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"A new neighbour for us all, Miss Woodhouse!" said Miss Bates, joyfully; "my mother is so pleased!--she says she cannot bear to have the poor old Vicarage without a mistress. This is great news, indeed. Jane, you have never seen Mr. Elton!--no wonder that you have such a curiosity to see him." 　　 Jane's curiosity did not appear of that absorbing nature as wholly to occupy her. 　　 "No--I have never seen Mr. Elton," she replied, starting on this appeal; "is he--is he a tall man?" 　　 "Who shall answer that question?" cried Emma. "My father would say `yes,' Mr. Knightley `no;' and Miss Bates and I that he is just the happy medium. When you have been here a little longer, Miss Fairfax, you will understand that Mr. Elton is the standard of perfection in Highbury, both in person and mind." 　　 "Very true, Miss Woodhouse, so she will. He is the very best young man--But, my dear Jane, if you remember, I told you yesterday he was precisely the height of Mr. Perry. Miss Hawkins,--I dare say, an excellent young woman. His extreme attention to my mother-- wanting her to sit in the vicarage pew, that she might hear the better, for my mother is a little deaf, you know--it is not much, but she does not hear quite quick. Jane says that Colonel Campbell is a little deaf. He fancied bathing might be good for it--the warm bath-- but she says it did him no lasting benefit. Colonel Campbell, you know, is quite our angel. And Mr. Dixon seems a very charming young man, quite worthy of him. It is such a happiness when good people get together--and they always do. Now, here will be Mr. Elton and Miss Hawkins; and there are the Coles, such very good people; and the Perrys--I suppose there never was a happier or a better couple than Mr. and Mrs. Perry. I say, sir," turning to Mr. Woodhouse, "I think there are few places with such society as Highbury. I always say, we are quite blessed in our neighbours.--My dear sir, if there is one thing my mother loves better than another, it is pork-- a roast loin of pork--"

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"I was with Mr. Cole on business an hour and a half ago. He had just read Elton's letter as I was shewn in, and handed it to me directly." 　　 "Well! that is quite--I suppose there never was a piece of news more generally interesting. My dear sir, you really are too bountiful. My mother desires her very best compliments and regards, and a thousand thanks, and says you really quite oppress her." 　　 "We consider our Hartfield pork," replied Mr. Woodhouse--"indeed it certainly is, so very superior to all other pork, that Emma and I cannot have a greater pleasure than---" 　　 "Oh! my dear sir, as my mother says, our friends are only too good to us. If ever there were people who, without having great wealth themselves, had every thing they could wish for, I am sure it is us. We may well say that `our lot is cast in a goodly heritage.' Well, Mr. Knightley, and so you actually saw the letter; well--" 　　 "It was short--merely to announce--but cheerful, exulting, of course."-- Here was a sly glance at Emma. "He had been so fortunate as to-- I forget the precise words--one has no business to remember them. The information was, as you state, that he was going to be married to a Miss Hawkins. By his style, I should imagine it just settled." 　　 "Mr. Elton going to be married!" said Emma, as soon as she could speak. "He will have every body's wishes for his happiness." 　　 "He is very young to settle," was Mr. Woodhouse's observation. "He had better not be in a hurry. He seemed to me very well off as he was. We were always glad to see him at Hartfield."

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contemporary painting
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　　 "No, not at Randalls; I have not been near Randalls," when the door was thrown open, and Miss Bates and Miss Fairfax walked into the room. Full of thanks, and full of news, Miss Bates knew not which to give quickest. Mr. Knightley soon saw that he had lost his moment, and that not another syllable of communication could rest with him. 　　 "Oh! my dear sir, how are you this morning? My dear Miss Woodhouse-- I come quite over-powered. Such a beautiful hind-quarter of pork! You are too bountiful! Have you heard the news? Mr. Elton is going to be married." 　　 Emma had not had time even to think of Mr. Elton, and she was so completely surprized that she could not avoid a little start, and a little blush, at the sound. 　　 "There is my news:--I thought it would interest you," said Mr. Knightley, with a smile which implied a conviction of some part of what had passed between them. 　　 "But where could you hear it?" cried Miss Bates. "Where could you possibly hear it, Mr. Knightley? For it is not five minutes since I received Mrs. Cole's note--no, it cannot be more than five-- or at least ten--for I had got my bonnet and spencer on, just ready to come out--I was only gone down to speak to Patty again about the pork--Jane was standing in the passage--were not you, Jane?-- for my mother was so afraid that we had not any salting-pan large enough. So I said I would go down and see, and Jane said, `Shall I go down instead? for I think you have a little cold, and Patty has been washing the kitchen.'--`Oh! my dear,' said I--well, and just then came the note. A Miss Hawkins-- that's all I know. A Miss Hawkins of Bath. But, Mr. Knightley, how could you possibly have heard it? for the very moment Mr. Cole told Mrs. Cole of it, she sat down and wrote to me. A Miss Hawkins--"

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Emma saw his anxiety, and wishing to appease it, at least for the present, said, and with a sincerity which no one could question-- 　　 "She is a sort of elegant creature that one cannot keep one's eyes from. I am always watching her to admire; and I do pity her from my heart." 　　 Mr. Knightley looked as if he were more gratified than he cared to express; and before he could make any reply, Mr. Woodhouse, whose thoughts were on the Bates's, said-- 　　 "It is a great pity that their circumstances should be so confined! a great pity indeed! and I have often wished--but it is so little one can venture to do--small, trifling presents, of any thing uncommon-- Now we have killed a porker, and Emma thinks of sending them a loin or a leg; it is very small and delicate--Hartfield pork is not like any other pork--but still it is pork--and, my dear Emma, unless one could be sure of their making it into steaks, nicely fried, as ours are fried, without the smallest grease, and not roast it, for no stomach can bear roast pork--I think we had better send the leg-- do not you think so, my dear?" 　　 "My dear papa, I sent the whole hind-quarter. I knew you would wish it. There will be the leg to be salted, you know, which is so very nice, and the loin to be dressed directly in any manner they like." 　　 "That's right, my dear, very right. I had not thought of it before, but that is the best way. They must not over-salt the leg; and then, if it is not over-salted, and if it is very thoroughly boiled, just as Serle boils ours, and eaten very moderately of, with a boiled turnip, and a little carrot or parsnip, I do not consider it unwholesome."

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"No," said Mr. Knightley, nearly at the same time; "you are not often deficient; not often deficient either in manner or comprehension. I think you understand me, therefore." 　　 An arch look expressed--"I understand you well enough;" but she said only, "Miss Fairfax is reserved." 　　 "I always told you she was--a little; but you will soon overcome all that part of her reserve which ought to be overcome, all that has its foundation in diffidence. What arises from discretion must be honoured." 　　 "You think her diffident. I do not see it." 　　 "My dear Emma," said he, moving from his chair into one close by her, "you are not going to tell me, I hope, that you had not a pleasant evening." 　　 "Oh! no; I was pleased with my own perseverance in asking questions; and amused to think how little information I obtained." 　　 "I am disappointed," was his only answer. 　　 "I hope every body had a pleasant evening," said Mr. Woodhouse, in his quiet way. "I had. Once, I felt the fire rather too much; but then I moved back my chair a little, a very little, and it did not disturb me. Miss Bates was very chatty and good-humoured, as she always is, though she speaks rather too quick. However, she is very agreeable, and Mrs. Bates too, in a different way. I like old friends; and Miss Jane Fairfax is a very pretty sort of young lady, a very pretty and a very well-behaved young lady indeed. She must have found the evening agreeable, Mr. Knightley, because she had Emma." 　　 "True, sir; and Emma, because she had Miss Fairfax."

Madonna Litta

Madonna Litta
jesus christ on the cross
klimt painting the kiss
leonardo da vinci self portrait
　　 "Whoever might be her parents," said Mr. Knightley, "whoever may have had the charge of her, it does not appear to have been any part of their plan to introduce her into what you would call good society. After receiving a very indifferent education she is left in Mrs. Goddard's hands to shift as she can;--to move, in short, in Mrs. Goddard's line, to have Mrs. Goddard's acquaintance. Her friends evidently thought this good enough for her; and it was good enough. She desired nothing better herself. Till you chose to turn her into a friend, her mind had no distaste for her own set, nor any ambition beyond it. She was as happy as possible with the Martins in the summer. She had no sense of superiority then. If she has it now, you have given it. You have been no friend to Harriet Smith, Emma. Robert Martin would never have proceeded so far, if he had not felt persuaded of her not being disinclined to him. I know him well. He has too much real feeling to address any woman on the haphazard of selfish passion. And as to conceit, he is the farthest from it of any man I know. Depend upon it he had encouragement." 　　 It was most convenient to Emma not to make a direct reply to this assertion; she chose rather to take up her own line of the subject again.

