Novelist Through Deep Waters.

Waikato Times, Volume XXX, Issue 2459, 14 April 1888, Page 1 (Supplement)

Novelist Through Deep Waters.

—« — l!v IXA LEON CASSILIS. Author of " lima Raphael, Actress," " the Vi.mig Wido-.vor," " -M. Ciidollci's Carpet i Jiu.i;," 1 (J 11A PTER 1. 'i .If 11 traveller were asked which i among the capitals of Europe lie i should single out as distinguished above its fellows for architectural or picturesque beauty, we fear that , London would he no more considered , out of the pale even of competition, and the election would proceed as though the greatest city in the world «'(:'•(■ non-existent. It would he difficult to deny the justice of such a banishment from the realms of artistic thought; for no one who lias .seen Home, Vienna, Florence, Venice, Berlin, or St. Petersburg, to mention 110 more than these, could fail to be painfully impressed with the ugliness of the great Babylon, as much-abused London has been somewhat inaptly termed. \et, speaking only of its architecture, London sailers more from its size (lian we think is generally conceded. We have handsome streets and squares at South Kensington, a stately thoroughfare 111 Pall Mall, and picturesque, houses and churches in plenty, scattered over a space of many miles, and tliG most critical will admit the claims of the magnificent group of buildings at Westminster, which the wide piazza formed by Palace Yard affords ample scope for viewing to advantage. Now, having said so much for and against the capital of the British Empire, we may go a step further on the road of defence, and assert that few foreign cities, out of Italy, v.'it'll its unrivalled picturesqueness o£ costume and variety of colouring in nature and in art.', can pi ('sent a more brilliant scene than that presented by Pall MiH 011 :l sunny afternoon in the early summer, when soi,lo exhibition of pictures or other attraction has lined the wide roadway with faultlessly - appointed equipages and turned the pavements into parterres of living flowers. To .-.aeh a .scene we would ask any sinister foreigner who imagines that he has left all beauty behind him, to accompany us, and we will pro-

I inise him, that if he will take his stand close to the entrance of I Messrs Angus' Fine Art Gallery on I a certain bright day towards the end of May, he will see more lovely faces in ten minutes than he could see in a month in the Champs Elysocs or the Unter den Linden. Some picture of more than ordinary merit, the work of some paintor of fashionable reputation, must have been "on view " to-day to lino Rail Mall with so many coroneted carriages. "Who could be the fortunate artist who had drawn to one spot that brilliant throng, whose work dukes and duchesses had braved the heat of a summer afternoon to come and see ? It might, after all, be nothing more than a group of children, or a portrait of the lovely countess of ■, painted by an artist who enjoys the summer-flower fame accorded to so many ; but among the crowd are many lights of the art world, painters, sculptors, dilettanti, men who would not cross the road to see a " fashionable" picture, but who have evidently come to-day to see something which will compensate for the penance of enduring a " crush " and running the gauntlet of aristocratic "How d'ye do's? We will, therefore, mount the wide staircase and enter the handsome rooms above, now one glitter of lace, silk and muslin. A handsome dark-painted brougham, drawn by a glossy chestnut, ; and driven by a coachman whose looks suggest the idea that he was hired to match the horse, has just drawn up on the opposite side of ■ tin? road, and two gentlemen alight- ( ing, cross over and enter the portals ■ of Messrs Angus. These gentlemen i we will follow. i The elder, a rather tall and certainly good-looking man, seemed 1 by his air and dress an aristocratic man of fashion ; but it was the fashion of the man of the world rather than of a ; fop ; then; was nothing of ■ the beau about him, the cold depth of eye and gravity of brow seemed to reject as contemptible j thoS" affectations which are essential ( characteristics of the dandy. His companion, evidently an artist, and , by appeareuce and ascent, a German, ( was talking eagerly and volubly as , the two men ascended the stairs, and only paused when the exhibi- , tion rooms were reached, and iiiiinc- , diately a small Lalaklava charge of ladies was made upon the Englishman, amid a silvery colours of " How do you do, Sir Selwyn'?' [ knew we should see you here,' etc. Sir Selwyn replied with well-bred j ease to the greetings with which he . was assailed, and deftly passing

