The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1899-03-12

CHAPTER I


lures nowadays but very few are acquain-
ted with the strange history attached to the
first canvas that brought him into notice in
the year Is
1 "A young artist myself at that time
and rather inclined TO envy the brilliant fell
low who had suddenly turned I'D I'm our
midst. He had never been poor like the
rest OF US. for his parents were wealthy peo-
pie. and had given their son every adj
vantage that study and foreign travel could
offer in the development of his genius; but
for all that, he was not inclined TO be stuck
up 50 We freely admitted him into our little
coterie. where he came TO be looked up to
a a kind Of oracle.
IL was toward the end of February that
strolled in the direction of his studio one
afternoon. hoping he would allow nee a
glimpse of the great picture intended for
the exhibition. which had so ieaIousIv been
kept out OF sight hitherto. We all wondered
at the mystery attached TO this work and
were burning TO see It; but he continually
put US OF with excuses and the plea that he
was by nature somewhat of an anchorite,
whose best inspiration invariably fled in the
presence Of his brother artists 1t was not
until he had put the utmost possible of him
self into his conceptions that he could en-
u,
SO he told us, and we were forced to shrug
our shoulders. and let the matter drop for
the time / had made up my mind. however.
10 approach him the subject once more
for We had become great friends after a
fashion. and as L strolled along L cogitated
how best TO effect my purpose.
The studio was built in the garden, and
had an entrance of its own, and as tapped
gaily on the outer door, Neave's musical
voice sang out permission to come in.
He was standing before a large easel
palette and brushes in hand, as though
had arrived at the happy moment of actually
finding him at work. But as | was about to
take advantage of this he stepped forward.
and with courteous gesture prevented me
from coming any nearer. Then turning to-
wards the stage at the further end of the
room he said a few words in Italian to the
model who had been posing.
She was a magnificent woman OF a tragic
style of beauty dressed in peasant costume
but there was something uncanny in the
fixed stare of those sunken eyes al she slow
" descended. An old shawl was flung care
iessly on a chair, and the woman coughed
as she wound herself in its folds. L had
heard that sound before, and knew she was
a doomed creature. A shudder of sympathy
went through me, and again looked at her
with increased interest. There was a ter
rible, haunted expression on the wasted face.
which still wore q look of pride and smolder-
ing ferceness as. with the action OF a
princess, she bowed TO Neave and went out
Where in the name OF all the gods did
you pick up that living impersonation of
Lady Macbeth" 1 exclaimed, as the door
closed behind her.
In Calabria." answered Neave. abruptly.
laying down his tools and lighting a cigar
cite.
"Oh. an importation Of your own. Well,
felt sure you could not have lighted upon
her grinding a piano-organ in the streets,
and confident she had not yet made the
round OF the studios"
''NO, nor never will. The poor creature Is
dying of consumption"
There was q short silence.
How can you go on painting her? She
ought to be in some hospital" 1 said pres
emily. with tinge Of reproach in my tones.
Don't you ever feel impelled to do a
thing?" asked Neave. jumping up from the
chair into which he had thrown himself, and
walking excitedly about with both hands
clasped behind his back. do you think it
IS pleasure TO me to have a dying woman
before my eyes, and to feel 1 am painting
this picture with the lifeblOod Of fellow
being?'
Il cannot judge of your feelings or your
motives. but would it not have been more
humane TO have left this-this model of
yours in the warmer climate to which she
was accustomed. instead of exposing her TO
the fogs of our wretched London L ex-
claimed in answer.
'.Ah, L see how it isl You think me alto
gether an inhuman monster" cried Neave,
pausing in his excited walk. Thank God. |
have nothing to reproach myself with 1t
was Of her own free will Teresina came TO
England. and it is by her own desire she is
standing 10 me as a model. She will not die
until the picture is finished for she believes
that In painting her souls tragedy 1 inter-
Cede for her with heaven"
And does this office of priest suit your ar
tistic instinct" 1 asked, curiousy. cycling
him as he stood before the costly tapes
tries hung about the walls of his painting
room the outlines of his figure half-melting
into the shadows all around, and the light
from the high window conferred on his fine
ly-poised head thrown backward in delicate
defiance of my i'll opinion.
Yes it does suit my artistic instinct,
which urges me to paint away terrible i'm
preston" he answered, meditatively. ''only
sometimes / feel that, like Mozart on his
death bed. / must have received commits
sion from the DEVIL
My dear fellow, surely you must have
been overworking to get such morbid
fancies in your head" was my excama-
ton
+'Oh, never fear. 1 don't give way to them.
But listen l will tell you the whole his
tory if you like. Next month the newspapers
and the public will be free 10 pass their
vulgar criticisms on the picture 1 already
feel assured will bring me fame. How few
OF them will guess at the horrible fascina-
ton OF its subject or the living anguish il
embodies! That is known TO TWO persons
only
Yourself and the Calabrian WpInan?'
Neave nodded an assent. and, still pacing
up and down the studio, plunged into his
story.
OF course. you know a good deal OF my
time has been spent in Italy he said
We'll, amongst my wanderings 1 mixed
freely with the peasantry and learned a
coed deal Of their character and ways OF
living. one summer took me into Calabria,
and somewhat rashly. perhaps. 1 strayed