After Dark Read online

  Not many years ago, on returning from a short holiday visit to a friendsettled in Paris, I found professional letters awaiting me at my agent'sin London, which required my immediate presence in Liverpool. Withoutstopping to unpack, I proceeded by the first conveyance to mynew destination; and, calling at the picture-dealer's shop, whereportrait-painting engagements were received for me, found to my greatsatisfaction that I had remunerative employment in prospect, in andabout Liverpool, for at least two months to come. I was putting up myletters in high spirits, and was just leaving the picture-dealer's shopto look out for comfortable lodgings, when I was met at the door by thelandlord of one of the largest hotels in Liverpool--an old acquaintancewhom I had known as manager of a tavern in London in my student days.

  "Mr. Kerby!" he exclaimed, in great astonishment. "What an unexpectedmeeting! the last man in the world whom I expected to see, and yet thevery man whose services I want to make use of!"

  "What, more work for me?" said I; "are all the people in Liverpool goingto have their portraits painted?"

  "I only know of one," replied the landlord, "a gentleman staying at myhotel, who wants a chalk drawing done for him. I was on my way here toinquire of any artist whom our picture-dealing friend could recommend.How glad I am that I met you before I had committed myself to employinga stranger!"

  "Is this likeness wanted at once?" I asked, thinking of the number ofengagements that I had already got in my pocket.

  "Immediately--to-day--this very hour, if possible," said the landlord."Mr. Faulkner, the gentleman I am speaking of, was to have sailedyesterday for the Brazils from this place; but the wind shifted lastnight to the wrong quarter, and he came ashore again this morning. Hemay of course be detained here for some time; but he may also be calledon board ship at half an hour's notice, if the wind shifts back againin the right direction. This uncertainty makes it a matter of importancethat the likeness should be begun immediately. Undertake it if youpossibly can, for Mr. Faulkner's a liberal gentleman, who is sure togive you your own terms."

  I reflected for a minute or two. The portrait was only wanted in chalk,and would not take long; besides, I might finish it in the evening, ifmy other engagements pressed hard upon me in the daytime. Why not leavemy luggage at the picture-dealer's, put off looking for lodgings tillnight, and secure the new commission boldly by going back at once withthe landlord to the hotel? I decided on following this course almost assoon as the idea occurred to me--put my chalks in my pocket, and a sheetof drawing paper in the first of my portfolios that came to hand--andso presented myself before Mr. Faulkner, ready to take his likeness,literally at five minutes' notice.

  I found him a very pleasant, intelligent man, young and handsome. He hadbeen a great traveler; had visited all the wonders of the East; and wasnow about to explore the wilds of the vast South American Continent.Thus much he told me good-humoredly and unconstrainedly while I waspreparing my drawing materials.

  As soon as I had put him in the right light and position, and had seatedmyself opposite to him, he changed the subject of conversation, andasked me, a little confusedly as I thought, if it was not a customarypractice among portrait-painters to gloss over the faults in theirsitters' faces, and to make as much as possible of any good points whichtheir features might possess.

  "Certainly," I answered. "You have described the whole art and mysteryof successful portrait-painting in a few words."

  "May I beg, then," said he, "that you will depart from the usualpractice in my case, and draw me with all my defects, exactly as I am?The fact is," he went on, after a moment's pause, "the likeness you arenow preparing to take is intended for my mother. My roving dispositionmakes me a great anxiety to her, and she parted from me this last timevery sadly and unwillingly. I don't know how the idea came into my head,but it struck me this morning that I could not better employ the time,while I was delayed here on shore, than by getting my likeness doneto send to her as a keepsake. She has no portrait of me since I was achild, and she is sure to value a drawing of me more than anything elseI could send to her. I only trouble you with this explanation to provethat I am really sincere in my wish to be drawn unflatteringly, exactlyas I am."

