St. Johnsbury Caledonian. [volume] (St. Johnsbury, Vt.) 1867-1919, 1892-05-19

/ have been hard a t work upon an
ideal head, the origin of which | can
not give you until you have read
! further From the first touch of nv
! brush to the canvas my mind seemed
to be inspired and my hand guided
bv some unseen and unknown power.
| Under the influence of this unknown
power l wrought day in and day
out, feeling neither WEAKNESS nor
safety, and often wishing that there
were no more night, that l might
reach the glorious consummatIon the
sooner Slowly my ideal grew in
beauty and expression. AS it neared
| completion, it beca me almost an OBJ
ject of worship to me. | was carried
away with the feeling that the dream
| of my life was to be realized. How
l toiled. The gray dawn daily broke
upon my preparations for work, and
the evening twilight caught me
straining my eyes to accomplish a
few more touches Never did colors
| blend more tremendously. Never did
brushes work more deity Never
| did the skill ofthe hand execute more
perfectly the thought of the mind or
| the purpose of the will. No flower
3
/ ally! or developed into blushing deli
/ cacy or glowing splendor more spon-
| taneouslv. 1t was labor indeed
/ labor arduous and unremitting, but
| it was the labor of impassioned and
almost transporting love. At last it
was finished. | could do no more to
it. l trembled to put another touch
to it lest | should mar its marvellous,
its enhancing, its supernal loneliness.
las l stood there on the afternoon
gazing rapturously upon it, it seemed
| a vision from heaven. There could
| be no doubt Of it. My Masterpiece
/ would give me the fame | had all my
| life coveted. Criticism would stand
disarmed before it. Not possible
| line of grace was wanting not tint
or shade could lend it further charm.
Then l knew that it was not [ that
had accomplished the work before
me-that from conception to compile
ton, from the first stroke to thelast,
my hand had been guided by some
invisible power and my brain inspired
some by supernatural intelligence. All
along l had realized thatI was under
a magic spell, that could not resist,
and that had neither will nor wish
to break. Yet never until that a we
some moment had | been completely
overwhelmed with the strange and
blessed consciousness.
AS the time passed on, the picture
became a part of my very being.
Away from it l was uneasy, restless,
moody, as if my hearts best love
and idol were absent l could not
comprehend my own feelings in re-
gard to it. 1t dominated me entirely
1t enslaved me. In vain | attempted
a new task, or CROPPED for a new
ideal. Palette and brush grew dis
tasteful to me. l painted only to
wipe out what L had painted before.
l knew not what to do with myself,
and queried sometime whether [
really were myself. And yet the con-
sciousness of my perfect sanity was
never stronger or more real.
Things wore on YEARLY III this
sad way for some time. My very
health was yielding to the oppressive
weight and power of my inexplicable
passion. One day as sat gazing in
tently on that face of faces, whether
in the body or out of the body l
could scarcely tell, the thought flash
ed upon me that | was infa tuated
with a picture, an idol of my own
creation, a concrete Pigment of the
imagination, and the infatuation
was spelling me. If L continued to
indulge in it, the luxury would ruin
me. | must arouse myself and break
away from it.
Never mortal man resolved more
stoutly, or struggled more nightly,
e., IaI al M,
luton proved rope Of sand. My
very efforts only served to entangle
me more helplesslv in the meshes of
my infatuation. had no friend to
whom l could tell my strange story,
or unfold my feelings.
Il grew morbid, and yet preferred
my wretchedness to all the charms
of society and all the pleasures of the
world. | closed my studio and shut
myself up in solitude The rumor
went abroad that l had left my
country. 1t was even reported in
the papers that had gone to Paris
to pursue my art. In the retirement
of my rooms, to which had removed
my traps from my studio, brooded.
Alone with that almost divine face, l
could do nothing but worship and
adore.
Zone week ago stood in front Of
it in the early twilight. 1 was
watching it as it faded like sum-
mer sunset, when suddenly, out of
the growing dusk it spoke to me.
No human voice was ever more au-
dible or more certain. But such a
voice was never heard by mortal
man before. 1t was more heavenly
than the beauty of the face itself. 1t
thrilled me to the very center of my
soul, and threw me into an ecstacy of
!, beatiic excitement. The voice told
me that it was only the painted SEM
blance of spiritual being far more