Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1901-08-08
Continued.

is DINNER THAI when it was joined to
necessity. 1 look about for some
thing to arouse my enthusiasm and |
find nothing. Just now have a can
vas on my easel, again a woman 5
portrait. | am painting a neighbOr Of
ours, Baroness Erlach, an interesting
person, a widow about thirty-two.
When she was d girl Of eighteen she
married man sixty-four, who died in
the course of nature, when she was
tWenty-six, Her two sons are at the
Military school; for herself, when she
is not here in her splendid old
country-house, she is everywhere and
nowhere-in Paris, London, or ST.
Petersburg; neither the North Cape
nor the Pyramids are safe from her.
She knows the world thoroughly; she
is gay, witty, sometimes with a spice
of malice, and has the exterior of
woman who lives more by candle
light than in the sunshine Pale,
delicate, and slender, she has great
brown eyes, with that peculiar ex-
preston sometimes given by excess
often most effective, that soft, appeal
ing look which hardly seems to
accord with the rather rougihs face.
| am painting her in the rich Spanish
costume of a noble lady OF the six
teenth century, in the Stuart cap
trimmed with pearls, the high lace
ruff, and in red velvet dress open
q
morning at nine o'clock, and generally
stays to dinner with us. Before the
picture vanishes into the twilight of
it's destination-she is very mys-
ferrous about the name of it's future
possessor-I shall exhibit it in Ores
den that is to say, my dear Wolf, if
I ever succeed in finishing it. For
Antje-this is another drawback
possesses, among many other delight,
full qualities, the Philistine one Of
bitter jealousy. She is not fond of
the Baroness, and she makes it mani
fest to her on all possible occasions.
and yesterday she put the finishing
touch to her icy reserve by simply
leaving The room, during dessert,
which apparently offended her sense
of propriety The consequence was
that the amiable original of the
Spanish lady soon went home, and
excused herself from coming today on
the plea of nervous headache, which
is very good excuse, but which
shows me very plainly that as a
married man I must suffer for my
wife's rudeness.
This is the way matters stand.
Wolf. You see l am still the same
old enthusiast, who shrinks from
sober reality, and tries in vain to gid
it; the passionate man with his too
strong affections, who has always had
the misfortune, when he was ready to
give himself entirely, to have his
hopes dashed BY a stream of cold
water. Wo1r, can you feel with me
what it is to live always among petty
natures?
"You see, know that she is an
excellent, perfectly upright woman:
she does not know the meaning of the
word passion, she will never take 4
step aside from the path of duty or of
honor. But neither would she ever
forgive such a l7pse; and, what $
worse, would never understand it,
We are like fire AID water together
Come soon. | will come to Ores
den 20 meet you.
'Your
Leopold"
The writer of these lines folded up
the several sheets, put them into an
envelop, addressed it, sealed it, and
then sat leaning back in his armchair
for a few minutes absolutely motion
less. The autumn sunshine shed
warm glow into the elegant, richly
furnished room, lighting up the pale
colors of the Smyrna portiere which
divided the room, and the carpet
which covered the floor. and rested
on the pictures on their broad gold
frames which hung behind the
occupants back. They were for the
most part landscapes, but there were
also single portraits, studies, all
painted in a peculiar style. Leo
Jussnitz was a disciple of the modern
realistic school; the gnarled oaks, the
clouds in the stormy sky, the harsh
light Oh the sea, were all Sketchily
flung on the canvas, though with a
certain force. The reeds in the fore
ground almost cast shadow, so
thickly were the colors put on. It
could not be denied that there was
character III these landscapes, but the
amateurishnes was also not to be
denied
Leo himself looked up at a picture
placed on an easel behind the low
writing-table. 1t was the portrait of
a woman, life-size; a slender figure
in a red velvet dress, leaning against
pillar and looking out at the
spectator with languishing brown
eyes. With the brown hair, the
languid smile on the lips, which were
much too full for the small pale face.
1t was like one of Makart's creations.
satisfied smile crept over the
dark face of the painter, to which a
well-tended moustache lent a military
air. He got up, walked across to the
north window. aud stopped before the
easel on which was placed the picture
of the beautiful baroness. There he
dipped his finger into a shallow glass
dish filled with water, which was
standing on the table, and drew il
across the hal which peeped out
from under the Stuart cap The
golden lights in the chestnut waves
came out more clearly, and an ex
preston of satisfaction frightened UP