The L'Anse sentinel. (L'Anse, L.S., Mich.) 18??-current, 1891-10-24
a DUAL SOUL
BY AUSTIN GRANVILLE.

could in the darkness, and lit q
match. My nervous terror had peo-
pied the room with all kinds OF hor-
rible mental images, which, wrought
to high pitch OF excitement, my inn
agination had conjured. l was glad
when q food of yellow gas-light dis
sipated them, and showed to me the
remotest corners of my bachelor
quarters, with glimpse OF myself, in
the big mirror opposite, with face as
white as the sheets OF my deserted
bed. Hooked at my watch. 1t was
ten minutes after midnight.
/ took cigar from the mantel-
piece-I am u great smoker-and
sat down for moment to try and
collect my ideas. l had had hor-
rible dream.
The taking OF the cigar, the lighting
and the smoking OF it were all mechan-
ical actions which performed readi-
ly. When. however, began to try
and recall some particulars of my
dream, my mind displayed sluggish
ness in grasping the salient points OF
the mental vision which had come be-
fore me in my sleep which surprised
me. And yet my dream had been
most vivid and most terrible.
My mind had been wandering long
way of in that fitful unrest. ! had
dreamed that had been in Paris,
and that had seen a murder.
had never been in Paris. Where
had heard of the Rue de Reverdy?
1t was in that street that my dream
had been located. It all came back to
me as l sat there putting away. /
could see the victim OF my nightmare
lying upon the hearthrug of a rather
foreign-l looking room, well furnished,
with paintings and other art objects
upon the wall. The murdered man
for had seen a man stagger and fall
in my sleep-presented a dreadful
sight. Blood oozed from terrible
cash in his throat. Through the open
window the yellow glare of the street
lamps fickered feebly in the light of
the early dawn. Around me / heard
the rush and roar OF a great city
awakening to another day. Altogether
had had a horrible dream.
am, as you know, an artist. Be-
ing Chicago man, prefer to paint
/ Chicago pictures. don't believe all
, this humbug about man not being a
prophet in his own country. A paint
ing of one OF our railroad depots at
night, almost finished stood on its
easel in an adjoining room, which !
used as a studio. had gone to bed
the night before, intending to rise
early and throw in some more figure
work in the middle distance. There
was just space enough left for a man
and woman. thought would
throw in one OF those parting scenes
which we casually see in railroad de-
pots, and which are sometimes SO
affecting.
went out and stood before the
picture, little drowsily; but soon
wide-awake, and staring open-mouth-
man, just as l had conceived them in
my mind when lay down to sleep the
night previous, had been painted.
looked long and earnestly at the
picture, and felt my senses beginning
to leave me. The features of the man
l had painted-must have painted,
unconsciously during the night-were
hefeatures OF the man lying murder
ed in my dream, in the Rue de Rever-
dy, in the City OF Paris.
The most remarkable thing, how
ever, about this sleep work was that
/ had entirely altered my plans
regarding the two figures. In
stead OF placing them in the
middle distance / had brought them
boldly into the foreground. There
they stood, the man and the woman.
He, a tall, dark, rather handsome fell
low of about 80 years OF age, with a
sad, refined face OF the French artist
type. and strong, well-knit limbs, and
altogether hopeful, brave bearing
which seemed to say: Courage, we
will meet again." She, a woman not
over 20, with tender face, on which
were traces of recent tears, with red
dish, Ttcianesque hair, blown in
graceful confusion across her charm
ing eyes and low, white forehead,
as she stood with one tiny,
gloved hand in his, and held up the
other with the finger-tips just resting
on his shoulder.
Istood for fully FIVE minutes looking
at these two figures. There was one
more remarkable thing about them.
Not only were they different in style
and treatment from anything had
ever painted before, but they were alb.
solutely faultless in drawing and col.
oring. 1t was the finest bit OF figure
work had ever done in my life. wal
absolutely dazed, COMPOUNDED. If
could paint like that in my sleep, thu
sooner discovered the receipt for do.
ing it-bad dreams or no bad dreams
the better for my reputation as an
artist.
1t was undoubtedly the finest bit a
work had ever accomplished. 1t was
the making of the whole painting; and
1t at once suggested the title.
Selling q brush, painted it in one
corner of the canvas, with my name
and the date.
called the picture Goodbye"
1t was only o'clockin the morning.
was getting drowsy again. went
back into my bedroom, got into bed
and slept soundly.
k.f IT..
Al ~ r.