Chaste as Ice, Pure as Snow: A NovelDespard, C. (Charlotte)
General
Chaste as Ice, Pure as Snow: A Novel
Despard, C. (Charlotte)
Fiction
It was early in the afternoon of a bright May day. Even for that season
London seemed unusually crowded. In Regent street the difficulty was to
move forward at all, and in Pall Mall and the Strand matters were not
much better. Woe to the unlucky foreigners or country cousins who found
crossing the street an absolute necessity! They might have been seen
generally at the most crowded spots, shivering on the brink of what for
the moment was worse than the vague, shadowy Jordan of the pilgrims,
and too often submitting ignominiously to the guidance of that being
almost superhuman in his callous indifference to rattling wheels and
horses' heads--the policeman.
But in and about a certain corner of Charing Cross the crowd seemed
to culminate. To tell of the pedestrians of every shade and hue, the
carriages, the omnibuses, which kept up a constant stream in this
direction, would take volumes, for the Exhibition of the Royal Academy
had only been open a week, and had not, therefore, lost the first charm
of novelty.
Thither many were hastening, mostly ladies of the fashionable class,
gayly dressed in all the freshness of early summer coloring. But those
who thronged to the Royal Academy on this May afternoon were not all
of the fashionable class; there were besides some who went from a true
love of art, a patient thirst for the beautiful--pale students, whose
eyes had long grown used to dusky streets, and to whom the yearly
vision of the something that always lies beyond was a revelation and a
power; governesses and female artisans who had taken a holiday for the
express purpose of enjoying the image of that which hard reality had
denied to them. Many of these were shabbily dressed, and pallid from
the wasting effects of hard work and care; they enjoyed, however, more
perhaps than their brilliant sisters, who could glibly criticise this
style and that, with the true art-jargon and an appearance of intimate
knowledge, but to whom this, that charmed those others, was only a
matter of course, a somewhat tiresome routine, that must of necessity
be performed as a part of the season's work.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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