The record-union., 1893-11-11
GRANDILLOPS MODEL.

old and shabby and his toes came through
the holes in his broken shoes.
Down in the Latin quarter of the great,
busy, bustling city they called him
"Paul." No one seemed to know whether
he had any other name or not; and no one
seemed to care.
The only home this ragged little urchin
was ever known to have was beneath an
imposing statue of Paul Yeronese, that
stood at the junction of three narrow
streets away down in a quarter where
tamale peddlers, medicine men and all
sorls of fakirs gather in the evening TO
cry their wares Here he eked out mis-
erable existence, seeking shelter from
the rays of the sun in the shade OF the
statue in summer. and crouching beneath
its base for protection from the pltter
winds in winter.
The dark-faced inhabitants often won
dered how this little fellow, whose figure
was SO slight and delicate, could with
stand the hardshlpS of a life IN the street
without shelter, but they never tried IN
any way to better his condition or offered
even a kind word TO tighten his cares; IN
fact, the hard-hearted people of the Latin
quarter never did him one favor. They
gave him the name Of the celebrated art
1st around whose statue he passed the
majority of the days of his life. Having
passed and repassed him so many times
they seemed to look upon him with as
much Indifference and with as little feel
ing as they did the dingy stone image.
Paul probably care as little for them as
they cared for him. He never seemed to
notice anybody or anything except the
statue and the impecunious street musl-
clans who chanced to pass his way.
PauPs only passion was Tor music. AT
times be would fairly go wild over the
simplest and most commonplace tune
the street musicians played. Those who
knew said his passion for music was
akin to insanity. lie had never been tar
up in the fashionable portion of the city
where the fine bands played, but be had
often heard their sweet strains family
echoed in the distance, and several times
he had ventured in that direction, but he
had always been driven back by the
police.
small boys often spat in his face as he
passed, and the larger ones kicked him
whenever he happened to get IN their
way. He was never known to strike
back at his prosecutors. Sometimes, alter
he had undergone harsh and cruel treat
nent at the hands of the urchins, he
would go and lean against the statue and
cover his thin face with his little brown
hands and weep for hours.
But at last fortune smiled on the little
bronzed Vagabond of the street-smiled
for a moment and then frowned.
One evening an artist named Grandil-
lot sauntered down into the narrow, dirty
streets of the Latin quarter. He spoke to
no one, but wandered leisurely along,
closely scrutiniZing everything about
him. He seemed to be looking for some
thing or somebody. The dark-faced in
habitants gazed at him with wonder and
surprise as he passed; he was so fair and
handsome and seemed so much out of
place among them. He wandered through
the streets for hours and then started
back, look of disappointment on his
face. After he had passed the statue
Paul came out of its shadow and followed
close at his heels. The artist stopped,
took him by the hand, and then disap
peared in the passing throng.
The next day the pedestrians on the
fashionable thoroughfares were surprised
to see Paul, dressed in a new suit, follow
ing the bands about the city. His arro-
gance and hauteur often caused smile to
play over their faces. Young girls giggled
as he passed, and women stopped to look
at him, either out OF curiosity or feeling
OF pity. AS usual, he noticed no one, but
hurried after the musicians, his glossy
silk hat and quick, elastic step giving him
a certain air of distinction.
The gay city with it's fine bands of
music turned Paul's head. He never
seemed able to fully realize that he had
been taken from the dirty streets of the
Latin quarter to be used as an artists
model. For two days the artist succeeded
in keeping him in the studio, but on the
third, fourth and fifth he sprang from his
stool and darted out into the street as soon
as the first sound of music caught his ear.
One morning Grandillot sat by the
window in his studio looking out over
the jumbling of decaying housetops in
the direction of the Latin quarter. He
was watching something in the dark.
moving mass of humanity below. 1t was
an old, blind man and little boy sur
rounded by group of people in one of
the narrow streets. The man held an
old, worn hat in his hand, while the boy
was playing flute. When the boy
stepped playing a few coins were tossed
into the hat and the crowd quickly dis
persed. Then the two beggars moved
away and he saw Paul following the little
boy with the flute. He watched them
until they disappeared from view, and
then he suddenly arose and went up into
the city smiling.
In the evening he presented Paul with
flute. The little fellow grasped it eagerly
and danced upon the floor IN great glee.
lie was happier than ever before.
After the purchase of the flute Grandil-
lot had no more trouble with Paul. The
pedestrians on the fashionable thorough
fares saw him and his glossy silk hat no
more. He sat by the window in the
studio all Gay and played the flute, while
the artist sat opposite him working away
at dingy piece of canvas.
Notwithstanding his great love of mu-
sic, Paul could never learn to play but
one tune. That was strange, slow, sad
air, which, for some unknown reason, he
persisted in calling "The Medina,u In
rendering this tune he seemed to be SIM
ply telling the story of his ill-starred life
1t was SO pathetic that many of his listen
ers moved away with tears running down
over their cheeks after having heard it.
Grandillot often questioned Paul re-
garGing the origin of this strange melody
which was unknown to all the musicians
of the city, but his recollection was vague
and his answers unsatisfactory. Some
times he said the tune was in the flute
when Grandillot gave IL TO him. Then,
again, he would say that a long time ago
woman with big sad eyes held him in
her arms and hummed the tune until he
would fall asleep.
The palmy days of little PauPs life as
an artists model at Grandillops studio
passed quickly by. To Grandillot they
were days of drudgery, and the pale, hag-
gard look on his face told plainly of the
serious train of his thoughts and the long
weary hours of his labor. Ii he ever grew
tired of the monotonouS air of The Me-
dina" he never complained, but worked
on increasingly, transferring the inspira-
ton of his soul to the canvas.
The day he finished Paul's picture he
sent the little fellow away with message
to a distant part of the city, and then he
hastily collected his paintings and went
down TO the dock and boarded an ocean
steamer. As the big boat moved slowly
out from the shore, and rocked gently on
the smooth waters of the bay. he looked
back at the city with q slight feeling Of
remorse.
49, n 1fRy