The Kimball graphic. (Kimball, Brule County, Dakota [S.D.]) 1883-1905, 1892-11-19
MEDAILA, THE MODEL.

of the poor. Who has. not often asked hi,a.
self where they perch of eyenings-tlIose
snowy little beggar-girls-at the hour when
the birds go to rooSt?:
Between the Place Monge and tile Jardin
hcs Plantes rises a fantastic quarter. built as
intricatc!y as Il cObweb-a great e%ntangle-
ment of blind alleys and dingy lanes which
nearly all converge toward the Place ,Jus.
sicu.
Through open gateways, as ina frame, bits
of garden-grecn are visible. Sometimes ii is
chicken yard, with n green avchwork of
elder, a pool OF water for the ducks, and n
shred of sanded walk leading to Il vegetable
garden, 4 patch of blue sky oycr it all. Here
cheap boarding houses stand elbow to elbow
with day schools, While the most eccentric
classes of tradesmen-small ste:lcil cutters
and cheap cobblers and magic-lantern flak-
ers-llve at their ease i'll big stone houses
hard by. This is the Italian quarter of Paris,
On the square. groups of children play,
lower sellers, raggamuttins, mendicants,
mandoline players. Curly-headcl as choir
children, they show all their white teeth as
they laugh, With heads thrown back, and
eyes full of light. The girls, seated motions
lessly at the foot of the trees, and very grave,
WIN elbows close to their sides, are busy
knitting worsted work of SNOWY colols; and
OH women with tortoise-necks 90 to draw
water at the fountain, keeping their heads
erect under the weight of the vessel.
Is II not true that on certain days all these
FOLK are snltten with inconsistencies for the
sun, that they dream in vain Of the golden
hlzes OF the South, and white cities bathed
III aurcatc light besides an azure sea! One
must become weary sometimes of dull horl.
IONS, OF neutral tints, of gray crowds swarm.
ING under Il slatc-colored sky. But to-day,
a beam of sunshine pierces the clouds; let
lis take 4 peep at the little Italian girls OF
the Place JusSicu.
Under the glow Of the rich light all this
theatrical tinsel of costume, all this tigurmnte-
undfeSs becomes radiant. 1t is like the light.
ing up OF All immense stage. The floating
sleeves are white as sails seen at sea; robes
OF veiNeteen show CLEANS in their hollow
loios; red aprons blaze with n Joyous flour
MS OF color; and everything is animated
and noisy and brilliant to eyes that apprcci.
ate the frank charm of natural colors.
Ana here arc faces of ancient sihyls such
as we read OF III roinance-prOlilcS of vir-
GIN worthy to be craven upon amstlysts.
i all the Italian models who frcquented
me studios during recent years, little Me.
dalla was by far the most chaYm;l,. and the
best known.
She had really the aspect of an antique
cameo. with her low, broad brow, her hair
braid in a rich twist behind her head, her
selsuousiy partician profile. She used to
live in the Rue de Ia Clef, In commonplace
and sordid dwelling, with barrels of dirty
water on every landing place. brick stair
ways and sweating walls. But over the
rools could be seen one little patch of grcell
in Il vacant lot: and Medalla dreamed of her
broad Italian wales. silent and dreamy lands,
where the lazy fiocks slumber under the mel
low light.
They loved her in tile studios for hergrace-
fulness and her smile. Her portrait was en-
hlblted several times at tile Salon last year.
! on must certainly have remarked her fever.
lshly-brlght eyes, that burned beneath, her
proWs ike dry twigS i'll a furnace. In one
painting You see her drawing water from d
tonntaln into a bronze vessel; in another she
holds out her hand TO you from the recess Of
adeep gateway: in another you see her ~.
ing asleep. with her curly head reposing OH
her talnbourinc. But she is most often
painted laughing.
You ough to have seen her in the morn.
ing when the little band of models used to
descend the slope of Sainte-Genevieye-mak.
Ing specks of brilliant color with their rag.
ged costumes against the monOtOnous hOri.
zon-to hail the Omnibuses with sonOrous
cries, and climb up with bursts of laughter.
She would come down walking against the
bitter wind, her bosom palpitating behind
the thin chemise. Her ragged dress illumin-
ated all the street: her beautiful hair, as in
revolt of young life, would break through
her Neap0litan ~headdress, and behind her
the Pantheon, bathed in morning light, made
al Italian background for her %figure-m
Italian horizon.
One cannot hurry with impunity through
these streets of ours, especially in winter,
with throat and chest unprotected. Medal
Ia is dead. They buried her in an obscure
corner Of :he M%ontparnasse Cemetery. An
original and 4 dismal funeral procession.
There were a dozen old modelstl,ere, classic
ally draped in rags, and tragically mourn-
rul.
There was an old woman who never ceased
% weep bitterly, and two children who
laughed. There was not much ceremony
about lowering her iuto the grave; there
were neither speeches nor prayers. The
prayers Of the poor are Short.
To-day no one remembers her, except, per-
haps, some young shepherd of her own land,
who still waits for her, and dreams of her as
ne watches his tiOcks, and tries, when even
ng comes, to spell ont her name in the stars.
-Ilnnsldted for the New Orleans Times,
Democrat.