The Intermountain Catholic. (Salt Lake City [Utah] ;) 1899-1920, 1909-12-11
MY FIRST PICTURE.

W. ! 1 ltOl
Dab. dab! A touch here and touch there; then,
with sigh, [ laid down my brushes and stood con-
sdering the portrait | had just finished-the por-
trait of an American lady. That was good knew;
vet of late orders had fallen off, and saw pros
pect for future work for the next two months-an
outlook not particularly gratifying to one who need
ed all the work she could attend to-
At this point in my rather dismal meditations [
was interrupted by knock at the door, followed by
the inharmoniOus voice of Melanie.
IF you please Mademoisee, there is d woman
at the door who wishes to speak to you. Perhaps
Mademoisele is busyg"
No; | have finished for the night Send her up
at once"
A tall woman in black, wearing widows veil,
entered my studio few minutes later. She seemed
very shy A few kind words, however, soon set her
at ease and she told me her story, which was sad
one. Her husband died few months before, leav-
ing her in very straitened circumstances with three
small children.
If I could earn a little by sitting for you, Mad
emoisee. it would be great help" she said, flush
ing a little as she spoke.
felt sorry for the poor woman, but what could
/ DO? | did not require model, and l could not
afford to take one out of charity. The daylight
was fading, and the evening sun coming in through
the large window fell straight upon my visitor,
turning her copper brown hair into FURNISHED gold.
What a picture she would make, with her large
brown eyes and the sad, pathetic look in them!
Then a wild idea came to me- Why should / not
paint large picture and send it to the Salon? 1t
would help the poor woman little even If it had no
other result, and that consideration decided me-
That evening I confided my ambitious plan to my
mother. She, poor soul, heard me with a gasp and
sat down weakly on chair, with vague notion
that her only daughter was out of her mind
Il am not quite so mad as you think, mother
dear l said, patting her hand reassuringly when
my picture is finished [ shall get old Hernes to
come and look at it. You know what good Judge
he is; and if he thinks 1t has chance of being
received at the Salon | viii give up the idea of
sending it there"
/ now set to work in earnest. 1t is one thing to
paint portrait and another to paint picture. as [
found out to my cost. And at every turn fresh diff
1iculties confronted me. My floor gave me the
greatest trouble; it would persist In wearing the
appearance of a sloping platform, down which the
pathetic figure in the center sliding Happily
for me, good samaritan in the shape of a fellow
artist came to my help and in a few strokes 1 rem
cdied my mistake.
At last my painting was finished. l think every
line was impressed on my brain, and with beating
heart [ set out to find the who was to be the
arbter of its destiny. Which would it be? The
Salon or the garrett
My friend Hernes, a dear soul but a rough dia-
mond, so to speak, readily agreed to back with
me and give his opinion on my picture; but as we
threaded way through the narrow streets and
down the Avenue Wagram, l could see he was gen
ty preparing me for the worst. and in spite of all
my pretended philosophy my heart sank into my
boots.
At the house door my mother came to meet me,
and together we went into the studio The painting
stood on the easel in the full light of the window,
and the mournful gaze of the dark eyes met "a as
we entered
llernes gave kind Of grunt as he caught sight
OF 1t, and for several seconds you could hear pin
drop. Then the oracle spoke:
Not so bad! Not at all so bad"
men, as If fearing to rouse false hopes, he add
1t can do no harm to send it. Don't suppose
'hey VIII take it, though Good-day, ladies'"
And with wave of the hand he was gone
Gone! But he had pronounced the magic words
The delightful words which few days later sent
my painting carefully packed In the covered cart of
a camonneur, to await its turn among some six |
thousand others at the entrance of the Grand
Palas
Then followed days of intolerable suspense. AT
night while lying sleepless, often pictured the
scene to myself. / could see the Judges armed with
alklng sticks, standing before my painting, dis
1essing Its merits; and I could hear the deep voice
y. lhelr president crying, "Votez, Messieurs!" as
WIN swish, the canes rose in answer to the sum-
mons. Three, four, five" the secretary counted |
Not enough" said the president; and the awful
Nosd refused" was gummed the frame of my
unfortunate painting
ms was the scene that haunted me night after
night how near it was to the reality was far from
gguesSlng. Indeed had it not been for one small
I IeI9ll-I am anticipating however and will go
osck TO the story of my picture, it was told me
afterwards by of the judges. The opinion gen
raly expressed had not been enthusiastic; and my
WORK would doubtless have been refused had not a
wei known artist stepped forward
What name did you say?" he inquired of the
president, who stood close to the picture,