The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1900-05-13
By WILLIAM LIE oUEUx.

I really ought not to relate this story, I
suppose. beeause the person it chiefly con-
Germs is still living and is one of the best
known men in Europe. But as biographers
have a habit of betraying condolences
think that in this matter may be for
given If / anticipate them.
I was poor, my clothes were threadbare
and my stomach was often painfully empty,
for unlike the crowd OF English and Ameri-
can art students in Florence, I was COM
PEELED to pinch myself very severely in
order TO continue my studies in the Lily
City. Ny share OF chagrin and disappoint-
ment had been a boundless one. heaven
knows; yet one afternoon in May the
scales fell rudely from my eyes and I real
ized the bitter truth
While busy copying Durer's Alteration
of the Magi' in the Ufizi, in an ATTEMPT
TO grasp its marvellous technical handling
and fluency OF coloring. three bright faced
English girls. probably tourists. entered
the Tribuna- One Of them passed behind
me to examine my work, then, probably
taking me for an Italian because of my peg
top trousers and soft hat. exclaimed quite
audibly in English to one of her compan-
ions:-
Look. deari What a frightfuI daub!
The poor fellow Is a student, l suppose
But he'll never make an artist; that's GER
tain
An hour later was sitting IN the attic
high up above the noisy Via Condotti,
which served me as studio and living room.
plunged in black despair. Those words
had overheard were true. All hope had
further ambition was useless. How long I
remained with my chin upon my breast
scarcely know, but I was recalled TO a
sense of my surroundings by a light tap
upon the door. and. starting in wonder,
gave the permission to enter.
The door opened and there advanced tim
idly into the room a strange, Ill dressed
white haired old man. who. removing his
shabby hat, greeted me affably in Italian
His face was thin and wizened, his figure
lean and shriveled, but his eyes were black
and full of fire that age had not dimmed
Accompanying him was young girl Of per-
haps eighteen. of that rare type, the fair
haired Florentine.
Our eyes met. and I saw in an instant
that her beauty was Incompatible She was
very plainly dressed in dark skirt and cot
ton blouse. and wore. like every Tuscan
woman. the black lace scarf twisted around
her well poised head. while in her tiny hand
she carried fan to shield her face from
the suns fiery rays when crossing the
piazzas. Her figure was perfect, with all
the suppleness of youth; her slim white
hands were models for any painter.
81 trust you will pardon my intrusion
croaked the queer old fellow in a thin.
squeaky voice ct noticed you copying in
the Tribuna to-day and il afterward &C.
CURED TO me that you might have some
pictures for sale. When L returned, how
ever. you had gone. Therefore 1 ascer-
tanned your address and came here. Have
your Dardon?'
Most certainly. signore." I answered.
bowling and giving them both chairs. MY
studio is, fear, a very poor place, but you
are nevertheless welcome to it,
This man wanted to purchase pictures. 1t
seemed absurd. for his dress was quite as
shabby as my own. Probably he was only
one of those cranks with whom every artist
is familiar.
fatigued by the ascent of the five long
flights Of stairs.
Then. his quick eyes catching sight of a
nearly completed canvas upon the easel he
pulled his chair forward and sat gazing
upon it for some minutes in silence.
"Ahw he said. You have something
there, See
ut is a failure" / admitted, sadly.
He raised his eyes to mine with an in
quiring glance. and then proceeded 70 criti-
else my work in a manner which showed
him to be no tyro in art
The young girl with the blue eyes sat
also gazing at the picture, but uttering no
word I fancied, however. that she sighed.
At his request I showed him other
studies had made, dozens of wretched at
tempts which I had believed until a few
weeks ago to contain merit. Now that the
scales had fallen from my eyes L saw that
they were all fiat and meritless.
You see my work. have no talent"
added, despondently, when, in answer to his
inquiries told him my story.
You mistake" he answered kindly. You
have some talent but you lack the dex-
terity which makes an artist. That picture
there, for instance" and he pointed to the
easel, might be turned into very credita-
bic piece OF work with but little effort. If
you'll allow me I'll give you an illustra-
ton of what I mean
To this I made no objection. and few
moments later he was at work with brush
and palette, painting away with astound-
ing rapidity, while I stood by wondering as
the picture grew beneath his hand. BY the
addition of subtle touches here and there
he was completely transforming the work.
showing the tinted and throbbing flesh
against the warm light ground with a
technical execution that bewildered me. /
had never seen man paint like that be-
fore
"Ahi" I exclaimed at last, in profound
admiration. "the signore is painter!
''I have painted" he answered, enigma
ticaIIy. and his lips closed as though he
wished TO say nothing Of himself. Il do
not buy my own poor work But you are
in need" he said. Tomorrow take 1t TO
Ferroni. in the Via CalzaioH.'
ITO Ferroni!" 1 exclaimed. "But ne is
the greatest and most critical of all the
dealers. Surely he will not care for my
work."
Take IL to him and see."
STOOD before the easel in the soft. red