  Secretly respecting and admiring him for what he had just said, Ipromised that his directions should be implicitly followed, and beganto work immediately. Before I had pursued my occupation for ten minutes,the conversation began to flag, and the usual obstacle to my successwith a sitter gradually set itself up between us. Quite unconsciously,of course, Mr. Faulkner stiffened his neck, shut his month, andcontracted his eyebrows--evidently under the impression that he wasfacilitating the process of taking his portrait by making his face aslike a lifeless mask as possible. All traces of his natural animatedexpression were fast disappearing, and he was beginning to change into aheavy and rather melancholy-looking man.

  This complete alteration was of no great consequence so long as I wasonly engaged in drawing the outline of his face and the general formof his features. I accordingly worked on doggedly for more than anhour--then left off to point my chalks again, and to give my sitter afew minutes' rest. Thus far the likeness had not suffered throughMr. Faulkner's unfortunate notion of the right way of sitting for hisportrait; but the time of difficulty, as I well knew, was to come.It was impossible for me to think of putting any expression into thedrawing unless I could contrive some means, when he resumed his chair,of making him look like himself again. "I will talk to him about foreignparts," thought I, "and try if I can't make him forget that he issitting for his picture in that way."

  While I was pointing my chalks Mr. Faulkner was walking up and downthe room. He chanced to see the portfolio I had brought with me leaningagainst the wall, and asked if there were any sketches in it. I told himthere were a few which I had made during my recent stay in Paris; "InParis?" he repeated, with a look of interest; "may I see them?"

  I gave him the permission he asked as a matter of course. Sitting down,he took the portfolio on his knee, and began to look through it. Heturned over the first five sketches rapidly enough; but when he came tothe sixth, I saw his face flush directly, and observed that he took thedrawing out of the portfolio, carried it to the window, and remainedsilently absorbed in the contemplation of it for full five minutes.After that, he turned round to me, and asked very anxiously if I had anyobjection to part with that sketch.

  It was the least interesting drawing of the collection--merely a viewin one of the streets running by the backs of the houses in the PalaisRoyal. Some four or five of these houses were comprised in the view,which was of no particular use to me in any way; and which was toovalueless, as a work of art, for me to think of selling it. I begged hisacceptance of it at once. He thanked me quite warmly; and then, seeingthat I looked a little surprised at the odd selection he had made frommy sketches, laughingly asked me if I could guess why he had been soanxious to become possessed of the view which I had given him?

  "Probably," I answered, "there is some remarkable historical associationconnected with that street at the back of the Palais Royal, of which Iam ignorant."

  "No," said Mr. Faulkner; "at least none that _I_ know of. The onlyassociation connected with the place in _my_ mind is a purely personalassociation. Look at this house in your drawing--the house with thewater-pipe running down it from top to bottom. I once passed a nightthere--a night I shall never forget to the day of my death. I have hadsome awkward traveling adventures in my time; but _that_ adventure--!Well, never mind, suppose we begin the sitting. I make but a bad returnfor your kindness in giving me the sketch by thus wasting your time inmere talk."

  "Come! come!" thought I, as he went back to the sitter's chair, "I shallsee your natural expression on your face if I can only get you to talkabout that adventure." It was easy enough to lead him in the rightdirection. At the first hint from me, he returned to the subject of thehouse in the back street. Without, I hope, showing any undue curiosity,I contrived to let him see that I felt a deep interest in everything henow said. After
two or three preliminary hesitations, he at last, tomy great joy, fairly started on the narrative of his adventure. In theinterest of his subject he soon completely forgot that he was sittingfor his portrait--the very expression that I wanted came over hisface--and my drawing proceeded toward completion, in the rightdirection, and to the best purpose. At every fresh touch I felt more andmore certain that I was now getting the better of my grand difficulty;and I enjoyed the additional gratification of having my work lightenedby the recital of a true story, which possessed, in my estimation, allthe excitement of the most exciting romance.

  This, as I recollect it, is how Mr. Faulkner told me his adventure: