Evening journal., 1891-07-06
THE GIFT OF LIFE.

&
richly furnished room, with profusion Of
beautiful things about it. There were
heavy curtains, long low divans, and stuffs
and scents from the east, and nowhere a
sign Of hard work or struggle Even the
palettes and the half finished portraits
seemed to exist merely for the sake Of add
/ ing an extra dash of color to the whole
effect
My host, tall, handsome man of genial
manner, had that air of boundless leisure
which belongs sometimes to the most ener-
getic natures The world said that he had
sold himself for money, that his earlier
1 works promised n richness of feeling and
fancy which could hardly find expression
in highly paid reproductions Of fashionable
women. | was never sure If he realized
this, for no one was apparently less trou-
| bled by regrets than he. On this particu-
| lar evening, however, we had branched into
\ a discussion on the possible strength and
depth of artistic feeling, and I maintained
| perhaps too bitterly, that the true fire was
stihed by money and luxury. forgot for
the moment how much of what | said
might apply directly to the man lounging
near me- and as he remained silent, and
yet in some intangible way assured me
that he was listening, | grew more and
ing began to walk up and down the room.
With more emphasis than originality,
exclaimed that it was the love of art for
her own sake which was the true inspira-
tion Of the artist, not love of the gold she
brought him. Nowadays" / declared
bitterly, mo one loves her enough to make
any sacrifice
stopped short in front Of a smMl bronze
figure which / had never noticed in his
room before. 1t stood upon table in a
dark recess, and could scarcely see it; but
with that sudden instinct which warns us
now and then that we are close to some
thing great carried my prize quickly into
the light. 1t Was the figure of girl young
and strong, like fresh green shoot She
was almost naked, and she was dancing
evidently because she could not help it,
there was an irresistible gayety and joyous
ness about her which made one long to
dance too. Her delicate head was thrown
back as If laugh were ripping from her
lips, and one arm was flung out with a
grace that was almost insolent. The other
arm was gone.
is this an antiquegi / cried, impatient
for an answer.
''It Is curious you should have taken up
that thing at this moment y my friend re-
turned thoughtfully. Look ut it again.
| ] think you will say it is not Greek ia spite
of the inscription
/ examined the enchanting creation once
more, and noticed that on the base was
written, in Greek characters, 1.-The Spirit
OF JOY"
THAT figure was modelled hardly a year
ago in Paris" my friend continued. 'ant
the man who imagined it gave his life foi
it, Would you like TO hear the storyf"
And before l had time to answer he be
gan the following narrative;
None Of the other artists who lived il
the same street, or even those in the sam,
house, knew much of the young sculptor
Leroy He was from the south and hat
come to study in Paris, but, unlike all thu
rest, he never would make any friends o.
join in the wild pleasures Of his fellow
workers. It was rumored that he wa
dreadfully poor, but then so many other
were poor, and yet led pleasant conviyia
lives.
mo; something else Is wrong with lie
roy, the artists used TO say 'He Is eithe
mad or in love- He never asked any on
, inside his room, and indeed there wa
nothing much to see, except a very bar
garret and a lot Of white clay, with her
and there some lump beginning to tax
human shape. Leroys pale, quiet face di
not attract people, and he was very 500
left to go on his own way. The concierg
Q used to shrug her shoulders when sh
reached the top story in her gossip over th
o different inmates of the house, and wondt
how the thin, dark haired fellow lived.
Leroy, for all his melancholy looks an
his poverty, more stringent than any on
Q imagined, was happy. His mind wa
Q thronged with shapes be longed to put int
i marble, and this bare garret formed u
background to many wonderful dream
Sometimes, when lie shut the door upo
% the dark, ugly staircase, and rested a m
$. meHt in his chair with his eyes closed, Il
u room seemed TO ill with beautiful form
" which moved and swayed before him, an
he would lean back, watching intentl
till at last one above all the rest would e
trance his eyes. Then lie would strive
is imprint every line and curve upon Il
Is memory, in a fever lest anything shou
"a escape him before that sudden stiffness
, the air, which always woke him with
shudder to the ugly realities of his life
Over and over again he was disappointi
is IN the attempt TO reproduce his vision, ~
often in despair he broke what he had mo
eled But he could not be unhappy whi
he lived in the world Of his dreams, and
never thought OF the future. Even aft
ba his first shock Of finding his little store
"a money exhausted, he began without m
giving TO pawn his little possessions, al
worked on in the same uuhampered way
70 before. But after time, when his wat
al and his clothes, and, finally, even his bS
h stead, had gone, he found himself growi
~ uncertain and restless. He was at work
.v a figure Of Justice, but the tall, calm wo
in an opposed him, and she seemed to grl
less and less like the majestic shape whi
had once moved across his sight Inc
OF sanity he tried TO coniure her up befC
We him, but in this time of his greatest ne
is his vision seemed to have deserted hi
He could think Of nothing but poverty a
,as misery and as he looked bitterly round [
, a empty room he wondered why SO lit
ev had come to his love and enthusias
a. There was nothing to show for his drea
nothing but shapcless clods Of clay, a
no one but he could know what q
re might have become.
TO At last, one cold, wet evening, as
zen dark was beginning 70 set in, Leroy left
sht working quite dispirited. He leaned b'
ia his one chair and closed his eyes in wet
st. despair, wishing the room were warn
me and that he had something besides brs
a A Tor supper, when suddenly through