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Naiade oil painting
madonna with the yarnwinder painting
Mother and Child
My Sweet Rose painting
I cannot help wondering at your knowing so little of Emma as to say any such thing. What! think a farmer, (and with all his sense and all his merit Mr. Martin is nothing more,) a good match for my intimate friend! Not regret her leaving Highbury for the sake of marrying a man whom I could never admit as an acquaintance of my own! I wonder you should think it possible for me to have such feelings. I assure you mine are very different. I must think your statement by no means fair. You are not just to Harriet's claims. They would be estimated very differently by others as well as myself; Mr. Martin may be the richest of the two, but he is undoubtedly her inferior as to rank in society.--The sphere in which she moves is much above his.--It would be a degradation." 　　 "A degradation to illegitimacy and ignorance, to be married to a respectable, intelligent gentleman-farmer!" 　　 "As to the circumstances of her birth, though in a legal sense she may be called Nobody, it will not hold in common sense. She is not to pay for the offence of others, by being held below the level of those with whom she is brought up.--There can scarcely be a doubt that her father is a gentleman--and a gentleman of fortune.--Her allowance is very liberal; nothing has ever been grudged for her improvement or comfort.--That she is a gentleman's daughter, is indubitable to me; that she associates with gentlemen's daughters, no one, I apprehend, will deny.--She is superior to Mr. Robert Martin."

precious time

precious time
Nighthawks Hopper
Nude on the Beach
One Moment in Time
She is known only as parlour-boarder at a common school. She is not a sensible girl, nor a girl of any information. She has been taught nothing useful, and is too young and too simple to have acquired any thing herself. At her age she can have no experience, and with her little wit, is not very likely ever to have any that can avail her. She is pretty, and she is good tempered, and that is all. My only scruple in advising the match was on his account, as being beneath his deserts, and a bad connexion for him. I felt that, as to fortune, in all probability he might do much better; and that as to a rational companion or useful helpmate, he could not do worse. But I could not reason so to a man in love, and was willing to trust to there being no harm in her, to her having that sort of disposition, which, in good hands, like his, might be easily led aright and turn out very well. The advantage of the match I felt to be all on her side; and had not the smallest doubt (nor have I now) that there would be a general cry-out upon her extreme good luck. Even your satisfaction I made sure of. It crossed my mind immediately that you would not regret your friend's leaving Highbury, for the sake of her being settled so well. I remember saying to myself, `Even Emma, with all her partiality for Harriet, will think this a good match.'"

Rembrandt Biblical Scene

Rembrandt Biblical Scene
Red Hat Girl
Red Nude painting
Regatta At Argenteuil
　　 "Then she is a greater simpleton than I ever believed her. What is the foolish girl about?" 　　 "Oh! to be sure," cried Emma, "it is always incomprehensible to a man that a woman should ever refuse an offer of marriage. A man always imagines a woman to be ready for any body who asks her." 　　 "Nonsense! a man does not imagine any such thing. But what is the meaning of this? Harriet Smith refuse Robert Martin? madness, if it is so; but I hope you are mistaken." 　　 "I saw her answer!--nothing could be clearer." 　　 "You saw her answer!--you wrote her answer too. Emma, this is your doing. You persuaded her to refuse him." 　　 "And if I did, (which, however, I am far from allowing) I should not feel that I had done wrong. Mr. Martin is a very respectable young man, but I cannot admit him to be Harriet's equal; and am rather surprized indeed that he should have ventured to address her. By your account, he does seem to have had some scruples. It is a pity that they were ever got over." 　　 "Not Harriet's equal!" exclaimed Mr. Knightley loudly and warmly; and with calmer asperity, added, a few moments afterwards, "No, he is not her equal indeed, for he is as much her superior in sense as in situation. Emma, your infatuation about that girl blinds you. What are Harriet Smith's claims, either of birth, nature or education, to any connexion higher than Robert Martin? She is the natural daughter of nobody knows whom, with probably no settled provision at all, and certainly no respectable relations.

seated nude

seated nude
Rembrandt The Jewish Bride
Return of the Prodigal Son
Samson And Delilah
both as son and brother. I had no hesitation in advising him to marry. He proved to me that he could afford it; and that being the case, I was convinced he could not do better. I praised the fair lady too, and altogether sent him away very happy. If he had never esteemed my opinion before, he would have thought highly of me then; and, I dare say, left the house thinking me the best friend and counsellor man ever had. This happened the night before last. Now, as we may fairly suppose, he would not allow much time to pass before he spoke to the lady, and as he does not appear to have spoken yesterday, it is not unlikely that he should be at Mrs. Goddard's to-day; and she may be detained by a visitor, without thinking him at all a tiresome wretch." 　　 "Pray, Mr. Knightley," said Emma, who had been smiling to herself through a great part of this speech, "how do you know that Mr. Martin did not speak yesterday?" 　　 "Certainly," replied he, surprized, "I do not absolutely know it; but it may be inferred. Was not she the whole day with you?" 　　 "Come," said she, "I will tell you something, in return for what you have told me. He did speak yesterday--that is, he wrote, and was refused." 　　 This was obliged to be repeated before it could be believed; and Mr. Knightley actually looked red with surprize and displeasure, as he stood up, in tall indignation, and said,

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"Do you think so?" replied he. "I cannot agree with you. It appears to me a most perfect resemblance in every feature. I never saw such a likeness in my life. We must allow for the effect of shade, you know." 　　 "You have made her too tall, Emma," said Mr. Knightley. 　　 Emma knew that she had, but would not own it; and Mr. Elton warmly added, 　　 "Oh no! certainly not too tall; not in the least too tall. Consider, she is sitting down--which naturally presents a different--which in short gives exactly the idea--and the proportions must be preserved, you know. Proportions, fore-shortening.--Oh no! it gives one exactly the idea of such a height as Miss Smith's. Exactly so indeed!" 　　 "It is very pretty," said Mr. Woodhouse. "So prettily done! Just as your drawings always are, my dear. I do not know any body who draws so well as you do. The only thing I do not thoroughly like is, that she seems to be sitting out of doors, with only a little shawl over her shoulders--and it makes one think she must catch cold." 　　 "But, my dear papa, it is supposed to be summer; a warm day in summer. Look at the tree." 　　 "But it is never safe to sit out of doors, my dear."

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"Well," said the still waiting Harriet;--" well--and-- and what shall I do?" 　　 "What shall you do! In what respect? Do you mean with regard to this letter?" 　　 "Yes." 　　 "But what are you in doubt of? You must answer it of course--and speedily." 　　 "Yes. But what shall I say? Dear Miss Woodhouse, do advise me." 　　 "Oh no, no! the letter had much better be all your own. You will express yourself very properly, I am sure. There is no danger of your not being intelligible, which is the first thing. Your meaning must be unequivocal; no doubts or demurs: and such expressions of gratitude and concern for the pain you are inflicting as propriety requires, will present themselves unbidden to your mind, I am persuaded. You need not be prompted to write with the appearance of sorrow for his disappointment." 　　 "You think I ought to refuse him then," said Harriet, looking down. 　　 "Ought to refuse him! My dear Harriet, what do you mean? Are you in any doubt as to that? I thought--but I beg your pardon, perhaps I have been under a mistake. I certainly have been misunderstanding you, if you feel in doubt as to the purport of your answer. I had imagined you were consulting me only as to the wording of it." 　　 Harriet was silent. With a little reserve of manner, Emma continued:

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Will you read the letter?" cried Harriet. "Pray do. I'd rather you would." 　　 Emma was not sorry to be pressed. She read, and was surprized. The style of the letter was much above her expectation. There were not merely no grammatical errors, but as a composition it would not have disgraced a gentleman; the language, though plain, was strong and unaffected, and the sentiments it conveyed very much to the credit of the writer. It was short, but expressed good sense, warm attachment, liberality, propriety, even delicacy of feeling. She paused over it, while Harriet stood anxiously watching for her opinion, with a "Well, well," and was at last forced to add, "Is it a good letter? or is it too short?" 　　 "Yes, indeed, a very good letter," replied Emma rather slowly--"so good a letter, Harriet, that every thing considered, I think one of his sisters must have helped him. I can hardly imagine the young man whom I saw talking with you the other day could express himself so well, if left quite to his own powers, and yet it is not the style of a woman; no, certainly, it is too strong and concise; not diffuse enough for a woman. No doubt he is a sensible man, and I suppose may have a natural talent for--thinks strongly and clearly--and when he takes a pen in hand, his thoughts naturally find proper words. It is so with some men. Yes, I understand the sort of mind. Vigorous, decided, with sentiments to a certain point, not coarse. A better written letter, Harriet (returning it,) than I had expected."