through the ranks of his persecutors made his way slowly to the adjoining room, when; tho painting lie L had come to set; was hung. Hero a hopeless crush made, for a time, all locomotion impossible, and with n half shrug and smile Sir Sehvyn . consigned himself to a chair, and his companion, after inspecting a miniature of a dog's head, took up a position beside him. ' " We shall be able to get to the painting presently," said Sir Sehvyn. "Halt these people came because ' everybody else conies, and they would sLare as much if it were a grinning portrait of Lord or Lady ' Somebody. A great many of them only chatter, and come to look at others." The German laughed—■ 11 Well," lie said, " I am afraid that young ladies are not taught much about art; but then they must sec some beauty in such works as Catnbacerespaints—something above the pink and white of these halftrained painters." 11 Oh, yes 1 of course ; but there is a ' far cry,' as a Scotchman would say, between caring nothing at all about a picture and looking at it with anything like a real appreciation of its merits. Why, Elsinger, look here. Do you see that young lady over there with the yellow hail - —she wears a violet mantle? That is the Visconntes D . I met her last year at Florenee. I escorted her to Count Trevetto's Gallery, where Cambacorcs' painting of 'Noli me Tangere' was—you know the work—" " Ah," said the German, undei his breath, " Sublime." " Well," continued Sir Sehvyn, " She looked at it for a few moments, said it was ' very lovely,' and turned immediately to a portrait of the Countess Trevetto, "rowing enthusiastic over her velvet mantle. Now, why is such a woman as that here 1" " Whv, indeed 1" said Elsinger, lifting his hands, " but——" " Hulla, Grant-Faulkner !" interrupted a hearty voice close by, and a broad hand was laid on the Englishman's shoulder. "Sitting here instead of going to look at the painting 1 I had a light to get at it." And the speaker, a tall florid man of perhaps forty, re-arranged his tie, which bore marks of the ; struggle spoken of. ', " My dear Talbot," said Sir ' Sehvyn Grant-Faulkner, languidly, "•I cannot undertake to load a , forlorn hope to the picture. My l patience will soon be rewarded. t . The ladies will soon tire of the picture. I think you have met my | ' friend here before, Mr Elsinger." * " 1 have had that pleasure," said i Mr Talbot holding out his hand to ,' the German. " By jove, isn't this t room hot? I shall go out soon. Well, Faulkner, I think you will be '. rewarded ; I'm no great judge of

painting, but upon my word it is very beautiful." "So I suppose. Cambaceres could not turn out an inferior work if ho would." " You know him well ?" " Hardly. I met him two years ago in Rome. The handsomest fellow I ever saw. It's easy to see why the young ladies make such a fuss over him." "You are such a cynic," observed Elsiuger. " Lie is coming over here, .[ believe." " Genius passes over all those obstacles," said Elsiuger, " but that feeling may have kept him abroad hitherto. The English aristocracy will not forgive a bar—sinister." " Why should they !" said the baronet, his haughty face blushing slightly, " and though, for my part, I would throw open my doors to a man of such splendid genius, no matter what his birth—if he had one— to marry him; and Cola de Cambeccres is not the man to fling himself recklessly in the way of a young girl." •' He has a spotless name," said Elsinger; his honour is unblemished." "You misunderstand me : I do not speak against him, far from it; but a man with his fascinations may win hearts where he does not even seek them ; the more so because his position is so anomalous. He is, too anomalous. He is, to all intents and purposes, a perfect gentleman ; highly educated, exceptionally gifted, mixing in the best society, and yet he may not seek a wife among the people with whom lie associates daily. Can either he or they—-the younger one, at any rate —be expected to always recollect so fine a distinction." "I am afraid not," said Talbot, laughing; but the German remarked—

