United States or France ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
"Money's only excuse is to put beauty into circulation," was one of the axioms he laid down across the Sevres and silver of an exquisitely appointed luncheon-table, when, on a later day, I had again run over from Monte Carlo; and Mrs. Gisburn, beaming on him, added for my enlightenment: "Jack is so morbidly sensitive to every form of beauty." Poor Jack!
I HAD always thought Jack Gisburn rather a cheap genius though a good fellow enough so it was no great surprise to me to hear that, in the height of his glory, he had dropped his painting, married a rich widow, and established himself in a villa on the Riviera. "The height of his glory" that was what the women called it. I can hear Mrs.
Gisburn was rich; and it was immediately perceptible that her husband was extracting from this circumstance a delicate but substantial satisfaction. It is, as a rule, the people who scorn money who get most out of it; and Jack's elegant disdain of his wife's big balance enabled him, with an appearance of perfect good-breeding, to transmute it into objects of art and luxury.
It was not till three years later that, in the course of a few weeks' idling on the Riviera, it suddenly occurred to me to wonder why Gisburn had given up his painting. On reflection, it really was a tempting problem. To accuse his wife would have been too easy his fair sitters had been denied the solace of saying that Mrs. Gisburn had "dragged him down." For Mrs.
It met, in short, at every point the demand of lovely woman to be painted "strongly" because she was tired of being painted "sweetly" and yet not to lose an atom of the sweetness. "It's the last he painted, you know," Mrs. Gisburn said with pardonable pride. "The last but one," she corrected herself "but the other doesn't count, because he destroyed it." "Destroyed it?"
She couldn't bear the fact that, on varnishing days, one could always get near enough to see his pictures. Poor woman! She's just a fragment groping for other fragments. Stroud is the only whole I ever knew." "You ever knew? But you just said " Gisburn had a curious smile in his eyes. "Oh, I knew him, and he knew me only it happened after he was dead." I dropped my voice instinctively.
Gisburn was rich; and it was immediately perceptible that her husband was extracting from this circumstance a delicate but substantial satisfaction. It is, as a rule, the people who scorn money who get most out of it; and Jack's elegant disdain of his wife's big balance enabled him, with an appearance of perfect good-breeding, to transmute it into objects of art and luxury.
Gisburn drew back the window-curtains, moved aside a jardiniere full of pink azaleas, pushed an arm-chair away, and said: "If you stand here you can just manage to see it. I had it over the mantel-piece, but he wouldn't let it stay." Yes I could just manage to see it the first portrait of Jack's I had ever had to strain my eyes over!
It met, in short, at every point the demand of lovely woman to be painted "strongly" because she was tired of being painted "sweetly" and yet not to lose an atom of the sweetness. "It's the last he painted, you know," Mrs. Gisburn said with pardonable pride. "The last but one," she corrected herself "but the other doesn't count, because he destroyed it." "Destroyed it?"
The region where he lived is rich in legend, and not far away is the old market town of Gisburn, where Guy of that ilk fought with Robin Hood, and where, until the middle of the nineteenth century, a herd of the wild cattle of England roamed through the park.
Word Of The Day