Western liberal. (Lordsburg, N.M.) 1887-1919, 1898-11-04
THE APPLE TREE.

One evening l noticed by Moussia's
photograph, which always stood covered
with q white Grape veil en- a small ta-
BILE, three red checked apples. These
plebeian fruits seemed out of place in
the. aristocratic Partisan drawing room,
crowded with rare knickhnacks and
works Of art. Moussia's mother, observ-
ing my questioning glance, said, point
ing to n picture at the end of the room,
'Those fruits were picked on the apple
tree which you see in this picture, the.
last one painted by Moussia. Then the
Borrowing woman told me the story of
the apple tree so intimately connected
with that Ct the young artist, Marie
Bashkirtseff, who died when only "a
years old.
In the spring Of 1SS- Moussia was
planning to paint a peasant woman in
the open country for the salon of tho
following year. She spent days looking
in the outskirts Of Paris for q suitable
landscape in which to place her model.
One morning she found near Sevres n
field irclosed by fence palings, beyond
which a walk overgrown with grass lest
itself under willows, through whose
young shoots tho sun Ghone brightly.
Half way up the walk, on n background
Of grayish green bushes, with an outline
almost as soft as that Of smoke, stood a
robust apple tree, broadly spreading its
howery branches. The whole scene was
filed with tender, fresh, stirring har-
mony, with spring itself. Moussia was
moved. She felt that this was the look
cd for spot. Opening the gate, she walk
ed toward the house, which was sepa-
rated from the orchard by q garden fill
cd with beehives. The proprietor hap
pened to be one Of those half bourgeois,
half peasant horticulturists who provide
the Partisan markets with flowers and
fruits. The request made by the enthu-
siastic looking young girl with the ex-
pressive blue eyes hattered him. He
loved his trees, and the admiration of a
painter for them pleased him extremely.
Moussia was readily given permission
= .Ycsk Il :b7 ~iacicSEre, and she began
the very next day.
Early in tho morning she arrived on
the tramway, with her model, who
carried their lunch in a basket. Nous
STA understood her art. Size was no
longer q beginner, for some of her pic.
lures had already been much talked of
ut the salon. Though belonging to a
rich family, which occupied a high po-
sition among tho aristocracy Of her
country, sho worked not as an anna
teur, but as an artist anxious to win
fame. Her work showed the melancholy
fire and poetry which belong to those
born in Little Russia. The sketch of
her painting absorbed her entirely. She
was trying to put on the canvas some of
the effervesoent spring about hor. She
painted rapidly, as if afraid not to be
able to finish the task she had under
taken. Every morning sho came back,
IN spite Of the April showers and the
rawness of the air, which often made
her cough. Tho owners Of the place adj
mired her pluck, and as they saw her
painting, bareheaded, standing In the
dew, with a blouse owe her gray dress,
they believed her TO belong to their sta
ton in life and thought she was work
ing for her daily bread.
The housewife brought her warm
milk, tho children played near her
while she rested, and the horticulturist,
learning that some young trees interior
cd with the perspective, had not hest
tated to cut them down. It was touch
ing to see this man, usually so careful
of his possessions, willingly sacrifice
them to crafty tho wish Of the young
artist. BY degrees a touching intimacy
began between them. At noon Moussia
was often invited to share the cabbage
soup and bacon.
The picture was growing. The peas
ant seated a the foot of the apple tree
looked most lifelike. Only a few finish.
ing touches were needed. Gathered
around the easel, the family agreed that
the apple tree was beautiful, for it
seemed as II by stretching out ones
hand the PIT sty, fresh, pink and white
blossoms could be pluoked. One evening
Moussia car ed her picture away TO
show il 70 me friends, promising TO
return with ii in order to finish certain
details In the landscape They waited
for her in vain. One by one the blossoms
ON the tree were carried away by the
breeze. At the end Of a fortnight a
package arrived containing a dress pat
tern Of handsome black silk. A letter
accompanied the present. Moussia told
her friends that a severe cold kept her
indoors, and she begged tho housewife TO
accept the dress in remembrance Of the
kind hospitality she had received.
This was indeed a disappointment for
these good people. What they had done