. I am very anxious about this picture, and Ishall be much disappointed if it cannot be done now. It was you putit into my head first."

  "I regret it very much, I can assure you; but it will not be generousin you to urge that against me."

  "But why shouldn't it succeed?"

  "There are many reasons,--some personal to myself."

  "I do not know what they can be. You hinted at something which I onlytook as having been said in joke."

  "If you mean about Miss Van Siever and yourself, I was quite inearnest, Conway. I do not think you could do better, and I should beglad to see it of all things. Nothing would please me more than tobring Miss Van Siever and you together."

  "And nothing would please me less."

  "But why so?"

  "Because,--because--. I can do nothing but tell you the truth,carina; because my heart is not free to present itself at Miss VanSiever's feet."

  "It ought to be free, Conway, and you must make it free. It willbe well that you should be married, and well for others besidesyourself. I tell you so as your friend, and you have no truer friend.Sit where you are, if you please. You can say anything you have tosay without stalking about the room."

  "I was not going to stalk,--as you call it."

  "You will be safer and quieter while you are sitting. I heard a knockat the door, and I do not doubt that it is Clara. She said she wouldbe here."

  "And you have told her of the picture?"

  "Yes; I have told her. She said that it would be impossible, and thather mother would not allow it. Here she is." Then Miss Van Sieverwas shown into the room, and Dalrymple perceived that she was a girlthe peculiarity of whose complexion bore daylight better even thancandlelight. There was something in her countenance which seemed todeclare that she could bear any light to which it might be subjectedwithout flinching from it. And her bonnet, which was very plain,and her simple brown morning gown, suited her well. She was one whorequired none of the circumstances of studied dress to carry offaught in her own appearance. She could look her best when other womenlook their worst, and could dare to be seen at all times. Dalrymple,with an artist's eye, saw this at once, and immediately confessed tohimself that there was something great about her. He could not denyher beauty. But there was ever present to him that look of hardnesswhich had struck him when he first saw her. He could not but fancythat though at times she might be playful, and allow the fur ofher coat to be stroked with good-humour,--she would be a dangerousplaything, using her claws unpleasantly when the good-humour shouldhave passed away. But not the less was she beautiful, and--beyondthat and better than that, for his purpose,--she was picturesque.

  "Clara," said Mrs. Broughton, "here is this mad painter, and he saysthat he will have you on his canvas, either with your will or withoutit."

  "Even if he could do that, I am sure he would not," said Miss VanSiever.

  "To prove to you that I can, I think I need only show you thesketch," said Dalrymple, taking the drawing out of his pocket. "Asregards the face, I know it so well by heart already, that I feelcertain I could produce a likeness without even a sitting. What doyou think of it, Mrs. Broughton?"

  "What do you think of it, Mrs. Broughton?"]

  "It is clever," said she, looking at it with all that enthusiasmwhich women are able to throw into their eyes on such occasions;"very clever. The subject would just suit her. I have never doubtedthat."

  "Eames says that it is confused," said the artist.

  "I don't see that at all," said Mrs. Broughton.

  "Of course a sketch must be rough. This one has been rubbed about andaltered,--but I think there is something in it."

  "An immense deal," said Mrs. Broughton. "Don't you think so, Clara?"

  "I am not a judge."

  "But you can see the woman's fixed purpose; and her stealthiness aswell;--and the man sleeps like a log. What is that dim outline?"

  "Nothing in particular," said Dalrymple. But the dim outline wasintended to represent Mrs. Van Siever.

  "It is very good,--unquestionably good," said Mrs. Dobbs Broughton."I do not for a moment doubt that you would make a great picture ofit. It is just the subject for you, Conway; so much imagination, andyet such a scope for portraiture. It would be full of action, and yetsuch perfect repose. And the lights and shadows would be exactly inyour line. I can see at a glance how you would manage the light inthe tent, and bring it down just on the nail. And then the pose ofthe woman would be so good, so much strength, and yet such grace!You should have the bowl he drank the milk out of, so as to tellthe whole story. No painter living tells a story so well as you do,Conway." Conway Dalrymple knew that the woman was talking nonsense tohim, and yet he liked it, and liked her for talking it.

  "But Mr. Dalrymple can paint his Sisera without making me a Jael,"said Miss Van Siever.

  "Of course he can," said Mrs. Broughton.

  "But I never will," said the artist. "I conceived the subject asconnected with you, and I will never disjoin the two ideas."

  "I think it no compliment, I can assure you," said Miss Van Siever.

