III.—A Hardy Annual
“You look very tired,” I said.
“Yes,” he replied, with a sigh. It was at the private view of the Academy. “But I shall get some rest now. It is all over for a while.”
“What is over?” I asked.
“My work,” he said. “It does not begin again with any seriousness till next February; but it goes on then till April with terrific vigour.” He pressed his hand to his brow.
“May I know what it is?” I inquired.
“Of course,” he said. “I name pictures for the Exhibitions. The catalogues are full of my work. Here, for example, is one of my most effective titles: ‘Cold flows the Winter river.’ Not bad, is it?”
I murmured something.
“Oh, I know what you’re thinking,” he replied. “You’re thinking that it is so simple that the artist could have done it himself without my assistance. But there you’re mistaken. They can’t, not artists. They can just paint a picture—some of them—and that’s all. You’ve no idea.... Well, well.”
“Really?” I said.
“Yes,” he continued; “it’s so. Now turn on. Here’s another of mine. ‘It was the Time of Roses.’ That sounds easy, no doubt; but, mark you, you have not only to know it—to have read Hood—but—and this is the secret of my success—to remember it at the right moment.” He almost glittered with pride. “Turn on,” he said. “‘East and West.’ That’s a subtle thing. Why ‘East and West’? you say. And then you see it’s an English girl—the West—holding a Japanese fan—the East. But I’m not often as tricky as that. A line of poetry is always best; or a good descriptive phrase, such as ‘Rivals,’ ‘Awaiting Spring’s Return,’ ‘The Forest Perilous,’ ‘When Nature Sleeps,’ ‘The Coming Storm,’ ‘Sunshine and Shadow,’ ‘Waiting,’ ‘The Farmer’s Daughter,’ ‘A Haunt of Ancient Peace.’”
He paused and looked at me.
“They all sound fairly automatic,” he went on; “but that’s a blind. They want doing. You know the saying, ‘Hard writing makes easy reading’; well, it’s the same with naming titles. You think it’s nothing; but that’s only because it means real work. I don’t know how to explain the gift—uncanny, no doubt. Kind friends have called it genius. But there it is.”
“I hope the financial results are proportionate,” I said.
“Ah,” he replied, “not always. But how could they be? It’s not only the expense of getting to the studios—taxis, and so forth—but the mental wear and tear. Still, I manage to live.”