I think he is and have never disguised my opinion

This preview shows page 7 - 9 out of 22 pages.

I think he is; and have never disguised my opinion about the “Transfiguration.” And all the time we talked, there were Clara’s eyes looking lucidly out from the dark corner in which she was sitting, working away at the stockings. The lucky fellow! They were in a dreadful state of bad repair when she came out to him at Rome, after the death of their father, the Reverend Miles Rumbold. George while at Rome painted “Caractacus;” a picture of “Non Angli sed Angeli,” of course; a picture of “Alfred in the Neat- herd’s Cottage,” seventy-two feet by forty-eight; (an idea of the gigantic size and Michael-Angelesque proportions of this picture may be formed, when I state that the mere muffin, of which the outcast king is spoiling the baking, is two feet three in diameter); and the deaths of Socrates, of Remus, and of the Christians under Nero respectively. I shall never forget how lovely Clara looked in white muslin, with her hair down, in this latter picture, giving herself up to a ferocious Carnifex (for which Bob Gaunter the of course not . how ridiculous a notion .
architect sat), and refusing to listen to the mild suggestions of an insinuating Flamen; which character was a gross caricature of myself. None of George’s pictures sold. He has enough to tapestry Trafalgar Square. He has painted since he came back to England “The flaying of Marsyas;” “The smothering of the little boys in the Tower;” “A plague scene during the great pestilence;” “Ugolino on the seventh day after he was deprived of victuals,” &c. For although these pictures have great merit, and the writhings of Marsyas, the convulsions of the little prince, the look of agony of St. Lawrence on the gridiron, &c., are quite true to nature, yet the subjects somehow are not agreeable; and if he hadn’t a small patrimony, my friend George would starve. Fondness for art leads me a great deal to this studio. George is a gentleman, and has very good friends, and good pluck too. When we were at Rome there was a great row between him and young Heeltap, Lord Boxmoor’s son, who was uncivil to Miss Rumbold; (the young scoundrel—had I been a fighting man I should like to have shot him myself!) Lady Betty Bulbul is very fond of Clara, and Tom Bulbul, who took George’s message to Heeltap, is always hanging about the studio. At least I know that I find the young jackanapes there almost every day; bringing a new novel, or some poisonous French poetry, or a basket of flowers, or grapes, with Lady Betty’s love to her dear Clara—a young rascal with white kids, and his hair curled every morning. What business has he to be dangling about George Rumbold’s premises, and sticking up his ugly pug-face as a model for all George’s pictures? Miss Clapperclaw says Bulbul is evidently smitten, and Clara too. What! would she put up with such a little fribble as that, when there is a man of intellect and taste who—but I won’t believe it. It is all the jealousy of women. SOME OF OUR GENTLEMEN.

  • Left Quote Icon

    Student Picture

  • Left Quote Icon

    Student Picture

  • Left Quote Icon

    Student Picture