Part 43 (2/2)

'I have not seen this portrait yet,' said Sleaford, as the carriage moved off; 'but Cyril Aylwin says it is magnificent, and if anybody knows what's good and what's bad it's Cyril Aylwin.'

'Do you know,' said my mother to me, 'I have taken vastly to this eccentric kinsman of ours? I had really no idea that a bohemian could be so much like a gentleman; but, of course, an Aylwin must always be an Aylwin.'

'Haw, haw!' laughed Sleaford to himself, 'that's good about Cyril Aylwin though--that's dooced good.'

'We shall see Wilderspin's great picture, ”Faith and Love,” at the same time,' I said, as we approached Chelsea; 'for Wilderspin tells me that he has borrowed it from the owner to make a replica of it.'

'That is very fortunate,' said my mother. 'I have the greatest desire to see this picture and its wonderful predella. Wilderspin is one of the few painters who revert to the predella of the old masters. He is said to combine the colour of him whom he calls ”his master” with the draughtsmans.h.i.+p and intellect of s.h.i.+elds, whose stained-gla.s.s windows the owner was showing me the other day at Eaton Hall; and do you know, Henry, that the painter of this wonderful ”Faith and Love” is never tired of declaring that the subject was inspired by your dear father?'

When we reached the studio the servant said that Mr. Wilderspin was much indisposed that afternoon, and was also just getting ready to go to Paris, where he was to join Mr. Cyril in his studio; 'but perhaps he would see us,'--an announcement that brought a severe look to my mother's face, and another half-suppressed 'Haw, haw!' from Sleaford's deep chest.

Mounting the broad old staircase, we found ourselves in the studio of the famous spiritualist-painter--one of two studios; for Wilderspin had turned two rooms communicating with each other by folding-doors into a sort of double studio. One of these rooms, which was of moderate size, fronted the north-east, the other faced the south-west. There were (as I soon discovered) easels in both. It was the smaller of these rooms into which we were now shown by the servant. The walls were covered with sketches and drawings in various stages, and photographs of sculpture.

'By Jove, that's dooced like!' said Sleaford, pointing to my mother's portrait, which was standing on the floor, as though just returned from the frame-maker's: 'ask Cyril Aylwin if it ain't when you see him.'

It was a truly magnificent painting, but more full of imagination than of actual portraiture.

One of the windows was open, and the noise of an anvil from a blacksmith's shop in Maud Street came into the room.

'Do you know,' said my mother in an undertone, 'that this strange genius can only, when in London, work to the sound of a blacksmith's anvil? Nothing will induce him to paint a portrait out of his own studio; and I observed, when I was sitting to him here, that sometimes when the noise from the anvil ceased he laid down his brush and waited for the hideous din to be resumed.

Wilderspin now came through the folding-doors, and greeted us in his usual simple, courteous way. But I saw that he was in trouble. 'The portrait will look better yet,' he said. 'I always leave the final glazing till the picture is in the frame.'

After we had thoroughly examined the portrait, we turned to look at a large canvas upon an easel. Wilderspin had evidently been working upon it very lately.

'That's ”Ruth and Boaz,” don't you know?' said Sleaford. 'Finest crop of barley I ever saw in my life, judgin' from the size of the sheaves. Barley paid better than wheat last year. So the farmers all say.'

'Don't look at it,' said Wilderspin. 'I have been taking out part of Ruth, and was just beginning to repaint her from the shoulders upwards. It will never be finished now,' he continued with a sigh.

We asked him to allow us to see 'Faith and Love.'

'It is in the next room,' said he, 'but the predella is here on the next easel. I have removed it from underneath the picture to work upon.'

'The head of Ruth has been taken out,' said my mother, turning to me: 'but isn't it like an old master? You ought to see the marvellous Pre-Raphaelite pictures at Mr. Graham's and Mr. Leyland's, Henry.'

'Pre-Raphaelites?' said Wilderspin, 'the Master rhymes, madam, and Burne-Jones actually _reads_ the rhymes! However, they are on the right track in art, though neither has the slightest intercourse with the spirit world, not the slightest.'

'My exploits as a painter have not been noticeable as yet,' I said; 'but an amateur may know what a barley-field is. That is one before us. He may know what a man in love is; Boaz there is in love.'

'I wish we could see the woman's face,' said Sleaford. 'A woman, you know, without a face--'

'Come and see the predella of ”Faith and Love,”' said Wilderspin, and he moved towards an easel where rested the predella, a long narrow picture without a frame. My mother followed him, leaving me standing before the picture of 'Ruth and Boaz.' Although the head of Ruth had been painted out, the picture seemed to throb with life. Boaz had just discovered the Moabitish maiden in the gleaming barley-field, as she had risen from stooping to glean the corn. Two ears of barley were in one hand. In the face of Boaz was an expression of surprise, and his eyes were alight with admiration. The picture was finished with the exception of the face of Ruth, which was but newly sketched in. Wilderspin had contrived to make her att.i.tude and even the very barley-ears in her hand (one of which was dangling between her slender fingers in the act of falling) express innocent perturbation and girlish modesty.

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