Spirit of the age. [volume] (Woodstock, Vt.) 1845-1913, 1881-06-22

Hiii' NN'PNH'ft :" sff'H fNFl fs''' WV
yellow Tiber rolling slnggishly,
liertOl was bewildefed by the strange
ness, He procured q poor lodging,
FASTENED to the li0rghese, Only ~
dreams had he known such Joy lie
passed CanOya's Venus IN seon and
plying cOntempi, 10 think No mean Q
thing should represent hlS goddess anh
be- 80 near 10 her throne,
"Where IL the Venus oi MelOsT he
asked the custodian, IN awed tones
"in the Louvre" the old man replied,
"Ihey have not left hor 10 na," i
lieitol staggered ~ II some one had
dealt him sharp blow A mist came
before His eyes he turned ghastiy pale,
II was as II death had come TO him, lilo
had dedicated his life to this mission
The same impulse that gave the world
PhidiaR, Angelo, and Thorwalsden
stlired his soul His money was almost
srcnt, lie could 90 no farther, France
was ~ distant 10 him ~ the Kingdom
Of Thule, lie shuddered,
Az hs stumbled blindly over the
threshold with bleeding heart. . young
girl spoke 10 him kindly, thinking he
was q stranger and III, She offered HIN
u handful Of ripe, purple figs
WhO are your he asked, abruptly,
passing his hand over his eyes ~ II to
brush away mist, "fon have her
features"
~ am 10, from Mclos," she answered,
simply, "a great lady was travelling
there, saw me, and took me with her"
"And You left Greece" he asked In n
half rcproachfnl tone, -,
"Surely," she laughed, white bread
IL better than black, iies than olives"
"Did You ever hear Of the NcnusY
Have they found her arms p
She replied carclessly;-
"a know nothing about II, II is all
sky, water, and ruins in Melos. Father
used to dig up pieces Of marble in the
vineyard and sell to travellers. They
were ugly things like Rome better
and the shops, ! will ask madame she
is great English lady and knows every
thing"
Bcrtol thanked her, then walked to
his lodgings, He counted the money in
his purse. II was very little, and the
pieces pitifully small, A package OF
withered rose leaves fell from his pocket,
and the petals lay strewn over the floor
forgotten. He bowed his head in his
bitterness and sobbed
Toward morning, all Rome was astir
in the GOODNESS. Betrol woke from his
dreams, haggard and weak, He had
eaten nothing hut the figs pretty 10 had
given him. He went out into the streets,
satisfied his hunger, and searched for
the sculptors' studios to find work.
One after another they shook their
heads when they glanced at his small
designs and saw his slender figure and
pale face. =,
ave want workmen," they all said.
Weary and broken hearted, he reach
ed the last door. An old man was mod
cling in clay He looked around as
he babe the lad enter, examined his
figures, listened to him patiently, and
said -
"If You could find another Hadrian ior
patron, the world would have another
Antinous. / have no work You could
do; only you can stand rs n model
Bertol consented, for he knew he must
work to live. In the afternoon he wan
dered again to the Borghese and saw 10
coming toward him.
"Haye you found anything about the
Venus" he demanded, eagerly.
She pouted.
cam not more important than the
Venus"
"You are like her." he answered, sad
ly. "Your expression and form are like,
But she was goddess. You are only a
woman"
"Yes?" She looked coquettishly
under her long, dark lashes. 1--WE have
always lived in Melos, in Kaesdon. May.
be my ancestress was the Venus. Mad
ahe says they cannot find her arms, and
she is better without them. Imagine
(she held out her own bare, brown arms,
from which the linen sleeves had slipped
back, revealing their shapely outline)
how one would look without them
Madame always raves about those things
without arms, legs, or heads They
make me shudder."
"a torso, you mean," Bertol explain,
ed.
She sat by him in the grove all the
day, chattering in her pretty broken
English, until Bertol half forgot his
marble divinity, and her presence was
quite replaced by a human sister. Mays
rose-leaves were swept up by the con
tadino and lay unheeded among the
ashes. los face shared half the victory
with the Venus in Bertols heart.
Day by day he went to the studio!
earning a miserable pittance; his hand
ached to mold the clay he must moi
touch. 10 was his only comfort. She
laughed and ridiculed his dreams, but
he never needed her. He saved little
by almost starving himself, modelled hel
image in clay, and longed for marble tt
perpetuate it. Something whispered tt
him, "It is good"
The winds from the Apennines blew
more chill as winter approached. Th'
imperial city was full of life and merrl
ment. Bertol loved 10 devotedly, bu
she deserted him with the summer, be
cause, she said =
"Baptista, the wine merchant, doe
not moon all the day over goddesses.
1t hurt Bertol sorely, and now he wa
quite alone, and lived, hoping his worl
would succeed, and he could go tt
France. He wrote cheerful letters t.
the old Frau, and she talked proud.
to the farmers wife of her son, tn
sculptor. 49,.
At last Bertol was ont of work. Hi
eyes grew large and hollow, his franz
gaunt. The blue veins stood out lik
network on his pale forehead, and hi
face was white as the marble in hi
masters workshop. One day lie went t
the old studio and begged the sculpto
to come home with him. Bertol too
him to the poor room and threw TIL
cloth of the face of his statue.
The sculptor gazed astonished.
"Did yon do this, boyT he asked.
Bertol did not answer. Worn natur
had given way under the strain, and h
fell in white heap on the floor.
| ,.yo, ,-;lI la famoua " the sculptC