In Bohemia with Du Maurier | Page 5

painting._]
In those days we called all that caricaturing, and caricature he certainly did; mainly me and himself. From the first he imagined he saw a marked contrast between us. His nose was supposed to be turned up, and mine down, whereas really neither his nor mine much deviated from the ordinary run of noses; my lower lip certainly does project, but his does not particularly recede, and so on. But the imaginary contrast inspired him in the earliest days of our acquaintance, and started him on the warpath of pen-and-inking. He drew us in all conceivable and in some inconceivable situations. "Moscheles and I," he says on one page, "had we not been artists, or had we been artistically beautiful; then again, if we were of the fair sex, or soldiers, or, by way of showing our versatility, if we were horses." In that page he seems to have focussed the essence of our characteristics, whilst appearing only to delineate our human and equine possibilities. Poor F., one of our German friends, fares badly, a donkey's head portraying him "s'il ��tait cheval."
[Illustration: MOSCHELES ET MOI SI NOUS AVIONS ��T�� DU BEAU SEXE.]
[Illustration: SI NOUS AVIONS ��T�� BEAUX.]
In consequence of the growing trouble with his eyes, du Maurier left Antwerp for Malines, to place himself under the care of an eminent oculist who resided within easy reach of that city. That blessed blister--"ce sacr�� v��sicatoire," as he calls it, is one of the doctor's remedies.
[Illustration: MOSCHELES ET MOI SI NOUS N'AVIONS PAS ��T�� ARTISTES.]
[Illustration: SI NOUS AVIONS ��T�� CHEVAUX.]
[Illustration: F. S'IL ETAIT CHEVAL.]
The sketch shows how it is being applied by a devoted Sister of Mercy.
[Illustration: SI NOUS AVIONS ��T�� MILITAIRES.]
In those days railway travelling was not as rapid as it is now, but one could get from Antwerp to Malines in about an hour, a circumstance which I frequently turned to account. Du Maurier's mother had come to live with him, his sister joining them for a short time, and the home in quiet old Malines soon became a sort of haven of rest. I spent many a happy day and night there, on which occasions I am bound to say that the piano, requisitioned by me for some special purposes of musical caricature, detracted somewhat from the restfulness of the haven. However that may have been, such intrusion was never resented; my Swedish prima donna, or my qualifications as a basso profondo, or a brass-bandsman, were always treated with the greatest indulgence by the ladies, and my high soprano flourished and positively reached unknown altitudes under the beneficent sunshine of their applause. (For all that I never attempted Chopin's "Impromptu.")
[Illustration: "CE SACR�� VESICATOIRE."]
[Illustration: ISABEL DU MAURIER.]
Then du Maurier would sing the French "romance" or the English song, or he would "dire la chansonnette," and what with his sympathetic tenor and his intuitive knowledge of music, he seemed to be able to express more than many who had had the advantage of a musical training. A few old letters of his remind me that we were audacious enough to write verses and music, he doing the former, I the latter.
"Here's something I particularly want you to do," he writes. "Take strong coffee, inspire yourself, think of your 'Ideal,' and compose some very pretty music to the enclosed words, with which Rag's ideal flame has inspired Rag--_surtout_, let it be as good as possible, with accompaniment _�� l'avenant_. An alteration in the music of each stanza would render the gradation of energy expressed in the words, 'Je compte sur toi.'" (How du Maurier came by the name of "Rag" I must tell later on.) Then follow the words:--
CHANSON.
_D'apres un barde Britannique_.[1]
Les sources vont �� la rivi��re Et la rivi��re �� l'oc��an; Les monts embrassent la lumi��re, Le vent du ciel se m��le au vent; Contre le flot, le flot se presse; Rien ne vit seul--tout semble, ici, Se fondre en la commune ivresse.... Et pourquoi pas nous deux aussi? Vois le soleil ��treint la terre, Qui rougit d'aise �� son coucher-- La lune ��treint les flots, qu'��claire Son rayon doux comme un baiser; Les moindres fleurs ont des tendresses Pour leurs pareilles d'ici-bas Que valent toutes ces caresses Si tu ne me caresses pas?[2]
[Footnote 1: See Shelley's "Love's Philosophy."]
[Footnote 2: Pour bien appr��cier la valeur artistique de cette romance, il faut l'entendre chanter par Rag en tenant les yeux fixes sur le profit de Bobtail.]
Two slight sketches of "L'auteur de profil" and "Le compositeur de face" head the page.
[Illustration]
Soon afterwards he sends me another poetical effusion and writes:
"DEAR BOBTAIL,--I send you the Serenade composed 'tant bien que mal' last night, not 'entre la poire et le fromage,' but between the tea and the pears. I am afraid you will not find it as dramatic as you wished; but I don't feel