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flower field painting
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The very day of Mr. Elton's going to London produced a fresh occasion for Emma's services towards her friend. Harriet had been at Hartfield, as usual, soon after breakfast; and, after a time, had gone home to return again to dinner: she returned, and sooner than had been talked of, and with an agitated, hurried look, announcing something extraordinary to have happened which she was longing to tell. Half a minute brought it all out. She had heard, as soon as she got back to Mrs. Goddard's, that Mr. Martin had been there an hour before, and finding she was not at home, nor particularly expected, had left a little parcel for her from one of his sisters, and gone away; and on opening this parcel, she had actually found, besides the two songs which she had lent Elizabeth to copy, a letter to herself; and this letter was from him, from Mr. Martin, and contained a direct proposal of marriage. "Who could have thought it? She was so surprized she did not know what to do. Yes, quite a proposal of marriage; and a very good letter, at least she thought so. And he wrote as if he really loved her very much--but she did not know--and so, she was come as fast as she could to ask Miss Woodhouse what she should do.--" Emma was half-ashamed of her friend for seeming so pleased and so doubtful. 　　 "Upon my word," she cried, "the young man is determined not to lose any thing for want of asking. He will connect himself well if he can."

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impressionism monet painting
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You, sir, may say any thing," cried Mr. Elton, "but I must confess that I regard it as a most happy thought, the placing of Miss Smith out of doors; and the tree is touched with such inimitable spirit! Any other situation would have been much less in character. The naivete of Miss Smith's manners--and altogether--Oh, it is most admirable! I cannot keep my eyes from it. I never saw such a likeness." 　　 The next thing wanted was to get the picture framed; and here were a few difficulties. It must be done directly; it must be done in London; the order must go through the hands of some intelligent person whose taste could be depended on; and Isabella, the usual doer of all commissions, must not be applied to, because it was December, and Mr. Woodhouse could not bear the idea of her stirring out of her house in the fogs of December. But no sooner was the distress known to Mr. Elton, than it was removed. His gallantry was always on the alert. "Might he be trusted with the commission, what infinite pleasure should he have in executing it! he could ride to London at any time. It was impossible to say how much he should be gratified by being employed on such an errand." 　　 "He was too good!--she could not endure the thought!-- she would not give him such a troublesome office for the world,"--brought on the desired repetition of entreaties and assurances,--and a very few minutes settled the business.

Naiade oil painting

Naiade oil painting
madonna with the yarnwinder painting
Mother and Child
My Sweet Rose painting
The night wore out, and, as he stood upon the bridge listening to the water as it splashed the river-walls of the Island of Paris, where the picturesque confusion of houses and cathedral shone bright in the light of the moon, the day came coldly, looking like a dead face out of the sky. Then, the night, with the moon and the stars, turned pale and died, and for a little while it seemed as if Creation were delivered over to Death's dominion. ¡¡¡¡But, the glorious sun, rising, seemed to strike those words, that burden of the night, straight and warm to his heart in its long bright rays. And looking along them, with reverently shaded eyes, a bridge of light appeared to span the air between him and the sun, while the river sparkled under it. ¡¡¡¡The strong tide, so swift, so deep, and certain, was like a congenial friend, in the morning stillness He walked by the stream, far from the houses, and in the light and warmth of the sun fell asleep on the bank. When he awoke and was afoot again, he lingered there yet a little longer, watching an eddy that turned and turned purposeless, until the stream absorbed it, and carried it on to the sea.- "Like me!" ¡¡¡¡A trading-boat, with a sail of the softened colour of a dead leaf, then glided into his view, floated by him, and died away. As its silent track in the water disappeared, the prayer that had broken up out of his heart for a merciful consideration of all his poor blindnesses and errors, ended in the words, "I am the resurrection and the life." ¡¡¡¡Mr. Lorry was already out when he got back, and it was easy to surmise where the good old man was gone. Sydney Carton drank nothing but a little coffee, ate some bread, and, having washed and changed to refresh himself, went out to the place of trial.

Vermeer Girl with a Red Hat

Red Hat Girl
Vermeer Girl with a Red Hat
Nude on the Beach
One Moment in Time
¡¡¡¡With a solemn interest in the lighted windows where the people were going to rest, forgetful through a few calm hours of the horrors surrounding them; in the towers of the churches, where no prayers were said, for the popular revulsion had even travelled that length of self-destruction from years of priestly impostors, plunderers, and profligates; in the distant burial-places, reserved, as they wrote upon the gates, for Eternal Sleep; in the abounding gaols; and in the streets along which the sixties rolled to a death which had become so common and material, that no sorrowful story of a haunting Spirit ever arose among the people out of all the working of the Guillotine; with a solemn interest in the whole life and death of the city settling down to its short nightly pause in fury; Sydney Carton crossed the Seine again for the lighter streets. ¡¡¡¡Few coaches were abroad, for riders in coaches were liable to be suspected, and gentility hid its head in red nightcaps, and put on heavy shoes, and trudged. But, the theatres were all well filled, and the people poured cheerfully out as he passed, and went chatting home. At one of the theatre doors, there was a little girl with a mother, looking for a way across the street through the mud. He carried the child over, and before the timid arm was loosed from his neck asked her for a kiss. ¡¡¡¡"I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me, shall never die." ¡¡¡¡Now, that the streets were quiet, and the night wore on, the words were in the echoes of his feet, and were in the air. Perfectly calm and steady, he sometimes repeated them to himself as he walked; but, he heard them always.

Rembrandt The Jewish Bride

Rembrandt The Jewish Bride
Red Nude painting
Regatta At Argenteuil
Rembrandt Biblical Scene
¡¡¡¡Certain small packets were made and given to him. He put them, one by one, in the breast of his inner coat, counted out the money for them, and deliberately left the shop. "There is nothing more to do," said he, glancing upward at the moon, "until to-morrow. I can't sleep." ¡¡¡¡It was not a reckless manner, the manner in which he said these words aloud under the fast-sailing clouds, nor was it more expressive of negligence than defiance. It was the settled manner of a tired man, who had wandered and struggled and got lost, but who at length struck into his road and saw its end. ¡¡¡¡Long ago, when he had been famous among his earliest competitors as a youth of great promise, he had his father to the grave. His mother had died, years before. These solemn words, which had been read at his father's grave, arose in his mind as he went down the dark streets, among the heavy shadows, with the moon and the clouds sailing on high above him. "I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me, shall never die." ¡¡¡¡In a city dominated by the axe, alone at night, with natural sorrow rising in him for the sixty-three who had been that day put to death, and for to-morrow's victims then awaiting their doom in the prisons, and still of to-morrow's and to-morrow's, the chain of association that brought the words home, like a rusty old ship's anchor from the deep, might have been easily found. He did not seek it, but repeated them and went on.

Spring Breeze

Spring Breeze
Return of the Prodigal Son
Samson And Delilah
seated nude
¡¡¡¡As the grinning little man held out the pipe he was smoking, to explain how he timed the executioner, Carton was so sensible of a rising desire to strike the life out of him, that he turned away. ¡¡¡¡"But you are not English," said the wood-sawyer, "though you wear English dress?" ¡¡¡¡"Yes," said Carton, pausing again, and answering over his shoulder. ¡¡¡¡"You speak like a Frenchman." ¡¡¡¡"I am an old student here." ¡¡¡¡"Aha, a perfect Frenchman! Good night, Englishman." ¡¡¡¡"Good night, citizen." ¡¡¡¡"But go and see that droll dog," the little man persisted, calling after him. "And take a pipe with you!" ¡¡¡¡Sydney had not gone far out of sight, when he stopped in the middle of the street under a glimmering lamp, and wrote with his pencil on a scrap of paper. Then, traversing with the decided step of one who remembered the way well, several dark and dirty streets- much dirtier than usual, for the best public thoroughfares remained uncleansed in those times of terror-he stopped at a chemist's shop, which the owner was closing with his own hands. A small, dim, crooked shop, kept in a tortuous, up-hill thoroughfare, by a small, dim, crooked man. ¡¡¡¡Giving this citizen, too, good night, as he confronted him at his counter, he laid the scrap of paper before him. "Whew!" the chemist whistled softly, as he read it. "Hi! hi! hi!" ¡¡¡¡Sydney Carton took no heed, and the chemist said: ¡¡¡¡"For you, citizen?" ¡¡¡¡"For me." ¡¡¡¡"You will be careful to keep them separate, citizen? You know the consequences of mixing them?" ¡¡¡¡"Perfectly."

