The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1885-09-27
THE PAINTERS INFERNO
A STORY IN TWO PARTS.
BY HENRY F. KEENAN,, Author of '.Traian.'
lCopyrighted.l

~AS "Stte Inns was SO long ago tnat the people
who bought pictures did not know that when the
critics are in doubt art is its best But at that
tlme the critics, not knowing whether to abuse
or admire Asirics pictures. by the default, were
thought queer" and the amateurs bought of
the surer brethren, who were ruled by the fine
art oracles. Asiric had studied in Rome where
mans work is compared with the eternal first
principles of the schooi, and, as a consequence.
not knowing any one who knew the writers.
Asiric painted year after year and sent his mas
terpieces to the agents, from whom only at long
intervals he got any return to show that they
had received small value for his handiwork. He
was philosophic worker, however, and he
made no murmur so long as he found means to
pay for his pretty studio in Blocker street,
which was only then beginning to show the
5hinlngness that few years later turned it into
che cast-of raiment of society, so to speak.
Beer was not vulgar drink in those days. and the
young man-Asric at this time was twenty three
drank good deal of beer and talked tran
scendental vagaries in the dark cellar of Schoff,
the friend of art aud the patron of the poverty
stricken.
In this celestial company of his kind Asiric
shoulder of the buyers. He curled the smoke
in merry wreaths, and though he didn't talk much
he felt that it good to hear the fine thoughts
that seemed to be thrown in with Schoff's
modest refreshment Sometimes he repented
the years that he had given to art when he saw
the afiuence of the poets and romancers about
the joyous board. They always had the ear of
the critics, for when they did poorly in romance
or poetry they found the way to the newspaper
treasury by dashing raid upon some luckless
scribbler or zealons actor. and the papers were
always on the qu vive for piquant onslaught
upon some parsonage in the vogue of the day.
Unhappily for Asiric he did not paint the
lover, and could not pass his time in adoring his
own creations, many another poor fellow has
done, until the clock of his lll-luck ran down.
He was what his friends at Schoffs called gen
Jus OF the weird. He covered plains of canvas
with his love and imaginary tragedies. but his
creations were not of the worshipfu sort But
when this had continued two years, and he had
embodied his most beautiful thoughts
on canvas, his pocket quite empty, and
he was as unable to turn his canvas into
food as the stone cutter the corner piece
hewn from the solid rock. In other words,
while Asiric was laying up treasures Of beauty
and the fire under it cold. He bore this with
sombre fortitude, and made light of the meagre
fare that his narrow means enabled him to pro-
vide. He had invented the most economical reg
linen known to the craft when he found that his
pictures were likely to remain his studio
walls indefinitely. Necessity made him very
good cook, and though his menu was limited he
felt that it was something to know that he had
the most perfect cup of coffee that warmed the
tissues of any one in New York The aroma of
Ms ia I'D thn hr,i1A
ing, and he laughed grimly to himself as he
heard the envious dodgers inger before the door
and clear their heads to take in store of the
nectar-laden atmosphere. 1t was this self-same
coffee that brought about the first step in that
curiout train of events that startled New York
IN 1856. Asiric had drained the very dregs from
the pretty Sevres cup that had been an adorn
menU of his studio on the Via Margretta. when
a knock that implied something unusual, because
too early for the maid and too late for cred
itor, resounded through the room.
He couldn't believe that the knock meant
for him, and he drained the last drop in the cup,
expecting to hear the footsteps of the mistaken
person move off so soon as the modest sign
"Asiric Sterne, painter" showed the knocker his
error. But as he set the cup back in the dainty
saucer another knock, emphatic, decisive and
eloquent of perfect understanding of the situa-
ton Oh the part of the owner of the knuckles,
brought the young man in agitated expectancy
from his seat to the door.
When he opened it he was confronted by an
elderly person, SO decorous in mein and habili-
ment that, absolutely there was nothing in the
appartion for even the airy fancy of artist to
set hope upon.
Good morning Mr.. Asiric Sterne."
"Good morning, sir"
May / come INF"
"Oh certainly--delighted. Come rirht in"
81 hope you won't think it strange Mr. Asiric
Sterne, butt must tell you"-the stranger was
by this time in the center OF the studio and look
ing about him in pleasurable compacency-"w
Il must tell You, that l want to know how you
make that coffeeP
Asjric was young man of the most courteous
manners. He had knocked about" Europe ten
years, and was familiar with eccentricities of a
great many varieties; but he sat down and stared
helplessly at this extraordinary development of
what he, in his European way, called ''aplomb'
IF he had been less Europen he would have called
1t 'cheek."
''You think me-very-intrusve and queer,
don't you, Mr.. Arsiric Sterne. eha'
"Oh, dear, no-not at all"
If man must perjure himself for love it is the
least he can do to fb for politeness, he thought,
as he sat about preparing the coffee
NOW while you make me a cup of that ador-
able coffee-the SAVIOR of it has been in my nos
trils for month"; will tell you what want
It's in the way of painting, but | am not sure
that you can do it."
Asiric started and nearly dropped the coffee
bag and then grimly lighted the spirit lamp,
doled out cup half-filled with pungent coffee
grains broke his last egg in II, and when the
water was steamng in pleasant gurglng invita-
ton he poured it on. and by the time the
bubbles noted the milk in boil he filled the
pretty Sevres cup and handed it with unimpaired
gravity to his grotesque client
That's worth living for; that's what I've not
had since since quit my rooms the Rue del
Arbre Sec, ten years ago-ah--why must we
live where we don't love. Well. we'll"
He sighed plaintvely. slipping the coffee, and
as the taste began to penetrate his palate he re-
ings.
~ may say, Mr.. Asiric Sterne, that have
seen all these pictures you have here I've seen
them at Grauss Whoopil's. l never bought any
of them" he remarked quite gravely, as though
without the assurance the artist might have be-
ieved him capable of just that maefacton.
''No, l never bought any of them-but l came
very near it,"
Asric exhibited lively interest
'Yes, You made copy of foreign master. A
Aal IN king dead m the of