g man who would very shortly excite
discussion if not admiration. Fortunately Mr Pennell, a distinguished
artist himself, and a fearless critic, not only espoused the cause of
the new draughtsman, but became a personal friend for whom Beardsley
always evinced great affection, and to whom he dedicated his "Album of
Fifty Drawings."

[Illustration: THE WOMAN IN THE MOON
_From "Salome"_]

I shall never forget my first meeting with Aubrey Beardsley, on February
14th, 1892, at the rooms of Mr Vallance, the well-known disciple and
biographer of William Morris. Though prepared for an extraordinary
personality, I never expected the youthful apparition which glided into
the room. He was shy, nervous, and self-conscious, without any of the
intellectual assurance and ease so characteristic of him eighteen months
later when his success was unquestioned. He brought a portfolio of his
marvellous drawings, in themselves an earnest of genius; but I hardly
paid any attention to them at first, so overshadowed were they by the
strange and fascinating originality of their author. In two hours it was
not hard to discover that Beardsley's appearance did not belie him. He
was an intellectual Marcellus suddenly matured. His rather long brown
hair, instead of being "ebouriffe," as the ordinary genius is expected
to wear it, was brushed smoothly and flatly on his head and over part
of his immensely high and narrow brow. His face even then was terribly
drawn and emaciated. Except in his manner, I do not think his general
appearance altered very much in spite of the ill-health and suffering,
borne with such unparalleled resignation and fortitude: he always had
a most delightful and engaging smile both for friends and strangers.
He grew less shy after half an hour, becoming gayer and more talkative.
He was full of Moliere and "Manon Lescaut" at the time; he seemed
disappointed that none of us was musical; but he astonished by his
knowledge of Balzac an authority on the subject who was also present.
He spoke much of the National Gallery and the British Museum, both of
which he knew with extraordinary thoroughness. He told me he had only
been once to the New Gallery, where he saw some pictures by Burne-Jones,
but had never been to the Royal Academy. As far as I know, he never
visited the spring shows of Burlington House. He always, however,
defended that institution with enthusiasm, saying he would rather be an
Academician than an artist, "as it