Anonymous - The Oyster, Volume III

'We must put off all such thoughts and deeds for the near future.

Where is the gallery?' 'Just around the next corner,' I said. 'I hope this will not be too stuffy an occasion. But you should enjoy my cousin's paintings. They are held in some quarters to be rather advanced.' With that, we arrived and when he had handed over our coats and Gwendolen's tartan travelling rug, we passed into an already crowded salon. But here I must explain a little about my Cousin Algernon. Cousin Algernon had the unusual claim to fame of having been found as a baby in a handbag in the Left Luggage Office on Brighton Station. After such a Bohemian start to life, it was I suppose inevitable that he became an artist when he grew up. Of course like all proper artists, he led a properly scandalous life, chiefly with his model Babette, a voluptuous creature who came originally from Northamptonshire and who cooked well. Actually the fact that she came from Northamptonshire-Kettering to be precise-was not generally known. Nor was the fact that her real name was Edith. Instead like all proper artists models, it was understood that she was a Parisienne and had been either a seamstress or a midinette before a struggling and penniless artist had discovered her and transferred her to his atelier to grace both canvas and bed.

Babette was, as I have suggested, a big woman. In fact she was huge.

Cousin Algernon, himself a big man and an altogether larger-than-life character with a commendable appetite for all the good things in life, delighted in painting Babette. Most frequently he depicted her in Classic guise. Babette, wearing little except some carefully placed, vaguely Grecian draperies or wisps of white muslin, displayed herself in a variety of mythic poses. Here she was taking part in the Bath of Psyche. Here she was Diana Surprised by Actaeon. Most frequently she was a nymph or some such, being ravished by Zeus, or on occasion by what seemed like the entire Pantheon of Greek Gods, in any number of disguises: a Swan, a Bull, a Stallion-and in one memorable instance what appeared to be a Parrot, although Cousin Algernon insisted that it was an Eagle. He did later also admit that it was one of his less successful works. Babette was also the central figure in a completely different series of paintings. Working in what he described as his French Interior Realist mode, Cousin Algernon showed her, this time without any trace of clothing whatsoever, as a washerwoman or scrubbing floors, laying a fire or at some other domestic task.

Whether it is the habit of French servants to perform their duties stark naked I do not know, but the paintings clearly made a considerable impression in London. In truth these vigorous oils of big Babette, for instance, leaning over a tub full of suds, her huge forearms and magnificent bosom highlighted by the painter's art, were not unpleasing, if occasionally verging on the laughable. The views of Babette scrubbing were for the most part seen from behind. The great spheres of her buttocks rose like a double moon to fill the scene.

Every roll of fat was lovingly rendered and she seemed to glow with what I gather is called 'rude health.' His latest masterpiece, Babette at the Mangle had quite a crowd of admirers around it. Cousin Algernon had managed to give the impression of a woman panting and-heaving with her exertions, her breasts swaying and shaking as she turned the mangle while her skin glowed and there was the sheen of perspiration on her body. I noticed that the preponderance of the people at the viewing were men, and men of a middle aged and generally prosperous men. I was told by an elderly man, who claimed some knowledge of things artistic, that Cousin Algernon had successfully created a small fashion among the cognoscenti for such scenes of domestic undress. A number of fellow artists, all living and working nearby in north London, had followed his lead. Known in the art world as the Crouch End School, they had a growing and enthusiastic band of collectors quite clamouring of their works. Of course, my informant confided in me, many of the academic critics poured scorn on the Crouch End School. Mr. Ruskin had described Cousin Algernon's work as 'A battery of buttocks, thrust into the Public's face' while the Academy steadfastly refused to hang his pictures. Nonetheless, as someone who dabbled in dealing, he could vouch for the fact that a surprising number of the more flamboyant Views of Babette, as he called them, could be seen discreetly displayed in many of the most reputable gentlemen's clubs. 'Indeed,' said my aesthetic informant, 'if one could but see through the grey facades of Pall Mall, I fancy we would be regaled with the mouth-watering sight of Babette's mountainous buttocks flaunted cheek to cheek, so to say, along almost the full length of the street.* Be that as it may, many of the privileged viewers at the gallery, as they gazed intently at every detail of Babette's anatomy, were showing those powers of concentration and stamina, that must have accounted for their undoubted success in business and public affairs. I noticed also that for many there was an improving moral lesson to be gained from a close perusal of the paintings. 'Ah! The dignity of Honest Toil!' announced one gentleman as he raised his pince-nez to his eyes, the better to scrutinise the spread of Honest Toil's thighs.

'Application and Dedication in all Endeavours, Domestic as well as Professional', agreed another. 'An Example to the Labouring Classes,' said a third, who later confided in me that an earlier work by Cousin Algernon hung in his study. 'Babette Preparing Vegetables, it is called. So exemplary do I consider his work that on occasion I call in my housekeeper or cook after dinner so that they also can gaze upon it in my company and reflect on its moral worth.' One senior clerical gentleman, suffering what I was later given to understand was hay fever, had to be led away, his eyes watering and his chest heaving after standing as if transfixed in front of The Rape of the Sabine Women in which Babette appeared in no less than twenty seven poses.

'Such flesh tones,' he had started muttering, 'And such flesh!

And so much of it!' Then, as he began to stammer and had to reach out for some support, I, recognising him as a Man of the Cloth-he was in fact the Rural Dean of N-d-assumed that he was in the throes of some transcendental experience. Gwendolen, who has a sharp eye for such things, claimed rather that he had become dangerously over-excited by the proximity of no less than twenty seven naked Babettes on one canvas and that he had in fact come in his trousers. 'Look on my Mighty Works and Despair,' proclaimed a tall, cadaverous man as he traced out the outline of Babette's great pendulous breasts with his walking stick. 'How bounteous is Nature. See where the twin globes of her bosom seem to loom like planets in the celestial firmament of her flesh. Truly a sight to make one humble before one's Creator. All things,' he went on, 'Wide and Wonderful, all Creatures great and tall…' I was afterwards informed that the tall gentleman was a hymn writer of some distinction and regularly attended such showings as this. He claimed to be able to detect the Hand of the Lord in the most unlikely places. After a while most of the people began to drift off and quite soon, apart from the three of us, there was only a small knot of some half a dozen or so gentlemen. Cousin Algernon suggested that we all withdraw to a smaller room that opened off one end of the gallery. He then came over to have a word with us, announcing that Babette herself was about to make an appearance.

'In the flesh?' I asked. 'Not immediately,' he answered, with a quick smile. 'But if you would like to stay on with your friends, lam sure you could be accommodated.' 'Some entertainment is afoot?' asked Gwendolen. 'In a matter of speaking,' he answered. 'Several of the gentlemen gathered here belong to a private club. They dabble in oils in a strictly amateur way. Since they are also collectors and valuable customers, I have arranged that they be given the opportunity to sketch Babette from Life.' 'What an enticing idea,' said Gwendolen. 'But will we not be something of an embarrassment?' 'I suggest that you all act as my assistants. You can help with the arrangement of certain properties, take Babette's robe from her when the moment comes to reveal all. That sort of thing.' 'This sounds great fun,' said Gwendolen. 'But I promise we will behave ourselves and do nothing to prejudice your commercial interests.' We were ushered through to the smaller room. Various items of a domestic nature were heaped in one corner. They included scrubbing brushes, a mop, a portable washtub, a couple of flat irons and a neatly folded pile of linen. It was obvious that Babette would be able to display herself in any number of household chores.