Philistines

Arlo Bates

Description

What happens when a bohemian artist finds himself thrust into the upper echelons of high society? Painter Arthur Fenton woos heiress Edith Caldwell with the express purpose of living the high life and turning her aristocratic friends into patrons of his art. But after he has succeeded in winning her hand, Fenton finds himself overwhelmed by the task of navigating the complex hierarchy and nuanced mores of this rarefied social stratum.

Informations

• Publié par: The Floating Press
• Date de parution: 01 septembre 2014
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781776585519
• Langue: English

Extrait

THE PHILISTINES
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ARLO BATES
 
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The Philistines First published in 1888 Epub ISBN 978-1-77658-551-9 Also available: PDF ISBN 978-1-77658-552-6 © 2014 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
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I - In Place and in Account Nothing II - Some Speech of Marriage III - In Way of Taste IV - Now He is for the Numbers V - 'Twas Wondrous Pitiful VI - The Inly Touch of Love VII - This Deed Unshapes Me VIII - A Necessary Evil IX - This is Not a Boon X - The Bitter Past XI - The Great Assay of Art XII - Whom the Fates Have Marked XIII - This "Would" Changes XIV - The Shot of Accident XV - Like Covered Fire XVI - Weighing Delight and Dole XVII - The Heavy Middle of the Night XVIII - He Speaks the Mere Contrary XIX - How Chances Mock XX - Voluble and Sharp Discourse XXI - A Mint of Phrases in His Brain XXII - His Pure Heart's Truth XXIII - As False as Stairs of Sand XXIV - There Begins Confusion XXV - After Such a Pagan Cut XXVI - O, Wicked Wit and Gift XXVII - Upon a Church Bench XXVIII - Bedecking Ornaments of Praise XXIX - Cruel Proof of this Man's Strength XXX - The World is Still Deceived XXXI - Parted Our Fellowship XXXII - Heart-Burning Heat of Duty XXXIII - A Bond of Air XXXIV - What Time She Chanted XXXV - Heartsick with Thought XXXVI - Farewell at Once, for Once, for All and Ever XXXVII - A Sympathy of Woe
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The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together. All's Well that Ends Well ; iv.—3
DEDICATION.
To my three friends who, by generously acting as amanuenses, have made it possible that the book should be finished, I take pleasure in gratefully dedicating
"This is no square temple to the gate of which thou canst arrive precipitately; this is no mosque to which thou canst come with tumult but without knowledge." Persian Religious Hymn .
I - In Place and in Account Nothing
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I Henry IV.; v.—I.
When Arthur Fenton, the most outspoken of all that band of protestingspirits who had been so well known in artistic Boston as the Pagans,married Edith Caldwell, there had been in his mind a purpose, secretbut well defined, to turn to his own account his wife's connection withthe Philistine art patrons of the town. Miss Caldwell was a niece ofPeter Calvin, a wealthy and well-meaning man against whom but two gravecharges could be made,—that he supposed the growth of art in thiscountry to depend largely upon his patronage, and that he could neverbe persuaded not to take himself seriously. Mr. Calvin was regarded byPhilistine circles in Boston as a sort of re-incarnation of Apollo,clothed upon with modern enlightenment, and properly arrayed inrespectable raiment. Had it been pointed out that to make this theoryprobable it was necessary to conceive of the god as having undergonementally much the same metamorphosis as that which had transformed hisflowing vestments into trousers, his admirers would have received theremark as highly complimentary to Mr. Peter Calvin. To assume identitybetween their idol and Apollo would be immensely flattering to the sonof Latona.
Fenton understood perfectly the weight and extent of Calvin'sinfluence, yet, in determining to profit by it, he did not in the leastdeceive himself as to the nature of his own course.
"Honesty," he afterward confessed to his friend Helen Greyson, whoscorned him for the admission, "is doubtless a charming thing fordigestive purposes, but it is a luxury too expensive for me. The godsin this country bid for shams, and shams I purpose giving them."
So well did he carry out his intention, that in a few years he came tobe the fashionable portrait-painter of the town; the artist to whompeople went who rated the worth of a picture by the amount they wererequired to pay for it, and the reputation of the painter inconventional circles; the man to whom a Boston society woman inevitablyturned when she wished the likeness of her charms preserved on canvas,and when no foreigner was for the moment in vogue and on hand.