The British Are Coming

The British Are Coming
Sweet Nothings
The Abduction of Psyche
I'll walk with you to her gate. You know my vagabond and restless habits. If I should prowl about the streets a long time, don't be uneasy; I shall reappear in the morning. You go to the Court to-morrow?" ¡¡¡¡"Yes, unhappily." ¡¡¡¡"I shall be there, but only as one of the crowd. My Spy will find a place for me. Take my arm, sir." ¡¡¡¡Mr. Lorry did so, and they went down-stairs and out in the streets. A few minutes brought them to Mr. Lorry's destination. Carton left him there; but lingered at a little distance, and turned back to the gate again when it was shut, and touched it. He had heard of her going to the prison every day. "She came out here," he said, looking about him, "turned this way, must have trod on these stones often. Let me follow in her steps." ¡¡¡¡It was ten o'clock at night when he stood before the prison of La Force, where she had stood hundreds of times. A little wood-sawyer, having closed his shop, was smoking his pipe at his shop-door. ¡¡¡¡"Good night, citizen," said Sydney Carton, pausing in going by; for, the man eyed him inquisitively. ¡¡¡¡"Good night, citizen." ¡¡¡¡"How goes the Republic?" ¡¡¡¡"You mean the Guillotine. Not ill. Sixty-three to-day. We shall mount to a hundred soon. Samson and his men complain sometimes, of being exhausted. Ha, ha, ha! He is so droll, that Samson. Such a Barber!" ¡¡¡¡"Do you often go to see him--" ¡¡¡¡"Shave? Always. Every day. What a barber! You have seen him at work?" ¡¡¡¡"Never." ¡¡¡¡"Go and see him when he has a good batch. Figure this to yourself, citizen; he shaved the sixty-three to-day, in less than two pipes! Less than two pipes. Word of honour!"

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¡¡¡¡It was a poorer hand than he suspected. Mr. Barsad saw losing cards in it that Sydney Carton knew nothing of. Thrown out of his honourable employment in England, through too much unsuccessful hard swearing there- not because he was not wanted there; our English reasons for vaunting our superiority to secrecy and spies are of very modern date- he knew that he had crossed the Channel, and accepted service in France: first, as a tempter and an eavesdropper among his own countrymen there: gradually, as a tempter and an eavesdropper among the natives. He knew that under the overthrown government he had been a spy upon Saint Antoine and Defarge's wine-shop; had received from the watchful police such heads of information concerning Doctor Manette's imprisonment, release, and history, as should serve him for an introduction to familiar conversation with the Defarges; and tried them on Madame Defarge, and had broken down with them signally. He always remembered with fear and trembling, that that terrible woman had knitted when he talked with her, and had looked ominously at him as her fingers moved. He had since seen her, in the Section of Saint Antoine, over and over again produce her knitted registers, and denounce people whose lives the guillotine then surely swallowed up. He knew, as every one employed as he was did, that he was never safe; that flight was impossible; that he was tied fast under the shadow of the axe; and that in spite of his utmost tergiversation and treachery in furtherance of the reigning terror, a word might bring it down upon him. Once denounced, and on such grave grounds as had just now been suggested to his mind, he foresaw that the dreadful woman of whose unrelenting character he had seen many proofs, would produce against him that fatal register, and would quash his last chance of life. Besides that all secret men are men soon terrified, here were surely cards enough of one black suit, to justify the holder in growing rather livid as he turned them over. ¡¡¡¡"You scarcely seem to like your hand," said Sydney, with the greatest composure. "Do you play?"

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¡¡¡¡"You need have good cards, sir," said the spy. ¡¡¡¡"I'll ran them over. I'll see what I hold,- Mr. Lorry, you know what a brute I am; I wish you'd give me a little brandy." ¡¡¡¡It was put before him, and he drank off a glassful-drank off another glassful- pushed the bottle thoughtfully away. ¡¡¡¡"Mr. Barsad," he went on, in the tone of one who really was looking over a hand at cards: "Sheep of the prisons, emissary of Republican committees, now turnkey, now prisoner, always spy and secret informer, so much the more valuable here for being English that an Englishman is less open to suspicion of subornation in those characters than a Frenchman, represents himself to his employers under a false name. That's a very good card. Mr. Barsad, now in the employ of the republican French government, was formerly in the employ of the aristocratic English government, the enemy of France and freedom. That's an excellent card. Inference clear as day in this region of suspicion, that Mr. Barsad, still in the pay of the aristocratic English government, is the spy of Pitt, the treacherous foe of the Republic crouching in its bosom, the English traitor and agent of all mischief so much spoken of and so difficult to find. That's a card not to be beaten. Have you followed my hand, Mr. Barsad?" ¡¡¡¡"Not to understand your play," returned the spy, somewhat uneasily. ¡¡¡¡"I play my Ace, Denunciation of Mr. Barsad to the nearest Section Committee. Look over your hand, Mr. Barsad, and see what you have. Don't hurry." ¡¡¡¡He drew the bottle near, poured out another glassful of brandy, and drank it off. He saw that the spy was fearful of his drinking himself into a fit state for the immediate denunciation of him. Seeing it, he poured out and drank another glassful. ¡¡¡¡"Look over your hand carefully, Mr. Barsad. Take time."

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¡¡¡¡Struck with consternation, the old gentleman exclaimed, "What do you tell me! I left him safe and free within these two hours, and am about to return to him!" ¡¡¡¡"Arrested for all that. When was it done, Mr. Barsad?" ¡¡¡¡"Just now, if at all." ¡¡¡¡"Mr. Barsad is the best authority possible, sir," said Sydney, "and I have it from Mr. Barsad's communication to a friend and brother Sheep over a bottle of wine, that the arrest has taken place. He left the messengers at the gate, and saw them admitted by the porter. There is no earthly doubt that he is retaken." ¡¡¡¡Mr. Lorry's business eye read in the speaker's face that it was loss of time to dwell upon the point. Confused, but sensible that something might depend on his presence of mind, he commanded himself, and was silently attentive. ¡¡¡¡"Now, I trust," said Sydney to him, "that the name and influence of Doctor Manette may stand him in as good stead to-morrow-you said he would be before the Tribunal again to-morrow, Mr. Barsad?--" ¡¡¡¡ "Yes; I believe so." ¡¡¡¡"-In as good stead to-morrow as to-day. But it may not be so. I own to you, I am shaken, Mr. Lorry, by Doctor Manette's not having had the power to prevent this arrest." ¡¡¡¡"He may not have known of it beforehand," said Mr. Lorry. ¡¡¡¡"But that very circumstance would be alarming, when we remember how identified he is with his son-in-law." ¡¡¡¡"That's true," Mr. Lorry acknowledged, with his troubled hand at his chin, and his troubled eyes on Carton. ¡¡¡¡"In short," said Sydney, "this is a desperate time, when desperate games are played for desperate stakes. Let the Doctor play the winning game; I will play the losing one. No man's life here is worth purchase. Any one carried home by the people to-day, may be condemned tomorrow. Now, the stake I have resolved to play for, in case of the worst, is a friend in the Conciergerie. And the friend I purpose to myself to win, is Mr. Barsad."

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I propose that we first conduct your sister safely to the corner of her own street. Let me take your arm, Miss Pross. This is not a good city, at this time, for you to be out in, unprotected; and as your escort knows Mr. Barsad, I will invite him to Mr. Lorry's with us. Are we ready? Come then!" ¡¡¡¡Miss Pross recalled soon afterwards, and to the end of her life remembered, that as she pressed her hands on Sydney's arm and looked up in his face, imploring him to do no hurt to Solomon, there was a braced purpose in the arm and a kind of inspiration in the eyes, which not only contradicted his light manner, but changed and raised the man. She was too much occupied then with fears for the brother who so little deserved her affection, and with Sydney's friendly reassurances, adequately to heed what she observed. ¡¡¡¡They left her at the corner of the street, and Carton led the way to Mr. Lorry's, which was within a few minutes' walk. John Barsad, or Solomon Pross, walked at his side. ¡¡¡¡Mr. Lorry had just finished his dinner, and was sitting before a cheery little log or two of fire- perhaps looking into their blaze for the picture of that younger elderly gentleman from Tellson's, who had looked into the red coals at the Royal George at Dover, now a good many years ago. He turned his head as they entered, and showed the surprise with which he saw a stranger. ¡¡¡¡"Miss Pross's brother, sir," said Sydney. "Mr. Barsad." ¡¡¡¡"Barsad?" repeated the old gentleman, "Barsad? I have an association with the name- and with the face." ¡¡¡¡"I told you you a remarkable face, Mr. Barsad," observed Carton, coolly. "Pray sit down." ¡¡¡¡As he took a chair himself, he supplied the link that Mr. Lorry wanted, by saying to him with a frown, "Witness at that trial." Mr. Lorry immediately remembered, and regarded his new visitor with an undisguised look of abhorrence. ¡¡¡¡"Mr. Barsad has been recognised by Miss Pross as the affectionate brother you have heard of," said Sydney, "and has acknowledged the relationship. I pass to worse news. Darnay has been arrested again."

