Milford chronicle., 1903-02-20
THE PAINTERS
ANGEL :. :. :. :.
BY
HALLE ERMINIE RIvEs.
s-s-AA-s-s-AA-s-s-AA-s-s-N4-o-'-NN-s

The four walls of the room had eacl
q window, relieved by dingy curtains
and the floor was bare. The man
face was drawn and gaunt, and whel
he raised his head his eyes were yer!
bright.
"These years. he cried to the 81
lIence. "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 tOiling
through three days that on the fourth
I may have models and materials fol
my great work! l feel the power with
in me, but I am helpless. Others
around me succeed. I envy them, and
my envy strangles the lovely thing
which I try to paint, and its features
grow CHASTITY and hateful to me. If
could only finish this one picture! But
I cannot without hours of work with
costly models and many days of appli-
cation which I.must spend in earning
my bread. And the inspiration will
not wait. It fades DINNER while
Idght on. If it passes, I am lost"
He bowed his head in his hand
again, and his shoulders moved as
though with sobbing.
Just then a 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 knelt 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 a jun
bic of huge forms, for the painter was
to represent upon it a great allegOry
Of humanity entitled "The Triumph
Of Life" why are you not at work."
the stranger asked. The painter
stretched his arms wide with a de-
spairing gesture. 1t was hopeless and
helpless. 1t meant want, desire, pow
erty, agony, supplication, all blent into
one.
The angel regarded him pitifully for
a moment. Il have a master" he said,
sin whose gallery are the models Of all
the greatest works of the world.
Nothing is missing. l have come to
give you his invitation to paint in it,"
The painter lifted his head eagerly.
There was a question upon his face.
ut is a 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
thoyen, its harmOnies 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 its aisles to
paint the delicate loveliness of the
Christ child. In its alcoves sat Keats
and Shelley, gazing till its various
beauty rang from their souls into a
full and fragile voice of song. There
they framed those sweet harmon!es
which, unheard. were sweeter. AL
these men have learned in this great
gallery. Today the masters sit in it
and striving to interpret and.
N giving their all to the world. to
show to those to whom admittance is
'Orever denied, because they have not
he souls to appreciate this art, a littIe
portion Of the enduring beauty of the
Il have never heard of this gallery"
Iaid the painter.
"True," said the angel. 'You have
'een too busy with this great painting"
He touched the easel as he spoke.
The painter hung his head. II am
lot fit" he said. Ito sit with these
yreat artists. would better work lon
ger here"
mot So" said the angel gently. "You
AVE the will to do. The candle Is
in your soul"
The painters lips moved silently, but
he angel understood him. "Take me
With you to this gallery" he was say
ng.
The angel stepped to the western win
Ow Of the room and flung it open wide.
he painter came and stood beside
i'm. Can we zee it from here?" said
e. The angel nodded. This is one of
be four great wings Of my masters
allery," he said. "LOOkg
''The painters gaze followed his. It
'as spring A little soft wind was
lowing. The starting grass in the gar
en- below was a light placid green.
lst beyond was a peach tree in bloom.
'ith darting bees about it. There Is
othing but pastels in this wing" said
le angel, "the soft colors and clear
pts which belong to an Opaque medi-
~" He reached out his hand and
'ew IN a climbing rose that had reach
to the easement. "Was anything
ore exqulsiteY he said. Then. softly
ID carefully lest it should brush off {