" I don't think he forgets it; and I think it is one of the finest traits in his character. When I saw him last lib was constantly at the palazzi of the grandees of Rome—all doors were open to him ; but I never saw him pa)' " attentions," as they are called, to the lovely Roman damsels. Even the Princess Teresa C'olonna, who captivated all hearts, never counted him among her admirers ; and it piqued her grievously, Coloniia though she be. I always believed myself that she would have forgiven his Creole birth." The subject of the work was one which has been treated before and often in art, but to which this painter seemed to have imported almost a new character—" The raising of Lazarus." With wonderful power he had grasped, with wonderful art he haci depicted, the dramatic force of that sublime scene. There were more than fifty faces in the picture i and every face was a study ; yet there was no pre Raphael ite minutiie : the harmony, the general effect, was as perfect as each detail was careful; and the rich, soft colouring, so rarely, alas ! seen in our day recalled—nay, more than recalled, the glories of Titians and Tintoretto and Dolce. The principal figure in the picture was, of course, that of the Redeemer. He stood with his right hand lifted, as in the act of command, having just pronounced the words, " Lazarus, come forth." And even Grant-Faulkner held his breath in looking on the solemn majesty of the face and form of the incarnate God ; and the German artist gazed, hushed, and awed, as though he had passed into the sanctuary of some noble cathedral. No art, unaided by love and worship, could have pourtrayed that fuce, on which, breaking through the shadow of approaching doom, rested the light of something more human. The artist had embodied visibly in the person of the chief actor in that scene the great doctrine conveyed in the judicial act—the man seen by the outward eye, the God commanding, the God obeyed. From the gloom of the grave Lnzaraus was rising " bound hand and foot with grave clothes," while close by a group of the apostles, having just rolled away the stone, stood and gazed in awe and wonder at what appeared an apparition. St. John, however, the beloved disciple, stood close to his Master, and looked, not to the risen Lazarus, but to him who had wrought the miracle. Martha, with clasped hands, pressed eagerly forward ; Mary knelt at the Saviour's feet, and like St. John, looked up to that sublime countenance in adoration. Around thronged tlio multitude; some crouching down in strange fear, some looking in terror, mingled with astonishment, 100 great to suffer terror to predominate ; here a stately rabbi tried in vain to hide the conviction that was forced upon him under a curling lip and frowning brow; there a Levite clutched the arm of a brother priest and pointed with trembling hand to the grave ; while a woman, whose child, forgotten in that moment, clung, frightened, to its mother's robe, turned, fascinated, even, from the sight of the risen corpse, to gaze with Mary and John on the great prophet who had wrought the miracle. Over all the glowing light of an eastern noon shed its brilliance, and lit up to glistening whiteness the flowing ■ robe of the Redeemer, ond deepened ' the rich hues of the violet mantle which was half falling from His [ shoulders, throwing into bolder rei lief by the contrast of colour the i more sombre raiment of thebeloved disciple, and the golden hair of the » kneeling Mary. E Long the German gazed in silence,

and when he spoke it was in a low j voice. " I have heard," he said, " that Christian art was dying. Such a work as this shows that it lives yet; it restores Era Angelico—it is a religion. The baronet was still silent. There was something, perhaps much here that he did not understand, and glancing from his face to that of the Redeemer in the work before him, the German artist drew his own conclusion. A vast gulf lay between the mind of this man of the world and tho mental atmosphere which surrounded the Divine founder of Christianity ; this picture might be to Grant-Faulkner a noble work of art, sublime drama, but its greatest beauties he could not fathom. " The richness, harmony, and grouping of colour," he said at length, " are something marvellous, and no man who had not been in the East could have painted that sky—that lurid glow." "Ho was, you know, fourteen years in the Holy Land" said Elsinger. "He painted a portion of this picture at Jerusalem " "He follows in the footsteps of mediaeval painters in his fondness for scripture subjects," said Sir Selwyn, with a very slight sneer. " Does he paint on his knees, like Fra Angelico ?" The German did not reply to this remark, and at that moment a voice near them said—

