Story of Louie

Oliver Onions

Description

Looking for a read that's a bit out of the ordinary? Ahead-of-his-time author Oliver Onions lays it all on the line in The Story of Louie, bringing to bear the soaring imagination and keen eye for detail that helped him play a major role in the development of the psychological horror genre.

Informations

• Publié par: The Floating Press
• Date de parution: 01 mai 2012
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781775457572
• Langue: English

Extrait

THE STORY OF LOUIE
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OLIVER ONIONS
 
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The Story of Louie First published in 1913 ISBN 978-1-77545-757-2 © 2012 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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Prologue I II Part I - Rainham Parva I II III IV V VI Part II - Sutherland Place I II III IV Part III - Mortlake Road I II III Part IV - Pillar to Post I II III Part V - The Consolidation I II III IV V VI VII Envoi
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To
Gwladys
Prologue
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I
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In an old number of Punch , under the heading "Society's New Pet: TheArtist's Model," is to be found a drawing by Du Maurier, of which thedescriptive text runs:
"And how did you and Mr. Sopley come to quarrel, dear Miss Dragon?"
"Well, your Grace, it was like this: I was sitting to him in a cestus for 'The Judgment of Paris,' when someone called as wished to see him most particular; so he said: 'Don't move, Miss Dragon, or you'll disturb the cestus.' 'Very good, sir,' I said, and off he went; and when he come back in an hour and a 'alf or so he said: 'You've moved, Miss Dragon!' 'I 'aven't!' I said. 'You ' ave !' he said. 'I 'AVEN'T!' I said—and no more I 'adn't, your Grace. And with that I off with his cestus an' wished him good-morning, an' I never been near him since!"
Du Maurier may or may not have been wrong about the newness of thiscraze of "Society's." If he was right, the Honourable EmilyScarisbrick becomes at once a pioneer. Let there be set down, here inthe beginning, the plain facts of how, a good ten years before theindignant Miss Dragon "offed with" Mr. Sopley's cestus, the HonourableEmily found a way to bridge the gulf that lies between Bohemia andMayfair.
Except in the case of one person not yet born into these pages, thereport that the lady had engaged herself, early in the year 1869, to"Mr. Buckley, her drawing-master," had only a short currency. It wasprobably devised by the Honourable Emily herself in order to softenthe blow for her brother, Lord Moone. The real name of the man to whomshe engaged herself was James Buckley Causton. Under this name heappears on the rolls of the 4th Dragoon Guards as a trooper in theyears 1862-1867; and as "Buck" Causton he attained some celebritywhen, in the last-named year, he vanquished one Piker Betteridge inthe prize ring, in a battle which, beginning with gloves and endingwith bare knuckles, lasted for nearly nine hours.
For all we know, it may have been Miss Dragon's Mr. Sopley who, seeingthe magnificent Buck in the ring, first put it into the ex-trooper'shead to become an artists' model. However it was, an artists' model hedid become, and, as such, the rage. No doubt Sopley, if it were he,would gladly have kept his discovery to himself; but a neck like asycamore and a thorax capable of containing nine-hours-contest lungscannot be hid when Academy time comes round. Sopley's measure wasknown. If Sopley painted an heroic picture it was certain he had had ahero as model. The Academy opens in May; before June was out Sopley'sfind was no longer his own. Sir Frederick Henson, the artist who movedso in the world that in him the tradition of the monarch who picked upthe painter's brush for him might almost have been said to live again,saw Buck, marked Buck down as his own, and presently had solepossession of Buck.
The Honourable Emily Scarisbrick already had possession of SirFrederick. To be sure, it neither needed a Sir Frederick Henson toteach her the stippling of birds' eggs and the copying of castles forthe albums of her friends, nor was the great Academician accustomed tostooping to the office of salaried drawing-master; but—the HonourableEmily was a Scarisbrick, of Mallard Bois.
In Henson's studio the Honourable Emily first saw Buck Causton.
To say that she fell in love with him would demand a definition of theterm. Certainly she fell in something with him. Perhaps that somethingwas the something that at the last thrusts baronies and Mallard Boisesaside as hindrances to a design even larger than that in which theyplay so important a part; but we have nothing to do with large designshere. Call it what you will: something proper enough to legend, but oflittle enough propriety in a modern lady's life; a feeble echo ofRomance, perhaps, but never itself to become Romance unless, of it orpresent scandal, it should prove the stronger. At any rate, it was avery different thing from anything she felt, or ever had felt, forCaptain Cecil Chaffinger, of the White Hussars, her brother's nomineefor her hand.
