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Updated: June 18, 2025
His long and slim and flexible body, his long brown neck, his small head, covered with black hair which curled thickly, the expression in his generally smiling eyes, even his quiet gestures, his dreamy poses, his gait, his way of sitting down and of getting up, all conveyed, or seemed to convey, to those about him the fact that he was a boy.
But no two figures of the dance were alike on either. It was the same woman dancing, but the artist had chosen twenty different poses with which to immortalize his skill, and hers. Both lamps burned sweet oil with a wick, and each had a chimney of horn, not at all unlike a modern lamp-chimney. The horn was stained red.
So great was the talent of their inventor that, when he gave burlesques of the topics of the day, or presented the celebrities of the hour to his public, each figure would be recognized with a burst of delighted applause. The great Sarah was represented in poses of infinite humor, surrounded by her menagerie or receiving the homage of the universe.
This English poet of many poses and some vices the law had seized and flung into jail; and since the law is a thing so brutal and wicked that whoever is touched by it is made thereby a martyr and a hero, there had grown up quite a cult about the memory of "Oscar."
It is this which makes Rome so admirable a residence for an artist. All things are easy and careless in the out-of-doors life of the common people, all poses unsought, all groupings accidental, all action unaffected and unconscious. One meets Nature at every turn, not braced up in prim forms, not conscious in manners, not made up into the fashionable or the proper, but impulsive, free, and simple.
"I do if he spends his time sketching 'the Wielitzska' in half a dozen different poses instead of making plans for a garden city." Magda smiled involuntarily. "Does he do that?" she said. "But how ridiculous of him!" "It's merely indicative of his state of mind," returned Gillian. She gazed meditatively into the fire.
There is no nature in her expression: with her chin in the air she poses eternally as tender or disdainful, absent or haughty; all is affectation. . . . She is feared and hated by all who live in her society. Yet she has truth, courage, and honesty, and is such a mixture of good and evil that no steadfast opinion about her can be entertained.
His words never jarred, his views were vaguely comforting, based on accepted conventions, expressed in round, soft, lulling platitudes. His manner was serious, his movements deliberate, the great bulk of the shoulders looming up in unconscious but dramatic poses in the curiously uneven lighting of the shop.
"You don't seem to have made much progress." And his eyes travelled rather sombrely from Nan's face to that of the artist. "You must have a little patience, Trenby," replied Rooke pleasantly. "The start is the difficult part. Tell me" placing a couple of sketches on the easel as he spoke "which of those two poses do you like the better?"
"What in the world do you mean? Do you always think in poses? I take no attitude. I care for him, and in that proportion I intend that he shall have what he wants so far as I can help him to it. You have never cared for anybody what do you know about it?" Hilda took a calm, unprejudiced view of the ceiling. "I assure you I'm not an angel," she cried. "Haven't I cared! Several times."
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