Santa Fe daily New Mexican. [volume] (Santa Fe, N.M.) 1885-1897, 1896-06-05
THE ARTISTS ANGEL.

the Julian academy. When the CLOCK
struck noon, she had stepped from the
platform with the assumed Indifference Of
an experienced model. 1t had not been
fatigue that had made her tremble with
eagerness to exchange the close studio air
for the sunshine Of the Champs Elysees.
1t was Mardi Gras, Mardi Gras in Paris
that is TO say, the sun dazzled, the river
cleaned, the air sparkled with Irresistible
hilarity, the very trees on the bouleyards
threw out gay little ribbons of temptation.
Anisette had promised to pose all the
afternoon for George Blackwood, but be-
fore that she would have at least one
glimpse of the revel-satisfy her thirsty
little soul with one hastily snatched swal-
low of enjoyment. So she ran the gantlet
of the crowded streets, held here, caught
there, cajoled, threatened, pursued, until
she escaped into the impasse of the Boule-
ward St. Michel, where Blackwood lived.
She arrived at the studio flushed, DISNEY
eled and breathless, with her absurd little
hat and her shabby velvet cape all pow
dered with gold and silver dust.
George Blackwood had been pacing up
and down in rage of impatience, but at
her entrance he threw himself into chair
with shout of relief
"Enfin, Anisette,' he cried, but 1T is
adorable of you to come today"
"V'lav' said Anisette proudly. II prom
Used would come. am here. under
stand how much depends upon me. Be-
sides I must be in the Champ do Mars as
we'll as that peacock Celestine, posing for
your friend at 25. As for the folly out
side, that is all child's play" She waved
her hand with superb disdain, tossed her
hat across the room and began at once to
prepare for her pose.
Selling his palette, Blackwood squeezed
his tubes with an unsteady hand. lie was
a young fellow, but his 25 years had been
all sturm und drang. He had a worn
face, with high cheek bones; his forehead
where 1t was visible under the thatch of
grayish blond hair was prematurely lined,
and the eyes, which shone under over
hanging brows, blinked and stared like
those of cat in the dark At once I'M
aginative and critical, he was victim
Of that moral hypochondria, morbid self
analysis; with giants physique he com
bined woman's sensibilities, woInan's
power of concentrated passion. Intensely
preoccupied with himself, he gave but
perfunctory attention to the experiences SO
many other men were eager to dllate upon
for his benefit. As consequence he could
number his acquaintance on his fingers.
He had no friends. He lived alone, drink
ing innumerable cups of black coffee
smoking cigarettes as unconsciously as he
breathed, painting early and late, paint
.,,x .,IsI~ H., x3oyoprad hio ,uaolc paintiNO
while he slept. He gave himself to his
art wholly and without reserve, but he
would make no concessions to his divinity;
he would not WOO her to come to him; he
would compel her. Sometimes he succeed
ed for the time being, but she bore the
marks of the conflict.
As he prepared his palette he soothed his
excitement by laughing with Anisette
over her descriptions Of the masks she had
seen, as man speaks gently to FESTIVE
horse he cannot quite control.
When Anisette sprang to the platform
and assumed her pose, his brows relaxed;
he was confident, exultant. She stepped
into the shadow cast by q screen, and she
seemed to him to have luminous quality,
like a streak of pale light. He had paint
ed her in an artificial twilight against
piece of purple velvet that had been worn
into grays as delicate as the mists over
distant hills at evening. The light brush
ed her shoulders and her outstretched arms
in thread of gold, melted in the diapha-
nous drapery floating about her and burned
like q flame in her hair. The wings of a
great sea bird lowered behind her.
The shouts from the street below reach
ed them family. Anisette occupied her.
self with fancies as bizarre as the costumes
Of the jewellers, but she neither spoke nor
moved, and the TRANSPORTED purity OF her
upturned face was as changeless as mask
in marble. To Biackwood as he painted
she was as incorporeal as the evening star.
He had thought Of calling his picture that
when 1t was completed.
Blaokwood talked unoonsciously to him
self as he worked. He painted with shak-
ing fingers, stopping every now and then
to steady himself, staring at her dumbly-
one moment thrilled anew by the beauty
Of his conception, the triumphal sense of
power the next chilled with the hopeless
ness Of adequate expression, overcome by
a dismal prophetic vision Of that moment
when the joy Of the creation would pass
and leave him with the nauseating GER
tainty of having failed somewhere, some
how, by breath too little or too much.
Anisette filled the short pauses with her
chatter-a chatter that relieved the tension
of Blaokwood's nerves. He looked at the
little creature with softened glance, his
face relaxed from the grimace into which
his nervousness had twisted 1t.
"Anisette, he said, touching her hand
with an impetuous movement, "my pic
ture will be success. 1t will be you who
have done it.. We will celebrate it. What
will you have thenp'
"Half a dozen pates with foie gras,"
said Anisette promptly, Champagne, oys-
ters and for solid hunger biftek as thick
as your hand"
"And something to wear-something
for your pretty little head" he added,
a., - g.. Sv.kh