"We came to see inanimate pictures ; there is a living one. Jove ! what beauty ; look Hervey." Sir Selwyn and his companion turned instinctively. Two ladies were approaching the place where Cambacere's picture hung. Both were richly attired, and belonged by their looks and air to that fortunate section of the community which can botist of ancestors famed for deeds of " derring-do." The elder, a dark, haughty, and very handsome woman, once, perhaps, a belle, seemed about eight-and-thirty, though she was possibly over that age; the younger, Iter daughter apparently, although there was not the remotest resemblance between the two, might well have called forth the, involuntary exclamation of admiration overheard by the English baronet and the Gorman artist, for she possessed that rare and singular beauty which touches us as does some rich melody or harmony in music, and inspires us with a feeling higher than admiration, with actual reverence : a beauty that penetrates beyond the outward sense and commands the homage of intelligence. And yet the girl herself, though every head was turned to look after her, though whispers of admiration must surely have reached her ear, seemed unconscious or careless of the attention she attracted, and even when, as she drew eagerly near to the picture of the Spanish artist she mot Elsingor's full gaze of -wondering, though truly reverential admiration, she did not change colour, but only turned her large, soft hazel eyes to her mother's face, and said in a low voice— " There is the picture, madromia dolce."

" And here is Sir Selwyn GrantFaulkner," said the lady, and held out her daintily-gloved hand as Sir Selwyn advanced, adding, "Why, Sir Selwyn, it is so long since we have met that you seem quite a stranger ; you will hardly know Agnes again." " Has she forgotten me ?" asked the baronet, as the girl gave hiin her hand with a child's frankness of action and manner.

' " No," she said, in a sweet, clear voice,"l remember you quite well; it is only five years since I saw you, you know." "But five years mate a great difference in life when we are so young," said the baronet; "they have changed you from a child to— shall T say a woman ? " "No ; I don't think people are women at seventeen," said Agnes, with demure gravity. " Have you seen the picture, Sir Selwyn ?" " I have had tho pleasure ; you arc a worshipper of pictures; I remember you of old. Lady de Clifford, let me introduce you to Herr Elsinger, a German painter, whose name you have doubtless heard." He turned to speak to Elsinger, and Agnes catching a glimpse of the painting through an opening in the crowd, passed on, the loungers instinctively making room for her, and stood before the " Raising of Lazarus." She had seen the glories of Florence, of Bouie, of Dresden, and Munich; her whole life had been passed amid all that -was beautiful; yet she stood with parted lips and locked hands looking at this wonderful work, unconscious of the buzz and murmur of the crowd about her ; unconscious of many eyes that were watching her. Not golden-haired Mary bowing at His feet; not he, beloved above all the rest, gazed with deeper awe and reverence on the Divine countenance of the Master than did this child, looking through and beyond the painted image, piercing the vista of "ages and standing with His disciples—rather kneeling with Mary—before Him, by the grave of Lazarus. The girl's whole soul was in her face, and Elsinger looking at her, thought that not one whom ho had seen there that morning had paid so eloquent a tribute to L'ambaceres' art as this rapt, motionless figure, with its awe.d brow and intent eyes.

" It is a pity Cambaccres cannot sec that child," said Sir Sclwyn to Lady de Clifford. " Sho always loses her head among

pictures," answered Florence de Clifford ; " but really this work might excuse a less enthusiastic disciple of the fine arts than Agnes for forgetting anything else. And so Cambaceres is coming to England ?" "So it is announced among the wiseacres who know everything," said Grant-Faulkner. "I suppose that having received homage enough abroad, he is going to try how much he can obtain from the English." " Well, of course, he will bo well received ; too well received, perhaps for his vanity to stand the test." "It has stood the test of Italian appreciation—much more trying to an artist than the mere fashionable homage of such as these," said Sir Selwyn, glancing round at the throng that filled the room. Elsinger made his way up to the famous painting, and joined Agnes. She had not moved from the moment when she first paused before the work, but started a little when the German's voice fell on her ear. •' You pay the Senor Don Cola a great compliment by your admiration, Miss de Clifford." " He cannot need compliments," replied Agnes; " at any rate, not from such unlearned persons as I am. This is perfect." "It is perfect. I am free to confess as an artist that I feel disheartened ; still, every tree cannot be the king of the forest." " No," said Agnes, a little absently. She was still looking at the picture, and presently observed— " I shall come every day to see this. I saw ' Noli me Tangere ' at Florence, and I have seen ' Elijah and the Prophets of Baal," but I like this the best." " Yet, as a work, dramatically and artistically, I think the Elijah is equal to this," said Elsinger. " Yes, I know ; but in Elijah he had not the same difficulties to contend with which he has here; and has triumphed over them. I mean, in Elijah he had not to paint God Himself, as here." "You have perceived, I see," said Elsinger, " the critical part of the work ; the whole countenance and attitude of our Lord are truly wonderful. It is impossible to express in words what one feels or thinks in looking upon them."

