The Interpreter: A Tale of the War

  LETTER I

  "Those were merry days, my dear Hal, when we used to hear the 'chimes atmidnight' with poor Brummell and Sir Benjamin;[#] very jolly times theywere, and I often think, if health and pockets could have stood it, Ishould like to be going the pace amongst you all still. And yet how fewof us are left. They have dropped off one by one, as they did the nightwe dyed the white rose red at the old place; and you, and I, and stanchold 'Ben,' were the only three left that could walk straight. Do youremember the corner of King-street, and 'Ben' stripped 'to the buff,' ashe called it himself, 'going-in' right royally at the tall fellow withthe red head? I never saw such right-and-lefters, I never thought hehad so much 'fight' in him; and you don't remember, Hal, but I do, how'the lass with the long locks' bent over you when you were floored, likeAndromache over a debauched Hector, and stanched the claret that wasflowing freely from your nostrils, and gave you gin in asmelling-bottle, which you sucked down as though it were mother's milk,like a young reprobate as you were; nor do you remember, nor do I veryclearly, how we all got back to 'The Cottage,' and finished with burntcuragoa, and a dance on the table by daylight. And now you and I areabout the only two left, and I am as near ruined as a gentleman can be;and you must have lost your pen-feathers, Hal, I should think, thoughyou were a goose that always could pick a living off a common, be itnever so bare. Well, we have had our fun; and after all, I for one havebeen far happier since than I ever was in those roystering days; but ofthis I cannot bear to speak."

  [#] The dandy's nickname for the Prince Regent.

  "Nor am I so much to be pitied now. I have got my colours and mysketch-book, after all; and there never was such a country as this for aman who has half an eye in his head. On these magnificent plains thelights and shades are glorious. Glorious, Hal, with a little red jaggedin here and there towards sunset, and the ghostly maize waving andwhispering, and the feathery acacias trembling in the lightest air, therusset tinge of the one and the fawn-coloured stems of the other meltingso softly into the neutral tints of the sandy soil. I could paint apicture here that should be perfectly true to Nature--nay, more naturalthan the old dame herself--and never use but two colours to do it all!I am not going to tell you what they are: and this reminds me of my boy,and of a want in his organisation that is a sad distress to me. Thechild has not a notion of colour. I was painting out of doorsyesterday, and he was standing by--bless him! he never leaves me for aninstant--and I tried to explain to him some of the simplest rudiments ofthe godlike art. 'Vere,' said I, 'do you see those red tints on the topsof the far acacias, and the golden tinge along the back of that brown oxin the foreground?' 'Yes, papa!' was the child's answer, with abewildered look. 'How should you paint them, my boy?' 'Well, papa, Ishould paint the acacias green, because they _are_ green, and'--here hethought he had made a decided hit--'I should put the red into the ox,for he is almost more red than brown.' Dear child! he has not aglimmering of colour; but composition, that's his forte; and drawing,drawing, you know, which is the highest form of the art. His drawing isextraordinary--careless, but great breadth and freedom; and I am certainhe could compose a wonderful picture, from his singular sensibility tobeauty. Young as he is, I have seen the tears stand in his eyes whencontemplating a fine view, or a really exquisite 'bit,' such as one seesin this climate every day. His raptures at his first glimpse of theDanube I shall never forget; and if I can only instil into him theprinciples of colour, you will see Vere will become the first painter ofthe age. The boy learns languages readily enough. He has picked up agood deal of Hungarian from his nurse. Such a woman, Hal! magnificent!Such colouring: deep brown tones, and masses of the richest grey hair,with superb, solemn, sunken eyes, and a throat and forehead tanned andwrinkled into the very ideal of a Canidia, or a Witch of Endor, or anyfine old sorceress, 'all of the olden time.' I have done her in chalks,and in sepia, and in oils. I adore her in the former. She is, I fancy,a good, careful woman, and much attached to Vere, who promises to be anexcellent linguist; but of this I cannot see the advantage. There isbut one pursuit, in my opinion, for an intellectual being who is notobliged to labour in the fields for his daily bread, and that is Art. Ihave wooed the heavenly maid all my life. To me she has been sparing ofher favours; and yet a single smile from her has gilded my path for manya long and weary day. She has beckoned me on and on till I feel I couldfollow her to the end of the world; she shielded me _in the dark hour_;she has brightened my lot ever since; she led me to nature, her grandreflection--for you know my theory, that art is reality, and nature butthe embodiment of art; she has made me independent of the frowns of thatother jade, Fortune, and taught me the most difficult lesson of all--tobe content. What is wealth? You and I have seen it lavished with bothhands, and its possessor weary, satiate, languid, and disgusted. Whatis rank? a mark for envy, an idol but for fools. Fame? a few orders ona tight uniform; a craving for more and more; even when we know thetastelessness of the food, to be still hungry for applause. Love? asting of joy and a heartache for ever. Are they not all vanity ofvanities? But your artist is your true creator. He can embody thenoblest aspirations of his mind, and give them a reality and a name.You, Hal, who are the most practical, unimaginative, business-likefellow that ever hedged a bet or drove a bargain, have had such dreamsbetwixt sleeping and waking as have given you a taste of heaven, andtaught you the existence of a fairy-land of which, to such as you, isonly granted a far-away and occasional glimpse. What would you give tobe able to embody such blissful visions and call them up at will? Letme have a camel's-hair brush, a few dabs of clay, and, behold! I am themagician before whose wand these dreams shall reappear tangibly,substantially, enduringly: alas! for mortal shortcomings, sometimes alittle out of drawing, sometimes a little hard and cold; but still, Hal,I can make my own world, such as it is, and people it for myself; nor doI envy any man on earth, except, perhaps, a sculptor. To have perfectedand wrought out in the imperishable marble the ideal of one's wholelife, to walk round it, and smoke one's cigar and say, 'This will lastas long as St. Paul's Cathedral or the National Debt, and this is mine,I made it'--must be a sensation of delight that even we poor painters,with our works comparatively of a day, can hardly imagine; but then,what we lose in durability we gain in reproduction: and so once more Irepeat, let who will be statesman, warrior, stock-jobber, or voluptuary,but give me the pallet and the easel, the _delire d'un peintre_, theline of beauty and the brush!

  "Can you wonder that I should wish my boy to tread the same path? Had Ibut begun at his age, and worked as I _should_ have worked, what might Ihave been now? Could I but make amends to him by leading him up the pathto real fame, and see Vere the regenerator of modern art, I should diehappy.

  "And now, Hal, I must ask you of your own pursuits and your ownsuccesses. I do not often see an English paper; but these are a finesporting people, with a dash of our English tastes and love ofhorseflesh; and in a small pothouse where we put up last week, in thevery heart of the Banat, I found a print of Flying Childers, and a_Bell's Life_ of the month before last. In this I read that yourMarigold colt was first favourite for the Derby, and I can only say thatI hope he will win, as fervently as I should have done some years back,when he would have carried a large portion of my money, or at least ofmy credit, on his back. I have also gathered that your shorthorns wonthe prize at the great cattle-show. 'Who drives fat oxen must himselfbe fat.' I trust, therefore, that you are flourishing and thriving;also, that Constance, the most stately little lady I ever beheld at twoyears old, still queens it at the Manor-house. I will write againshortly, but must leave off now, as my boy is calling me to go out. Hegrows more like his poor mother every day, especially about theeyes.--Adieu, Hal; ever yours,

  "PHILIP EGERTON."