“If so, no doubt your lordship will recollect a very interesting picture of a country girl going to market, with a basket of poultry under her arm?”
“I do, very well indeed, and I know it was painted by your wife. It was very cleverly done. But you had all her best pictures at the Reform Club. You showed them to me yourself.”
“I recollect doing so perfectly well.”
“She was a very talented woman indeed!” observed several of the gentlemen present, who had seen her pictures.
“She was an Englishwoman, was she not, Monsieur Soyer?” said his lordship.
“Yes, my lord; her maiden name was Emma Jones.”
“Of course,” rejoined one of the group, “her paintings were well known by that name.”
“So they were, captain, and fetched high prices too. I do not sell any now; on the contrary, I still have my gallery complete, and have bought in several since her death. I offered old Ude fifty guineas for the painting in his possession called ‘La Jeune Fermière;’ but he would not part with it, as it was presented to him by her. Previous to my departure from England for the East, I was advised by the chaplain of the cemetery to insert on the monument the country of her birth, as many believed her to be a foreigner. The inscription was simply ‘To Her.’ I then composed the following laconic epitaph:—
‘TO THE MEMORY OF MADAME SOYER.
England gave her birth,
Genius immortality.’”
“Very good indeed,” said his lordship. “I myself have seen the monument, which is considered one of the finest in Kensal-green Cemetery.