Diary fiction; England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Mystery fiction; Short stories, English
“Is this likeness wanted at once?” I asked, thinking of the number of
engagements that I had already got in my pocket.
“Immediately--to-day--this very hour, if possible,” said the landlord.
“Mr. Faulkner, the gentleman I am speaking of, was to have sailed
yesterday for the Brazils from this place; but the wind shifted last
night to the wrong quarter, and he came ashore again this morning. He
may of course be detained here for some time; but he may also be called
on board ship at half an hour’s notice, if the wind shifts back again
in the right direction. This uncertainty makes it a matter of importance
that the likeness should be begun immediately. Undertake it if you
possibly can, for Mr. Faulkner’s a liberal gentleman, who is sure to
give you your own terms.”
I reflected for a minute or two. The portrait was only wanted in chalk,
and would not take long; besides, I might finish it in the evening, if
my other engagements pressed hard upon me in the daytime. Why not leave
my luggage at the picture-dealer’s, put off looking for lodgings till
night, and secure the new commission boldly by going back at once with
the landlord to the hotel? I decided on following this course almost as
soon as the idea occurred to me--put my chalks in my pocket, and a sheet
of drawing paper in the first of my portfolios that came to hand--and
so presented myself before Mr. Faulkner, ready to take his likeness,
literally at five minutes’ notice.
I found him a very pleasant, intelligent man, young and handsome. He had
been a great traveler; had visited all the wonders of the East; and was
now about to explore the wilds of the vast South American Continent.
Thus much he told me good-humoredly and unconstrainedly while I was
preparing my drawing materials.
As soon as I had put him in the right light and position, and had seated
myself opposite to him, he changed the subject of conversation, and
asked me, a little confusedly as I thought, if it was not a customary
practice among portrait-painters to gloss over the faults in their
sitters’ faces, and to make as much as possible of any good points which
their features might possess.
“Certainly,” I answered. “You have described the whole art and mystery
of successful portrait-painting in a few words.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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