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Not only is that the case, but it is evident that the painter of Knossos, the Minotaur city, and M. Boldini have experienced the same artistic impression, and have presented in their pictures the same significance of pose and the same form, from the tip of the nose to the ends of the fingers and the points of the toes thus revealing a sympathy reaching across many ages.
He followed her across the room to the Boldini portrait of herself, which was dazzling in its malicious flattery. "And here's a Nicholson," she said. Those three portraits were the most striking pictures in the salon, but there were others of at least equal value. "Are you interested in fans?" she demanded, and pulled down a switch which illuminated the interior of a large cabinet full of fans.
By good fortune George had seen a Renoir or two in Paris under the guidance of Mr. Enwright. They stared at the portrait together. "It's awfully distinguished," he decided, employing a useful adjective which he had borrowed from Mr. Enwright. "Isn't it!" she said, turning her wondrous complexion towards him, and admiring his adjective. "I have a Boldini too."
Her skirts went down to her feet and covered the skinny, colt-like appendages that had formerly made the denizens of the Gallery repress a smile. Her singing master was struck with the beauty of his pupil. As a tenor, Signor Boldini had had his hour of success back in the days of the Statuto, when Victor Emmanuel was still king of Piedmont and the Austrians were in Milan.
One is led to wonder whether this type of human female to-day expressed with such masterly skill by Boldini may not be at the back of the mind of a portion of the human race that which populated what are now the shores of the Mediterranean, and probably came there travelling northwards from the centre of Africa.
Boldini followed her everywhere, neglecting his lessons, in pursuit of this, his last depraved infatuation. "All for art, art for all!" He must enjoy the fruits of his creation, be present at the triumphs of his star pupil! So he said to Doctor Moreno; and that unsuspecting gentleman, thankful for this added courtesy of the master, would leave her more and more to the old satyr's care.
Watteau, Fragonard Fragonard especially, the exquisite and impudent are as gay, as spontaneous, as careless, as vivacious as Boldini. Boucher's goddesses and cherubs, disporting themselves in graceful abandonment on happily disposed clouds, outlined in cumulus masses against unvarying azure, are as unrestrained and independent of prescription as Monticelli's figures.
She was living at the most exorbitant hotel in all Mayfair. She had innumerable gowns and no necessity to buy jewels; and she also had, which pleased her most, the fine cheval-glass I have described. At the close of the Season, Paris claimed her for a month's engagement. Paris saw her and was prostrate. Boldini did a portrait of her.
Poor Leonora entered on a life of wrong through the open door, learning, at a single stroke, all the turpitude acquired by that shrivelled maestro during his long career back-stage. Boldini would have kept her a pupil forever. He could never find her just well enough prepared to make her debut. But hardly any money was coming from Spain now. Poor doña Pepa had sold everything her brother owned and a good deal of her own land besides. Only at the cost of painful stinting could she send him anything at all. The Doctor, through connections with itinerant directors and impresarios
"That fellow Boldini could not be fonder of my Leonora if she were his own daughter," the Doctor would say every time the maestro praised the beauty and the talent of his pupil and prophesied great triumphs for her.
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