It was a word dropped by the gallant Captain, himself a follower ofthe fancy, that led her to the discovery that the hero of some feat orother of extraordinary skill and endurance, and the young Ajax, allchest and grey eyes and brown curls, who did odd jobs about the studioin the intervals of posing for Henson's demigodlike canvases, were oneand the same person. Her already throbbing pulse bounded. She herselfwas twenty-eight, a small, dark, febrile woman, given over todiscontents based on nothing save on an irremediably spoiledchildhood, and perhaps hankering after an indiscretion in theconviction that indiscretions were of two kinds—indiscretions, andthe indiscretions of the Scarisbricks. Naturally she became consciousof a quickened interest in her art.
The first indication that this interest passed beyond birds eggs andcastles was that she began "Lessons in Drapery." If here for a fewmoments her story becomes a little technical, it may be none the lessinteresting on that account.
The study of Drapery as Drapery has not much interest for anybodyunless perhaps for a student of mechanics. For all that, it is, orthen was, regarded by drawing-masters as a self-contained subject, tobe tackled, ticked off, and thenceforward possessed. To the study ofDrapery in this unrelated sense the Honourable Emily apparentlyinclined. Seeing her therefore, in this fundamental error, SirFrederick, a master of Drapery, took from her the "copies" which hadalready supplanted the "copies" of castles in her portfolio, andgood-humouredly began to tell her what she really wanted. What shereally wanted, he said, was to rid her mind of the idea that foldsexisted for their own sake, and to endeavour to realise that theirreal significance lay in the thing enfolded. Miss Scarisbrick thankedhim.
So, at first from the lay figure, and then from Henson's model, shebegan to draw Drapery with special reference to the thing draped.
About this time she gave Captain Chaffinger for an answer a "No" whichhe refused to take. His devotion, he said, forbade him. If by hisdevotion he meant his devotion to his creditors, his constancyremained at their service. In the meantime he was still able to payhis old debts by contracting new ones.
The Honourable Emily's studies became diligent.
There is little to be said about these things except that they dohappen. A word now about Buck's attitude.
Had the Honourable Emily's maid thrown herself at his head he wouldhave known what to do. His sense of the holiness of social degreeswould have received no shock. But the Honourable Emily, who couldcommand her maid, could not command what in all probability her maidwould not have had to ask twice for. The most she got (when after muchthat is omitted here, it did at last dawn on the bashful Buck that shehad any will in the matter at all) was a blush so sudden and violentthat it compelled an embarrassed reddening of her own cheeks also.Buck was not personally outraged. It was his sense of Order that wasoutraged. He remembered the lady's station for her, and, stammeringlybut reverentially, put her back into it.
Now to be merely reverential to a woman who is in love with you is toprovoke impatience, anger and tears. On the other hand, to see a womanin tears because you will not permit her to humiliate herself is tohave the other half of an impossible situation. It was oneluncheon-time (the Honourable Emily now lunched frequently at thestudio) that the tears came.
"Oh, you don't care for me—you don't care for me!" she sobbed.
Buck could not truthfully have said that he did care for her; butthere she was before him, in tears.
"If it were that Dragon girl, now—"
Buck, while not failing to see the force of this, could only makeimploring movements for the Honourable Emily to calm herself.Presently she did calm herself, sufficiently to change her tone to oneof irony.
"Do you read your Bible?" she shot over her shoulder.
"Yes, miss," said Buck—"that is—I mean—"
The reason for Buck's hesitation was that he had suddenly doubtedwhether the Honourable Emily would know a Racing Calendar by the nameshe had just used.
"Do you mean The Bible, miss?" he said, fidgeting.
She snapped: "Yes—the one with the story of Joseph in it—"
She burst into tears anew.
"Oh, that I should have to beg a man to marry me! I hate myself—Ihate you!"
Her hatred, however, did not prevent repetitions of the scene. At thelast repetition that need trouble us here her tears conquered. Thehelpless Buck comforted her after the only fashion he knew anythingabout—the fashion he would have used towards her maid—on his knee.
He still, however, called her "Miss."
They were privately married in the June of 1869.
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" Don't call me 'Miss'!" she broke out petulantly one day in themiddle of the honeymoon. "And you are not to have your meals withthe servants! I shall lunch in my room to-day, and you are to be readyto take me out at three o'clock."
"Yes, m'm," said Buck.
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Probably Lord Moone