DOI article:
Dowie, Ménie Muriel: Wladlislaw's Advent
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.21805#0111
By Menie Muriel Dowie 107
Surely it was a striking achievement. I don’t think it occurred
to me then to reflect how large a practice Dufour had had with
the “ temptations ” realistically treated ; certainly he had a name
for the painting of them which no one could outdo ; and if his
new departure from the direction of gas and limelight to plein air
went well, there was everything to hope.
“ And when are you to go again ? ” I asked, as I scraped the
clay from my slippers on the wide door mat in our draughty
entresol.
“ Not for three days ; he goes out of town, to Nancy. On
Sunday night I go again, and am to pose in costume. He is to
have me after, every night for a week, while he draws only, to
choose his exact position ; after that, I have to give up some day-
light ; but it won’t matter, for I can join the evening dass
again for black and white. I have often thought of it, and
meant to.”
“ And you don’t think it* is going to tire you horribly—Stand-
ing and not saying anything ? ”
“ Tire ? Nothing could tire me. I could pose on one leg for
him like a Stork, for hours at a time, and never complain.”
“ I don’t think it likely that a position of that kind-” I
began ; but he Struck in :
“ But not if that woman is about. She makes me nervous.
You should see her hands : they are all white and swollen. When
I ran a thorn in my thumb and it swelled, it went like that—all
dead and cooked-looking.”
“Don’t!” I shouted. “Of course she won’t be there. It
isn’t likely he would have a servant about when he worked.”
“She isn’t a servant; she called him ‘Toni,’ and she took
hold-”
“ She was a model,” I said ; and Wladislaw, who was so head-
The Yellow Book—Vol. IV. g long
Surely it was a striking achievement. I don’t think it occurred
to me then to reflect how large a practice Dufour had had with
the “ temptations ” realistically treated ; certainly he had a name
for the painting of them which no one could outdo ; and if his
new departure from the direction of gas and limelight to plein air
went well, there was everything to hope.
“ And when are you to go again ? ” I asked, as I scraped the
clay from my slippers on the wide door mat in our draughty
entresol.
“ Not for three days ; he goes out of town, to Nancy. On
Sunday night I go again, and am to pose in costume. He is to
have me after, every night for a week, while he draws only, to
choose his exact position ; after that, I have to give up some day-
light ; but it won’t matter, for I can join the evening dass
again for black and white. I have often thought of it, and
meant to.”
“ And you don’t think it* is going to tire you horribly—Stand-
ing and not saying anything ? ”
“ Tire ? Nothing could tire me. I could pose on one leg for
him like a Stork, for hours at a time, and never complain.”
“ I don’t think it likely that a position of that kind-” I
began ; but he Struck in :
“ But not if that woman is about. She makes me nervous.
You should see her hands : they are all white and swollen. When
I ran a thorn in my thumb and it swelled, it went like that—all
dead and cooked-looking.”
“Don’t!” I shouted. “Of course she won’t be there. It
isn’t likely he would have a servant about when he worked.”
“She isn’t a servant; she called him ‘Toni,’ and she took
hold-”
“ She was a model,” I said ; and Wladislaw, who was so head-
The Yellow Book—Vol. IV. g long