have gate-crashed it, since admittance today was more or less strictly by ticket, and it occurs to nobody to send a ticket to a dead man. Having thus attended once, Holme would attend again. It wouldn’t be in nature not to.
Cheel got to his feet and prowled once more. So far so good, he thought. He had only to be sufficiently assiduous in his own attendance and he was bound to find his man once more. Yet here again there was a difficulty. It would be reasonable to make three or four further visits to the Da Vinci, but after that his haunting the place would begin to look a little queer. Braunkopf – a suspicious type, as little crooks of his sort commonly were – might smell a rat. Frowning over this new problem, Cheel walked to the front of the gallery. There was a big window, partly draped in velvets holding the same moth-eaten suggestion as the settees. But one could peer over these into the street. Cheel did so, with some thought that his quarry might be lurking nearby after all. This seemed not to be the case. But, over the way, he saw something which cleared up his latest difficulty at once. It was a bar of the superior cocktail and champagne-by-the-glass variety, and its dispositions were such that one could drink while comfortably seated and with an excellent view of the Da Vinci itself. In order to secure such a vantage point, he reflected with satisfaction, quite a substantial daily expenditure on quiet drinking would be justifiable.
So far, so good. Cheel turned back to the main room of the gallery, and sat down again. He had not yet read the two or three pages of biographical information about Holme provided in the catalogue. It was very likely that, after the fashion of such things, they were both inaccurate and less than candid. He had better go carefully over them, nevertheless. What was here recorded of the obscure but picturesque final phase of the painter’s life would at least serve as a basis for independent investigation. Cheel opened the catalogue. The first page was unrewarding. But his interest quickened as he read on.
5
At the beginning of 1956 Holme spent about a term at the Slade School, and he is recorded there for the Summer Term of the following year. A few months later, however, he was in Africa. Thereafter, until the end of his tragically short life, he was never in England for more than a few weeks at a time.
Sebastian Holme’s interest in the Dark Continent had doubtless been nourished for some years by the exploits of his elder brother Gregory Holme, the distinguished explorer. Mr Gregory Holme – whose good offices have in part made possible the present Exhibition – was only two years older than the painter, but already a legendary if elusive figure.
There can be no doubt that his powerful personality was primarily responsible for decisions which were to be crucial in his brilliant brother’s career. Sebastian was still very young; his character held all the plasticity associated with the artistic temperament at such an age; moreover his entire aesthetic vision as it had yet formed itself was utterly native, so that it might have been reasonable to look forward to his becoming the painter of a new English Romanticism, of
cool trees, and night,
And the sweet, tranquil Thames,
And moonshine, and the dew…
(Moonshine, indeed – Cheel thought. But he continued reading.)
The die, however, was cast. Sebastian Holme became his brother’s travelling companion – fellow-adventurer, indeed – and his imagination was thus abruptly thrown open to a vast new range of experience:
The wind, the tempest roaring high,
The tumult of a tropic sky,
Might well be dangerous food
For him, a Youth to whom was given
So much of earth – so much of heaven
And such impetuous blood.
But to all this Sebastian’s genius was to rise superbly. In a few short years he had established himself as the supreme master of an entirely new territory: a jungle-world
Cheel got to his feet and prowled once more. So far so good, he thought. He had only to be sufficiently assiduous in his own attendance and he was bound to find his man once more. Yet here again there was a difficulty. It would be reasonable to make three or four further visits to the Da Vinci, but after that his haunting the place would begin to look a little queer. Braunkopf – a suspicious type, as little crooks of his sort commonly were – might smell a rat. Frowning over this new problem, Cheel walked to the front of the gallery. There was a big window, partly draped in velvets holding the same moth-eaten suggestion as the settees. But one could peer over these into the street. Cheel did so, with some thought that his quarry might be lurking nearby after all. This seemed not to be the case. But, over the way, he saw something which cleared up his latest difficulty at once. It was a bar of the superior cocktail and champagne-by-the-glass variety, and its dispositions were such that one could drink while comfortably seated and with an excellent view of the Da Vinci itself. In order to secure such a vantage point, he reflected with satisfaction, quite a substantial daily expenditure on quiet drinking would be justifiable.
So far, so good. Cheel turned back to the main room of the gallery, and sat down again. He had not yet read the two or three pages of biographical information about Holme provided in the catalogue. It was very likely that, after the fashion of such things, they were both inaccurate and less than candid. He had better go carefully over them, nevertheless. What was here recorded of the obscure but picturesque final phase of the painter’s life would at least serve as a basis for independent investigation. Cheel opened the catalogue. The first page was unrewarding. But his interest quickened as he read on.
5
At the beginning of 1956 Holme spent about a term at the Slade School, and he is recorded there for the Summer Term of the following year. A few months later, however, he was in Africa. Thereafter, until the end of his tragically short life, he was never in England for more than a few weeks at a time.
Sebastian Holme’s interest in the Dark Continent had doubtless been nourished for some years by the exploits of his elder brother Gregory Holme, the distinguished explorer. Mr Gregory Holme – whose good offices have in part made possible the present Exhibition – was only two years older than the painter, but already a legendary if elusive figure.
There can be no doubt that his powerful personality was primarily responsible for decisions which were to be crucial in his brilliant brother’s career. Sebastian was still very young; his character held all the plasticity associated with the artistic temperament at such an age; moreover his entire aesthetic vision as it had yet formed itself was utterly native, so that it might have been reasonable to look forward to his becoming the painter of a new English Romanticism, of
cool trees, and night,
And the sweet, tranquil Thames,
And moonshine, and the dew…
(Moonshine, indeed – Cheel thought. But he continued reading.)
The die, however, was cast. Sebastian Holme became his brother’s travelling companion – fellow-adventurer, indeed – and his imagination was thus abruptly thrown open to a vast new range of experience:
The wind, the tempest roaring high,
The tumult of a tropic sky,
Might well be dangerous food
For him, a Youth to whom was given
So much of earth – so much of heaven
And such impetuous blood.
But to all this Sebastian’s genius was to rise superbly. In a few short years he had established himself as the supreme master of an entirely new territory: a jungle-world
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