The Lambertville record. [volume] (Lambertville, N.J.) 1872-1968, 1901-04-10
THE PAINTERS
ANGEL :. =. :. =.
HALLE ERMINIE RTvEs.

The painter sat In his square studio
with his head bowed In his hands.
| The four walls OF the room had each
n window, relieved by dlngy curtains.
and the floor was bare. The mans
! face was drawn and gaunt, and when
he raised his head his eyes were very
| bright.
These years" he cried to the ST.
lence -Four of them, day after day.
week after week, always striving, al
ways laboring to express the thought
which is In my brain, always impotent
because of poverty, always toillng
through three days that on the fourth
l may have models and materials for
my great work! feel the power with
! In me, but / am helpless Others
around me succeed. | envy them, and
my envy strangles the lovely thing
wLieh | try TO paint, and Its features
grow CHASTITY and hateful to me- If
could only finish this one picture! But
1 cannot without hours OF work with
costly models and many days of appli-
cation which must spend In earning
my bread And the inspiration Will
not wait. 1t fades DINNER while
fight on. If 1t passes, am lost
He bowed his head In his hands
again, and his shoulders moved as
| though with sobbing.
Just then figure, white and shining,
drifted down through the open sky
light and stood beside him. The paint
er raised his head. He knew that the
visitor was an angel, for he had seen
angels In his dreams, He clasped his
hands and knet at the angels feet, and
the tears were still on his face
The angel was looking at the canvas
spread upon the easel. 1t was jun
BILE of huge forms, for the painter was
to represent upon 1t great nllegory
of humanity entitled "The Triumph
of Life" "Wby are you not Mt work =
the stranger asked. The painter
stretched his arms wide with de-
spairing gesture. 1t was hopeless and
helpless. 1t meant want, desire, pow
erty, agony, supplication, all blent Into
| one.
The angel regarded him pltifully for
O moment. Il have master" he said,
'in whose gallery are the models or all
the greatest works Of the world.
Nothing is missing. | have come to
give you his invitation TO paint In IT.
The painter lifted his head eagerly.
There was a question upon his face.
at is n wide gallery" the angel went
on, with four wings. In these wings
have sat all the great artists of all
times to do their labor. In It they
have received their first inspirations
from the great art ideal of which they
were the Interpreters. There Michael
Angelo brought his rough stone to set
free its angelic forms; there came Bee
thoven, its barmonies OF form and of
color hymning themselves to him In
splendid music. Thither came Raphael
to gaze upon the glorious hues and In
the peace and beauty OF It's aisleS to
paint the delicate loneliness of the
Christ child In Its aleoves sat Keats
and Shelley, gazing till Its various
beauty rang from their souls into
| full and fragile voice of song. There
they framed those sweet harmonies
which, unheard, were sweeter. All
| these men have learned in this great
gallery. Today the masters sit In 1t
working and striving to interpret and,
In giving their all to the world, to
| show to those to whom admttance IL
| forever denied, because they have not
the souls to appreciate this art, little
portion OF the enduring beauty OF the
| collection"
81 have never heard of this gallery"
said the painter.
TRUE" said the angel "you have
been too busy with this great painting"
He touched the easel as he spoke.
The painter hung his head. II am
not IT." he said, "to sit with these
! great artists would better work lon
ger here"
mot So" said the angel gently. you
| have the will to do. The candle is
burning in your soul"
The painters lips moved silently, but
the angel understood him. Take me
with you to this gallery" he was say
Ing.
The angel stepped TO the western win.
dow Of the room and flung it open wide.
The painter came and stood beside
him. "Can we see 1t from here" said
he. The angel nodded. This Is one of
the tour great wings of my masters
gallery" e said. "Lookw
"The ra:lters gaze followed his. 1t
was spring. A little soft wind was
blowing. The starting grass In the gar
den below was a light, placid green.
Just beyond was peach tree In bloom,
with darling bees about it. There Is
nothing but pastels In this wing" said
the angel "the soft eolors and clear
tints which belong TO an Opaque medl-
um." He reached out his hand and
drew in a climbing rose that had reach
ed to the easement. WAS anything
more exqulsitep he said. Then, softly
and carefully lest 1t should brush of