The steps by which Fenton attained to this proud eminence were obviousenough. In the first place, he persuaded Mr. Calvin to sit to him. Mr.Calvin always sat to the portrait painters whom he endorsed. This was asort of official recognition, and the results, as seen in theneedlessly numerous likenesses of the gentleman which adorned hisBeacon Hill mansion, would have afforded a cynic some amusement, andnot a little food for reflection. Once launched under distinguishedpatronage, Fenton was clever enough to make his way. He really was ableto paint well when he chose, a fact which was, on the whole, of lessimportance in his artistic career than were the adroitness of hisaddress, and his ready and persuasive sympathy. The qualifications of afashionable doctor, a fashionable clergyman, and a fashionableportrait-painter are much the same; it is only in the man-milliner thatskill is demanded in addition to the art of pleasing.
As usually happens in such a case, Fenton's old friends avoided him, orfound themselves left in the distance by his rapid strides toward fameand fortune. Then such of them as still came in contact with him madehis acquaintance in a new character, and learned to accept him as awholly different man from the one they had supposed themselves to knowin the days when he was never weary of pouring forth tirades againstthe Philistinism he had now embraced. They admired the skill with whichhe painted stuffs and gowns, but among themselves they agreed that theold-time vigor and sincerity were painfully lacking in his work; and ifthey grumbled sometimes at the prices he got, it is only just tobelieve that it was seldom with any real willingness to pay, in thesacrifice of convictions and ideals, the equivalent which he had givenfor his popularity.
Fenton was one morning painting, in his luxuriously appointed studio,the portrait of a man who was in the prime of life, and over whomvulgar prosperity had, in forming him, left everywhere her finger marksplainly to be seen. He was tall and robust, with light eyes and blondewhiskers, and a general air of insisting upon his immense superiorityto all the world. That he secretly felt some doubts of the perfectionof his social knowledge, there were indications in his manner, but onthe whole the complacency of a portly bank account overcame allmisgivings of this sort. His character might have been easily inferredfrom the manner in which he now set his broad shoulders expansivelyback in the armchair in which he was posing, and regarded the artistwith a patronizing air of condescending to be wonderfully entertainedby his conversation.
"You are the frankest fellow I ever saw," he said, smiling broadly.
"Oh, frank," Fenton responded; "I am too frank. It will be the ruin ofme sooner or later. It all comes of being born with a habit of beingtoo honest with myself."
"Honesty with yourself is generally held up as a cardinal virtue."
"Nonsense. A man is a fool who is too frank with himself; he is alwayssure to end by being too frank with everybody else, just from merehabit."
Mr. Irons smiled more broadly still. He by no means followed allFenton's vagaries of thought, but they tickled his mental cuticleagreeably. The artist had the name of being a clever talker, and withsuch a listener this was more than half the battle. The men who candistinguish the real quality of talk are few and far to seek; mostpeople receive what is said as wit and wisdom, or the reverse, simplybecause they are assured it is the one or the other; and Alfred Ironswas of the majority in this.
Fenton painted in silence a moment, inwardly possessed of a desire tocaricature, or even to paint in all its ugliness, the vulgar mouth uponwhich he was working. The desire, however, was not sufficiently strongto restrain him from the judicious flattery of cleverly softening andrefining the coarse lips, and he was conscious of a faint amusement atthe incongruity between his thought and his action.
"And there is the added disadvantage," he continued the conversation ashe glanced up and saw that his sitter's face was quickly, in thesilence, falling into a heavy repose, "that frankness begets frankness.My sitters are always telling me things which I do not want to know,just because I am so beastly outspoken and sympathetic."
"You must have an excellent chance to get pointers," responded thesitter, his pale eyes kindling with animation. "You've painted two orthree men this winter that could have put you up to a good thing."
"That isn't the sort of line chat takes in a studio," Fenton returned,with a slight shrug. "It isn't business that men talk in a studio. Thatwould be too incongruous."
Irons sneered and laughed, with an air of consequence and superiority.
"I don't suppose many of you artist fellows would make much of a fistat business," he observed.
"Modern business," laughed the other, amused by his own epigram, "ischiefly the art of transposing one's debts. The thing to learn is howto pass the burden of your obligations from one man's shoulders tothose of another often enough so that nobody who has them gets tiredout, and drops them with a crash."
His sitter grinned appreciatively.
"And they don't tell you how to do this?"
"Oh, no. The things my sitters tell me about are of a very differentsort. They make to me confidences they want to get rid of; things you'drather not hear. Heavens! I have all I can do to keep some men fromtreating me like a priest and confessing all th