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¡¡¡¡"I'll tell you," said Sydney. "I lighted on you, Mr. Barsad, coming out of the prison of the Conciergerie while I was contemplating the walls, an hour or more ago. You have a face to be remembered, and I remember faces well. Made curious by seeing you in that connection, and having a reason, to which you are no stranger, for associating you with the misfortunes of a friend now very unfortunate, I walked in your direction. I walked into the wine-shop here, close after you, and sat near you. I had no difficulty in deducing from your unreserved conversation, and the rumour openly going about among your admirers, the nature of your calling. And gradually, what I had done at random, seemed to shape itself into a purpose, Mr. Barsad." ¡¡¡¡"What purpose?" the spy asked. ¡¡¡¡"It would be troublesome, and might be dangerous, to explain in the street. Could you favour me, in confidence, with some minutes of your company- at the office of Tellson's Bank, for instance?" ¡¡¡¡"Under a threat?" ¡¡¡¡"Oh! Did I say that?" ¡¡¡¡"Then, why should I go there?" ¡¡¡¡"Really, Mr. Barsad, I can't say, if you can't." ¡¡¡¡"Do you mean that you won't say, sir?" the spy irresolutely asked. ¡¡¡¡"You apprehend me very clearly, Mr. Barsad. I won't." ¡¡¡¡Carton's negligent recklessness of manner came powerfully in aid of his quickness and skill, in such a business as he had in his secret mind, and with such a man as he had to do with. His practised eye saw it, and made the most of it. ¡¡¡¡"Now, I told you so," said the spy, casting a reproachful look at his sister; "if any trouble comes of this, it's your doing." ¡¡¡¡"Come, come, Mr. Barsad!" exclaimed Sydney. "Don't be ungrateful. But for my great respect for your sister, I might not have led up so pleasantly to a little proposal that I wish to make for our mutual satisfaction. Do you go with me to the Bank?" ¡¡¡¡"I'll hear what you have got to say. Yes, I'll go with you."

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madonna with the yarnwinder painting
Mother and Child
My Sweet Rose painting
Naiade oil painting
¡¡¡¡"The figure was not; the- the- image; the fancy?" ¡¡¡¡"No. That was another thing. It stood before my disturbed sense of sight, but it never moved. The phantom that my mind pursued, was another and more real child. Of her outward appearance I know no more than that she was like her mother. The other had that likeness too- as you have- but was not the same. Can you follow me, Lucie? Hardly, I think? I doubt you must have been a solitary prisoner to understand these perplexed distinctions." ¡¡¡¡His collected and calm manner could not prevent her blood from running cold, as he thus tried to anatomise his old condition. ¡¡¡¡"In that more peaceful state, I have imagined her, in the moonlight, coming to me and taking me out to show me that the home of her married life was full of her loving remembrance of her lost father. My picture was in her room, and I was in her prayers. Her life was active, cheerful, useful; but my poor history pervaded it all." ¡¡¡¡"I was that child, my father, I was not half so good, but in my love that was I."

Spring Breeze

Spring Breeze
Sweet Nothings
The Abduction of Psyche
The British Are Coming
¡¡¡¡"You were, just now; I saw you do it, and I don't wonder at it. Such a present of plate as you have made 'em, is enough to bring tears into anybody's eyes. There's not a fork or a spoon in the collection," said Miss Pross, "that I didn't cry over, last night after the box came, till I couldn't see it." ¡¡¡¡"I am highly gratified," said Mr. Lorry, "though, upon my honour, I had no intention of rendering those trifling articles of remembrance invisible to any one. Dear me! This is an occasion that makes a man speculate on all he has lost. Dear, dear, dear! To think that there might have been a Mrs. Lorry, any time these fifty years almost!" ¡¡¡¡"Not at all!" From Miss Pross. ¡¡¡¡"You think there never might have been a Mrs. Lorry?" asked the gentleman of that name. ¡¡¡¡"Pooh!" rejoined Miss Pross; "you were a bachelor in your cradle." ¡¡¡¡"Well!" observed Mr. Lorry, beamingly adjusting his little wig, "that seems probable, too." ¡¡¡¡"And you were cut out for a bachelor," pursued Miss Pross, "before you were put in your cradle."

Rembrandt The Jewish Bride

Rembrandt The Jewish Bride
Return of the Prodigal Son
Samson And Delilah
seated nude
¡¡¡¡THE MARRIAGE-DAY was shining brightly, and they were ready outside the closed door of the Doctor's room, where he was speaking with Charles Darnay. They were ready to go to church; the beautiful bride, Mr. Lorry, and Miss Pross- to whom the event, through a gradual process of reconcilement to the inevitable, would have been one of absolute bliss, but for the yet lingering consideration that her brother Solomon should have been the bridegroom. ¡¡¡¡"And so," said Mr. Lorry, who could not sufficiently admire the bride, and who had been moving round her to take in every point of her quiet, pretty dress; "and so it was for this, my sweet Lucie, that I brought you across the Channel, such a baby! Lord bless me! How little I thought what I was doing! How lightly I valued the obligation I was conferring on my friend Mr. Charles!" ¡¡¡¡"You didn't mean it," remarked the matter-of-fact Miss Pross, "and therefore how could you know it? Nonsense!" ¡¡¡¡"Really? Well; but don't cry," said the gentle Mr. Lorry. ¡¡¡¡"I am not crying," said Miss Pross; "you are." ¡¡¡¡"I, my Pross?" (By this time, Mr. Lorry dared to be pleasant with her, on occasion.)

Vermeer Girl with a Red Hat

Red Hat Girl
Vermeer Girl with a Red Hat
Red Nude painting
Regatta At Argenteuil
Rembrandt Biblical Scene
¡¡¡¡There was no one bidden to the marriage but Mr. Lorry; there was even to be no bridesmaid but the gaunt Miss Pross. The marriage was to make no change in their place of residence; they had been able to extend it, by taking to themselves the upper rooms formerly belonging to the apocryphal invisible lodger, and they desired nothing more. ¡¡¡¡Doctor Manette was very cheerful at the little supper. They were only three at table, and Miss Pross made the third. He regretted that Charles was not there; was more than half disposed to object to the loving little plot that kept him away; and drank to him affectionately. ¡¡¡¡So, the time came for him to bid Lucie good night, and they separated. But, in the stillness of the third hour of the morning, Lucie came downstairs again, and stole into his room; not free from unshaped fears, beforehand. ¡¡¡¡All things, however, were in their places; all was quiet; and he lay asleep, his white hair picturesque on the untroubled pillow, and his hands lying quiet on the coverlet. She put her needless candle in the shadow at a distance, crept up to his bed, and put her lips to his; then, leaned over him, and looked at him.

Nighthawks Hopper

Nighthawks Hopper
Nude on the Beach
One Moment in Time
precious time
And she showed me her children," said the Doctor of Beauvais, "and they had heard of me, and had been taught to pity me. When they passed a prison of the State, they kept far from its frowning walls, and looked up at its bars, and spoke in whispers. She could never deliver me; I imagined that she always brought me back after showing me such things. But then, blessed with the relief of tears, I fell upon my knees, and blessed her." ¡¡¡¡"I am that child, I hope, my father. O my dear, my dear, will you bless me as fervently to-morrow?" ¡¡¡¡"Lucie, I recall these old troubles in the reason that I have to-night for loving you better than words can tell, and thanking God for my great happiness. My thoughts, when they were wildest, never rose near the happiness that I have known with you, and that we have before us." ¡¡¡¡He embraced her, solemnly commended her to Heaven, and humbly thanked Heaven for having bestowed her on him. By-and-bye, they went into the house.

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He shook his head. ¡¡¡¡"To none. No, Miss Manette, to none. If you will hear me through a very little more, all you can ever do for me is done. I wish you to know that you have been the last dream of my soul. In my degradation I have not been so degraded but that the sight of you with your father, and of this home made such a home by you, has stirred old shadows that I thought had died out of me. Since I knew you, I have been troubled by a remorse that I thought would never reproach me again, and have heard whispers from old voices impelling me upward, that I thought were silent for ever. I have had unformed ideas of striving afresh, beginning anew, shaking off sloth and sensuality, and fighting out the abandoned fight. A dream, all a dream, that ends in nothing, and leaves the sleeper where he lay down, but I wish you to know that you inspired it." ¡¡¡¡"Will nothing of it remain? O Mr. Carton, think again! Try again!" ¡¡¡¡"No, Miss Manette; all through it, I have known myself to be quite undeserving. And yet I have had the weakness, and have still the weakness, to wish you to know with what a sudden mastery you kindled me, heap of ashes that I am, into fire- a fire, however, inseparable in its nature from myself, quickening nothing, lighting nothing, doing no service, idly burning away."

