As for the painter’s studio, it is usually a bare but light apartment, open to the winds, in a corner of which, on a scrap of matting, the artist kneels, sitting on his heels. (It tires an oriental to sit in a chair.) A tiny table a foot high holds all his materials; his paints are mixed on a tile; and his palette is usually a bit of broken crockery. His brushes he makes himself. Water-pipe in mouth—a luxury that even an artist can afford, in a country where tobacco is fourpence a pound—his work held on his knee in his left hand, without a mahl-stick or the assistance of a colour-man, the artist squats contentedly at his work. He is ambitious, proud of his powers, and loves his art for art’s sake. Generally, he does two classes of work—the one the traditional copies of the popular scenes before described, or the painting on pen-cases—by this he lives; the other purely ideal, in which he deals with art from a higher point of view, and practises the particular branch which he affects.
As a painter of likenesses, the Persian seldom succeeds in flattering. The likeness is assuredly obtained; but the sitter is usually ‘guyed,’ and a caricature is generally the result. This is not the case in the portraits of females, and in the ideal heads of women and children. The large dreamy eye and long lashes, the full red lips, and naturally high colour, the jetty or dark auburn locks (a colour caused by the use of henna, a dye) of the Persian women in their natural luxuriance, lend themselves to the successful production of the peculiarly felicitous representation of female beauty in which the Persian artist delights. Accuracy in costume is highly prized, and the minutiæ of dress are indicated with much aptness, the varied pattern of a shawl or scarf being rendered with almost Chinese detail. Beauty of the brunette type is the special choice of the artist and amateur, and ‘salt’—as a high-coloured complexion is termed—is much admired.
Like the ancient Byzantine artist, the Persian makes a free use of gold and silver in his work. When wishing to represent the precious metals, he first gilds or silvers the desired portion of the canvas or panel, and then with a fine brush puts in shadows, &c. In this way a strangely magnificent effect is produced. The presentments of mailed warriors are done in this way; and the jewelled chairs, thrones, and goblets in which the oriental mind delights. Gilt backgrounds, too, are not uncommon, and their effect is far from displeasing.
The painting of portraits of Mohammed, Ali, Houssein, and Hassan—the last three, relatives of the Prophet, and the principal martyred saints in the Persian calendar, is almost a trade in itself, though the representation of the human form is contrary to the Mohammedan religion, and the saints are generally represented as veiled and faceless figures. Yet in these particular cases, custom has over-ridden religious law, and the Schamayūl (or portrait of Ali) is common. He is represented as a portly personage of swarthy hue; his dark and scanty beard, which is typical of the family of Mohammed, crisply curled; his hand is grasping his sword; and he is usually depicted as wearing a green robe and turban (the holy colour of the Seyyuds or descendants of the Prophet). A nimbus surrounds his head; and he is seated on an antelope’s skin, for the Persians say that skins were used in Arabia before the luxury of carpets was known there.
Humble as is the lot of the Persian artist, he expects to be treated by the educated with consideration, and would be terribly hurt at any want of civility. One well-known man, Agha Abdullah of Shiraz, generally insisted on regaling the writer with coffee, which he prepared himself when his studio was visited. To have declined this would have been to give mortal offence. On one of these visits, his little brasier of charcoal was nearly extinguished, and the host had recourse to a curious kind of fire-igniter, reviver, or rather steam-blast, that as yet is probably undescribed in books. It was of hammered copper, and had a date on it that made it three hundred years old. It was fairly well modelled; and this curious domestic implement was in the similitude of a small duck preening its breast; consequently, the open beak, having a spout similar to that of a tea-kettle, was directed downwards. The Persian poured an ounce or so of water into the copper bird, and placed it on the expiring embers. Certainly the result was surprising. In a few minutes the small quantity of water boiled fiercely; a jet of steam was emitted from the open bill, and very shortly the charcoal was burning brightly. The water having all boiled away, the Persian triumphantly removed this scientific bellows with his tongs, and prepared coffee.
No mention has been made of the curious bazaar pictures, sold for a few pence. These cost little, but are very clever, and give free scope for originality, which is the great characteristic of the Persian artist. They consist of studies of town-life, ideal pictures of dancing-girls, and such-like. All are bold, ingenious, and original. But bazaar pictures would take a chapter to themselves, and occupy more space than can be spared.
COLONEL REDGRAVE’S LEGACY.
IN FOUR CHAPTERS.—CONCLUSION.
We must ask the reader to accompany us to Bury Street, St James’s, and learn how Miss Jones has borne the calamity of her lodger’s good fortune; for calamity Martha considered the munificent legacy of Colonel Redgrave, so far as her own matrimonial prospects were concerned. If these prospects were dubious prior to his death, they were now nearly hopeless. This was a fact the housekeeper was unable to conceal from herself, in spite of her efforts to take a sanguine view of affairs. The letters of Septimus were more business-like than ever; and Miss Jones agreed with her mother that if Septimus chose to contract a matrimonial alliance, they would be powerless to interpose the smallest obstacle to prevent it. About this time, Mr Bradbury, the second occupant of apartments in Bury Street, returned from Monaco, where he had been spending his annual vacation. Mr Bradbury was a lawyer and a bachelor, and about sixty-five years of age. He was in no respect a favourite with Miss Jones, who in the course of a long residence had learned some of the faults and failings of her legal tenant. The most important of these was a love of gambling. At times, the mental depression of the lawyer was so excessive, that Martha entertained fears that he would be guilty of some rash act which would render notorious the hitherto quiet house in Bury Street. But a sudden turn in Fortune’s wheel would disperse the mental clouds of the gambler, and he would resume his usual cheerful manner and speech. On the evening of his arrival from Monaco, he dined in a more than usual recherché manner, and when the dessert had been placed on the table, he requested the presence of Miss Jones for a brief space, to discuss a very important matter of business. Mr Bradbury was a thin, spare man, with keen restless gray eyes, which took in the surroundings at a glance. He sat in his luxurious armchair, with his feet crossed on a footstool, and as he held up a glass of ’47 port to the light of the chandelier, he looked the picture of comfort and happy enjoyment. Yet was the mind of that man racked with consuming cares, for he had had a bad time of it at Monaco, and he had not only lost his own cash, but a considerable sum belonging to other people, in the shape of trust moneys, &c. He requested Miss Jones to be seated, also to take a glass of wine. Miss Jones complied with the first request, but declined the second.
‘I have only learned the death of Colonel Redgrave at Shanklin since my return to London. I must have accidentally omitted at Monaco reading that portion of the Times which contained the announcement. On a memorable occasion I transacted some legal business for him. My fellow-lodger Mr Redgrave appears to have tumbled into a good thing in the shape of a very handsome legacy.’ Mr Bradbury paused a moment; but Miss Jones made no response, but sat with her large black eyes fixed on the twitching features of the lawyer, who was now evidently under the influence of strong excitement. ‘I have not lived all these years under your comfortable roof, Miss Jones, without becoming acquainted with the special relations which exist between Mr Redgrave and yourself.’ Again the lawyer paused, in expectation of Miss Jones making some reply. ‘I mean that I have ever considered Miss Jones as the certain and future Mrs Redgrave.’