Victor Victorious

by Cecil Starr Johns

For a little time after our return nothing was done about our scheme, that is, nothing definite, but all the while we were both working out, to the best of our ability, the details.

I had known just whereabouts I wished the art settlement to be, but it was only owing to the death of the man who owned the place that I was able to buy it.

The property I speak of was at the back of the Palace, and consisted of the most ancient houses in the city. These houses were practically cut off from the rest of Karena; on one side by the Palace walls, or rather those of the grounds, on another by an extraordinary outcropping of rock, while on the third--for the whole was in the form of a triangle--ran a small canal.

The only way of getting to this place was by means of a bridge over the canal, unless one climbed the walls of my gardens, or was lowered from the top of the rock. This place therefore was a perfect nest, and really ideal for our settlement.

How it had remained so, untouched by the spirit of modernity, was always a puzzle to me. The moment the bridge over the canal was crossed, I felt as though I had stepped from the twentieth into the fifteenth century. I do not believe there was a single modern building in the place; everywhere one looked, it was mediæval.

I remember the first time that we went there after having purchased it, just Irma, my mother, Mr. Neville, and myself, and we enjoyed it thoroughly. There had been few people living in the houses, which had not been cared for, and these few were only too pleased to turn out of their quarters for a consideration.

We therefore found the place absolutely deserted, save for a few pigeons, and cats who would not desert their old haunts.

The doors of most of the houses had been left unlocked, so we went round the narrow cobbled streets, entering those buildings which seemed most desirable; some were really fine houses, with large rooms containing great carved beams, leaded lights, and other delightful things. Naturally, the outsides were in keeping, and no matter where we looked we could see old door-ways, queer gargoyles, and little courtyards, the walls of which would in all probability be covered with lichen. In some parts, we seemed to be walking in a tunnel, so close were the houses to one another, and occasionally, at the end of these streets, we caught sight of the sunlit canal. I was very, very pleased with my purchase.

As we walked and examined, we explained to my mother and Mr. Neville what we proposed doing.

I think that at first she, or rather they, thought that marriage had made me a little mad; but as my explanation grew, both in length and conciseness, they began to think that after all something might be said for our idea. I told them that the houses should remain as they were, but with modern improvements, and that when the necessary alterations had been effected I proposed inviting artists of all kinds to come and live there: painters, sculptors, composers, engravers, writers, and metal workers. I then went on to draw most alluring visions of what I hoped would be the result. I pictured all these various artists living here much as they did in towns in the middle ages, working with the certainty that any really meritorious piece of art would be more thought of than a dozen inferior works, and that appreciation, consideration, and understanding would go hand in hand with profit.