The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1890-04-09
UNFINISHED. !"
BY E. 3. CALDWELL.

the artists and you connoisseurs are just
puzzled by them. I know what you are
saying to yourself. 1t is: when the
man could get qualities like that, could
see things in that astounding way, why,
in the name of all that exists, did he not
do more2 what did he leave his things
in that condition for2 and what under
the sun is the matter with them2 I can't
pick out one that is not failure, not
withstanding the delightful color, and
that feeling in their execution, which is
so delicate and subtle as to be almost un-
canny. But there is something wanting,
something left undone, as though the
hand had been arrested in the making, so
that a bit of the soul of the thing had
been left out. 1t is so with the least
scrap of sketch you have here. Curious
Well, sir, I give those pictures that cor
ner of my studio, and I usually let peo-
pie look and marvel about them, but I
have never fully explained them to any
one.
"You, sir, say you are metaphysician;
that you are interested in the curiosities
of human nature. feel impelled to
give you the history of the man who
painted them. Hewas my chum when I
was student in Paris, ten years ago. I
did not know him before, though we were
both Americans. / was from California,
and he was from the South-from Georgia.
His name was Ralph Esby. I shall not
soon forget the day Ralph Esby came
walking into the studio. We were under
Bonnat--a splendid lot of young men,
that class was-Americans, Frenchmep,
English, Greeks, Danes, and don t know
what other nationalities. He came walk
ing in, looking like young god. A tall
fellow, of about twenty three, with a
certain slenderness, although rather
strongly built. And he Iad a grace of
movement which matched his beautiful
face. Yet, strange to say, he would
sometimes do things in the most awkward
and rigid way, as if to contradict the
assumption that he possessed this charm
ing grace. For instance, he would throw
himself back from his work to give it
critical look, with motion in which
there was more of an inspiration, to us
fellows, than in the prettiest model we
had. When, suddenly, just as you felt
an admiring thrill going over you, es-
pecially if you had conceived the en-
thusiasm for Esby which I had, he would
give your ethetic nerves a shock by
drawing himself up rigidly-snap!-as
though something had left him. And
bed abandon his work, and off he'd 60
without word to any one. There would
be his study, more of less finished
sometimes just sketched in, sometimes
quite going on, and it would have in it
just such qualities as you seein these can
vases. I never knew him to put through
the week on one model. Every one felt,
il Esby would only finish, he'd be the
biggest man among US.
: "We had such respect for him and
his work though, that no one said much
that might look critical. Occasionally,
. fellow, with more csllous sensibilities
than common, would 60 up to his easel
with: 'Isn't that jolly, now, now; but,
say, Esby, why don't you fnisba' He'd
just gel little red, smile, with strange
look in his eye-if he had let himself out
more you might have called it hopeless
sort of look-and he'd turn off with
joke about something no one ever
ventured to notice. This was personal
peculiarly of his. The coat-sleeve of
his left arm was empty. 1t had come
from no accident-he had been born
without the arm. What he would say
was: you can't expect an unfinished
fellow to finish his picture It wasn't
in character for him to make joke of
that kind. 1t rather Jared upon you.
I'VE used to wish those 'thick-skins'
would let him alone.
"Bonnat treated him with a great deal
of courtesy. He was pleased enough
with his work at first. I remembered
Bonnat once saying, about the ngure of
q boy he had commenced: 'C'est
charmante.' And afterward, when he
found his things never carried on, he
would pass him without much criticism,
but made no complaint-he seemed to
understand that it was something peculiar
and constitutional.
~ attached myself to him from the
beginning. I am an enthusiastic person,
and naturally express what feel. But,
in spite of my enthusiasm for Esby, which
grew daily, there was always something
essential lacking in our friendship. 1t
reached stage when you could grasp it
as solid fact-call it completed friend
ship, if one may so speak. And l could
not help feeling that it was something in
Esby himself, though I could not lay my
finger on the reason. For I never thought
of complaining of want of response to
my affection, Notwithstanding that he
was so undemonstrative. No one could
call him cold. I felt that he liked me to
like him, and I felt that he he ,;.ca ,;Lca me.
.e., as l say, we never reached a COM
plete understanding. After our intimacy
came to a certain point, it stopped grow.
ing. And though there was great deal
which was very delightful to ME in know
ing him, something beautiful and ex-
quisite in our intercourse, which no other
man could have given, used to get quite
melancholy over its lacks. I couldn't
help connecting it with the way his
painting was done-so much beauty, with
that strange, unsatisfying quality.
"Although I never said anything to
him about it, thought he felt it, too.
For there were times when we would get
to talking on serious subjects-the i'm
mortality Of the soul and that kind OF