Belmont chronicle. [volume] (St. Clairsville, Ohio) 1855-1973, 1875-11-25

Hliucs anu hOulu TdtueE nave gone
rigaretteless to the end of his days than
have brought me face to face with in
sJlvency by asking for centimes.
i am poor, Pipo,' / said at last,
openly and calmly; poor as a church
mouse or an artist
IN tell You something, psdrOne
milo, that will bring you good luck,
PipO, looking at me with his
great earnest eyes.
what is il?
: 'YOu see, me want two cents-me
buy
l collected the required amount with
some difficulty and cautioned Pipo to
be careful how he laid il out.
He came back with a small cage in
his hand, containing three great black
crickets.
They bring you good luck, padrone.
Everybody in Venice keeps them in
the spring.
We'll, | haven't much faith in them
myself, not being a child of the South,
sunken in superstition and slavery, but
we will hang them over the fireplace
and see what turns up
The crickets sang on bravely for a
good fortune, l have no DOUBT, poor
beasts. One morning l took down the
cage, and behold there were only two
legless tOrsos of crickets. Their anI-
pltated limbs lay about the floor Of the
cage in expressive confusion. The
third had efnigrated. Later l found
him half cremated behind the fireplace.
'Pipo,' said mournfully, your crick-
cts are delusion and snare
One morning, not long after, was
painting as usual, and Pipo was posing
patiently before me. Suddenly there
came loud ring at the door. What
could it he? Creditors had none and
visitors never. The dogs began t.
howl. L looked st myself. L wore d
coat with fi:ty-two patches; L told Pipn
to keep his attitude. put on bold
face, and, by way of encouragement,
composed as went to the door new
paragraph for my future biography in
the Lives of Distinguished American
Artists: 1T is related of him that even
at this early stage of his career he had
such confidence in the might and pow.
er of his genius that he did not hesitate
| to answer his own door bell in a rag.
ged coat
a white-haired gentleman stepped
into the hall. The dogs swarmed ovel
him at once.
Il have been told there was an artist
living here,' he said, looking about
him. Down, my dears, down, 1 beg
of YOU
'I am the artist, at least l try to be
one.'
l thought his face looked familiar.
remembered then who he Was. The
winter Was in Rome [ heard a good
deal about him-a benevolent old fel
low who hunted out poor artists and
helped them on. He had a son mad
after art, and refused to let him study
The boy ran away from home, came
to Europe, painted awhile, gave hope
of brilliant career, and then falling i'll
died sheer poverty and nothing else
And so the father did what little he
could to atone for his fault. Oh, re.
membered him well. l ushered hin
him into the studio.
That's very nice little boy he said
patting Pipo's shaven pate. Does he
go to school"
He does not. He revels in igno
rance and smokes
'Ah, l see you are painting his pOr-
trait-a young fisherman. Beautiful
thing! Is it Ordered?'
d. forced pallid smile. Orders are
not plentiful in this establishment.
am painting entirely for glory at pres
ent.'
Then would you allow me to secure
| it for friend at home who is making
of nrfo
finish il by the end of the month
And l know that artists must have
brushes and colOrs. / should like tC
leave an instalment, if you will per
NIT me-
He laid a purse on the table.
Never mind thanks; / had a son
once myself. Come up and see me al
the hotel
With his dear old face all agloW
with kindness he started for the uoor
He waved me goOd-by with his umb
rella. Come up aud see me and we'll
talk it all over.'
Come to my arms, o most blessed oi
Pipos. It's all through you and your
crickets y
Who says that ravens no Longer
minister to the needs of hungry proph
cts? Who says that angels walk moi
abroad in human guise?
The dogs barked for delight and Pipe
and l danced jig for joy.
From that day onward life prosper
ed amain. Friends gathered about
my orders assaulted me on every side
and exchanged the picturesque power
ty of the house on the lagoon for the
sumptuous hall of palace on the
Grand Canal. Pipo stayed with me
until left Venice. He pleaded hard
to be taken to America, bnt l felt that
there he would be misunderstood. His
innocent fondness for the weed would
be labelled Juvenile depravity;' his
poetic raggedness would be accounted
squalor.
So left him in that beautiful city,
where the marble domes rise from the
water like great white lilies, and the
boats dance over the sea like scarlet
winged birds. There, where life is all
one golden afternoon, left my PipO.
We had borne joy and sorrow together
and the parting was hard. And wher-
ever 60 / carry about with me the
memory of two innocent child-eyes
which finds its way continually on to
my canvas. And when | hear the
critics say, How much this face re-
minds me of Da Vinci' l laugh half
wistfully and think of the tender child
mouth, that smiled up at me from the
garden wall that lonely summer even
ing in far-off Venice.
LEO VII, of Armenia, dispossessef