The record-union., 1898-02-20

1nfalllDly attached to any lnlilS OIL
Daudets. The effect came doubtless,
in its measure, from his having so COM
pletely accepted and adopted the par
ticular fact of his Spontaneity and SEN
sibility. He let himself vlbrate as he
would, and as he had at the same time
a literary instinct of the rarest and
acuteSt as the artist in him was eX-
quisitely alive and vigilant, his supreme
doing inevitably attended his work;
as to which we calculate, moreover, that
he is one of those who will not have
been cheated of their reward. There is
not an inch of waste-everything tells
and comes Of" Certain things are
wanting to his view, many sides of the
play of character, of the life, of the will,
the idea, the private soul; but what is
there is extraordinarily vivid and warm,
extraordinarily observed and peculiarly
touching. He had the great democratic
fancy. No genius with SO much of the
inevitable chill of a special manner re-
mains so on the level with his reader,
becomes so personal and intimate, takes
him so into his confidence. He is at the
opposite pole, in this respect, from Flau-
bert, with whom a kind of grand, meas
ured distance from his canvaS-placed
as if for a duel-was an ideal, and who
seemed to attack his subject with a
brush twenty feet long. Daudet's charm
is precisely in his agitation and his
nerveS-that is, in a set of nerves that
could make so for creation. His style
is a matter of talking, gesticulating, imi-
tating-of impreSsionism carried to the
last point; but his surrender to all this
cultivated familiarity never leaves us
in a moments doubt of his being, all
the more, a master. What could be at
once more personal, more whimSicaly
and conSentingly human, and yet more
historical and responsible so to express
it, than such things as "LImmortel'
and Les Rois en- Exil?" We have had
other cases, cases enough, of treatment
by talk, but only to see the subject, as a
result of il, stray further and further
and lose itself. Daudet catches it in the
finest net of talk, and this fine net is his
marvellous style. 1t plays into the
happy undscernible instinct which is
his triumphant substitute for compost
ton, the instinct which saves him from
the penalty of his want of connection
and continuity, his love of jumps and
gaps, of the glimpse and the episode. He
positively gains indeed by this last ten
dency; it makes him the novelist with
the greatest number of wonderful bits
to show. of beautiful sharp vignettes, of
pages complete in themselves.
Mere Adele Millet's model for the
"Angelus," has for the first time had
her fine features reproduced in the
plastic art. She has been painted,
sketched, photographed and posed by
painters and students, but it remained
for Mr.. Brooks of Boston to complete
a half life-sized bust of the famous
model in wax. 1t has been cast in plas-
ter, and is soon to be reproduced in
bronze and marble.
This will probably be Adele's last ap-
pearance among the artists. She has
long since given up posing, and it was
not an easy task for the sculptor to get
her to pose. Though poor and almost
in want, the old woman was sensitive
about having her panied, careworn and
wrinkled features reproduced. She
knew that portraits which will immor-
taliZe her, taken in all her strength,
yigor, health and beauty, had been
sent out to the world years ago, and,
on the laurels which they have brought
Eer she was contented to rest. Besides,
she is now too feeble to pose, for
though only fifty-eight years of age,
Mere Adele is a confirmed invalid, and
unable to move from her easy chair
without assistance. And it was not
until Mr. Brooks had assured her that
she would not have to hold a pose
whilst he worked that she consented to
let him bring his wax and build the lit
tie bust.
Though the sculptor allowed the old
woman to hold most natural pose, she
soon wearied, and he was obliged to
have three sittings. Whilst posing she
plodded backward over her checkered
life, and told stories Of her youth and
palmy days in Barbizon. Once started
on this subject she was another woman
The faded eyes sparkled the blanched
cheeks flushed, and an animated ex-
preston fitted over the sad face.
"Ah, Mr. Brooks" she said over and
over again, this will be my last pos
ing. I'm too old, too old, for this bust
ness now. II was all right when / was
a girl and young and strong and pref
ty, so they said; It's young woman
that an artist wants, not a worn and
worked out old woman like me. My day
Is gone: it's upwards Of thirty-fiv
years since the good NJ. Millet first
painted me, and many things have hap
pened since then
In her simple mindedness Mere Adele
is unconscious that her beauty now.
though Of another type. Is far beyond
what II was when she was Millet's ia
vorite model The very beauty for
which Millet chose her has become in
tensified by her life of struggle, pow
erty, and care. The face is more tender,
and bespeaks a life of honest toll, sup
ported by undying faith.
She was born within a stones throw
OF the little matched cottage where she
now lives. Her father was a deserter
from one Of Napoleon's regiments. He
hid in Barbizon, and later married
Adeie's mother
Her earliest renembrances are Of her
life in the fields, helping her father to
gather potatoes and turnips. At the
age of fifteen she was taken into the
house OF Nine Millet as a domestic.
She took almost entire charge of the
painters children, and In her spare mo-
ments posed.
The story goes that while she was
one day assisting her father in the
!, fields Millet watched her from his
studio window and made several
/ketches Of her in his sketch book. Just
as he was about to leave the window
he saw the father and daughter bow
their heads in prayer as the Angelus
bell pealed from the little Barbizon
church tower. 1t was then that he con-