Sacramento daily record-union. [volume] (Sacramento [Calif.]) 1875-1891, 1881-03-12
THE STORY OF A STATUE

LII ~ O404 III NJ IL L ~ 4Ss
There is story attached to the monu-
ment which covers the ashes of Marco
Bozzaris at Missolonghi-th young Greek
Girl half reclining on the tomb and tracing
with her finger the name OF the hero.
| David Of Anglers was the artist. 1t was
! at the period when the heroic struggle of
Greece for her liberty fired the hearts of
| all the gentle and enthusiastic of Western
Europe that that sculptor resolved to erect
| over the ashes of Bozzaris a worthy monu-
ment. As one day he was lettering in
cemetery his eye fell upon strange pic
ture-a girl, almost a child, kneeling upon
tomb and spelling out letter by letter,
tracing each with her finger, the inscrip-
ton on the stone.
81 have the composition, said the artist
to himself, now for the model.
He found the model one day as he and
Victor Hugo were walking down Rue du
Montparnasse-a ragged girl OF fourteen,
| slight, frail but with face and figure of
classic beauty, wait OF the streets picked
up by an old woman who sold fried pota-
| toes at the StTctO CuIuSi SCHt Oue uSi
protege to pose in the studios.
III.
The girl visited David's atelier, Rue de
Fleurus, frequently, sometimes accompa-
MED by her ''mother." On the wall there
hung medallion head of Christ in bronze,
mounted on velvet and set off by hand
some gilt frame, on which the old woman
often cast an admlring eve
One day as at the conclusion of her hour
the child was drawing on her battered
clothing, she said to the artist:
That Christ yonder, M. Dayid-my
mother often speaks about 1t. If you
wished to let us have it, in our attic it
would be so grand And it would console
me-uphold me-strengthen me, perhaps.
Could / have it If could, would pay
you little by little as your model for as
many statues as you liked.
David took down the medallion and
gave it to the child.
You really want it !" he said. Here
it is, and whenever you are tempted to go
astray-to do wrong-fx your eyes upon
it. And do not forget the artist who
made it, and who gives it to you, your
own, for nothing"
In one of his curious fragments, 'Une
Mutt d'Atelier, . David records his passion
for this creation of his chisel, paternal-
not amorous, like that of Pygmaiion.
Behold, at last it is finished, 7" he wrote
"Thou, my dear child, must leave our
France for that fair land of Greece. | have
so loved thee, as a tender father loves his
child, in spite of the faults he knows so
we'll Soon shalt thou quit our country of
noble inspirations and great works for that
in which all these had their germ and be-
ginning The sun of Attica, not our pale
sun, shall warm thee with its glow, and
when the night star rises in the blue, like
thought of the Lord, one ray will fall
upon tiny melancholy brow, for thou art
very sad, my child, my poor child"
The statue was sent to Missolonghi, and
in new labors the artist forgot it-or, at
least, ceased to remember its model the
half-starved child of the Rue de Mont
parnasse.
One night some time afterwards as
David was passing along the Rue Childe-
bert he was attacked from behind by an
assailant who struck him down, laying his
head open with two blows that well nigh
proved fatal The would-be assassin was
never known, though the artist had good
reason to suspect that it was another
sculptor, man provoked by David's hav-
ing voted for rival in prize competition,
and subject to fits OF positive insanity.
Some years later, when he had ceased to
think of the attempt on his life, David,
always an ardent Republican, received
note bidding him be, between midnight
and o'clock, at a house in the Faubourg
Saint Jacques. There was no signature ap.
pended to the invitation, but upon the page
was traced symbol with which, as mem
Der OF one of the patriotic secret societies,
the artist was familiar. There was no
ianitor, said the unknown writer, and the
halls were unlighted, so the visitor was to
furnish himself with a dark lantern, ascend
to the fourth floor and knock at door
indicated by cross chalked on the panel.
David kept his strange tryst punctually
too punctually, for it was not yet quite
midnight when he reached the Rue Saint
Jacques.
At the door bearing the chalked cross
he knocked-6rst gently, then loudly, but
receiving no answer, he, fancylng that he
had been made the victim of a practical
joke, was about to quit the house when the
door of the adjoining room was opened and
girl appeared at it with light in her
hand. She glanced at him for an instant,
turned pale and stammered:
g What, Nj. David, is it your"
The sculptor was not less surprised to
recognize in the startled, handsome woman,
his model of so many years before.
80 Go hurry away from here p she whis-
pered, breathlessly. 6 Away, or you are
a dead man! Go ask me nothing do
not betray me and my mother; only fly
| never thought it was you"
David understood from her earnestness
that he was in no ordinary peril, and
swiftly and noiselessly left the house, but
curious to solve the mystery connected
with the whole matter, concealed himself
in doorway near by, and as it struck IL
saw two men glide stealthily up the street,
look cautiously around them and enter the
building.
IS have always fancied, +" he used to say,
when telling the story, that recognized
in one of them my murderer.
Some years later, when he CHANGED to
be in that quarter of Paris, David resolved
to visit the house, and ascending to the
fourth floor knocked at the door of the
room formerly occupied by his model. He
found it tenanted by an artisan who had
never heard of her, nor were her name and
description familiar to any one in the
house.
When the artist at last saw her it was in
August, 1S43, while following to the grave
the remains of his brother sculptor, Cor