Frostburg mining journal. [volume] (Frostburg, Md.) 1871-1913, 1909-08-21

shall see you no more" And Angeli-
cas- annoyance at the ease with which
she was resigned was only half re-
moved by his conclusion as he touched
his breast:
But | shall have you here always"
Nor would he let her see the pic
turc. Wait till it is done" he said
And he painted SO diligently that she
grew jealous. 1t had all his attention;
she none. What was it like Tie inn
keeper, who had seen it. called her
Giuscppe's inspiration. But was she
to be only an inspiration? She looked
at his distracted face. and a wave OF
pain and love ovCrSpread her own.
Seeking to make some connection be
tween herself and the painting, she
spoke one day of rygmalion.
He kissed his Galatca into life you
know" Her conviction that Giuseppe
did know absolutely nothing that was
ever classified and put into a book of
reference led her to add:
'She was the statue he had made.
and after that she became his wife"
The poetry of this appealed to Giu-
seppe, nor was the parallel lost. He
looked from her to the picture, then
gave dcSpairing sigh:
"Ah, but l have not painted a Gala
tea"
Angclica's animoSity toward the pie
ture grew with her love. The day 1t
was completed and showed to her she
could have cried aloud in despair. even
while she Frustrated herself before the
genius that had produced it. 1t was
a perfect faCc-nO WOman'S, but an
angels 1t was the soul of goodness
looking down on sinners with unScorn-
ing pity. glorious, alluring up sleeps
and on to heights, then fitting on be
fore, always unattainable, always eX-
alting SO Beatrice must have been
when her eyes drew Dante out of pur-
gatory into heaven.
Giuseppe loved lt-not her. There
was no common ground between them.
The girls hands clinchcd with the
hopclcSSncSs of rivalry against the
nonexistent. And, insult to insult. the
thing had stolen her Iincamcnts.
"She is great" Angelica said. dash
ing back the tears. "Shc will make
you famous-and me. perhaps" There
was ring of sarcasm in the last
words that puzzled Giuseppe.
"Shc is great | have dwclt with her
day and night, until understood. She
has been my salvation. She has led
me on and ON. | am no longer a
painter, but an artist. And she is you.
You have taught me this. | thank
you"
Angelica jcrked back her hand from
his rcvcrent lips and shrieked her cX-
ugly"
She had hoped to retire with dignity.
The dam once broken, her emotions
poured out in spite of her. 'Shc isn't
me. You have no right to paint that
thing and call it me. When you said
you loved me, | believed it. / loved
you I'm spite OF your faults But you
you are wicked and ungratcful. You
demand of me perfection such
perfection"
Giuseppe rubbed his hand across his
forehead, stupcfed. The picture and
Angelica, it seemed, were two sep
aratc entities. Galatea, made flesh,
was no longer Galatca. Here was
woman surely, the one he had painted.
But the blessed angels, did they not
exist?
"Do you love me?' she demanded,
with a stamp of her foot. "N1c or her,
which? Look at her. She is a CO.
quctte. You will never reach her,
however you try. l will make you
happy-so happy, Giuseppe. But choose,
choose"
Giuseppe stood open mouthed for a
few daZcd moments till he had stared
her into focus. Not his angel now, not
above him. He might touch, possess.
A woman this with the features so
dear to him. red Tipped, fairer than
Floria. The earth called londly to
him. Heaven was far off. The clouds