Sacramento daily record-union., 1890-09-14
TEE ANGEL or VENGEANCE.

dark green expresses, lies neglected,
moss-grown grave, which, but little more
than three-score years ago, used to be the
goal of many votary of art and other in
terested or chance travellers. He whose
remains were laid to rest here is almost
forgotten now, although he was highly eel
ebrated during the middle of the years
of 80.
A statue, which stands guard at the head
of the grave, used to constitute the attrac-
ton in the days alluded to. tbs a master
piece of art-the last creation by the sculp-
tor Jean Borsa, who sleeps his dreamless
sleep in this moldering clay.
An incidental remark by bright young
son of the muses., in whose company was
meandering through the celebrated GEM
etery one day, caused ME to wend my steps
to the sunken mound of the above grave.
While / was trying to decipher the al
most obliterated inscription upon the tomb
stone of some great parsonage, he suddenly
interrupted my endeavor, and, pointing
toward a secluded part of the cemetery,
said that there was a strange and marvel
Gus piece of sculpture over there upon the
grave of Jean Borsa, which was as well
worth seeing as anything in this great city
of tombs, and to which there was, more
over, an interesting tale attached.
At the first glance | noticed nothing
unusual about the statue, although | re-
marked its excellent execution. A youth
with gloomy expression, but noble, beau
tiful features. standing erect with his
hands folded as if in prayer-this is what
presented itself to the first cursory glance.
Upon closer and more studious obserya-
tlon, however, noted that the hands are
clinched together, as though in intense
anger.
The longer one contemplated the statue,
the more impressed one became by it,
But the suppressed wrath depicted in
every line of the figure could not possibly
have any relation to the symbolic mean
ing of the messenger of death.
"What circumstances are there con-
nected with this work, and what is the
story you spoke of?' asked, turning to
my companion.
at is the work of blind man." he an
swered.
"What? Impossiblep p exclaimed pet
ulantly. "a blind nan. if he be 81 all
able to overcome the technical difficulties
involved, could not possibly create any
thing SO perfect. Perhaps his sight was
only dimmed-but blind, totally blind
why, nonsense-not when he created this
work"
'sBut he was, nevertheless, totally
blind" reasserted my companion.
''He had lost his sight about ten years
before he started this statue by splinter
of marble which few into his eye one day
while at work. In vain the most promi-
nent oculists endeavored to save the other
eye. But it lasted hardly
year, when also its power Of sight was ex-
That, however, is not the
only thing remarkable about this statue
'If you wish, / will tell you the tale
which is doubtless only known to very
few. Did you ever see any work Of PAU
Jean Borsa, the junior? He was likewise
an able sculptor, but his reputation is
more or less confined to Venice, where he
lived after his fathers death. Well, it is
his likeness which this Angel of Venge-
ance,' as this statue is called, represents"
"Ah, yes. The type of the boy is also
more Italian than French" l remarked.
every true. The father of Borsa, Sr.,
was an Italian, poor mason, who was en-
ployed by the renowned sculptor, David,
to do the rough preparatory work for him
-, !, e+,,J,o HE litfla COZ,
accompanied him. Soon the boys favorite
knead miniature figures
out of clay-attracted the attention OF the
chief. He discovered remarkable native
talent in him, sent HIM to schools and
academies, and took him finally, after the
necessary preparatory studies, as pupil in
his own atelier.
"The old Italian died, happy in the
hope of his son jeans brilliant future.
"Into Dayid's house there now came an
orphaned niece, an angel in beauty and
purity, fresh from the southern Provence.
Claire and Jean, who saw each other every
day, soon fell in love with each other. But
when Jean asked the great sculptor for the
hand of his niece he met with opposition.
David demanded that he should first create
a position for himself; that he should first
become master ere he thought of estab-
fishing home of his own.
THE wild young blood of Jean Borsa
waxed hot at the decision. He was not
the man to wait for long years. His
passion ensnared the young, confding girl,
and one day both disappeared from David's
house. The elopement was capped by
marriage and thus the stain that the esca-
pade made upon Claires character was
blotted out.
Hard days soon ensued. At first the
strong love, which bound them together
retained the upper hand over life's troub-
les and poverty's distress. But misery
soon wound its fetters higher and higher
around them. Jean, instead of struggling
harder and harder in manly way, weak
ened under the stress of misfortune In a
half despairing, contemptibly selfish way
he sought to Danish his troubles from the
mind with that kind but pernicious ne
penthe which so many weak men resort to
in their misfortune. He took to drinking
and gambling, and before these and other
vices love fled with giant PAGES.
sln Milan, whittier they had gone to-
gether, two little statuettes, He and She
which Jean had modelled during the first
happy sunshine of their union, and sold
later on for mere bagatelle to dealer in
curiosities, attracted the attention Of
rich English woman. She contrived to
meet the artist, and soon became even
more interested in his personality than in
his works. He kept his circumstances
from her, and, thinking him a free and
unmarried man, she proposed to him to
accompany her to London. Jean accepted
her offer. He left his young wife and
newly-born boy helpless in the lurch and
followed the demon of gold.
But to this ungrateful wretch women
were mere tool for purpose. After he
had gained name for himself in London,
he suddenly left his protectress to travel
in distant lands Not once did he make
inquiry about his wife and child. His
Infamous egotism Stunned everything of
the past which might in any way have
been injurious to his future. He would
fain soothe himself with the idea that
Claire had implored and received her
uncle's forgiveness. Higher and higher
he assembled the ladder of fame. Rich in
gold and honors he returned after ten
years of art travel to Paris.
David was dead. OF Claire there was
no trace. A reconciliation had, therefore,
not taken place. Nevertheless the poor
woman had returned to Paris. With her
child in her arms she. had retracea the
weary road on foot, begging here and