  "And none was intended. But you may observe that artists in all ageshave sought for higher types of models in painting women who havebeen violent or criminal, than have sufficed for them in theirportraitures of gentleness and virtue. Look at all the Judiths, andthe Lucretias, and the Charlotte Cordays; how much finer the womenare than the Madonnas and the Saint Cecilias."

  "After that, Clara, you need not scruple to be a Jael," said Mrs.Broughton.

  "But I do scruple,--very much; so strongly that I know I never shalldo it. In the first place I don't know why Mr. Dalrymple wants it."

  "Want it!" said Conway. "I want to paint a striking picture."

  "But you can do that without putting me into it."

  "No;--not this picture. And why should you object? It is thecommonest thing in the world for ladies to sit to artists in thatmanner."

  "People would know it."

  "Nobody would know it, so that you need care about it. What wouldit matter if everybody knew it? We are not proposing anythingimproper;--are we, Mrs. Broughton?"

  "She shall not be pressed if she does not like it," said Mrs.Broughton. "You know I told you before Clara came in, that I wasafraid it could not be done."

  "And I don't like it," said Miss Van Siever, with some littlehesitation in her voice.

  "I don't see anything improper in it, if you mean that," said Mrs.Broughton
.

  "But, mamma!"

  "Well, yes; that is the difficulty, no doubt. The only question is,whether your mother is not so very singular, as to make it impossiblethat you should comply with her in everything."

  "I am afraid that I do not comply with her in very much," said MissVan Siever in her gentlest voice.

  "Oh, Clara!"

  "You drive me to say so, as otherwise I should be a hypocrite. Ofcourse I ought not to have said it before Mr. Dalrymple."

  "You and Mr. Dalrymple will understand all about that, I daresay,before the picture is finished," said Mrs. Broughton.

  It did not take much persuasion on the part of Conway Dalrymple toget the consent of the younger lady to be painted, or of the elder toallow the sitting to go on in her room. When the question of easelsand other apparatus came to be considered Mrs. Broughton was ratherflustered, and again declared with energy that the whole thingmust fall to the ground; but a few more words from the painterrestored her, and at last the arrangements were made. As Mrs. DobbsBroughton's dear friend, Madalina Demolines had said, Mrs. DobbsBroughton liked a fevered existence. "What will Dobbs say?" sheexclaimed more than once. And it was decided at last that Dobbsshould know nothing about it as long as it could be kept from him."Of course he shall be told at last," said his wife. "I wouldn't keepanything from the dear fellow for all the world. But if he knew it atfirst it would be sure to get through Musselboro to your mother."

  "I certainly shall beg that Mr. Broughton may not be taken intoconfidence if Mr. Musselboro is to follow," said Clara. "And it mustbe understood that I must cease to sit immediately, whatever may bethe inconvenience, should mamma speak to me about it."

  This stipulation was made and conceded, and then Miss Van Siever wentaway, leaving the artist with Mrs. Dobbs Broughton. "And now, if youplease, Conway, you had better go too," said the lady, as soon asthere had been time for Miss Van Siever to get downstairs and out ofthe hall-door.

  "Of course you are in a hurry to get rid of me."

  "Yes, I am."

  "A little while ago I improperly said that some suggestion of yourswas nonsense and you rebuked me for my blunt incivility. Might not Irebuke you now with equal justice?"

  "Do so, if you will;--but leave me. I tell you, Conway, that in thesematters you must either be guided by me, or you and I must cease tosee each other. It does not do that you should remain here with melonger than the time usually allowed for a morning call. Clara hascome and gone, and you also must go. I am sorry to disturb you, foryou seem to be so very comfortable in that chair."

  "I am comfortable,--and I can look at you. Come;--there can be noharm in saying that, if I say nothing else. Well;--there, now I amgone." Whereupon he got up from his arm-chair.

  "But you are not gone while you stand there."

  "And you would really wish me to marry that girl?"

  "I do,--if you can love her."

  "And what about her love?"

  "You must win it, of course. She is to be won, like any other woman.The fruit won't fall into your mouth merely because you open yourlips. You must climb the tree."

  "Still climbing trees in the Hesperides," said Conway. "Love doesthat, you know; but it is hard to climb the trees without the love.It seems to me that I have done my climbing,--have clomb as high asI knew how, and that the boughs are breaking with me, and that I amlikely to get a fall. Do you understand me?"

  "I would rather not understand you."

  "That is no answer to my question. Do you understand that at thismoment I am getting a fall which will break every bone in my skin andput any other climbing out of the question as far as I am concerned?Do you understand that?"

  "No; I do not," said Mrs. Broughton, in a tremulous voice.