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¡¡¡¡"Say of you, Miss Manette, and although I know better- although in the mystery of my own wretched heart I know better- I shall never forget it!" ¡¡¡¡She was pale and trembling. He came to her relief with a fixed despair of himself which made the interview unlike any other that could have been holden. ¡¡¡¡"If it had been possible, Miss Manette, that you could have returned the love of the man you see before you- self-flung away, wasted, drunken, poor creature of misuse as you know him to be- he would have been conscious this day and hour, in spite of his happiness, that he would bring you to misery, bring you to sorrow and repentance, blight you, disgrace you, pull you down with him. I know very well that you can have no tenderness for me; I ask for none; I am even thankful that it cannot be." ¡¡¡¡"Without it, can I not save you, Mr. Carton? Can I not recall you- forgive me again!- to a better course? Can I in no way repay your confidence? I know this is a confidence," she modestly said, after a little hesitation, and in earnest tears, "I know you would say this to no one else. Can I turn it to no good account for yourself, Mr. Carton?"

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¡¡¡¡Looking gently at him again, she was surprised and saddened to see that there were tears in his eyes. There were tears in his voice too, as he answered: ¡¡¡¡"It is too late for that. I shall never be better than I am. I shall sink lower, and be worse." ¡¡¡¡He leaned an elbow on her table, and covered his eyes with his hand. The table trembled in the silence that followed. ¡¡¡¡She had never seen him softened, and was much distressed. He knew her to be so, without looking at her, and said: ¡¡¡¡"Pray forgive me, Miss Manette. I break down before the knowledge of what I want to say to you. Will you hear me?" ¡¡¡¡"If it will do you any good, Mr. Carton, if it would make you happier, it would make me very glad!" ¡¡¡¡"God bless you for your sweet compassion!" ¡¡¡¡He unshaded his face after a little while, and spoke steadily. ¡¡¡¡"Don't be afraid to hear me. Don't shrink from anything I say. I am like one who died young. All my life might have been." ¡¡¡¡"No, Mr. Carton. I am sure that the best part of it might still be; I am sure that you might be much, much worthier of yourself."

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¡¡¡¡"If that will be a consolation to you, yes." ¡¡¡¡"Not even by the dearest one ever to be known to you?" ¡¡¡¡"Mr. Carton," she answered, after an agitated pause, "the secret is yours, not mine; and I promise to respect it." ¡¡¡¡"Thank you. And again, God bless you." ¡¡¡¡He put her hand to his lips, and moved towards the door. ¡¡¡¡"Be under no apprehension, Miss Manette, of my ever resuming this conversation by so much as a passing word. I will never refer to it again. If I were dead, that could not be surer than it is henceforth. In the hour of my death, I shall hold sacred the one good remembrance- and shall thank and bless you for it- that my last avowal of myself was made to you, and that my name, and faults, and miseries were gently carried in your heart. May it otherwise be light and happy!" ¡¡¡¡He was so unlike what he had ever shown himself to be, and it was so sad to think how much he had thrown away, and how much he every day kept down and perverted, that Lucie Manette wept mournfully for him as he stood looking back at her.

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¡¡¡¡"Since it is my misfortune, Mr. Carton, to have made you more unhappy than you were before you knew me--" ¡¡¡¡"Don't say that, Miss Manette, for you would have reclaimed me, if anything could. You will not be the cause of my becoming worse." ¡¡¡¡"Since the state of your mind that you describe, is, at all events, attributable to some influence of mine- this is what I mean, if I can make it plain- can I use no influence to serve you? Have I no power for good, with you, at all?" ¡¡¡¡"The utmost good that I am capable of now, Miss Manette, I have come here to realise. Let me carry through the rest of my misdirected life, the remembrance that I opened my heart to you, last of all the world; and that there was something left in me at this time which you could deplore and pity." ¡¡¡¡"Which I entreated you to believe, again and again, most fervently, with all my heart, was capable of better things, Mr. Carton!" ¡¡¡¡"Entreat me to believe it no more, Miss Manette. I have proved myself, and I know better. I distress you; I draw fast to an end. Will you let me believe, when I recall this day, that the last confidence of my life was reposed in your pure and innocent breast, and that it lies there alone, and will be shared by no one?"

One Moment in Time

One Moment in Time
precious time
Red Hat Girl
Red Nude painting
¡¡¡¡"I neither want any thanks, nor merit any," was the careless rejoinder. "It was nothing to do, in the first place; and I don't know why I did it, in the second. Mr. Darnay, let me ask you a question." ¡¡¡¡"Willingly, and a small return for your good offices." ¡¡¡¡"Do you think I particularly like you?" ¡¡¡¡"Really, Mr. Carton," returned the other, oddly disconcerted, "I have not asked myself the question." ¡¡¡¡"But ask yourself the question now." ¡¡¡¡"You have acted as if you do; but I don't think you do." ¡¡¡¡"I don't think I do," said Carton. "I begin to have a very good opinion of your understanding." ¡¡¡¡"Nevertheless," pursued Darnay, rising to ring the bell, "there is nothing in that, I hope, to prevent my calling the reckoning, and our parting without ill-blood on either side." ¡¡¡¡Carton rejoining, "Nothing in life!" Darnay rang. "Do you call the whole reckoning?" said Carton. On his answering in the affirmative, "Then bring me another pint of this same wine, drawer, and come and wake me at ten." ¡¡¡¡The bill being paid, Charles Darnay rose and wished him good night. Without returning the wish, Carton rose too, with something of a threat of defiance in his manner, and said, "A last word, Mr. Darnay: you think I am drunk?"

My Sweet Rose painting

My Sweet Rose painting
Naiade oil painting
Nighthawks Hopper
Nude on the Beach
¡¡¡¡"Why, it's on the tip of your tongue. It ought to be, it must be, I'll swear it's there." ¡¡¡¡"Miss Manette, then!" ¡¡¡¡"Miss Manette, then!" ¡¡¡¡Looking his companion full in the face while he drank the toast, Carton flung his glass over his shoulder against the wall, where it shivered to pieces; then, rang the bell, and ordered in another. ¡¡¡¡"That's a fair young lady to hand to a coach in the dark, Mr. Darnay!" he said, filling his new goblet. ¡¡¡¡A slight frown and a laconic "Yes," were the answer. ¡¡¡¡"That's a fair young lady to be pitied by and wept for by! How does it feel? Is it worth being tried for one's life, to be the object of such sympathy and compassion, Mr. Darnay?" ¡¡¡¡Again Darnay answered not a word. ¡¡¡¡"She was mightily pleased to have your message, when I gave it her. Not that she showed she was pleased, but I suppose she was." ¡¡¡¡The allusion served as a timely reminder to Darnay that this disagreeable companion had, of his own free will, assisted him in the strait of the day. He turned the dialogue to that point, and thanked him for it.

The Jewel Casket

The Jewel Casket
The Kitchen Maid
The Lady of Shalott
the night watch by rembrandt
¡¡¡¡It had once been noted at the Bar, that while Mr. Stryver was a glib man, and an unscrupulous, and a ready, and a bold, he had not that faculty of extracting the essence from a heap of statements, which is among the most striking and necessary of the advocate's accomplishments. But, a remarkable improvement came upon him as to this. The more business he got, the greater his power seemed to grow of getting at its pith and marrow; and however late at night he sat carousing with Sydney Carton, he always had his points at his fingers' ends in the morning. ¡¡¡¡Sydney Carton, idlest and most unpromising of men, was Stryver's great ally. What the two drank together, between Hilary Term and Michaelmas, might have floated a king's ship. Stryver never had a case in hand, anywhere, but Carton was there, with his hands in his pockets, staring at the ceiling of the court; they went the same Circuit, and even there they prolonged their usual orgies late into the night, and Carton was rumoured to be seen at broad day, going home stealthily and unsteadily to his lodgings, like a dissipated cat. At last, it began to get about, among such as were interested in the matter, that although Sydney Carton would never be a lion, he was an amazingly good jackal, and that he rendered suit and service to Stryver in that humble capacity

Sweet Nothings

Sweet Nothings
The Abduction of Psyche
The British Are Coming
The Broken Pitcher
¡¡¡¡THOSE WERE drinking days, and most men drank hard. So very great is the improvement Time has brought about in such habits, that a moderate statement of the quantity of wine and punch which one man would swallow in the course of a night, without any detriment to his reputation as a perfect gentleman, would seem, in these days, a ridiculous exaggeration. The learned profession of the law was certainly not behind any other learned profession in its Bacchanalian propensities; neither was Mr. Stryver, already fast shouldering his way to a large and lucrative practice, behind his compeers in this particular, any more than in the drier parts of the legal race. ¡¡¡¡A favourite at the Old Bailey, and eke at the Sessions, Mr. Stryver had begun cautiously to hew away the lower staves of the ladder on which he mounted. Sessions and Old Bailey had now to summon their favourite, specially, to their longing arms; and shouldering itself towards the visage of the Lord Chief Justice in the Court of King's Bench, the florid countenance of Mr. Stryver might be daily seen, bursting out of the bed of wigs, like a great sunflower pushing its way at the sun from among a rank garden-full of flaring companions.

