The Catholic bulletin. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1911-1995, 1912-10-12
THE CHILDREN'S HOUR.
THE MADONNA OF THE DREAM.

THE MADONNA OF THE DREAM.
Three little girls were walking with
their mother in the gallery of the
Luxembourg. She wore the garb of a
widow; her husband, an officer in the
Chasseurs, having been killed at Sc
dan. Four children had followed;
sorrow had left ineffaceable marks on
the face of the woman, still young,
who found in her children her only
earthly consolation. Patience and
sublime resignation sat enthroned on
her brow; peace looked forth from
her large gray eyes, still beautiful,
though dimmed by many tears. Sud-
denly one of the little girls paused be-
fore picture.
Mamma she said, "is this not
lovely? Our Lady of the Flowers
Surely it is only the Queen of Heaven
who could ever have looked so beauti
full as this"
They were all standing in front of
the picture. For some moments the
mother looked at it in silence; then
she said:
Eyes, Valerie, it is very beautiful.
Have you ever seen any one whom it
resembles?"
"Never!" cried the two eldest with
one voice.
''Not in the least?"
The little one looked up into her
mothers face. She was lovely child,
conscious, butt not vain of her own
beauty.
Mamma" she said, Sometimes,
when my hair is curled and have on
my pretty white dress, l think I look
a little tiny bit like that Don't your"
"Ah, Miss Vanity" exclaimed her
elder sister, playfully. Maybe you
are of the same complexion; and the
hair-well, it is something like yours,
really"
eyes," observed the mother, sit is"
"But ten thousand times more love-
ly," added Marguerite, the second girl.
"a million times" replied the child.
'But the eyes-the eyes are like
whose are they like, Valerie?"
CAS- though one could tell-in pic
ture" was the response Never was
there such beautiful face on earth.
It is not likeness, dear; only fancy
Of the painter"
"My Valerie, there you are mis-
TAKEN" said the mother. 81 know the
story of that picture. I have seen
the child who sat for it; and it was
said by all who knew her to be a very
good likeness. Spiritua1ized, no doubt,
it must have been by the high and
holy thoughts of him who painted it;
still, that is no fancy sketch, assure
you"
Mamma! You knew her! Oh,
Y@T-
'FWill you tell us about it, mamma?"
"Come, sit beside me-just in front
of it, where we can have it directly
before our eyes, so that we may look
at it while l tell you the story" said
the mother
Nesting as close to her as they
could, the three little girls eagerly
awaited the narrative.
zone day." she began, perhaps
thirty years ago, just as we are today,
a lady and her three children were
walking in the garden of the TUT
leries. All at once the two boys, who
were in front, paused beside an old
gentleman, with a long white beard,
who was painting some roses. The
artist turned, smiled upon them, and
acknowledged their expressions of adj
miration as though he appreciated and
enjoyed their youthful sincerity.
When the mother and the youngest
child, girl of seven, reached the
others, the painter said:
These are bright boys of yours,
madame They bid fair to become
accomplished critics.
CAS- the little one also advanced to
examine the picture, he exclaimed:
But this one!-ah, madame, it is
she! I have found her at lasti'
"The lady stepped backward in some
alarm
What do you mean, sir?'" she in
quired. I do not understand YOU
Have no fears, madame, he said,
. with smile. assure you I am per-
fectly sane. / am Henri Herbert, the
flower painter
: replied the lady. But had thought
you much younger man.
eve painters age early he said,
!, with sweet, but fleeting smile And
. now let me explain. 1t is true that
have seldom painted anything but
! flowers, because love tnem; yet the
; few faces I have done have been
j highly praised. Once, when a child,
Hau very VlNld uISdm. tHOuSHe
the Blessed Virgin came to me-a
child like myself, perhaps about the
age Of seven years. In her hand she
, held a bouquet of roses, which she
, offered to me. All my life the memory
J. of that dream has followed me; all
my Life / have been trying to repro
duce the vision. The roses have long
been finished. madame; yes, years
, and years; but the face-I have never
seen it with my waking eyes till now.
In order to prove to you that these
are not idle words I beg that you will