  "Then I'll go and make love at once to Clara Van Siever. There'senough of pluck left in me to ask her to marry me, and I suppose Icould manage to go through the ceremony if she accepted me."

  "But I want you to love her," said Mrs. Dobbs Broughton.

  "I daresay I should love her well enough after a bit;--that is, ifshe didn't break my head or comb my hair. I suppose there will be noobjection to my saying that you sent me when I ask her?"

  "Conway, you will of course not mention my name to her. I havesuggested to you a marriage which I think would tend to make youhappy, and would give you a stability in life which you want. It isperhaps better that I should be explicit at once. As an unmarriedman I cannot continue to know you. You have said words of late whichhave driven me to this conclusion. I have thought about it much,--toomuch, perhaps, and I know that I am right. Miss Van Siever has beautyand wealth and intellect, and I think that she would appreciate thelove of such a man as you are. Now go." And Mrs. Dobbs Broughton,standing upright, pointed to the door. Conway Dalrymple slowly tookhis Spanish hat from off the marble slab on which he had laid it, andleft the room without saying a word. The interview had been quitelong enough, and there was nothing else which he knew how to say witheffect.

  Croquet is a pretty game out of doors, and chess is delightful in adrawing-room. Battledoor and shuttlecock and hunt-the-slipper havealso their attractions. Proverbs are good, and cross questions withcrooked answers may be made very amusing. But none of these games areequal to the game of love-making,--providing that the players canbe quite sure that there shall be no heart in the matter. Any touchof heart not only destroys the pleasure of the game, but makes theplayer awkward and incapable and robs him of his skill. And thus itis that there are many people who cannot play the game at all. Adeficiency of some needed internal physical strength prevents theowners of the heart from keeping a proper control over its valves,and thus emotion sets in, and the pulses are accelerated, and feelingsupervenes. For such a one to attempt a game of love-making, is asthough your friend with the gout should insist on playing croquet. Asense of the ridiculous, if nothing else, should in either case deterthe afflicted one from the attempt. There was no such absurdity withour friend Mrs. Dobbs Broughton and Conway Dalrymple. Their valvesand pulses were all right. They could play the game without theslightest danger of any inconvenient result;--of any inconvenientresult, that is, as regarded their own feelings. Blind people cannotsee and stupid people cannot understand,--and it might be that Mr.Dobbs Broughton, being both blind and stupid in such matters, mightperceive something of the playing of the game and not know that itwas only a game of skill.

  When I say that as regarded these two lovers there was nothing oflove between them, and that the game was therefore so far innocent, Iwould not be understood as asserting that these people had no heartswithin their bosoms. Mrs. Dobbs Broughton probably loved her husbandin a sensible, humdrum way, feeling him to be a bore, knowing him tobe vulgar, aware that he often took a good deal more wine than wasgood for him, and that he was almost as uneducated as a hog. Yet sheloved him, and showed her love by taking care that he should havethings for dinner which he liked to eat. But in this alone there wereto be found none of the charms of a fevered existence, and thereforeMrs. Dobbs Broughton, requiring those charms for her comfort, playedher little game with Conway Dalrymple. And as regarded the artisthimself, let no reader presume him to have been heartless because heflirted with Mrs. Dobbs Broughton. Doubtless he will marry some day,will have a large family for which he will work hard, and will make agood husband to some stout lady who will be careful in looking afterhis linen. But on the present occasion he fell into some slighttrouble in spite of the innocence of his game. As he quitted hisfriend's room he heard the hall-door slammed heavily; then there wasa quick step on the stairs, and on the landing-place above the firstflight he met the master of the house, somewhat flurried, as itseemed, and not looking comfortable, either as regarded his person orhis temper. "By George, he's been drinking!" Conway said to himself,after the first glance. Now it certainly was the case that poor DobbsBroughton would sometimes drink at improper hours.

  "What the devil are you doing here?" said Dobbs Broughton to hisfriend the artist. "You're always here. You're here a doosed sightmore
than I like." Husbands when they have been drinking are very aptto make mistakes as to the purport of the game.

  "Why, Dobbs," said the painter, "there's something wrong with you."

  "No, there ain't. There's nothing wrong; and if there was, what'sthat to you? I shan't ask you to pay anything for me, I suppose."

  "Well;--I hope not."

  "I won't have you here, and let that be an end of it. It's all verywell when I choose to have a few friends to dinner, but my wife cando very well without your fal-lalling here all day. Will you rememberthat, if you please?"

  Conway Dalrymple, knowing that he had better not argue any questionwith a drunken man, took himself out of the house, shrugging hisshoulders as he thought of the misery which his poor dear playfellowwould now be called upon to endure.