Regatta At Argenteuil

Regatta At Argenteuil
Return of the Prodigal Son
Samson And Delilah
seated nude
I think you have been drinking, Mr. Carton." ¡¡¡¡"Think? You know I have been drinking." ¡¡¡¡"Since I must say so, I know it." ¡¡¡¡"Then you shall likewise know why. I am a disappointed drudge, sir. I care for no man on earth, and no man on earth cares for me." ¡¡¡¡"Much to be regretted. You might have used your talents better." ¡¡¡¡"May be so, Mr. Darnay; may be not. Don't let your sober face elate you, however; you don't know what it may come to. Good night!" ¡¡¡¡When he was left alone, this strange being took up a candle, went to a glass that hung against the wall, and surveyed himself minutely in it. ¡¡¡¡"Do you particularly like the man?" he muttered, at his own image; "why should you particularly like a man who resembles you? There is nothing in you to like; you know that. Ah, confound you! What a change you have made in yourself! A good reason for taking to a man, that he shows you what you have fallen away from, and what you might have been! Change places with him, and would you have been looked at by those blue eyes as he was, and commiserated by that agitated face as he was? Come on, and have it out in plain words! You hate the fellow."

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The last burst carried the mail to the summit of the hill. The horses stopped to breathe again, and the guard got down to skid the wheel for the descent, and open the coach-door to let the passengers in. ¡¡¡¡"Tst! Joe!" cried the coachman in a warning voice, looking down from his box. ¡¡¡¡"What do you say, Tom?" ¡¡¡¡They both listened. ¡¡¡¡"I say a horse at a canter coming up, Joe." ¡¡¡¡"I say a horse at a gallop, Tom," returned the guard, leaving his hold of the door, and mounting nimbly to his place. "Gentlemen! In the king's name, all of you!" ¡¡¡¡With this hurried adjuration, he cocked his blunderbuss, and stood on the offensive. ¡¡¡¡The passenger booked by this history, was on the coach-step, getting in; the two other passengers were close behind him, and about to follow. He remained on the step, half in the coach and half out of; they remained in the road below him. They all looked from the coachman to the guard, and from the guard to the coachman, and listened. The coachman looked back and the guard looked back, and even the emphatic leader pricked up his ears and looked back, without contradicting.

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The Dover mail was in its usual genial position that the guard suspected the passengers, the passengers suspected one another and the guard, they all suspected everybody else, and the coachman was sure of nothing but the horses; as to which cattle he could with a clear conscience have taken his oath on the two Testaments that they were not fit for the journey. ¡¡¡¡"Wo-ho!" said the coachman. "So, then! One more pull and you're at the top and be damned to you, for I have had trouble enough to get you to it!- Joe!" ¡¡¡¡"Halloa!" the guard replied. ¡¡¡¡"What o'clock do you make it, Joe?" ¡¡¡¡"Ten minutes, good, past eleven." ¡¡¡¡"My blood!" ejaculated the vexed coachman, "and not atop of Shooter's yet! Tst! Yah! Get on with you!" ¡¡¡¡The emphatic horse, cut short by the whip in a most decided negative, made a decided scramble for it, and the three other horses followed suit. Once more, the Dover mail struggled on, with the jack-boots of its passengers squashing along by its side. They had stopped when the coach stopped, and they kept close company with it. If any one of the three had had the hardihood to propose to another to walk on a little ahead into the mist and darkness, he would have put himself in a fair way of getting shot instantly as a highwayman.

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¡¡¡¡Two other passengers, besides the one, were plodding up the hill by the side of the mail. All three were wrapped to the cheekbones and over the cars, and wore jack-boots. Not one of the three could have said, from anything he saw, what either of the other two was like; and each was hidden under almost as many wrappers from the eyes of the mind, as from the eyes of the body, of his two companions. In those days, travellers were very shy of being confidential on a short notice, for anybody on the road might be a robber or in league with robbers. As to the latter, when every posting-house and ale-house could produce somebody in "the Captain's" pay, ranging from the landlord to the lowest stable nondescript, it was the likeliest thing upon the cards. So the guard of the Dover mail thought to himself, that Friday night in November, one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five, lumbering up Shooter's Hill, as he stood on his own particular perch behind the mail, beating his feet, and keeping an eye and a hand on the arm-chest before him, where a loaded blunderbuss lay at the top of six or eight loaded horse-pistols, deposited on a substratum of cutlass.

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¡¡¡¡Two other passengers, besides the one, were plodding up the hill by the side of the mail. All three were wrapped to the cheekbones and over the cars, and wore jack-boots. Not one of the three could have said, from anything he saw, what either of the other two was like; and each was hidden under almost as many wrappers from the eyes of the mind, as from the eyes of the body, of his two companions. In those days, travellers were very shy of being confidential on a short notice, for anybody on the road might be a robber or in league with robbers. As to the latter, when every posting-house and ale-house could produce somebody in "the Captain's" pay, ranging from the landlord to the lowest stable nondescript, it was the likeliest thing upon the cards. So the guard of the Dover mail thought to himself, that Friday night in November, one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five, lumbering up Shooter's Hill, as he stood on his own particular perch behind the mail, beating his feet, and keeping an eye and a hand on the arm-chest before him, where a loaded blunderbuss lay at the top of six or eight loaded horse-pistols, deposited on a substratum of cutlass.

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¡¡¡¡IT WAS the Dover road that lay, on a Friday night late in November, before the first of the persons with whom this history has business. The Dover road lay, as to him, beyond the Dover mail, as it lumbered up Shooter's Hill. He walked up hill in the mire by the side of the mail, as the rest of the passengers did; not because they had the least relish for walking exercise, under the circumstances, but because the hill, and the harness, and the mud, and the mail, were all so heavy, that the horses had three times already come to a stop, besides once drawing the coach across the road, with the mutinous intent of taking it back to Blackheath. Reins and whip and coachman and guard, however, in combination, had read that article of war which forbade a purpose otherwise strongly in favour of the argument, that some brute animals are endued with Reason; and the team had capitulated and returned to their duty. ¡¡¡¡With drooping heads and tremulous tails, they mashed their way through the thick mud, floundering and stumbling between whiles, as if they were falling to pieces at the larger joints. As often as the driver rested them and brought them to a stand, with a wary "Wo-ho! so-ho-then!" the near leader violently shook his head and everything upon it- like an unusually emphatic horse, denying that the coach could be got up the hill. Whenever the leader made this rattle, the passenger started, as a nervous passenger might, and was disturbed in mind.

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¡¡¡¡The stillness consequent on the cessation of the rumbling and labouring of the coach, added to the stillness of the night, made it very quiet indeed. The panting of the horses communicated a tremulous motion to the coach, as if it were in a state of agitation. The hearts of the passengers beat loud enough perhaps to be heard; but at any rate, the quiet pause was audibly expressive of people out of breath, and holding the breath, and having the pulses quickened by expectation. ¡¡¡¡The sound of a horse at a gallop came fast and furiously up the hill. ¡¡¡¡"So-ho!" the guard sang out, as loud as he could roar. "Yo there! Stand! I shall fire!" ¡¡¡¡The pace was suddenly checked, and, with much splashing and floundering, a man's voice called from the mist, "Is that the Dover mail?" ¡¡¡¡"Never you mind what it is!" the guard retorted. "What are you?" ¡¡¡¡"Is that the Dover mail?" ¡¡¡¡"Why do you want to know?" ¡¡¡¡"I want a passenger, if it is." ¡¡¡¡"What passenger?" ¡¡¡¡"Mr. Jarvis Lorry." ¡¡¡¡Our booked passenger showed in a moment that it was his name. The guard, the coachman, and the two other passengers eyed him distrustfully.

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Well, let me make haste and be gone. Your sister is certainly better, certainly out of danger?" 　　 "We are assured of it." 　　 "Your poor mother, too! doting on Marianne." 　　 "But the letter, Mr. Willoughby, your own letter: have you any thing to say about that?" 　　 "Yes, yes, that in particular. Your sister wrote to me again, you know, the very next morning. You saw what she said. I was breakfasting at the Ellisons',- and her letter, with some others, was brought to me there from my lodgings. It happened to catch Sophia's eye before it caught mine;- and its size, the elegance of the paper, the handwriting altogether, immediately gave her a suspicion. Some vague report had reached her before of my attachment to some young lady in Devonshire, and what had passed within her observation the preceding evening had marked who the young lady was, and made her more jealous than ever. Affecting that air of playfulness, therefore, which is delightful in a woman one loves, she opened the letter directly, and read its contents. She was well paid for her impudence. She read what made her wretched. Her wretchedness I could have borne, but her passion- her malice- at all events it must be appeased. And, in short, what do you think of my letter-writing? delicate- tender- truly feminine- was it not?"