" I have seen no picture like it yet," said Agnes—" have you ? " " Yes, by this same artist. Have you seen the altarpiece at Santa Maria dell a Salute, at L —, in Tuscany 1" " No ; but how came he to have a painting in so out-of-the-way a place 1" "It is a loss to the art-loving public, and, indeed, is so little known, that I know artists who have never heard of it. I came upon it by accident, and recognised Cambaceres at once, and the priest of Santa Maria told me how it came there. It is tho " Agony in the Garden." I could not describe to you that face, Miss de Clifford ; with this one before you, you can, perhaps, imagine it, to some extent, at any rate. The work came there through a coincidence which does honour to Cambaceres. He was most kindly entertained in travelling through L by the priest of Santa Maria, some years ago, when yet a youth, and falling dangerously ill, was nursed by the padre cura, with all a woman's care and tenderness. Don Cola was then a pupil of Morella, and lie told the priest that when he was able he would repay him, for the padre refused all pecuniary acknowledgment. One of Cambaceres' first works when he left Morella's atelier was the altar-piece of Santa Maria, and he took it himself to L , and placed it over the altar; so he does not forget a promise, nor a kindness, it seems. The picture, too, was never exhibited ; he seemed to look upon it as an offering, and would not have it regarded in any other light." " I should think he would do a thing like that," said Agnes, "if a man's works can be any index to his character; he seems, then, to look upon art more as the medieval painters did—-in something, at least, of a religious light." "In which he has your sympathy ?" " Is it not partly through the loss of that principle in modern times that so great a lack of the devotional tone of the middle ages is found in modern art?" said Agnes, half questioning, half asserting. " Perhaps you are right ; I have heard the charge made," said Elsinger, thoughtfully;_ "but it cannot be brought against Cambaceres."

"Talking art?" said the voice of Lady de Clifford; " time wanes, Agnes ; we must be leaving." "Oh! mndre mi a — a little longer." The little longer was nearly twenty minutes, and then Agnes tore herself away from the painting and joined her mother, who was still talking to Sir Selwyn GrantFaulkner. That gentleman escorted the ladies to their carriage, and then returned slowly to the gallery. He found Elsinger before the " Raising of Lazarus," and, touching him on the shoulder, asked, "What he thought of Agnes de Cliflbrd ?" " The question is superfluous, Sir Selwyn," said the painter, smiling, "but sho does not resemble her mother at all. She is an Italian—l never saw hair of that colour out of Italy, and the whole cast of feature and contour of face are Italian." " That is so ; and yet she has not, to my knowledge, any Italian blood nearer than her great grandmother,

who was a Colonna, and she (her portrait is at Clifford Ardeley, the Clifford's place) was one of the ebonhaired, black-eyed Italians." "It is strange," said Elsinger, " that she should take after a people of whose blood she has so little in her ; but she seems wonderfully innocent of her beauty." "She won't remain so long in a London season," said Sir Selwyn ; " she is just out, and already the bnaa viandf. is talking of nobody else ; she will certainly bo the belle. Come, unless you are, inclined to spend the day before that picture." " I wish I could ; but I have other engagements," and, with one more lingering glance at the painting, Elsinger linked his arm in that of Sir Selwyn, and the two men quitted the gallery. (To be continued.)