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"Even so. You would be surprised to hear how often I watched you, how often I was on the point of falling in with you. I have entered many a shop to avoid your sight as the carriage drove by. Lodging as I did in Bond Street, there was hardly a day in which I did not catch a glimpse of one or other of you; and nothing but the most constant watchfulness on my side, a most invariably prevailing desire to keep out of your sight, could have separated us so long. I avoided the Middletons as much as possible, as well as every body else who was likely to prove an acquaintance in common. Not aware of their being in town, however, I blundered on Sir John, I believe, the first day of his coming, and the day after I had called on Mrs. Jennings. He asked me to a party, a dance at his house in the evening. Had he not told me as an inducement that you and your sister were to be there, I should have felt it too certain a thing to trust myself near him. The next morning brought another short note from Marianne- still affectionate, open, artless, confiding- everything that could make my conduct most hateful. I could not answer it.

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and as full of faith in the constancy of mine as ever- awakened all my remorse. I say awakened, because time and London, business and dissipation, had in some measure quieted it, and I had been growing a fine hardened villain, fancying myself indifferent to her, and choosing to fancy that she too must have become indifferent to me; talking to myself of our past attachment as a mere idle, trifling business; shrugging up my shoulders in proof of its being so, and silencing every reproach, overcoming every scruple, by secretly saying now and then, 'I shall be heartily glad to hear she is well married.' But this note made me know myself better. I felt that she was infinitely dearer to me than any other woman in the world, and that I was using her infamously. But every thing was then just settled between Miss Grey and me. To retreat was impossible. All that I had to do was to avoid you both. I sent no answer to Marianne, intending by that to preserve myself from her farther notice; and for some time I was even determined not to call in Berkeley Street; but at last, judging it wiser to affect the air of a cool, common acquaintance than anything else, I watched you all safely out of the house one morning, and left my name." 　　 "Watched us out of the house!"

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"Your wife! The letter was in your own hand-writing." 　　 "Yes, but I had only the credit of servilely copying such sentences as I was ashamed to put my name to. The original was all her own- her own happy thoughts and gentle diction. But what could I do? We were engaged, every thing in preparation, the day almost fixed- but I am talking like a fool. Preparation! Day! In honest words, her money was necessary to me; and in a situation like mine any thing was to be done to prevent a rupture. And after all, what did it signify to my character, in the opinion of Marianne and her friends, in what language my answer was couched? It must have been only to one end. My business was to declare myself a scoundrel; and whether I did it with a bow or a bluster was of little importance. 'I am ruined for ever in their opinion,' said I to myself: 'I am shut out for ever from their society; they already think me an unprincipled fellow; this letter will only make them think me a blackguard one.' Such were my reasonings as, in a sort of desperate carelessness, I copied my wife's words, and parted with the last relics of Marianne. Her three notes,- unluckily they were all in my pocketbook, or I should have denied their existence, and hoarded them for ever- I was forced to put them up, and could not even kiss them. And the lock of hair- that, too, I had always carried about me in the same pocket-book

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I tried- but could not frame a sentence. But I thought of her, I believe, every moment of the day. If you can pity me, Miss Dashwood, pity my situation as it was then. With my head and heart full of your sister, I was forced to play the happy lover to another woman! Those three or four weeks were worse than all. Well, at last, as I need not tell you, you were forced on me; and what a sweet figure I cut! what an evening of agony Willoughby was! Marianne, beautiful as an angel on one side, calling me such a tone! Oh, God! holding out her hand to me, asking me for an explanation, with those bewitching eyes fixed in such speaking solicitude on my face! and Sophia, jealous as the devil on the other, looking all that was- Well, it does not signify; it is over now. Such an evening! I ran away from you all as soon as I could; but not before I had seen Marianne's sweet face as white as death. That was the last, last look I ever had of her; the last manner in which she appeared to me. It was a horrid sight! yet when I thought of her to-day as really dying, it was a kind of comfort to me to imagine that I knew exactly how she would appear to those who saw her last in this world. She was before me, constantly before me, as I travelled, in the same look and hue." 　　 A short pause of mutual thoughtfulness succeeded. Willoughby first rousing himself, broke it thus:-

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But Marianne for some time would give credit to neither. Edward seemed a second Willoughby; and acknowledging as Elinor did, that she had loved him most sincerely, could she feel less than herself! As for Lucy Steele, she considered her so totally unamiable, so absolutely incapable of attaching a sensible man, that she could not be persuaded at first to believe, and afterwards to pardon, any former affection of Edward for her. She would not even admit it to have been natural; and Elinor left her to be convinced that it was so, by that which only could convince her, a better knowledge of mankind. 　　 Her first communication had reached no farther than to state the fact of the engagement, and the length of time it had existed. Marianne's feelings had then broken in, and put an end to all regularity of detail; and for some time all that could be done was to soothe her distress, lessen her alarms, and combat her resentment. The first question on her side, which led to farther particulars, was- 　　 "How long has this been known to you, Elinor? has he written to you?" 　　 "I have known it these four months. When Lucy first came to Barton Park, last November, she told me in confidence of her engagement." 　　 At these words, Marianne's eyes expressed the astonishment which her lips could not utter. After a pause of wonder, she exclaimed-

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"Four months! Have you known of this four months?" 　　 Elinor confirmed it. 　　 "What! while attending me in all my misery, has this been on your heart? And I have reproached you for being happy!" 　　 "It was not fit that you should then know how much I was the reverse." 　　 "Four months!" cried Marianne again. "So calm! so cheerful! How have you been supported?" 　　 "By feeling that I was doing my duty. My promise to Lucy obliged me to be secret. I owed it to her, therefore, to avoid giving any hint of the truth; and I owed it to my family and friends, not to create in them a solicitude about me, which it could not be in my power to satisfy." 　　 Marianne seemed much struck. 　　 "I have very often wished to undeceive yourself and my mother," added Elinor, "and once or twice I have attempted it; but without betraying my trust, I never could have convinced you." 　　 "Four months! and yet you loved him!"

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With such encouragement as this, was she dismissed, on the present occasion, to her brother's carriage; which they were ready to enter five minutes after it stopped at the door, a punctuality not very agreeable to their sister- in-law, who had preceded them to the house of her acquaintance, and was there hoping for some delay on their part, that might inconvenience either herself or her coachman. 　　 The events of this evening were not very remarkable. The party, like other musical parties, comprehended a great many people who had real taste for the performance, and a great many more who had none at all; and the performers themselves were, as usual, in their own estimation, and that of their immediate friends, the first private performers in England. 　　 As Elinor was neither musical, nor affecting to be so, she made no scruple of turning her eyes from the grand piano-forte whenever it suited her, and unrestrained even by the presence of a harp, and violincello, would fix them at pleasure on any other object in the room. In one of these excursive glances she perceived, among a group of young men, the very he, who had given them a lecture on toothpick-cases, at Gray's. She perceived him soon afterwards looking at herself, and speaking familiary to her brother; and had just determined to find out his name from the latter, when they both came towards her, and Mr. Dashwood introduced him to her as Mr. Robert Ferrars.

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To her dress and appearance she was grown so perfectly indifferent as not to bestow half the consideration on it, during the whole of her toilet, which it received from Miss Steele in the first five minutes of their being together when it was finished. Nothing escaped her minute observation and general curiosity; she saw everything, and asked everything; was never easy till she knew the price of every part of Marianne's dress; could have guessed the number of her gowns altogether with better judgment than Marianne herself; and was not without hopes of finding out, before they parted, how much her washing cost per week, and how much she had every year to spend upon herself. The impertinence of these kind of scrutinies, moreover, was generally concluded with a compliment, which, though meant as its douceur, was considered by Marianne as the greatest impertinence of all; for after undergoing an examination into the value and make of her gown, the colour of her shoes, and the arrangement of her hair, she was almost sure of being told, that "upon her word she looked vastly smart, and she dared to say she would make a great many conquests."

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and understanding them to be Mrs. Dashwood's sisters, she immediately concluded them to be staying in Harley Street; and this misconstruction produced, within a day or two afterwards, cards of invitation for them, as well as for their brother and sister, to a small musical party at her house; the consequence of which was, that Mrs. John Dashwood was obliged to submit, not only to the exceedingly great inconvenience of sending her carriage for the Misses Dashwood, but, what was still worse, must be subject to all the unpleasantness of appearing to treat them with attention, and who could tell that they might not expect to go out with her a second time? The power of disappointing them, it was true, must always be hers. But that was not enough: for when people are determined on a mode of conduct which they know to be wrong, they feel injured by the expectation of anything better from them. 　　 Marianne had now been brought, by degrees, so much into the habit of going out every day, that it was become a matter of indifference to her whether she went or not; and she prepared quietly and mechanically for every evening's engagement, though without expecting the smallest amusement from any, and very often without knowing, till the last moment, where it was to take her.